#i swear i could see a light bulb appear above my head

[just-slightly-chayotic]

so... i found the necklace charm Jeff is wearing in this photo

#jeff satur #kinnporsche #kinnporsche cast #i had the OH moment right after complaining that i have no clue where to find it #because of course #pandora! #i swear i could see a light bulb appear above my head #so i figured i'll share once again #jeff satur fits #ah just noticed it's the spanish pandora store #whatever #it's called astronaut in the galaxy dangle charm in english! #oh and!! pretty sure barcode has a matching charm for a bracelet #or at least that's what twitter is telling me

[say-narry]

Ride it

Characters: Harry!husband x Reader

Word count: ~1.8K

Warnings: insinuations, oral sex, explicit sex

Author's note: I don't know much about basketball, but here it is. Again, English is not my first language.

Versão em PT-BR

***

I felt that sometimes Harry didn't learn how competitive I was, even after years of marriage. We had a bet on which of our favorite basketball teams would win tonight and well, I won.

We were at an NBA championship game, me rooting for my big Lakers and Harry for the Celtics.

Between dunks and shots, Lakers won 81-71. It was a good game for both teams and even better for me.

I avoided my little victory dance so as not to hurt Harry, he hated to lose and I knew how hurt he was like a kid without dessert, so since he had lost, I just clapped my hands and smiled.

After leaving the crowd that came to take a picture with Harry, even the Lakers fans, we had made it into the car. I just glared suggestively at Harry and he just ignored me or stuck out his tongue like a tantruming child.

What can I do? He invented this and also the payment of the bet, my team just did their job.

We put on our seat belts and Harry started the car.

Harry hummed softly and I bit the ligaments in my fingers with my elbow against the car door, while H drove through the streets of Los Angeles.

The music had changed from quiet to more upbeat, I loved it, and like cartoons, a light bulb went on above my head.

I still hadn't thought for sure what my prize would be, but Harry, if I had won we would have to do heavier banter in public, since I was very reserved being a kindergarten teacher, but I think I might go further tonight.

"Let it be, let it be, let it be known..." I began "Touching and teasing me, telling me no, but this time I need to feel you..." I held Harry's hand that rested on the backrest between us. He pulled it lightly and kissed it, without taking his lips off the road, I couldn't wait to have fun tonight.

***

We arrived a few minutes later, I went to the bathroom in our suite while Harry activated our house alarm.

I literally ran through the shower, grabbed the lilac silk camisole that barely covered my buttocks. I had bought it the day after we had placed the bet, but I hadn't told Harry, I wanted him to have fun too if I won.

Grabbing my perfume from the huge shelf in our bathroom, I sprayed it on my neck, between my breasts and wrists. I untied my hair and that was it.

A beautiful hot girl.

I lay down in the middle of our bed and crossed my legs waiting for Harry to arrive, I grabbed my cell phone that I had left on the bedside table and looked for a song in the playlist setting it on the TV installed on the wall of the room.

"Babe, how about we plant..." Harry opened the door and faced me "...Daisies outside, but what's that? I lost the bet..." His mischievous grin appeared in moments.

"We can both win the bet, Mr. Styles." I blinked returning the smile.

Harry was wearing a white button down shirt with sleeves, there was a Celtics logo printed on it with dark maroon pants matching the top and black all stars.

His hand hooked on the first button of his blouse, but I stopped him.

"No sir... I want to see you take off your clothes, but slowly and with background music." I lifted my body and spread my legs a little, giving Harry the view to see that I was wearing the panties he loved most on my body.

Grabbing the TV remote, I put the music on. Harry had his hands resting on his waist, his cheeks had blushed repeatedly and his head was shaking negatively.

"Come on, baby... This will be my prize," I whimpered a little.

"A strip tease, honey? You swear?" He laughed nervously, he really didn't expect it.

"I've already done it for you and you know how much I like this song. I stood up and went bouncing over to Harry, his hands sliding from my waist to my buttocks, where I could feel his fingers pressing hard into my flesh to the point where I could feel the frosting of his rings.

Kissing the jaw that I idolized so much, I moved slowly down to Harry's neck, and he closed his eyes with a sigh and nodded.

I kissed him and turned my back to the edge of the bed, biting my lips to hold back my victory shout.

I went back to the music from the beginning after groping around the bed for my cell phone, Harry had dimmed the light even more, letting only the brightness of the full moon shining through the glass illuminate his body.

Harry's fingers slowly unbuttoned his shirt, slowly revealing the tattoo of birds and the butterfly on top of his belly.

He looked down at me, his eyes staring into mine as I felt my breathing become heavy. I didn't deny how much power Harry had over me, nothing to do with S&M, but he exuded sympathy and sensuality, and it held me in a surprising way.

As soon as he finished unbuttoning his shirt, it fell from his shoulders to the floor, I don't know if he had done it on purpose as I rambled on, but the V-shaped line giving the path to my happiness was showing in conjunction with the branch tattoos.

I could feel my panties getting wet. Harry blinked slowly at me, which made me bite my lips as a reflex.

Holding the button of his pants like it was the heaviest thing in the world, Harry brought out his tattooed biceps, I wanted him to hold me tight with those arms and I had Harry's physical trainer to thank for that, he really went all out with his training routines.

The button on his pants was like a signal to come back from my thoughts "Stop dreaming and focus on me, (Y/N), I'm here and I'm your man!"

Okay, I am no longer feeling my legs, only the river that had formed between them.

Walking slowly over to me, Harry held my face tilting it so that I could look at him. I struggled to find words due to the closeness and warmth being emanated from the palm of his hands. "I'm just admiring you, Hazz..."

Leaning his face up to my ear, Harry let out "I make you hot, baby girl?" I closed my eyes and when I opened them, I noticed his erection strongly marking his pants, making my mouth water, I just moaned softly in agreement.

With that, he planted a kiss just below my ear before continuing down my neck and along my collarbone. His teeth brushed against my skin a few times, but the feel of his tongue soothing each spot made me cry out for him between softer moans.

Over the top of the sweater, he reached for my breasts, Harry kneading them, until his fingers laced through the shoulder straps and down my arms.

Putting one knee between my legs, Harry slipped his arm around my waist and pushed my body to the middle of the bed.

Lying on top of me and with my breasts already showing, he deftly caressed one while his mouth worked on another nipple, gently flicking and swirling his tongue around it.

I arched my back involuntarily and my fingers tugged at his hair with the sensation. "Harry." I sighed his name between the faint moans escaping my lips.

"You are as sweet as your scent, my woman," he murmurs against my skin. "I need to taste you for the rest of my life, know this."

"Hmm" I murmur as he moves to stand between my legs, gently pulling my panties down in one swift motion. He settles into place, kissing the inside of my thigh, stopping before where I needed it most, doing the same with my other thigh. "Stop teasing," I beg.

Harry chuckled lightly. "Patience, dear."

But as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he runs his finger through my folds, stopping at my clit, applying enough pressure to make my head fall back against the pillow.

He quickly replaces his finger with his mouth, kissing my clit before sliding his tongue down my slit, teasing my already wet entrance.

Harry places his mouth back on my clit, swirling his tongue around and flicking it. He hums against me, enjoying the noises he is causing in me, and my back arches out of the bed.

"Don't stop," I exhale with my eyes closed.

I feel him shove two fingers inside me, and from that moment on, I that I wouldn't last much longer. As he pumped his fingers firmly, I could feel that euphoria approaching fast.

"I'm going to cum," I grunted. "Fuck!"

"Mhm," he hums against me, "But already, my love?"

My eyes close harder as the orgasm coursed through my body.

My thighs trembled as Harry continues to work. He slowed the movement of his fingers and used his other hand to rub his side gently.

When I opened my eyes again, his face was in front of me. "Hi," he whispers and leans in for a brief kiss.

Time to reciprocate, I thought already stretching my hand towards his member, he interrupts me by grabbing my wrist and I face him "Today is about the winner...," he says. "And now, I need to be inside you." "I like that, love..." I confessed. With a teasing laugh, Harry kneels between my legs and removes his pants with his underwear, leaving his cock pointed up and with its lubricated little head in my field of vision.

Without time to think much, my admiration turns into a groan as I feel him begin to thrust into me.

"Great game, lovie!" he teases and I let out a gasping laugh. He gives me a second to relax and adjust, nudging his side and taking my hand, intertwining my fingers with his.

"Still with me?"

I exhale and smile at him. "Yes, keep going."

It takes a few strokes before he is fully in me, Harry sets a steady pace, and I revel in the pleasure.

"Shit," he utters. "Do you feel as good as I do, baby?"

I can't say much except moan as I feel him stretching me taut. Harry places his thumb on my clit and begins rubbing in tight circles. My eyes almost roll back, and I can feel the next orgasm growing inside me.

"I'm close," he groans hoarsely. "I want you to cum with me, baby."

I whimper as I hear his tone and nod my head. His movements become faster and his breathing becomes more irregular.

"Oh, God," I say choking, as my body begins to tremble with his second orgasm. "So good, Harry..."

The supreme sensation makes me involuntarily squeeze his member inside me. Harry stands still and settles down, and with a groan, I feel him release himself inside me.

He rests his forehead against my shoulder as we both try to catch our breath. I rub his back slowly, feeling my fingernails leave some marks.

When he lifts his head, Harry had a few drops of sweat all over his face, but without taking my beloved smile away... "I never thought I would say this, but I hope the Lakers win more often from now on."

I give a muffled laugh stealing a kiss.

Lakers... win again, please.

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

Hey you! If you like it, please tell me to keep encouraging me.

#harry #imagine harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #imagines harry styles #prompt harry styles #fanfic harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles imagines

[causticsunshine]

✨🍼 sunday snippet 🍼✨

thanks for the tag @hershelsue and @princelyharry!! i know i said no more previews for this as the fest starts posting next week, but here's one last momrry fic tidbit as i rush to finish it and please wish me luck as with my hours this week i am a little Stressed about it!

Yet, yet, yet.

Tugging his sleeve down over their hands, Louis squeezes his fingers. Turns his way and grins, winks. The shadows painted over his skin are all deep, greenish shades of blue of brown from the artificial lighting, and his eyes appear more emerald than ocean. They sparkle just the same, though, catching golden flickers of the small bulbs muttered above them.

Were he feeling a bit more grounded and perhaps a bit less cold, Harry would stop them now to lavish him in a long, languid kiss. One that would heat their chilly bodies at every point of contact and spread out—burning heat signatures.

Instead, he just smiles back and mumbles a bashful, “Hi,”

“Hi,” Louis returns, chuckling and bumping their shoulders, “you have a nice night?”

Nodding, “Mhm, yeah, very nice.” Yet, not big enough yet. “I can’t believe the baby’s so big already, like, he could start walking soon,” he says wistfully, feeling hysterical and cautious, head in the clouds. “He cozied up to you right quick when you had ‘im, just like last time.”

“Y’think so? I hadn’t noticed,” Louis grins knowingly.

Incredulous laugh, bumping hips now—Harry’s putting on a show. “‘Course! I didn’t think he’d get tired so fast after eating; it’s like the second you grabbed ‘im he was ready to go down, like you’d triggered a switch or something. You’re the, the baby whisperer, I swear to god.”

Louis preens next to him, a satisfied smirk stretching across his fair features. “It’s ‘cause I know what m’doing. Y’had to figure all that practice with the girls and Ernie was gonna pay off some day.”

Harry nods sagely. Holds his breath for a moment. There’s a tugging in his chest, a leash pulling him forward. He needs to say something, then. Whether it’s cosmic intervention pointing out all these potential maybe’s, signs, in his peripheral tonight or simply his guilt making things out to be more than they—which is just as helpful, twice as likely—it’ll eat him alive if he doesn’t say something, doesn’t start this now.

“Maybe we’ll see some real pay off soon, eh?”

tagging @thestylinsons @larrysballetslippers @brightgolden @larry-hiatus @polaroidlouis @kingsofeverything @zanniscaramouche @littleroverlouis and anyone else that wants to share!

#sorry i had to rush to do this bc work but yeah wish me luck!! i have some late nights this week and my fic is due friday!! #sunday snippet #momrry #momrryfest22 #my fics #fic: let go of a prayer

[restapesta]

They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was three in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around them only lit up by the white light of the always-opened drive-through.

It had been a craving that brought them here. Ian waking up for a midnight snack, realizing that Mickey was quite awake too, unable to truly rest until he knew his husband was near, with him. He had been standing in front of the fridge inside their scarcely illuminated kitchen, with Mickey sitting on the kitchen counter, legs criss-crossed watching him. Ian had been contemplating what would be best suited to satiate his hunger, besides the man licking strawberry yogurt clean off the spoon.

A light bulb had lit up above his head.

"Get ready."

"What?"

He threw his hoodie Mickey's way. It was big on Ian most of the time, but it was good enough to keep a person warm. "Trust me, Mick."

Mickey placed the gray sweatshirt over his head, pulling it over his torso until he was engulfed in it. Ian rummaged slowly around for their phones, wallets, and keys, searching for them in the dark. His eyes had accommodated to it, and the moonlight filtering in through the windows helped.

"Where are we going?"

"You look great in my clothes, you know. And, you'll see."

He grasped Mickey by the hand, their fingers locked together in a soft embrace, feeling the warmth of each other's skin. Mickey didn't resist for a moment, trusting Ian with his entire life, following after him like a moth to a flame. The only sound echoing throughout the silent apartment had been the turning of the key inside their lock, and later on the slight thudding of quiet steps outside in the hall before their door.

First they got inside their car, both Mickey and Ian staying silent as the redhead drove through the Westside streets—empty and calm. They were enjoying the peace, the clock on their dashboard showing 02:47, and their bodies were still touching, Ian's palm resting flat against Mickey's pajama-bottom-covered thigh, the ones he felt no need to change out of. Ian was in his too, checkered and amusing, reminding Mickey of a grandpa. It was ten minutes before the logo came into view, large and inviting.

Mickey's stomach rumbled unwittingly as he glanced at his husband, noting the twinkle in his eye. He himself was draped in a thick black sweatshirt, the hood obnoxiously pulled over his head, wisps of hair poking out, flaming red.

"Really?" Mickey asked, a slight flutter in his stomach at the image of it all.

"Open 24/7."

"That's your response?"

"Come on, baby, you're just hangry. Let's get some food in ya'."

Mickey couldn't argue.

Now they were in the car, stuffing their faces with hamburgers and fries, downing them with Coke like madmen—something about late nights made them starved—talking amongst one another with mouths filled with food. With anybody else, it probably would've been disgusting and unattractive.

But not with them. Never with them.

They were playing a game.

Twenty questions that were turning into thirty, all asked with no clear goal in mind, simply the first thing to pop into either one of their heads, out of their mouths only for them to hear.

"Have you ever thought about playing the ?"

"You know I play guitar."

"Do you want a guitar for your birthday?"

"It's my turn to ask the question."

"'kay. Ask."

"How old are those tiny as fuck briefs you have hidden in our dresser and why the fuck do you never wear them?"

"Those are two questions."

"You're blushing."

"'m not."

"Answer it, bitch."

"Just so you know, those briefs are brand new and they fucking fit amazing."

"Why was I then denied the pleasure?"

"Mick—"

"As soon as we get home, you're putting them on."

"Fine."

"You're gonna try them then too."

"Why?"

"Your ass. Have you seen your fucking ass?"

Mickey grinned.

They lapsed into silence as they slurped on the last few sips of their Cokes, plastic squeaking in their hands.

Ian finished his drink with a loud sigh, discarding the cup with the rest of the trash that was sitting between them. Mickey followed suit. They were stuffed now and slightly sleepy, drowsiness appearing in their eyes.

Mickey watched as Ian leaned back in his seat. They had reclined them all the way, so Ian was practically laying in it, long legs sprawled out underneath the console. He placed his hands across his stomach, palms across one another.

"What was the best day of your life?" He asked like the sap he was.

Mickey smiled at the question, teasing, "It's my turn."

"Mickey."

"Okay, fine," He chuckled, not wanting to play that specific game of pull and tug, content with the peacefulness of it all. "Let me think about it."

First kiss. Engagement. Wedding. Anniversary. Too many moments to pick from, each stained with a problem they had faced and overcame, beautiful in their own fucked up ways.

He nibbled on his lower lip as he recalled a memory of compete and utter happiness. No problems, no worries, no sadness. It dawned on him, the sensation like drinking water after days of dehydration.

"Remember that trip to Oklahoma?"

A smile graced Ian's features, his eyes briefly closing as he seemed to recall the day. "Don't think I could forget."

"We spent a whole day at that fair. Rented out a room at some shitty motel. From morning till night we went on every single ride possible. Literally saw every attraction there." He was getting lost in the memory, chest swelling with happiness. "Kissed on top of the Ferris wheel at midnight when it was just about to close, like fucking dorks."

He turned around to glance at Ian. He was looking straight at him, the small upturn of his lips reading clear in his eyes, gazing at Mickey like he was everything to him in this entire world.

Whispering, Mickey said, "That was the best day of my life."

Ian grabbed a hold of his hand slowly, delicately, placing it in his lap, the action making warmth heat Mickey's cheeks. Mickey leaned against his own seat, mirroring his husband, eyes on him all the way.

"The best day of my life was the 21st of June, 2021," Ian said longingly as if he was reading the beginning of some old fairytale-type story.

Mickey couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at Ian's sweet earnestness. "You know the date?"

Ian shot him a look, no bite in it whatsoever. "Allow me to tell the story, please?"

Mickey bit his lip to stop smiling. "Okay, okay, you're allowed."

Ian smacked lightly at Mickey's chest, not moving an inch, still slumped in his seat lazily.

"That night I had a dream," He began. "It wasn't even like a dream. More like a fucking vision—and I know how weird that sounds, trust me. But it was literally like a vision, clear and vivid and everything.

"Anyways, the dream—or vision, whatever—was of you and me, sitting in two lawn chairs, staring out into the world. But the thing is, we were older. Like, ninety-year-old old. We were just staring ahead. Then at each other. The way we looked at each other is how we look at each other now—filled with a bunch of love and fondness. It was just the two of us, together, old and gray."

Ian stopped and took a deep breath, leaning forward in his seat, locking eyes with Mickey who was listening carefully. Mickey straightened himself as well, and they were just sitting in their car, gazing softly at one another as Ian told the story, the remnants of their endeavor resting between them.

"So," He continued. "On the 21st of June, 2021, I woke up and all I could think about was that dream. It was like—like on a fucking loop inside my head, and each time I even glanced at you, I just saw the two of us, old and together.

"And I realized, as fucking weird as it sounds, that it was us. I swear Mick, it was you and me, years from now, just sitting in fucking lawn chairs, staring out into the world. Into each other's eyes." His eyes shone. "And all throughout that day, I knew that one day, we'd get there. That you and I would spend the rest of our lives together until we were wrinkly and gray and doing nothing but being together. Each time I even saw you from the cone of my eye, grumpy and frowning at whatever, I was so happy because I would get to spend the rest of my life with you.

"That, until the day I died, I would have you as my partner. My husband. My best friend. The love of my fucking life; by my side until there is nothing left in the world to do but sit by each other and just watch as time goes by.

"Just you and me, Mick. Until the end."

Mickey watched him inhale deeply.

"Best day of my fucking life, and I get to live it forever."

A tear slipped out of Mickey's eye. He felt it on his cheek, rolling down, hot against the already warm skin, yet all he could see was Ian. Ian with the shimmering orbs and that look in his eye like he was staring at everything he needed in life.

Mickey pulled his hand out of Ian's from where it was resting in his lap, then raised them to palm Ian's cheeks, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Lips moving together in the dark, serendipitous in all ways, the vulnerability for once a blessing instead of a curse.

"You never told me that story," He whispered against Ian's lips.

"It just felt right for me to know. Maybe we were just both waiting for this moment, unknowingly."

Another tear, filled with so much.

"We both live the best day of our life like that, Ian. Every single day."

Ian nodded, smiling against Mickey's lips. "I know, my love. I know."

They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was four in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around lit up by only them, the love palpable like a glow, allowing them to see clearly; see all the things that were important to them.

A person needed the match to their gasoline so they could light the fire that would burn and simmer. A person, too, needed the cord to their plug that would alight the darkness of the inside of their chest.

Because one would be lost without the glow in the dark. Or at least not be able to truly see.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #shameless #shameless us #fanfic #*ficlet #i went deep at the end #it is currently 2:24 in the morning #perhaps i am having an existential crisis #but i had a dream of this story #and it made something ache inside my chest #❤️

[thatoneticklewriter]

Don’t Be Cruel

(Ler! Venti/ Lee! Xiao) Platonic

Summary: Venti has had enough of Xiao’s aloof attitude and decides to seek manners into his own hands.

“Ugh! I just hate that guy!” Venti squeals in frustration throwing away tonight’s dinner.

“Well, the almond tofu you made was disgusting.” Aether couldn’t help but make a face.

The bi color haired boy threw a small dinner party for Chongyun and his boyfriend Xiao. He spent days studying the different types recipes and ingredients of Almond tofu hoping to cook it right to Xiao’s taste. Though the raven thought otherwise spitting the food back onto the plate and dumping it in the trash can.

“But he didn’t have to be rude about it!” Venti snaps crossing his arms against his chest. “There were other times he was mean to me too! Like how he doesn’t wait for me whenever we get assigned to do missions together and how he sometimes shoves me whenever I’m in his way. I don’t get what Chongyun sees in that asshole.”

“I think you’re just overreacting, sweetie.” Aether smiles at his friend placing his hands on his shoulders.

“I want to get back at him so bad.” Venti clenches his fists pulling away from Aether’s grasps.

“That’s it!” The bi color haired boy shrieks as a light bulb flashes in his head. “I’m going to torture him! Yeah!”

“Um, you’re not going to actually hurt him right?” Aether gives the other a hopeful look.

“No, I’m just going to make him suffer in a way he hasn’t before.” Venti smirks holding his hands behind his back walking into his room to commence his plan.

Hey, can you get Xiao to wear that one outfit where it’s like he’s wearing overalls and a crop top? Venti texts Chongyun the following morning.

Why?????? The blunette responds a couple seconds later confused by the bi color haired boy’s intentions.

I just think he looks snazzy in it. Please! Venti makes up the quickest excuse without sounding like a complete idiot.

Fine, I will try. Is all the blunette texts back and Venti hopes Chongyun goes through with the plan.

The bi color haired boy runs across a certain unlucky friend in Mondstat.

“Hey Benny!” Venti smiles at the white haired boy.

“Oh hey!”

“So like you’re strong, aren’t you?” He questions raising an eyebrow at the other.

“Um sure, I think so? What do you need?” Bennett taps his chin glancing up at the sky.

“I need you to help me with something. All you have to do is hold my target down while I torture him.” An evil smirk crawls onto Venti’s face and Bennett backs away with horror.

“I can’t help commit a murder sorry.”

“No, no! It’s not the kind of job you think it is!” Venti grips Bennett’s wrists not wanting to lose sight of him.

“Can I at least have some more information?”

“I just want to tickle Xiao but you can’t tell anyone.” Venti holds a finger up to Bennett’s lips.

“Xiao? Why him? To be honest, I think he’s the hardest to break. He doesn’t smile at all and I doubt he knows how to laugh.” Bennett tilts his head like a dog not understanding Venti.

“Cause he’s an asshole that needs to be taught a lesson! Now are you going to help me or what?” The bi color haired boy impatiently taps his foot.

Bennett agrees to be of Venti’s service as they meet up with Xiao for their mission.

“Why are you here?” The raven stares up at Bennett with a sharp glare.

“Oh uh erm Venti asked me to tag along. In case any of you guys need healing.” Bennett chuckles rubbing his arm, hoping not to reveal too much of Venti’s plan.

“We don’t need your healing.” Xiao scoffs at the white haired boy before turning on his heel.

“I see what you mean now.” Bennett whispers to the other giving Xiao the side eye.

Venti couldn’t help but notice the bare skin on Xiao’s lower back as they walk behind him. He wondered how much the blunette begged for Xiao to wear the said outfit.

“When I say the time is right, I want you to tackle him.” Venti whispers to the white haired boy watching Xiao stroll far past ahead of them.

“I don’t want him to hurt me.” Bennett pouts at the bard.

“He won’t. I promise, just trust me.” Venti shakes his head catching up to the raven.

They find their designated group of Hilichurls they needed to defeat by a shipping port.

“You go first.” Xiao nudges Venti on the shoulder.

“Why me?” Venti cowers holding his arms above his head.

“So you can suck up all the enemies together while your weird friend and me will finish them.” The raven explains to the other and Venti lets out a sigh knowing he was right.

“Weird?” Benett raises an eyebrow at Xiao wondering what he did to deserve that title.

The bi color haired boy launches a wind current towards the oblivious hilichurls gathering them in a tornado. Both Bennett and Xiao Storm towards the enemies not even giving them a chance to stand or process what was happening.

“I think that’s the fastest we ever took down a mob.” Venti comments skipping towards the two boys.

“I’m out of here since the job is done.” Xiao holds up a hand strolling the other way.

“What!? No, you can’t go! Let’s hangout! The three of us.” Venti links arms with the raven and Xiao groans trying to get out of his grasp.

“I can think of a hundred reasons why we shouldn’t.” He sends Venti a cold look.

Now. Venti mouthed to the white haired boy and Bennett lunges at Xiao wrapping his arms around his waist as they tumble to the grass.

“Get off me! What is wrong with you?!” Xiao shouts underneath Bennett’s weight trying to shove him off.

“You’re gonna get a taste of your own medicine.” Venti giggles at the struggling raven before handcuffing his wrists and that was Bennett’s cue to let go of the other.

“You better tell me what’s going on or I’m going to rip your head off.” Xiao growls at the bard. If looks can kill, Venti would be dead by now.

“Just some cold revenge.” Venti cracks his knuckles slowly trailing his fingers along Xiao’s bare sides.

“Hey! Stop that!” The raven couldn’t help but crack a small smile flinching from Venti’s touch.

“Aww, does someone have sensitive sides?” The bi color haired boy teases playfully squeezing at Xiao’s waist.

An abrupt squeal escapes Xiao’s lips trying to face away from Venti though the bi color haired boy continues to tickle his bare sides.

“You should hold his legs so he doesn’t kick me.” Venti orders to Bennett as Xiao kept flailing his legs all over the place hoping to escape.

“Ow!” The white haired boy yelps falling onto his back after Xiao had struck him across the face with his boot. For such a small body, the raven had a powerful hit.

“Never mind! Hold his arms above his head.” Venti ordered glancing at the Bennett’s bloody nose and the white haired boy huffs under his breath.

“Let go of me!” The fiesty raven struggles under Bennett’s hold, even with handcuffs, the white haired boy can barely keep up with Xiao. They honestly needed another person for help.

Xiao’s aggressive twisting and turning comes to halt when the bi color haired boy digs his fingers into his bare armpits. With Bennett holding his arms, the poor raven was defenseless at this point. Xiao’s giggling and squealing fills the atmosphere and Venti didn’t know the stoic raven could make these kinds of sounds.

“Ahaha! Please stop!”

Venti scratches at a delicate patch of skin near Xiao’s hip bones making the raven cry.

“You’re gonna have to beg harder than that.” The bi color haired boy gives him a smug look shaking his head continuing to tease the flesh below his waist.

The raven was a laughing mess, too weak from laughter to pull away from Bennett.

“Don’t you think he’s had enough?” Bennett questions in between Xiao’s squeals watching Venti squeeze at Xiao’s lower ribs.

“We haven’t even gotten to the good part.” Venti rolls his eyes at the white haired boy and Bennet couldn’t help but feel sympathy for Xiao.

“No, no, please not there.” Xiao lets out a whine that makes Venti almost emit a wave of guiltiness. No, this is what he wants you to do.

“Wow, please two times in a row? Maybe you can be nice!” Venti jokes at the crying raven as his fingers reach dangerously close to the raven’s abdomen.

A shriek escapes from Xiao’s lips feeling Venti’s fingers flutter across his tummy and Bennett grows startle at Xiao’s vigorous writhing.

“Hold him.” Venti bosses at Bennett who almost lost grip of Xiao.

“Argh, he’s strong.” Bennett hisses doing his best to contain Xiao’s flails.

“I’ll be nice ahaha I promise.” Xiao wheezes in between laughter though Venti seems skeptical of the raven’s intentions.

“I’m not totally convinced yet. How do I know you’ll change once I let you go?” Venti raises an eyebrow before squeezing the sides of the raven’s tummy with his thumbs and Xiao squeals arching his back.

“I’ll change!” He fights back once again though Bennett was prepared to keep him still not wanting to make Venti furious.

“Hmmm, you’re not going to be mean to me anymore?” Venti playfully hums loving the reaction of Xiao begging and hollering when he dips a finger in his navel.

“I won’t! I swear!” Xiao whimpers as a tear rolls down his cheek.

Venti finally gets off of the raven letting Xiao catch his breath.

“Can you take this off me?” The raven quietly asks feeling embarrassed. “Please?”

“Why, certainly!” Venti giggles getting on his knees uncuffing Xiao.

“Sorry about your nose.” Xiao apologizes to Bennett refusing to look him in the eye.

“Oh it’s fine, it stopped bleeding.” Bennett smiles shaking the other off.

“Hey Xiao, you’re pretty cute when your smiling. I see why Chongyun likes you now.” Venti taunts the raven pondering how long this kind facade will last.

“Erm, thanks.” Is all the raven says as a small blush appears on his pale cheeks.

The boys part ways, Xiao going back to Wangshu inn and Venti and Bennett to Mondstat.

“Do you think he’ll stay that way?” Bennett curiously asks the bi color haired boy on the walk towards the city.

“Something tells me he will.” Venti throws his head back as a evil chuckle escapes his lips.

#tickling #writing #fanfic #genshin impact #tickle fic #genshin impact tickling #venti genshin impact #xiao genshin impact #Venti #Xiao #Ler!venti #lee!xiao #archive of our own #platonic

[finrelia]

I Always Told You I Didn't Like Knives

Prompt:

anonymous asked:

Could I request a Alex Danvers x reader where reader is a DEO agent and gets hurt on a mission so Alex becomes very protective and refuses to leave readers side?

Pairing: Alex Danvers x Reader

Word Count: 1,782

Warnings: Angst. Blood/Violence. Minor swearing. Bad Writing.

A/N: Sorry If this isn't exactly what you meant when you meant,,, I didn't focus as much on the protective side of things. But!!! I hope you like it!!! Also, its REALLY long aha. Anyways, Enjoy! (Again, sorry that I changed it a little,,, I got carried away.)

Everything was okay in your life right now. You had a job you loved, in a city you loved, and a girlfriend you loved. Everything was okay. J’onn had sent you and Alex on a routine mission to check up on a new cadmus threat that surfaced. He mentioned a weapon that could stand as a threat to Kara, because they manufactured it with kryptonite in order to weaken her. So, since she was at risk, supergirl was ordered to stay on site at the DEO headquarters, much to her dismay. The location of the threat was a cadmus owned warehouse at the base of a mountain far outside of national city. Winn had picked up on the kryptonite signature which is what started this whole thing.  

It was you, Alex, and a few recruits. Your squad was armed to the teeth, and alex had her gun (that she loved almost as much as you).  You, however, opted for your knives, that you’ve been favoring for years. Alex had persuaded you to keep a gun in your holster just in case, though. She trusted you, and your skill, but she didn't trust your knives. Especially when the threat was a gun. “I’ll be fine, babe. I always am. I can take care of myself, you know that.” you said to her as she gave you a concerned look.

“I know, (Y/N) I just worry sometimes.” She responded with a sigh. You got up from your seat on the jet across from her, and planted a solid kiss on the top of her head as the plane touched down.

“I think it’s cute that you worry” you whisper, as your hand cups her cheek.

It took around an hour of scouting to make sure the warehouse didn’t come equipped with unnecessary traps, or mines. There were minimal guards outside of the base, which you found odd, but not odd enough to worry you. Alex was quick to take out the two men that stood watch over the side entrance of the massive concrete and steel building. You looked to the recruits, and used two fingers and a pointing motion to order them off to go secure the front entrance, and by the time you looked back to where Alex was, she was gone. Alright, I guess we’re going in. You thought, always impressed with your girlfriend’s audacity.

You slipped into the barely open steel door, your two knives gripped firmly in your hands, blade lightly resting against your forearm as you held them in a defensive position. Something didn’t feel right. Something in your gut was off. The power in the warehouse appeared to be non-functional. None of the lights were on, not even the emergency bulbs you saw that lined the walls inside. Your eyes adjusted to the new, dim light, and they rested upon Alex, who was crouching over a body around twenty or so feet from the door. You walked over to her, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Alex?” you asked. She didn’t look up at you. When she responded her voice was cold, distant.

“They’re dead. The recruits. All of them. This was a trap set up by Lillian.”

You looked around the room. Littered on the cold concrete floor were twelve bodies. All wearing the black DEO standard-issue kevlar. You felt sick. You remembered distinctly ordering them to flank. They listened to you, followed orders.  You slipped your knives back into their place in your thigh strap. “This is my fault. I told them to move to secure the front.” you said to yourself. Alex said nothing, just stood back up from where the body was.

“We need to get out of here. The people that did this could still be in the building.” She said cooly, her hand wrapping around your bicep, and pulling you to the door.

Before you could even take two steps, there was a mechanical thunk, followed by an electric whirr as the lights suddenly turned back on. Not just on- but full force, flood light bright. You instinctively brought your arms up to shield your eyes from the violent change, and Alex did the same. “What the-” Alex was cut off by the sound of gunfire. You were still blinded, and were too busy worrying about the recruits to memorize the layout of the boxes strewn about. Alex, on the other hand, was much more fortunate. Like always, she had everything down to a science. As soon as she heard the gunfire she was safe behind a cluster of metal barrels, never once having to open her eyes. She reached up to you, and pulled you safely down next to her.

As soon as you rested your back against the metal, your eyes adjusted, and your knives were in your hands. Bullets collided with the side of the barrel, grazing the metal and sending small sparks flying into the air. You looked to a stack of scrap metal, that was a risky ten feet away from where you were know, but going there would allow you to get close enough to charge and engage in hand to hand combat, in which, you had an advantage thanks to your knives. Alex gives you a nod, to acknowledge your idea. You duck down under the line of fire, and sprint to the metal. Before you knew it, you were safe, and closer to the threat. As you moved, you looked to the origin of the gunshots. “I spot four agents, all armed with semi-automatic rifles!” you shout to Alex.

“Alright! I’ll take the two nearest me!” she shouts back, holding her pistol tightly against her chest.

She poked her head and arms up above the barrels, and fired three quick shots, downing the two agents in question. The others, closer to you, focused their fire towards her, and she ducked down under the barrels again.

Noticing the opportunity, you ran out from behind your cover, and flipped your knives over, their blades pointing directly at the agent closest to you. By the time he noticed you advancing, it was too late. He fell to the floor, unconscious from the blow you dealt him. Using the hilt of your knife as a bludgeon. You moved from him, to his partner, who was aiming his rifle directly at you. Before he could fire, your knife sliced open the skin of his hand, which caused him to drop his gun. You kicked him in the ribs, and then in the head, to ensure he was out.

“Clear!” you shouted to Alex, who you heard rise up from behind cover. “I think I got them all. Must’ve been an extra guard detail. Still doesn’t explain what killed the recruits though, because four men couldn't take them out.” You said, confused.

“(Y/N) MOVE” You heard Alex scream. Your head whipped around to her, only for your gaze to be met by a massive man, easily a foot taller than you, standing within arms length. How didn’t I hear him??? You thought to yourself. You raised your knives, ready to react, when he lunged at you. There was a massive glowing green sword in his hand, likely the weapon you were sent to destroy, and, before you could move out of the way, It sunk deep into your abdomen, right above your left hip. You cried out in pain, Going limp against the blade. It ripped through your stomach, causing immense agony to ripple through your body. You felt blood begin to seep out from around it. The man released his grip on the handle, satisfied. You heard five responding shots, fired from Alex’s direction. The man collapsed in front of you, littered with bullet holes. You looked up from your stomach, hands gripping the blade protruding from your body, to Alex. She gasped, seeing your wound, and rushed over to you just soon enough to catch you as you fell weakly to the ground.

She set you down carefully and became panicked when she saw how bad it was. “(Y/N) IS DOWN. I REPEAT, (Y/N) IS DOWN!) she screamed frantically over the comms. “SOMEONE GET KARA HERE” she screamed through tears. “It's going to be okay, baby, everything will be okay.” She said softly to you, as your face paled, and your eyes lost focus. You could feel the cold ground grow warm as your blood pooled underneath you. You knew you were losing too much blood. That you might not make it. You swallowed dryly.

“I’m not doing so good, huh?” you asked weakly.

“No, no you’re not, but everything will be okay, I promise. I can't lose you.” Alex said, as she pulled your limp body into her arms. The world went dark as you heard her whisper into your hair: “I can’t lose you.”

Your eyes fluttered open. As they came into focus you realize you recognized the ceiling. You were in the med bay at DEO headquarters. You tried to sit up, only to gasp and cry out in pain, clutching at your side. Tears well up in your eyes, and you glance down to the source of your pain, and see a long line of red begin to blossom across a bandage that was wrapped around the length of your abdomen. There was a stirring sound next to you as Alex woke up, apparently having never left your side. “Oh thank god.” she says, shooting up to pull you into a hug. You winced slightly at the movement, and she released you with whispered “Sorry”s.

“It’s been five days. I thought you’d never wake up.” she says, choking back tears, as her hand gripped yours.

“I’m tougher than I look babe.” you say with a smile and a groan as you shuffled to get comfortable with where you were laying.

“I know- I know.” she responded back. “You really scared me back there.”

“Won’t happen again, I promise”

“It better not. Oh, and I’m not leaving your side until you’re healed.” She said sternly as she tightened her grip on your hand.

“Fine by me” you responded with a smile.

Alex leans over and presses a much-needed kiss to your lips. It was soft, and full of tenderness and care. You sighed into it, you missed the feeling.

When she sat back down, you looked to her, a smile on your lips, and on hers.

“You know-” she said with a raise of her eyebrows. “I always told you I didn’t like knives.”

You laughed as whole-heartedly as you could (without hurting yourself).

“I know babe, I know.” you said quietly as you felt her thumb caress the back of your hand. Everything was okay again.

#Alex Danvers Imagine #Alex Danvers #Alex danvers x reader #Danvers x reader #Angst #Supergirl #Supergirl fic #Supergirl x reader #supergirl fanfiction #Alex danvers fic #repost

[malucy31]

Time in On Our Side

Here's chapter 2 a day earlier 😊

cw: nothing too heavy, but this version of Magnus isn't the happiest version of Magnus...

Chapter 2/3 - Times of joy, times of sadness

Read on ao3: chapter 1 - chapter 2

They talk and the weight of the centuries separating them evaporates.

Magnus tells Alec stories he has already heard, minus some details that make him wonder if his warlock husband didn’t invent them. He hopes he will remember everything so he can tease him a little when he gets home.

A twinge of sadness takes hold of Alec whenever he realizes that Magnus isn’t trying to find out more about him. His Magnus would. Danger be damned, he would try. He would have a lot of reasons to after all. Curiosity, suspicion, or simple intuition. Magnus’s magic never lies, and Alec knows he felt something. It must be gnawing at him.

But this Magnus doesn’t even bring up the subject. It would be fine if Alec couldn’t detect resignation underneath it. Now that he feels awake and perfectly healed, he can see it as brightly as the Sun on a clear blue sky. This Magnus is sad. The spark of joy and life that Alec is so used to seeing in him has been smothered. It sparkles every now and then, when he brings up the kinds of subjects and anecdotes he knows Magnus loves. But the moment the conversation dies down, a heaviness falls on the small kitchen like a lid. The only times his Magnus was like that are times Alec would rather not think about.

He takes a sip of wine, wincing at the sour taste a bit more than he normally would. It makes Magnus huff a laugh and the lid vanishes. Small victories and all…

It’s when Magnus gets up to check on his sandalwood blend that Alec looks around and notices something that makes his stomach drop. There are no windows in the living room. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen any window outside the small room adjacent to the apothecary and the kitchen.

This is very unlike Magnus. Magnus loves natural light. Their loft has floor to ceiling windows everywhere. On a whim, Magnus sometimes redecorates the whole place and replaces walls with windows just because the light is incredible. Alec has seen Magnus lie in the sun for hours when he is having a bad day, or when he has exhausted himself with a spell.

Having no windows makes no sense. Why would he want to avoid the Sun?

Magnus’s voice snaps Alec from his thoughts. “I’m still missing an ingredient.”

He watches him sit down across the table again, taking his napkin back on his lap and reaching for his glass of wine.

“I swear, I will find it.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Alec sends him back his smile, adding something about how much he loves the scent of sandalwood, but Magnus must feel that something has shifted in Alec’s stare because he sets down his glass with caution, scrutinizing Alec the way he must be doing too.

“What is it?” Magnus eventually asks.

Alec is about to say something about the windows when something else catches his attention. He would slap himself for not seeing it earlier, but he is so used to seeing his Magnus underneath any kind of armor the warlock owns that he doesn’t always pay attention to what lies on the surface. Even today, Alec still reads between the lines, still sees Magnus’s kindred soul and open heart, the tenderness in his gaze. He still sees the most generous and beautiful man he has ever met.

But how could he not notice the obvious thicker black eyeliner? The way it enhances the dark hazelnut brown of Magnus’s eyes a little more than usual? A little differently? There isn’t a single round edge about him. His hair is spiked and even his jewelry seems to be part of a shield. I dare you to come close and find any weakness, it says. Even if there is something a little different about it today, the basic lines remain. Show them what they expect. Don’t be too much.

Alec is suddenly overcome by the need to protect him, to be the shield between him and people who can’t fathom that there’s no such thing as too much when it comes to Magnus. He just is, plain and simple.

If they were home, Alec would run a hot bath for his tired husband and kiss words of reassurance and love on his skin, remove his makeup with careful gestures until it’s just them. No armor, no one else. Only them and the walls they built around their life.

But he isn’t home, and neither is Magnus.

Alec’s chest tightens when he puts two and two together. He doesn’t know everything about Magnus’s life, but he knows enough to understand what is happening. Magnus needs protection for the same reason he has no windows outside from the rooms where he spends his time, his safe haven.

He is entering a battle that will last a few centuries, and he probably already knows it.

This battle has a name that, to this very day, makes Alec’s muscles stiffen, calls out his soldier reflexes.

Camille.

Alec doesn’t ask about the windows. He doesn’t need to.

Magnus will never open up to a stranger about this anyway, no matter how easy the conversation is. Even if he did, Alec will be gone in a few days and what good will it have done? The thought sends him into a downward spiral. He knows what is ahead of Magnus. Centuries of abuse, of loneliness, self-hatred, and despair.

This Magnus doesn’t need to be forced to open up by someone who will disappear from his life. He needs something strong enough that he can hold on to. He needs hope.

And Alec has an idea.

“I was thinking of a way to repay you for healing me and welcoming me into your home, but I don’t have any money… So, what about a small clue about who I am? Something harmless.”

“Please, do tell!”

Magnus’s eyes sparkle, and Alec is almost certain he can see his golden irises flickering for a second. There, trapped in the brown glamor that is supposed to make him presentable, a hint of gold. A hint of his aching soul searching for an escape, looking to this stranger for an answer to a question Magnus has been asking for centuries.

A pang in Alec’s stomach echoes that ache, the want and need to give Magnus everything he has ever wished. In times of joy as well as sadness, said their wedding vows. No matter the version of them, Alec will always give Magnus all his love.

“What you felt in me, what made my body accept your magic and kept you out at the same time. It’s magic.” Alec pauses for a second, considering exactly how much he can say without raising any suspicion in Magnus’s mind. His idea sounds too bold now. He could lie, invent something about being some kind of warlock, but he can’t. Not when Magnus’s eyes are begging for something, anything, as long as it’s different. The words are out before his brain has time to process them.

“It’s my husband’s magic.”

Magnus’s eyes widen and Alec is glad he didn’t backpaddle.

“Your… Your husband?” He pronounces the word with such delicacy that Alec’s heart breaks.

“Yeah, my husband.”

“H… How?” His voice is almost a whisper, his smile full of centuries-old, dried tears and smothered dreams.

Alec fights hard against the reflex to sit closer to him, take him in his arms, never let go.

“Where are you from?” Magnus asks.

“Far away.”

“You don’t say… You seem…suspended in time, like you… I couldn’t even find the words.” Magnus lowers his gaze, shaking his head and quickly trying to erase all trace of emotion on his face. But it doesn’t fool Alec. Longing is already coloring his tone. “I won’t know more, will I?”

Alec is about to apologize again when Magnus raises a hand between them. “You know what? It’s okay. Like I said, there is clearly something unique about you, and I wouldn’t want to put you or your husband in danger by knowing too much. But thank you for trusting me with this.”

Alec doesn’t know how to respond to that. There are too many things he could say and none of them would make sense to Magnus, so he nods, smiling.

“There’s one more thing I would like to know about you, though.”

“What is it?”

“Your name. You haven’t told me.”

“Oh, Gideon. I’m Gideon.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Gideon. I’m Magnus.”

Alec can feel giddiness forming on his lips. How many people get to relive a first introduction?

When the conversation resumes, Alec can’t help noticing a difference in the way Magnus holds himself and speaks. Less guarded, more himself. It sparks something in Alec’s stomach, a need to be home already, an urge stronger than he has felt in the past month and a half. He can’t wait to be home, can’t wait to hold his husband in his arms and have living proof that Magnus did overcome everything, that Camille is a long-forgotten nightmare.

Neither of them realizes how late it is until Magnus has to conjure up some light in the form of tiny bulbs floating above them. The light they cast reminds Alec of home again, of improvised date nights in the middle of nowhere, of late dinners when they refuse to go to bed before the other one has returned. It makes it even harder to pronounce his next words.

“It’s late, I should… I should get back,” Alec says, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Where are you staying? Let me walk you back. The streets aren’t safe at night.”

Alec is about to decline when he realizes that he has no idea how to go back, no cell phone to help, and that Magnus hasn’t invented portals yet.

“If that’s not too much trouble, I’d like that.”

“No trouble at all, but before you go, let me give you something in return of this lovely night.”

“Magnus, you don’t—”

He snaps his fingers, and a small pouch appears in his hand, the scent already tickling the corners of Alec’s mouth. Sandalwood. “Since you liked the scent… It’s not exactly what I want it to be yet, but maybe you and your husband will find the missing ingredient. You’ll have to let me know if you do.”

Magnus adds a wink as he hands the pouch to Alec in a way that reminds him of his own Magnus. It feels so good that Alec lets his grin grow wider than he has in a month and a half.

“Thank you. I’ll… I’ll let you know if we find something, but I’m sure you have the solution around here.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but he can’t help it. He knows what ingredient is missing, it’s actually right there on the table, and he doesn’t always get the chance to tease Magnus.

For the first time since Alec woke up, he recognizes Magnus’s smile. It’s a smile that ends in a very soft laugh, the one that modifies his voice a little and makes him sound like a young man with no burden on his shoulders, no heaviness on his heart. It’s beautiful. He is beautiful.

Alec misses him so much.

*

He knows he can’t bring Magnus to the Shadowhunters’ lair, so when he recognizes the streets, he comes to a halt and stops in front of an inn.

“This is it… Thank you for everything. I… I really wish I could give you more to thank you.”

The moonlight accentuates Magnus’s soft features, but it also accentuates the ache in his eyes. Alec didn’t know he could want to take him in his arms even more than he has for the last month.

“You already did, Gideon.” He smiles, but sadness lingers at the edges of his lips. “Hope is a rare and valuable thing. It’s usually fleeting, but yours… There’s something about you, you radiate joy, hope and freedom. You let me have a glimpse and dare I say, a taste of it. It was an honor to meet you. I wish I could meet your husband too. Maybe someday?”

“Maybe, yeah…”

“In the meantime, tell him Magnus Bane sends him his best regards, will you?”

“I will.” Alec knows he has been reduced to monosyllabic words, but he can’t do more in this instant. His voice is choking with emotions.

“Thank you. I needed this, I needed to meet you, more than you know… Good-bye, Gideon. Travel safely, and I hope we’ll meet again sometime.”

There’s a lot Alec would like to reply, but no words could ever convey the depth and extent of all his feelings, not in this time or place. There is no space here for their love. There can’t be. Magnus doesn’t give him the time to say anything. He is already walking backwards, and that’s probably for the best.

“I hope so too. Good-bye…” Magnus stays trapped in his throat as he watches him walk away. He can’t shake the feeling that he didn’t give him enough. He shouldn’t have let him go before there was only joy on his face, in his eyes… Alec almost calls him back, but he can’t. Not for another two or three centuries at least. This had to be enough.

#malec #malec fic #malec fanfiction #my writing #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #magnus bane #time travel #hurt/comfort

[ficforce]

Little Wound Part 2

Joker/52 x Little Lady Reader SFWish Mentions of abuse and non-con

“What are you doing?” Joker threw a glance over his shoulder to Licht and gave a small shrug, The scientist hadn’t visited him for well over a month and a half, “I thought you just wanted to lay in bed all day, now you’re building furniture - why?” “Because flat pack furniture is easier to move through The Nether than already built pieces.” Licht rolled his eyes and entered the room that used to be where they stored random finds, “I know why you’re having to build it from scratch, I meant, why are you doing it in the first place?” Tightening a screw on the metal frame of the double bed and then picking up a vacuum-sealed bag, Joker heaved a sigh at the scientist, “Because,” he threw the bag on top of the frame and cut it open so that the mattress inside could grow, “You said, ‘Get up and do something’.” “I meant to fight the bad guys, investigate Ameratsu, go stalk the kusakabe kid… Not make a better bedroom to lay around in…” He was trying to keep his tone amicable but he really wanted to blow the long-haired man up with some faulty concoction. The room wasn’t at all how Licht would expect Joker to like it, the steel walls had been sprayed a soft colour, the steel ceiling was white, the usual bare bulb now sported a nice lampshade that matched the… “Did… did you lay a carpet?” Joker smiled proudly, “Yeah, so take your damn shoes off.” It hadn’t been easy for him to set up, what was essentially a steel box like most of the manmade hideaways in The Nether, into something that looked like it belonged on the surface in a regular house. “I’m going to get a wardrobe built, a chest of drawers, gonna have a dressing table too. Later I’ll grab some bedding and what do you think of a bedside table with a lamp?” “I think you’ve finally lost it.” This time he did frown and his voice dropped, he couldn’t hide how disappointed he was that Joker wasn’t taking the truth seriously anymore.

He wasn’t blind and Joker lit up a new cigarette, sitting down on the bed to rest his aching body, “It’s for Y/N, Licht. For when I rescue her.” Licht was quiet for a moment, staring at Joker and then at the room and the work going into it, “I think you’ll need help stealing more electric and diverting clean water pipes to make a little bathroom.” x - - When Y/N opened her eyes and she saw a ceiling above her and a lamp on a little table beside the bed she was on, she was confused. She sat up slowly, looking all around her to take in the bedroom she appeared to be in and when she looked down at herself she wasn’t in the shapeless, white uniform of the shadows but in pair of clean pyjamas. The last thing she remembered was fighting with a man with mismatched eyes and then the world morphing and changing as something made her think she’d finally gone mad. Then… “Fuck!” Her eyes widened and Y/N looked around the room harder than before, she stumbled out of the bed and hit the main light switch to disperse all the dark corners of the room. She was alone. Opening one of the two doors she found a tiny room containing a toilet, the smallest sink in the world and a shower. There was an artificial mirror stuck to the wall, she wouldn’t be able to smash it for shards to use as a weapon, a shelf with a few cosmetics she recognised from her time at Company 3 and a towel hanging neatly on a hook - no rail for her to use as a weapon either. Heading for the second door, Y/N wasn’t surprised to find it locked. This was a prison made to look like a cosy room. What was Joker up to? Was he going to lull her into thinking she was safe and then kill her - it was hardly any different from what she had done to him… would he try to humiliate her too? Not a day had gone by where she hadn’t thought of his pleading eye and the way he had reached for her; how he hadn’t stopped even after she had poured her drink over him as he lay there helpless. And now he was back. He had killed the Captain and taken her as his prisoner. Y/N hid beneath the bed, it was obvious he could find her there but as she balled herself up as small as she could go, the tiny space was somehow comforting, despite her claustrophobia beginning to act up and telling her to get out into the open. A scared gasp left her lips and she shoved a shaking hand against her mouth to muffle the onslaught of panicked sounds trying to force their way out. What was he going to do? Was he going to torture her? Cut her? Strangle her? Whip her? Would he… no, this was Joker… but then she had betrayed him. The thought of going through more torture was more than she could stand. The captain had continued to hurt her even after she completed her mission, he had beat her and whipped her and he had continued to defile her at every opportunity. He told her it was for her own good, that he was making her stronger. Sometimes suffering was just suffering. It didn’t make her stronger, it didn’t build her character… it had only hurt. So maybe if she could find that kind part of Joker, the one he had let her see, she could convince him to just kill her quickly. Y/N had wanted the pain to stop and the Captain had told her that the only way she would ever truly be one of them was to get rid of the original Five-Two, until then she would always be a spare card.

Her teeth began to chatter as she hugged herself tighter and her eyes stayed glued to the door. Unable to tell if it was night or day or even how long she had hidden for, Y/N fell into an exhausted half-sleep.

When they opened again she was back in the bed, the small lamp dimly lighting the room as it had before, only this time there was a tall figure sat at the dressing table with his back to her. Y/N felt her body move before her mind could register it, she scrambled into the corn of the bed, the blanket tangled around her legs and heard shaped pillows tumbled to the floor in her rush. The movement made Joker turn around to face her, he figured if he stayed sat she might not freak out too much, “Hey, it’s alright, Little Lady. I swear I’m not gonna hurt you.” He doubted she would believe him. “I don’t believe you.” See? He gave a little sigh, “I don’t blame you. I get it - I was in that same shitty situation. That green-eyed bastard used to beat me to a bloody pulp, he got worse the older we got. He beat me, got into my head, whipped me down to the muscle and on the odd occasion he was feeling a little randy, he’d fuck me too.” He’d been the one to change her out of her old uniform and clean her up, Joker had seen old scars and marks he vaguely remembered from their time together but he had also seen the new marks and scars - she’d really been through hell. “If I had been in your place, I would have done the same thing… I don’t think I would have been kind enough to leave you unfinished though.” He saw her flinch and he gave her a small grin, “But nice job on recognising you couldn’t take me head-on, gaining my trust and stealthily attempting murder like that - that was impressive!”

She had so many opportunities to kill him before that night. Like the times he would fall asleep beside her and be completely vulnerable. That had been one of the things that plagued his mind the last year but also gave him a scrap of hope; she hadn’t even finished him off and that had allowed him the chance to survive. The Shadows would have taught her to always make sure the target was dead before leaving… maybe she had wanted to give him that chance to survive. “Let’s just talk about it, Little Lady,” the man stood up from the chair and took a step toward her, “You said talking was how normal people do thi- Y/N? Wait, hey, it’s oka-” Joker stopped and lifted his hands in surrender as she got off of the bed to run into the bathroom, slamming the door after her. Leaning against the door he called through to her, “Y/N, Little Lady…” she didn’t reply and he heaved out a loud sigh; he had known this would be hard. “Don’t be scared of me, I forgive you.” He had forgiven her the moment he had felt the knife in his body. “I just want to help…” From the other side of the door he heard her begin to vomit and he opened the door, he had guessed she would try to lock it so made sure it wasn’t an option, “I’m going to touch you.” Joker wasn’t asking if he could, he was informing her so that she might not react too badly. He placed his open palm on the middle of her back and stroked up and down until she stopped being sick, the retching sounded painful and it was hardly a surprise because it must have been a while since she had eaten - she’d been there for less than forty-eight hours already. “Okay, let’s get you back to bed.”

“No!” Y/N’s reaction was almost violent as she threw herself away from him in the tiny space and he winced at the force that her body hit the wall, it was enough to shake the shelf above. He watched her breathing become rapid and shallow, her chest heaving and a cold sweat had started to break over her brow. She was beyond terrified. Joker gave her a little space, wary of the wildness in her eyes, “You’re scared this is all a lie and that I’m going to do worse to you than the Captain did. I get that, I know you won’t believe a word I say and I know that if I let you leave here then you’ll either get yourself killed or do it by your own hand. So you either stay here and be scared or let the Stockholm Syndrome start to kick in.” How was he still so bad at people-ing? Did he even register what he was saying half the time? Y/N was half tempted to yell at him for being so stupid but she didn’t have the energy. Instead, she huddled up and hid her face again, “I did everything the Captain told me to… he just kept pushing and pushing and pushing me until I fucked up.” The words were muffled and her breathing was still too fast but Joker understood her just fine, he noticed her nails biting into her skin and without thinking her reached for her wrists to stop her. The action made her scream so loud that couldn’t avoid wincing as it shredded his ears; he didn’t let go even as she struggled and thrashed in his hold. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you but you’re hurting yourself,” Despite knowing it was probably the wrong thing to do, Joker dragged her to him, he let her wrists go and her nails soon found their way into his clothed arms and even into his hair as she tried to escape the forced embrace. It was better to attack him than herself he supposed. “Listen,” he said as firmly as he could to make her understand he was serious, “He was a bastard. A sick, twisted, son of a bitch, who thought he had the right to take what he wanted, that he could punish and treat people however he wanted and tell them it was their fault. He didn’t teach you a damn thing, his lessons were just his excuse for raping you. For making you think you deserved to be violated and defiled.” Y/N froze completely at his words, “He did the same fucking thing to me, from the time he was old enough to get an erection to the time I ran away. If I had thought for a second that killing just one person, no matter who that person was, that it would save my ass for even just one time - I would have fucking done it. Man, woman or fucking child.” He could hear her still struggling to breathe properly but it was enough for him that she wasn’t fighting him anymore, “He’s fucking dead, Y/N. I sliced him up into pieces and now the rats are chewing on what’s left.”

Y/N’s grip in his hair didn’t loosen and he had to twist his head a little to relieve the pressure on his scalp, “He’s dead?” “Dead.” “Then why… why can I still… why is he still in-“

“In your head?” he murmured, “Yeah, he was in mine too - drove me kinda mad.” Finally, she seemed to be able to take a deep breath and her urge to fight him was replaced with a trembling that seemed to go through every nerve and limb. The man loosened his hold a little, giving her the chance to get away if she wanted; to his surprise she stayed in his embrace, her fingers unlatching from his hair as she slowly dropped them to his shoulders and put her face into his neck.“I know you’re scared and I know you can’t trust me yet… But listen up, I promise I’ll let you feel the warmth of the sun again.”

#joker/52 #reader #fire force #non con mention #enen no shouboutai #enn enn no shouboutai #garth ennis

[julietnterein]

•| Violacea I. chp. 9 |•

I was sitting at the large sofa in the living room, enjoying the silence when all the others were somewhere else, doing their own business. I felt for the first time like I actually belonged there. A book was sitting in my lap, which Pietro bought me as he tought I mind need some catching up.

„Yo, yo, yo!” Yelled the Devil himself as he run through the long hallways for one second and the other was already sitting next to me on the sofa. „I've had an idea!”

I sight quietly, saying goodbye to the comfort of the silence and closed the book.

Pietro gaved me a proud smile, when I started giving him the attention he wanted. And then he pulled a lightbulb out of somewhere.

„Uhm… What is that?” I look at him, more than confused.

„You are gonna train with this.” He says, with a smile on his face.

„I don't think that's a good idea.” I shake my head a little.

„I trust you.” He hands me the light bulb.

„That's really nice, but it's not really me who you need to trust.” I tried to pull out from his plan. „My powers could blow the whole Tower up if they wanted to. And I already cost this place too much damage.” I tried to gave him the lightbulb back.

„Yea.” He nods. „And you will probably cost it even more, if you won't start to control them.” He chuckles as he hands me the lightbulb once again.

„I'm not even sure how my powers actually work, Pietro.”

„And that's why we are doing this. C'mon… Just this once, we can always stop.” He tries to put on some kind of puppy eyes that is more scary than cute.

„Fine, jesus.” i shake my hand and takes the lightbulb between my fingers.

„You should try to light it up.” He thinks out loud.

„Really? I thought I should smash it over your head. Thank you, Sherlock.” I look at him.

„Sorry, for trying to be a good mentor.” He snorts.

I look at the lightbulb and actually tries to focus on it, but all I can focus on is Pietro's face slowly tilting closer to my face. „What about some space?” I look at him, but before I say something else, he is already sitting at the other end of the sofa.

With a sight I look at the lightbulb, trying to light up or something, to make him at least a little happy. But all I can think of is that my powers always showed to the party when I was at some kind of emotional peak, but right I felt like I was the calmest person alive. Anyway these emotions were always really strong and how am I even bring up my powers without them?

I take in a deep breath and I close my eyes. I can hear the quiet humming of the lights above my head. Okay, I can try and take some power of these and run it through the lightbulb in my hand. I frown my eyebrow as I focus even more on the humming, when suddenly I hear the loud buzzing of the elevator, and then there is the noise and murmur of Tony's radio in his lab, two stories down. And the loud buzz powering the hairdryer in someone's room.

I take in a quick breath and open my eyes, alarmed what I just experienced.

„What?” Asks Pietro quickly.

„I just…”

„What is it?”

„I heard Tony's radio and-... and the hairdryer.” I point my finger behind the kitchen, where is the hallway that leads towards all the rooms.

Pietro stands up and quickly runs to the rooms and a second later he's back again. „Wanda is blowing out her hair.” He says surprised. „What else did you heard?”

„The elevator.”

„What? There is no sound of the elevator.” He shakes his head, disagreeing.

„I heard the electricity, powering it.” I found myself saying, clearing my own thoughts.

„Oh...my… god! That's really cool!” He yells out. „Much cooler than you lighting it up the lightbulb.” He says with excitment. „So you can use the electricity as a weapon, which you basically suck out, out of everything around you and now you can listen through it?! That's much cooler than me! How come I have the lamest power?„ He realizes and really looks offended.

„That's probably because I'm the oldest.” I stick out my tongue at him and stands up to head to my room, I have to hold myself steady at first, as I'm still not used to my new legs.

„The last month it was me who was the oldest.” He mumbles under his breath. „But you haven't lighten up the lightbulb yet.” A blue flash appears in front of my eyes as I found myself sitting at the sofa again.

I'm not even trying to fight him anymore as I take the lightbulb back between my fingers. I focus really hard, but not even after five minutes when is still nothing happening I want to give up.

„Maybe try to… get angry?”

I look at him, really annoyed, like I'm that good to get angry just because he wants me to. Well, what else could get me angry? There was plenty of it, but it all felt far away and blurred. The only think I can think of is Katherine. I look at all the moments we had together a lot, and I just pity myself and think how stupid I was not to see through her lies. And I really wish I blowed her up the night when I discovered her powers, I should have blown her through the window for her lying to me my whole life.

The lightbulb starts to flicker in my hand before it starts shining. I felt this weird warm feeling dancing on the tips of my fingertips.

„You could have light yourself a lightbulb back then as well, instead of blowing me up  through the glass-wall.” Says voice behind my back. And with that voice the lightbulb snaps into pieces under the supply of sudden energy that shaked my whole body and into the lightbulb in my fingers.

„Crap.” I swear out loud as the shatters fall into my lap.

I look around at Natasha, this is her first time being out of the hospital wing and our first encounter face to face since the accident. She can feel me starring so she just looks at me with one eyebrow up and then without another word and with a cast on her broken arm she leaves us to whatever we are going to be up to now.

„She still seemed pretty mad, what do you think?” I ask Pietro.

„Honestly no idea, sometimes I'm really scared to look her in the eyes.” He says quietly. „But I mean you broke her arm, I wouldn't be surprised if she was.” He shrugs and continues to act like my mentor again.

The very same afternoon, Tony almost festively, tells me that he decided to give me my own room at the same level like the rest of the Avengers and also access to almost the whole areas around the Tower, so I don't always need someone around to ask Friday for me to open the lab door or something.

So now I have pretty spacious room, with really good view and the bed here is enormous. I lay down on the bed and with my palms slides over the soft duvets. But before I even have time to get anymore comfortable in my room, there is knock on my door.

„Miss Maximoff is behind the door, does she have access to open the door?” Asks me Friday.

Whoa, I can tell who can go in my room and who cannot, that's definitely good way how to avoid Pietro sneaking into my room and pranking me out or something. I wouldn't be surprised if this thing was installed after someone pranking Tony out.

„Yea, of course. Access allowed, please let her in.”

Wanda stands behind the door with a cute pile of clothes folded in her hands. She hasn't talked to me since she was told we shared the same womb.

„Hey.” She says out finally. „I feel like we set it out on the wrong foot so-....”

„Yeah, you tried to slice my throat open with a scalpel.” I interrupts her.

„And I'm sorry.” She chokes out nervously. „I really am. That's why I wanted to do something nice so I brought you some close… I thought you might wanna get into something better than the old stuff Tony lent you. Those are mine, but I don't wear them that much and I thought you might like them better.” She smiles as she sets the pile slowly at my bed next to me.

„Oh...I...Thank you.” I give her same nervous smile.

„I'm really sorry. This has to be really weird and hard for you and I definitely did not make it easier for you with my behaviour,... I guess… I didn't thought I would get a new sibling right now.” She chuckles nervously.

„Yeah, you tell me.”

„I'm really sorry… About the scalpel and stuff… Well, I will give you some space to set yourself in your new room.” She steps back to the frame of the door.

„Wanda?”

„Hm?” She turns around.

„Thanks for the clothes.” I smile at her and she gives me one more smile as well.

„No problem.”

Chp. 10

TAG LIST:

@littlegasps @multi-images

#violacea #Avengers #avengers x oc #avengers x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandamaximoff x oc #pietro maximoff x reader #wandamaximoff x sibling!oc #pietro maximoff x oc #pietro maximoff x sibling!oc #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x oc #tony stark x reader #tony stark x oc #bruce banner x oc #bruce banner x reader

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.13

Olympus, The Tower and Other Off-Limits Places to Find Gods at

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 4280

Summary: Getting an appointment with Captain America isn’t exactly easy – especially when one looks like his deceased soulmate and his friends are very protective of his fragile heart. 

Warnings: mentions of violence, guns, amnesia, swearing, ‘science’

Story masterlist

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Hadn’t you had your nerves wrecked, you would have laughed your ass off when entering the Avengers Tower, the supposed residence of superheroes (besides other things, apparently).

The face of the receptionist upon your entrance was simply priceless.

You wished someone took a picture. Then again, her gaping lasted long enough for your trio to cross the better part of the lobby to her desk, her eyes nearly bulging still as you stopped in front of her, so you had enough time to feast your eyes – only to find yourself unable to indulge it fully. Clearly, you weren’t a diva type of person.

The woman behind the counter couldn’t form words, apparently. Neither were you, the lump in your throat simply too big. So it was left to the brothers.

“Yeah, we know what you want to say. She gets that a lot,” Dean announced brilliantly, smirking. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s behaviour and hurried to talk to the poor woman instead of him.

“Is there any chance we could talk to Captain Rogers?”

The receptionist gulped, clearly uncertain how to proceed. She frantically searched her desk as if she had some note to tell her what to do. In the end, she looked up back at you, blinking.

“I-I’ll see what I can do,” she stuttered as her shaking hands found a button to press and adjust the microphone on her headset. “There’s… there is a woman to see Captain Rogers.”

Low and very much annoyed female voice replied through the loose headphones.

“There are too many women to see Rogers these days. Why are you calling instead of following the protocol?”

The receptionist’s eyes never left your face, but she didn’t hold your gaze, as if shy or scared. You didn’t want to think about what it meant and prayed it was only shock showing. Seeing a supposedly dead person probably did that to people.

Also, really? Those nags whose posts (read: dirty suggestions) you had stumbled across when surfing the net actually came here?

“You might want to come see for yourself, madam.”

A short pause followed, causing your heart to nearly jump out of your chest as it hammered in anticipation.

“Fine. Send her to the conference room on the first floor, 1.03. I’ll be there in five.”

Dean sent the woman behind the counter a blinding smile and she reluctantly showed you towards the elevator. Sam had to nudge you slightly to follow; your feet felt like they had taken roots in the floor. It wasn’t just the receptionist staring now and you just wanted to turn invisible and run.

This had been a terrible idea. What happened to the Tinder one? It suddenly sounded more appealing.

The swift ride in the elevator that flipped over your stomach already floating as if was stuffed with cotton didn’t help at all.

Neither did the redhead who barged into the way too luxurious conference room (the door fucking opened itself), shooting you all three a quick glance that appeared like an assessment of weaponry (Dean did have a pocket knife, you thought, just like Sam, which probably wouldn’t help when fighting a superhero, but whatever) and froze when seeing you.

If she didn’t look so indescribably tough and badass, you would think her emerald eyes turned glassy; before they grew cold and calculating, her already tensed shoulders straightening even more.

“Who the hell are you?!” she barked out.

It was almost funny, seeing as there were two large men with you, that you had her undivided attention as if you were the threat to her.

“I… I’m not sure,” you stuttered, barely audible, your heart leaping into your throat.

Whatever she had expected you to say or do, this clearly wasn’t it. She looked gobsmacked and utterly taken aback by your response. Her stiff and delicately beautiful features twisted in a grimace of disbelief.

“What do you mean you’re not— what the hell is this?”

“You’re Black Widow,” Dean stated when the questioning look of the intimidating woman shifted to them. He looked… star-struck? You vaguely recalled reading that there was a woman on the… Avengers team. This was probably her. “Natasha Romanoff. Well, that would explain it.”

A metaphorical light-bulb flickered above your head.

Natasha. That couldn’t be coincidence, could it?

“The… the name I chose. You think it was because of her? Are we friends?”

“Are we—“ she parroted your apparently stupid question incredulously, measuring your trio from head to toe. “The name you chose? What does it even mean?”

“She’s amnesiac,” Sam enlightened her matter-of-factly, which caused her to snap her gaze back to you, eyes narrowed.

But there was a spark of something in her irises, more of an interest than suspicion now.

“Jarvis, is she wearing any tech that would disguise her voice or her face?”

Before you could question whom she was talking to, a voice with an accent answered her, making you jump.

“No, Agent Romanoff. There is no sign of a plastic surgery either.”

Sam and Dean seemed almost unfazed by an invisible person speaking up; thinking about it, they were probably used to it. But you weren’t, nearly going into a cardiac arrest.  

“Gotta love natural beauty,” Dean hummed teasingly, earning a glare from Sam that screamed hypocrite.

You suspected that the site named BustyAsianBeauties.com that popped out in the tablet’s history was Dean’s doing then and it eased the tension in your stomach for a bit. With those two, everything would be alright. Manageable, at least. The banter, it was the highlight of your days.

“And my recognition system involving body and gait analysis is finding 98% match,” the strange male voice continued and you couldn’t help but grimace.

Dude. That’s… creepy.

“Well, that’s just rude and invasive,” Dean voiced your thoughts and crossed his arms on his chest with a scolding look.

Natasha Romanoff was clearly having none of his shit as she mirrored his position. You noticed that while Dean’s arms were clutched tightly, hers weren’t. You had a funny hunch she wanted to be ready to punch someone. Namely you, Sam or Dean.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. But then her eyes shifted towards the ceiling, her teeth grinding.

“Jarvis, why didn’t you inform anyone about a woman who matches you-know-who entering this building in the first place?” she hissed and you couldn’t say you minded her irritation being aimed at someone (?) else.

“…I simply thought there was a glitch in my system. I focused on finding the glitch causing my malfunction,” the ghost-like voice replied politely, though sounding guilty.

Everything was pointing the direction of Agent Romanoff finding the system – artificial intelligence, you finally realized, which what the hell was the world anymore – very much guilty. Or someone named Stark, because you would swear she had muttered ‘Fuck Stark’s inventions’ under her breath.

“You three. Start talking. Right now.”

“You might want to explain the frauds too,” the voice chimed in again and the brothers tensed.

“What frauds?” the woman demanded in a snarl, giving you an impression of wanting to bare her teeth like and animal.

“We’ll get to that,” Sam assured her, raising his hands in attempted ‘we-mean-no-harm’ gesture. “It’s just… how we get money, because our job doesn’t exactly pay great.”

“…and the murder.”

The movement was so fast you had no chance of seeing it. All of sudden, there was a gun aimed at Dean’s face, then moving to Sam’s and flickering to you as well, as Romanoff stood two steps farer than before.

“What murder?!”

Good question, not the point at the moment. There was a murder about to happen and sure as hell didn’t like it!

This time, Dean raised his hands in surrender. You mimicked him instantly.

“Alright. Who the hell is speaking and I said it and I’ll say it again; it was a shapeshifter-”

“What the hell is a shapeshifter?” the woman barked, clicking the safety lock.

Your head started swimming, the world muffled as blood pounded in your temples. Someone had you on gunpoint.

Shit, shit, shit, how is this my life? Whose life is this?

“Cas, we could really use your help-“ Dean called out to the ceiling and nothing happened.

You heard the shot before you saw the movement on your left.  It rang in your ears, echoing in your skull and making you crouch on instinct, your arms protectively wrapping around your head.

Two more shots were fired, but no pain came.

Fear squeezed your heart, your knees getting wobbly. Did that mean Sam and Dean got shot?

A gasp from the shooter picked up your curiosity and had you peek through your improvised protection.

“Oh. I think you’ll get along with her, Dean. Same manners. Summon, shoot first, ask questions later,” a familiar voice of an angel sounded from your left and you breathed in shakily, assessing the situation.

No one was hurt. Castiel seemed offended though, so you assumed he was the one being shot at. And he was unharmed. Jesus. They had forgotten to mention that he didn’t really mind bullets, but that was not the point.

There were no other shots and you slowly straightened back as Dean scolded the angel, almost annoyed.

“Cut the sass, Cas. Could you… explain miss- Agent Romanoff that there are monsters and you’re who you are?”

By the look Castiel gave him, he wasn’t happy. You weren’t surprised – his beige trenchcoat now had three bullet holes in it, Romanoff’s gun in his hand. Speaking of which…the agent was kinda frozen? Like, literally? It was freaking creepy, but it was probably the cause of you not bleeding to death momentarily, so you were grateful.

“Again?” Castiel whined and you pushed down the urge to label them ‘married couple after 20 years’. “We work really hard to keep supernatural world a secret! … but in this case, I guess I could make an exception.”

He sighed and flicked his hand, which caused the woman to start moving again, her face raining holy fire as she found herself… unarmed and clearly out of loop.

Castiel only smiled at her, welcoming, before she could jump him and strangle him to death – she seemed to be about to do so.

“Miss Romanoff, I’m an angel of the Lord. Pleasure to meet you.”

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Agent Natasha Romanoff was sitting with her elbows leaning onto her thighs, fingers interlaced between her knees. Her face wasn’t giving away much – only that she was… overwhelmed, if you could take a guess.

She believed you, you recognized as much. After everything Castiel had told her and showed her, which included an interior thunder and lightning, illuminating his figure only to project a shadow of freaking wings on the wall behind his back, and a hovering healing hand over her left knee, clearly working its magic, you weren’t too surprised about that.

Despite all of that though, her eyes were mostly on you, making you shift uncomfortably every now and then.

“I know it’s hard to believe,“ Sam spoke up when the silence stretched; with the angel of the Lord having nothing more to say and simply flying away, disappearing with a flutter of momentarily invisible wings, no one else had seemed inclined to talk.

The agent sighed and raised her head in the giant’s direction, eyebrow crooked up.

“I know a guy who was frozen for seventy years, I met two demigods from Asgard, there’s a man turning way greener and bigger and I fought an alien army. I’m not sure what ‘hard to believe’ means anymore, but seeing an… an angel or whatever he was and him getting me rid of pain that’s been bugging me for months helped too. But… it’s still a lot to chew,” she explained matter-of-factly and you couldn’t say you didn’t agree.

Also, you weren’t quite following her speech, assuming she was talking about her colleagues. You had registered the existence of Avengers, group of people and more-than-people, when searching the net, but your main focus had been aimed at Captain America; for obvious reasons.

“Well, why don’t we let Cap decide what he wants to believe?” Dean offered, tone light, but heavier than usual. “Captain Rogers, I mean.”

The woman eyed you again, clearly struggling with something she didn’t want to share. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

Romanoff snapped to Dean at the simple question and shot him an ugly look.

“He lost his soulmate few weeks ago in the most horrifying way and there’s a woman who looks just like her, not remembering a thing about them or herself for that matter, and I don’t even have a way of being hundred percent sure she is who I think she is. What do you think?” she finished, rising to her feet in a challenge.

Sam pouted shortly, as if wanting to say that she made a good point. “Touché. But I’m pretty sure she’s her.”

The Whatever-spider-she-was-called crossed her arms on her chest, her mind clearly preoccupied, squinting at you for a moment. You winced under the strict glare, lowering your gaze. She sighed at that and when you looked up again with reluctance, you noticed her features softened.

“Would you be willing to take a DNA test?”

“I… I guess,” you replied, a lump in your throat. You clenched your fist so it would stop tremble.

You weren’t scared of their probing. A DNA sounded rather innocent. No, you were worried about the results. The results that would lead to certain encounter you were once again not feeling ready for.

“Jarvis, get Tony’s ass to Bruce’s lab and open the private elevator for us. We’re coming up.”

After another nauseating elevator ride in a cabin that had no buttons to press, a retinal scan of the woman and a sacred promise you wouldn’t touch anything without permission, you were led to a room that was less strictly clinical than you expected – you only saw glass walls separating the white part of another lab in the corner of the room.

The welcome was about as warm as with Lady Spy though.

“What the hell?!” two men cried out in unison, looking up from some sort of a robotic… thing, matching shocked and exasperated expressions on their faces.

One of them was in a lab coat, wearing seeing glasses, suntanned skin and dark curls wild around his head, while the other seemed more caring about his looks with short hair and a goatee; he was wearing a plain dark long-sleeved t-shirt and grey sweats.

“Yeah, I know,” the woman who had brought you in said, not quite elaborating. It didn’t go unnoticed by the goatee man.

“Who the fuck is that?!”

“Cap’s soulmate. Probably,” Dean responded dryly, smiling tightly.

The guy was having none of it as he probably should. Still, you winced when he threw up his arm towards you, brown fire in his eyes – partly directed at you, partly at the redhead woman. He paced towards your group rapidly.

“What? And who the hell are you? Romanoff? Who are these people? Where did you get them? Is that another stunt of yours? Is that what that Wilson therapist told you to do?”

Romanoff’s eyes narrowed, her forehead crooking. “How do you even know about- no, don’t tell me. But don’t look at me, they came on their own.”

“To this lab?” the man sassed her. She clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, okay, that’s on me.”

“You trust them enough to bring them here?” the lab-coat man spoke up for the first time and shifted his weight from one leg to another, fiddling with his fingers nervously. You would swear you saw a hint of green on the side of his neck, but it must have been a trick of light.

“Long story. Wanna run some tests?” she offered, sounding rather commanding.

The goatee man narrowed his eyes, but quickly caught up, a flash of recognition on his face. “Good plan. Want Jarvis to update the security protocols?”

“Good plan. Though I don’t think it will do any good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he hissed, while the curled-hair man hesitantly beckoned you to follow him to the white part of the laboratory. You gulped at the sight, but hoped it didn’t show on your face much.

“Thanks,” you quipped up shyly, your fingers fiddling with the loose end of your plaid shirt. “Good afternoon. Sorry for barging in and interrupting your work.”

You didn’t know what possessed you to say that – perhaps you were wishing to smoothen the messy and rather hostile situation. To be fair, you were sorry; whatever they had been doing when you stumbled in looked important.

“Just… ask Jarvis later,” you heard behind your back and then the glass doors fallen shut behind you.

The man in the glasses observed you with brilliant eyes, curiosity, a hint of anger, confusion and a spark of hope written all over his face.

“We’ll see if it’s a problem. Who are you? Why are you here?”

You slowly climbed to the examining table, waiting for instructions, not sure what exactly he was about to perform. His questions were good ones, but there was a tiny catch.

“I really wish I knew answers to at least one of these questions, sir,” you whispered honestly, the pool of chocolate in his irises softening a fraction at your admission.

“You don’t know who you are?”

The velvet of his voice, soft question and gentle movements of his hands as he prepared your arm to take your blood summoned tears to well up in your eyes and you only shook your head, not wanting for your voice to break.

“But you’re here willingly, right? These men out there – they can’t hear you, don’t worry – they didn’t force you to come here, did they?” he continued kindly, a worried crinkle on his forehead now.

You were quick to understand that he worried whether two random fellas didn’t take an advantage of your visible similarity to Captain’s soulmate.

The shook of your head was more rapid this time, especially as you noticed the green patch of skin on his neck again. You understood finally that this was whom Natasha Romanoff was talking about – ‘greener and bigger’, she had said. You didn’t want to upset him, more so with a syringe in his hand.

“No. They have been helping me from the moment I woke up with no memory. They are very kind to me. We didn’t know to come here until we walked into a café and people were staring at me.”

As you explained it quietly, you barely noticed the pinch and the vial filling with your blood. He disinfected the puncture then, wordlessly instructing you to keep the pressure on it.

“Well. We’ll see if this can help us at all,” he offered as he placed the vial to a machine you had never seen before. “But if you are, in some impossible way, the person you are scarily similar to, we’re about to have a very long chat.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The chat wasn’t long at all in fact. The machine spitted out a result within five minutes in which you had returned to the cosier laboratory to witness the trio of Sam, Dean and Romanoff explaining to the goatee man how supernatural world worked.

He appeared sceptical, but Doctor Banner – as you learned – supported the spy when she pointed out her chronic pain in her knee that she now claimed to vanish.

Mr. Stark, aka the goatee man, seemed very relieved at the ping that sounded from his computer, an excuse to pause the weird conversation. Seeing the window instantly pop out in the air in front of his face, little lights drew some kind of results you couldn’t read.

You could read the actual text though. There was your supposed name, a series of lighter and darker bands, and next to it, a tested subject (actual you) with matching set of bands.

The match: 100%.

Stark’s head snapped to you along with Romanoff’s and Banner’s. They all stared at you speechless, disbelief at something beyond their comprehension clearly on display on their faces.

You shuffled uncomfortably, your gaze falling to the floor. You could still sense Dean’s and Sam’s satisfaction as they stood by your side. You, on the other hand, felt like you couldn’t quite breathe in, your chest too heavy and constricted.

“Well,” Stark broke the ominous silence, voice with a barely audible tremble in it. “Either you’re good, like really fucking good, or… you’re actually her, which… what the hell. People don’t just come back from death.”

Yeah, no shit. Tell me about it. And they told me that people actually do.

Too sheepish and not knowing what was a proper thing to say to that (was there even such thing?), you remained in your position and quiet.

Dean was kind enough to voice your thoughts though.

“Well, all of us, including the angel Ms. Scarily Pretty and Pretty Scary here met, did. That’s our world,” he stated, moving closer to your side as if he wanted to comfort you as he sensed your discomfort. Which probably wasn’t that hard. “I’m not saying it happens every day, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t happen here and there.”

“In the end, I don’t think it matters,” Romanoff sighed and you finally found courage to look up as her words shocked you.

What did that mean?

“Why?” Stark questioned.

“Because she’s already here. They should talk.”

“Why? That’s gotta hurt like hell if nothing comes out of it, Natasha. You saw how he’s coping. Or, you know, not coping,” Banner reasoned this time and you bit your lip, glancing away at the thought of hurting your supposed soulmate.

“What he said. But I wouldn’t say ‘hell’,” Stark supported him and then added for a good measure: “I’d say ‘fuck’.”

The woman huffed exasperatedly.

“Yeah, guys, I’ve been there for the past weeks. You said it yourself, Tony, I did look for a therapist. But cut Steve some slack, he’s trying. More importantly, this can’t be a coincidence. I don’t believe in those.”

Your heart fluttered at the mention of his name and you weren’t sure you wanted to probe at why. Having the picture of him in your head, his voice caressing your ears, then pleading desperately as he had tried to save you – and there was no questioning it anymore, was there, even the DNA had confirmed you were she and she was you – made one hell of a mess of you.

As if you hadn’t been one already.

“Explain.”

“When I told her… that I might have sent Steve her way the first time, you know what she told me?” Romanoff reacted to Stark’s blunt request and all eyes shifted to you once more and you panicked.

“I have no idea what she’s talking about, I clearly didn’t!”

“Enlighten us then?” Banner sighed, tilting his head to side curiously, glancing back at the other woman in the room.

“That it was okay. That either way, it was meant to happen exactly like it happened, because why else the words would have already been on their skin? Exactly those words?”

You blinked in surprise, taken aback at how much the words resonated with you. You could hear yourself say that and it probably shouldn’t shock you since you had your identity confirmed now, but… still.

When the spy spoke the words out loud, they made perfect sense.

“Wanna go all ‘you can’t escape the fate’ on me?”

Or maybe they didn’t, you thought grimly as Stark’s voice turned sceptical.

“Well, she wasn’t wrong, was she?” the redhead opposed him dryly, raising a challenging eyebrow.

The doctor grimaced, probably wanting to say something, but not having a counterargument.  

“That’s fair. But that was different. There are no words-“

“There are. Steve… he’s got a new set of words.”

“Aha!” Sam and Dean called out in unison, pointing their index fingers to accent Romanoff’s words, once again in creepy sync.

You, on the other hand, were less confident.

“Really?” you whispered, relief washing over you like a tide wave. You hadn’t been aware of how much the possibility of everyone being wrong weighted you down until now. What were the chances Steve Rogers wasn’t your soulmate – again and still – after this revelation?

The spy only nodded, sending an approximation of a smile in your direction.

“Wait, really? Son of a bitch.” - “What does it say?” Banner asked at the same time as Stark and you bit your lip.

Should you even know that? Would they tell you? If they would, you could say them to the captain and call it a day – but that wasn’t how it worked, right?

Should you like… cover your ears?

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Romanoff sighed, solving your moral dilemma for you. You were glad, not caring whether she was making it up, because she didn’t want to tell you or whether it was the truth. “To be fair, maybe he would have done it, but I tranquillized him about thirty seconds after he told me about them, so I understand he didn’t feel like sharing after that.”

Yeah, you could see that happening. She seemed to be one for a quick and radical solutions, which tranquillizing someone – like drugging him to fall asleep, right? – definitely was.

“Fair enough,” Stark hummed and then turned to you with curiosity in his eyes. His whole stance seemed to change though upon the mention of Steve Rogers having new words. He believed you now and it caused him – just like everyone else you had met in this strange Tower – to treat you… kinder. “Do you have two sets of words?”

“I… I do.”

With a deep inhale and painfully slow exhale, you started to unbutton your shirt, revealing both of your sets of words. The shock and something indescribable in the air was almost palpable as there were no doubts left in anyone’s head.

The silence was weighting a ton and you were immensely grateful to Banner for breaking it – until you heard his words that scared you as much as they excited you.

“Yeah, they should probably talk.”

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Part 14

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The we-shall-protect-Steve-at-any-cost squad in action. Then again, it’s hard to argue with angels and scientific evidence when they team up.

Sorry it took long, glad if you waited :-* Thanks for reading!

#marvel #supernatural #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers soulmate #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #mcu #spn #marvel x supernatural #supernatural x marvel #captain america #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #sam winchester #dean winchester #team free will #crossover #soulmate au #avengers #dean winchester imagine #sam winchester imagine #mcu x spn #errare humanum est #anika ann

[concussed-to-pieces]

Whether It Works Out Or Not; Back In The Cage

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Okay I promise I swear this is the last bonus chapter until I finish the game. I swear.

[Spoiler warning for the first four chapters of the game!]

Tag List: @huliabitch​ @cookiethewriter​ @pedrosbigdorkenergy​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @anonymouscosmos​ @culturalrebel​ @karmezii​ @teaofpeach​ @crookedmoonsaultpunk​ @wrestlingfae​ @zombiexbody​ @nelba​ @scribblenotes76​ @toxiicpop​ @mstgsmy​ @misty-possum​ @gallowsjoker​ @midnightbeauty35​ @lackofhonor​ @renegademustelid​

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For allusions to character death, mentions of previous abuse, historical inaccuracies and my poorly-remembered French. Stay safe!]

She felt a bit silly in her outfit.

Of course, she didn't need to display as such. "Tastefully understated," she had said to herself in the mirror with a firm nod. It was the fawn-brown dress (admittedly, it was the only dress she currently owned), but she had scraped together the funds for some light trimmings and alterations. A flounce of lace around the hem, a small length of lovely cream ribbon at the waist. The corset, while unwanted, would be expected, practically required in polite company, and even secondhand it was by far the most expensive piece of the puzzle. After that, everything else seemed to fall into place.

Irene Carson (née Craft) arrived at the ball astride Bluster, her hair crowned with a plethora of vanilla flowers and one single spider orchid. The buttermilk buckskin had been curried to within an inch of his life, and sported a matching cluster of vanilla flowers in his mane. He behaved remarkably well given all the hubbub, not putting up any fuss when he was taken from her to be stabled for the evening.

Irene had no elaborate hat to wear, no fantastical feathered monstrosity, so she had made do with what she could find. The flowers would be out of fashion, but they would suit her understated attire a bit better. Perhaps she could be fashionably unfashionable, ahead of the curve.

"I will not be on the list, but please tell Mayor Lemieux that it is the Widow Carson." She politely informed the man with the list at the gate, doing her best to seem calm and collected.

This was a bold move in the normally-subtle social maneuvering of Saint Denis. Attempting to integrate herself back into the gentry was a risky strategy, but a recent realization had convinced her of the necessity of such a move. 

Arthur had made an excellent point. That house had sat silent for long enough. It was time for her to take what spoils she could, time for her to think of the future. Hardly fair that she should escape her dismal marriage with nothing but the clothes on her back!

Tonight would be the first step, provided she could even get past the door. 

As luck would have it, the mayor himself, Henri Lemieux, came out to verify her claim. "Irene? My dear Mrs. Carson, is it really you?" He asked, all a-fluster. "Let me look at you my dear, let me just…" The man took her by the shoulders, examining her face. "It is you! Mon dieu, Irene, we all thought you had perished! Willie assured us-"

"I am certain he went to great lengths to convince you all of the legitimacy of my death." Irene interrupted him coolly. "However, it would appear that he greatly exaggerated."

"He said you...Irene, my dear, he claimed you committed suicide. He had me thoroughly convinced! But he remarried so quickly, I…" The mayor shook his head in a disapproving manner. "I know more individuals than I alone were skeptical! Oh it is so good to see you again, my dear. Please, you are more than welcome." He offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation. "How have you been, my cheré? Your hair is so short, so fashionable! I see you have been taking cues from our sister city of Paris, ne c'est pas?" 

"Naturellement, my dear sir." Irene replied, offering him a soft smile. "I know I will look somewhat out of place in your party. Please forgive my impropriety, but when the news of Willie's passing reached me...I so longed to see you all again, I could not stay away."

"Nonsense, you have nothing to apologize for!" The mayor scolded her lightly, patting her arm. "You have returned from the dead, our very own Lazarus wreathed in flowers like a Belgian-crafted nymph! You are most welcome at our little fête, dear girl. I daresay, after whatever it was that you went through, you are quite justified in a night of revelry." His heavily-accented voice dipped to a conspiratorial tone, "and you must tell us all about your trials. I am certain you have a grand story indeed!"

"Thank you for your hospitality, my dear Mayor Lemieux. I pray that the road ahead of me is far kinder than the road I have traveled thus far."

…

And here Arthur had thought that them playing lawmen was as foolish as they could get. 

He couldn't even believe some of the stunts Dutch was willing to pull for the sake of networking or contacts. The bunch of them looked like damn circus animals in their tuxedos and white ties, and Bill in particular seemed aggressively uncomfortable. Just getting him to bathe had been a struggle. 

Arthur personally had been downright henpecked by Grimshaw and Tilly, the two of them doing their damnedest to tame his thick, unruly mane with a comb and the vestiges of some pomade. All the while Abigail alternated between telling him he would cause every woman at the ball to swoon and bemoaning his stubble. He had shaved yesterday, damn it, and he wasn't going to shave again!

Lord, they were all fools.

Hosea was the only one who seemed to be even remotely at ease, the elderly man already maneuvering his way to the balcony above the courtyard before Dutch had even managed to find Bronte so they could 'pay their respects'. Bill just followed Hosea like a lost puppy.

Arthur didn't have to understand Italian to know that Senor Bronte was insulting them right out the gate. Neither did Dutch, if the tense smile he gave Angelo while they conversed was any indication. 

Arthur was slightly entertained by the panic that flitted across the waiter's face when the larger man ended up catching his arm to use the match originally lit for Dutch's cigar. Never mind that Arthur had had to cut his own cigar with his damn teeth, he was used to doing that shit. Used to falling by the wayside in the gregarious presence of Dutch Van Der Linde. But he wasn't about to let this stuffed-shirt little cocktail carrier get away with ignoring him scot-free. An uncut cigar he could excuse, but an unlit one? That was sacrilege. 

The courtyard was teeming with people, illuminated by the soft glow from crisscrossing strands of fashionable Edison bulbs. There were so many ornate gowns, elaborate hats and stiff-necked suits, Arthur scarcely knew where to look. "Mingle, Arthur." Dutch ordered in an undertone, giving him a concealed shove from behind. "Steal nothing unless it's information."

Arthur sighed, straightened his white tie with the air of a man set before the gallows, and slowly descended into what reminded him of how educated folks would describe an active volcano. The courtyard was a maelstrom of activity, the dull roar punctuated by the mosquito-esque whine of a string quartet. God, what he would give to be out with Irene in the hills instead, listening to her play the fiddle for the wolves.

He shook his head at himself. Again with this nonsense, thinking about her every time he heard violin music. 

He gritted his teeth and approached a group of women, seizing a bottle of champagne off one of the tables as he went. Arthur Morgan was not a smart man, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that folk were more inclined to think charitably towards you if you brought them alcohol. 

"Ladies, might I offer you some champagne?" Arthur asked, knowing his speech was stilted at best as he tried to choke his drawl down. The trio of women seemed to buy it though, simpering and preening while calling him a gentleman. 

That was a lie, and Lord was it a bold one. Though, looking around at the so-called polite company, Arthur felt less like the villain that he was and more like a sheep that had wandered into a wolf's den. 

Maybe a nest of vipers would be more accurate. 

Either way, the large man wasn't used to feeling like prey. As he made his rounds slowly across the courtyard, complimenting outlandish hats and offering his input on the most recent theatre performances (which he had absolutely no clue about), Arthur experienced the distinct sensation of the noose tightening around his neck yet again. Saint Denis was far too civilized for the likes of the Van Der Linde gang. It was only a matter of time before they were rooted out, sent scampering into the night like the vermin they were or slaughtered without quarter.

Lord, this place made him long for the open country.

He bumped into Hosea and Dutch shortly after he had rescued a rail-thin man from choking to death on some peanuts, the two elders of the gang looking like they were plotting something.

"Figure anythin' out yet?" Arthur asked softly.

"Maybe, Arthur. You see that group of folks over by the fountain? That fellow with the tall top hat is the mayor himself." Dutch pointed the man out, gesturing with his cigar.

"So?" Arthur muttered. 

"So, my dear boy, ingratiating ourselves with the mayor's little band will no doubt do wonders for our credibility." 

"Dutch, if the mayor is already cozy in Bronte's pocket like we are, what's even the damn point?" Arthur queried, trying not to sound as sulky as he felt.

Dutch sighed heavily and Hosea quickly interjected, "it's not necessarily the mayor that's our target, Arthur. Rather, the group of people with him. We are attempting to make as many friends as we can, if you recall."

The large man nodded. "Shoah, I guess. You want me to mosey over and...what was the word? Ingrate myself?"

"Ingratiate Arthur, dear Lord." Dutch huffed.

"Right, yeah. Usual fake name?"

"Of course, my dear boy!" Hosea replied brightly, smiling and patting him on the back. "You may have some luck with the woman he has alongside him. From what I can gather, she's stolen the show a bit. The Widow Carson, back from the dead!" He chuckled, oblivious to the way Arthur froze. "Apparently she's returned to attempt to claim her deceased husband's money. Some nasty business, for certain."

"See if you can get into her good graces, Arthur. A wealthy benefactor could do the gang wonders." Dutch instructed absently, already back to scanning the crowds. 

"Her good--Dutch what the hell are you sayin'?!" Arthur hissed, his stomach knotting as a nasty sense of comprehension slowly dawned on him.

"Oh go on Arthur, just pour on the charm! I know you can do it." Hosea encouraged, misinterpreting the source of Arthur's discomfort. The older man gave him a gentle nudge and Arthur found himself sent on his way.

A wealthy benefactor. Was it Irene? Was Irene really here? More importantly, was Arthur shameless enough to accomplish what Dutch had requested of him?

A wealthy benefactor. His skin crawled and Arthur suddenly felt disgusting as he realized that, were it not for his suspicion that the Widow Carson was indeed Irene, he would not have any sort of particular qualms about being asked to do something like this.

Is it Irene? All he could see from his current position was Mayor Lemieux's top hat. He loitered beside a garish floral arrangement for a few moments, trying his best to get himself under control. He was Arthur Morgan, the enforcer of the Van Der Linde gang for fuck's sake! He had survived countless trials before this, surely he could manage speaking to a woman at a party!

Arthur growled under his breath, clenched his fists, and slowly approached the group by the fountain.

"-cheré, you must continue with your story! Ferdinand, stop interrupting, I beg of you!" The mayor was chiding one of the other men standing there, his voice luxuriantly heavy with a French accent. 

The other man, whose complexion was bright red (whether from drink or passion, Arthur could not yet discern), scoffed at the mayor. "Her tale is rife with inaccuracies, Henri! We knew Willie, he would never-"

"Unless you too visited him in his bedchambers, Ferdinand, I suggest you keep your observations to yourself."

Irene. Oh Lord, Irene, flowers woven into her hair like she was a damn forest spirit out of those old Greek tragedies. It was like time had stopped for Arthur as he took in every detail. God, he was startled all over again by just how much he had missed her. She was in that dress, the one she had worn in Valentine. But wonder of all wonders, she appeared to be fully-laced this evening. Arthur swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from the shapely curve of her hips. The way her corset held and molded her body into something devastating, a weapon normally concealed from him by men's clothing…

Well, he was a red-blooded American. Unfortunately right now, he had to try his damnedest to temper that particular truth about his nature.

"It ain't complex, Lemieux, and only an idiot like you, buddy, would try to make it so!" Ferdinand continued over what Irene had been saying, sloshing the liquor in his glass dangerously close to that beautiful dress. Irene's brown eyes were fairly crackling with restrained fury, color high in her cheeks as she endured being near this loathsome character. She looked magnificent. Arthur wished he could kiss her, right then and there.

"I will not deny idiocy sir, but perhaps now is not the time." The mayor tried to settle Ferdinand down by placating him, however the outspoken man didn't seem to get the hint.

"Typical pansy!"

"You are drunk, Ferdinand." Lemieux stated disapprovingly.

"I'm not drunk, you fool...but this man! This man loves damsels-"

"Ferdinand, your behavior is becoming unseemly." Irene said through clenched teeth. Arthur had a nasty feeling that he knew exactly what Ferdinand had been about to say before Irene cut him off. "Not to mention utterly irrelevant to the topic at hand. Must you constantly inflict your heinous presence upon polite company?"

"Hey hey, you are pretty drunk." Arthur chose that moment to intervene, draping his arm nonchalantly around the belligerent man's shoulders and pinning Ferdinand's arm behind his back after a momentary adjustment. "What's say you and me cool off?" He 'suggested' cheerily, strong-arming the drunkenly-protesting Ferdinand off to the gazebo at the rear of the courtyard. Giving the man a rough shove, Arthur stated (much more rationally than he felt like being at the moment), "sit down and calm down. Count to a thousand. Then, you can rejoin the party."

...

"Thank you sir!" Henri said sincerely, shaking Arthur's hand upon his triumphant return sans one loudmouth. 

"My pleasure." The tawny-haired man replied with a boyish grin. Lord, if she had thought he looked dashing before-! Irene was tempted to feign a swoon. Arthur had clearly been blessed by a trip to the tailor, of that much she was certain. The black suit coat accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist in equal measure, leaving him imposingly proportionate in a way that was incredibly tasteful. She was sorely pressed to keep her eyes from wandering, realizing vaguely that Henri was introducing himself.

"Henri Lemieux. I hope you are enjoying my party?"

"The mayor!" Arthur said with an air of surprise, as if he had not known. Irene didn't buy it for a second. Though she was grateful for his timely arrival, she had to wonder why he was here. Did Arthur Morgan have friends in high places?

"Allegedly!" Henri replied with a modest chuckle. "And you are?" 

"Tacitus Killgore, at your service." Irene blinked. That was unexpected. What an elaborate fake name, but he said it so confidently! "This is quite a place you've got here." Arthur continued the conversation, his drawl a touch off. Like he was deliberately attempting to soften it.

"It's not mine, and the city is horribly in debt, but we still can put on a good show." Henri gestured after a moment to the man on his right. "Do you know Evelyn Miller, Monsieur Killgore?"

"My Lord. The writer?" Arthur appeared legitimately awed now, shaking Mr. Miller's hand. Irene could understand that awe, Miller was a revered and respected author amongst the folk in the untamed wilderness of the new States. She herself had been simply soaking up the man's educated palaver like a sponge until Henri urged her to begin sharing her trials.

"Ah, and of course! Our unexpected but most welcome guest, Madame the Widow Irene Carson." Henri introduced her with an elaborate flourish of his hand, making her laugh. "She has been regaling us with the exciting tale of her return to life! It is fascinating to hear."

"Enchanté, Mister Killgore." Irene said, smiling and offering Arthur a quick curtsy. Again, out of fashion, and a bit difficult with the added restriction of her corset, but the quaint gesture had always been preferable to a nod as far as she was concerned. If only that bath girl hadn't been so thorough in lacing her!

Arthur bowed, took her hand and touched it to his lips chastely. "The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Carson." Her murmured, blue eyes boring into her own. Irene suddenly felt incredibly warm, despite her no-doubt constricted blood flow. "A return to life, you said? Have you been travelin' abroad then, ma'am?"

"Oh no sir, I'm afraid it's been nothing quite so delightful as that." Irene demurred. "Rather trying, in all honesty."

"Truly, it is a sordid affair. Her own husband, claiming she had perished!" Henri shook his head, looking appropriately distraught. "Ghastly. Then, Willie marrying that other woman so fast, and her turning out to be a murderer...well, it is like something from a cheap novel!"

"How awful that experience must have been for you, my lady." Arthur said softly. "Might I listen to the rest of the story, or are you weary of tellin' such a tale?"

"I'm afraid there is not overmuch left to tell, Mister Killg-"

"Please, ma'am, call me Tacitus." He insisted, his eyes bright with their secret joke. 

Irene couldn't help her smile in reply. "Of course, Tacitus. But as I was saying, there is not much to tell. I have spent most of my exile cowering in a cabin out in the mountains, shivering to death or roasting alive." She had tried so very hard to dumb down the tale, doing her best to make it seem like she was still the frail and fragile Mrs. Carson.

"It sounds like you have endured quite a bit of hardship, ma'am." Arthur's lips quirked upwards at the corner, his smile faint but still there. "It's a miracle you managed to survive! A delicate li'l thing like you, all alone out there in that dangerous wilderness." His voice dipped low enough to make her shiver. "Especially with such...reprehensible folk about these days."

Like me, his gaze seemed to say, the heat in that look reminding Irene of when he had kissed her at the stables.

"Exactly what I said, Monsieur Tacitus! Irene, you were so rash! I know that you believed you had no recourse, and I must apologize for my own complacency regarding Willie's abhorrent behavior, but surely there was another way!" The mayor scolded her.

"I am so very sorry, Henri. Next time I am kept prisoner in my own house, I'll be certain to send you a messenger pigeon." Irene retorted wryly, making Henri sputter as Arthur outright laughed. Ah, that laugh! She would have gladly borne her troubles in silence had she known such a delightful sound would someday grace her ears.

Irene was struck anew by the providence of her whole situation while she watched Arthur do his best to play at high society. She had not often been afforded the privilege to observe him, instead of the other way around. His blue eyes caught the amber light quite marvelously, his jaw shaded with stubborn stubble that gave him just the tiniest hint of wildness, of untamed danger. Enough to make him appealing to many of the women present. Irene wasn't sure if she should be flattered or concerned about the amount of time he was spending with the mayor and, by proxy, herself. 

She was growing increasingly lightheaded from the squeeze of her corset and was just about to ask Henri if she could impose upon his hospitality for a brief reprieve to adjust herself when abruptly, the butler approached to inform Mayor Lemieux that he had another phone call from the tycoon, Leviticus Cornwall. 

Henri waved the man off as fireworks began to erupt overhead. Irene, noting how Arthur watched the butler depart a touch more narrowly than one might in polite company, dared to place a hand on his arm. "Tacitus, my dear, you play your cards too openly." She whispered, her words making Arthur grimace. "May I ask you to escort me upstairs? I fear all this excitement has me feeling a bit short of breath."

…

"Tacitus-" Irene gasped his fake moniker at the top of the stairs, groping the wall for some kind of support. "I realize this is very forward of me, but I must beg for your assistance in loosening these damned--" She paused for air. "Lord, I fear I will swoon. This is so tight-"

"Okay, easy now." Arthur murmured, privately marveling at how large his hands looked on her cinched waist when he steadied her. "I gotcha', Irene. It's alright." 

She didn't appear to be exaggerating for his sake. The walk up the stairs had nearly done her in, it would seem. She was incredibly pale, and trembling slightly. He had assumed that she was just playing along for whatever reason, the two of them stalking the butler for fun or profit, but it was evident now that she had no such ulterior motives.

Arthur picked a door at random, immensely thankful that the room behind it was a parlour of sorts. Irene all but collapsed on the chaise, her fingers clumsy with the tiny buttons that ran the length of the front of her dress. Arthur rushed to assist after he made certain to lock the door, feeling a little frantic at the way Irene was wheezing for air.

"You're okay, you're okay, we'll get you loosened up." He tried to calm her (and himself), working on the next button in the line. "Front or back lacing, Irene?"

"Back." Her voice had gone pitchy. "I--she laced me very well."

"I know, shh, gimme' a minute." Arthur soothed, willing himself to relax. This wasn't any sort of terrible scenario, this was mundane compared to how his life usually was! How the hell was it that his hands were shaking more over getting a woman undressed than being shot at by the law?!

The two of them managed to peel the dress down over her shoulders far enough to let Arthur maneuver his hands in between her chemise and corset to loosen her laces. Slowly, carefully, he worked his way down, gradually slacking the binds. He didn't want to just undo the whole damn thing, that would leave her to endure the remainder of the party with her bosom unfettered and as appealing as that was to him, he knew that the gentry would tear her apart for it. 

"Any better?" He asked after a moment, relieved when she nodded. 

Then, "I didn't think you would actually help me." She admitted softly, holding her dress closed in the front. Arthur was stunned. "I assumed you were going to follow his retainer." Irene turned to look at him after a moment. "Why are you here, Arthur?"

Lord, he felt like a sinner on Judgement Day. Pinned by the weight of an angel's stare, all he could do was try to tell her the truth. "My...associates and I are...well, we need leads, Miss Irene. Senor Bronte, in exchange for our...services, cut us a deal for invitations to this ball. And uh, I suppose that's it." He said awkwardly. "I didn't expect you to be here, I figured you'd have headed for the Grizzlies by now."

Irene shrugged. "I thought long and hard about what you said during our last meeting. Me not taking everything that wasn't nailed down, that is." She squared her shoulders stiffly, trying to straighten her dress out. "I decided it was time to take back what's rightfully mine, propriety be damned."

Arthur put his hands on her shoulders, slipping the dress back down to reveal bare, freckled skin. He breathed her name, ducking his head to drop a kiss on the nape of her neck and feeling her shiver. His next words caught in his throat. How could he do something like that to her? 

A wealthy benefactor, Dutch had said, like it was an afterthought. Like she wasn't a person, but a resource. A tool.

Because that was all she would be to Dutch, Arthur realized grimly. A silly woman for them to string along, someone with deep pockets and a trusting heart. She wasn't Irene to Dutch or Hosea, she was the Widow Carson. A naive young widow, beautiful and lonely and (possibly) about to come into some significant money. The perfect target for a good old-fashioned seduction.

Lord, he had almost preferred feeling like prey earlier to this sudden cold understanding of how his companions (and even he himself, to a lesser degree) saw people like Irene. 

"You look beautiful tonight, Irene." He murmured instead. 

"Don't tease me, Arthur." Irene retorted sharply. "I am an utter mess. I look like a child playing dress up amongst all the immaculate gowns down there." She then sniffled, the noise almost too soft for him to hear. "I very nearly fainted dead away because I haven't worn one of these blasted things in almost a year! What kind of proper lady can't even endure the simplest of corsets?" 

"The kind that doesn't need one to turn every damn head in the room." Arthur said gruffly, a hand beneath her chin tilting her head back so he could see her face. Her brown eyes shone with frustrated tears. "You're beautiful, woman. Why the hell don't you believe it?"

"A majority of my marriage was punctuated by people who felt the need to inform me that I was attractive 'for my age', Arthur. I'm old, I'm nearly thirty. No man wants a wife that old. My father was hard-pressed to marry me off when I was twenty-four, can you even imagine what folk might say to a man who would court me in my thirties?" Irene shook her head despondently. "I...I don't know what I'm doing, Arthur." She confessed suddenly. "I am terrified. If I put effort into taking whatever might be left and it turns out to all be for naught, I don't know what I'll do!" Her hands twisted in her skirts. "I'll be back to where I was before." 

Arthur wasn't certain he understood what the issue was. She had seemed happy out in the wilderness. Hell, she had insisted upon her happiness. What had brought on this change, this desire for stability and financial security? He was thoroughly confused. "I don't know what to tell you, Irene." He said finally. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even brought it up." Irene apologized. "It's hardly your concern, Mister Tacitus." She tried to tease, daubing at her eyes with her sleeve and then starting to button her dress back up. "Just the worries of a silly woman whose age is catching up with her, I suppose."

Arthur caught her wrist to stop her, pressing a kiss to the inside of it like he had done so many times before. Her pulse tripped and hammered beneath his lips, galloping wildly. "Irene, you are beautiful." He sighed, his fingertips grazing her exposed collarbone when he palmed her shoulders from behind. "Everyone down there knows it. I know it. You could have your pick of fellers downstairs if that's what you're so worried about."

"It's such a fleeting thing, Arthur." She whispered. "When it is gone, if I cannot reclaim any of Willie's estate...I'll have nothing and no one."

Arthur wanted to die. He wanted to grab her shoulders and embrace her and say you'll have me, God damn it! But he knew he couldn't promise her that, as much as he wanted to. Hell, getting truly involved with him would no doubt cut her life short. That fear was what kept him from speaking, no matter how badly he wished to assure her. Even after the tender moments they had spent together in the wilds, now, when it would have made a difference, he was unable to offer any sort of meaningful comfort. 

Arthur closed his eyes, cursing himself roundly. "You don't mean that, Irene. The mayor seems-"

"Henri was perfectly willing to overlook my abuse when Willie was funding his campaign. All of them down there were complacent." Irene interjected, her tone one of barely-bridled fury. "Politicians and the elite are of no use to me, Arthur, for I am of no use to them."

Fair enough, Arthur mused. "So what are you gonna' do, then?"

"I'm going to try and bring my case to the attention of the courts. Willie was an only child, which is the sole reason I may still have a chance to receive something for my trouble." Irene's shoulders slumped and Arthur dug his fingers in, silently working out a few of the knots she seemed to have created in her muscles. 

"I hope it goes accordin' to plan for you, then." He said finally. 

"As do I." Irene took his hand, leading him around to the front of the chaise. "I have missed you, Arthur Morgan." She said simply. Sweet and honest. 

He was a fool.

Arthur felt like cheap gold leaf as he greedily buried his hands in her hair, sending one of the vanilla blossoms tumbling to the floor when he did. He felt like a veneer of class spread thin on his thieving bones, he felt like a liar. This vision of a woman, this divine being who trusted him so readily...

This time would be the last. It would have to be. If Dutch found him out, if his pre-established closeness to the Widow Carson was discovered, Arthur knew that Dutch would tell him to bleed her dry.

And Arthur, the kind, loyal man that he was, would do it. Because loyalty was everything.

…

Arthur was troubled. Even through her own worries, Irene could see that. She threaded her fingers through the shaggy locks at the nape of his neck, whispering his name. "What's wrong, Arthur?"

"I...I can't keep doin' this, Irene." He confessed, those blue eyes stormy with emotion. "I can't keep draggin' you down with me. You deserve so much more than a man who you don't really know, a man who's here an' gone again. It ain't right."

"I don't much care what I deserve, Arthur Morgan." Irene said tartly. "If you want me, I am here. You have yet to cause me harm in any of our endeavors, which is more than I can say for my prior partner." She tugged at the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together. "If you want me, Arthur, I am here."

"Irene," he grated out, cupping her face, "I'm a bad man. I've done a whole heap of turrible things. I ain't the kind of man that you should be lettin' anywhere near you."

"And despite all of that, I'm beneath you on a chaise in the mayor's upstairs drawing room." Irene replied dryly. "Honestly Arthur, I thought you knew by now that my intuition is quite dreadful."

"Irene-" 

"You are remarkably poor at displaying any sort of reluctance, Mister Arthur." It felt like icy fingers were creeping their way down her spine. Had he finally decided that whatever they were, it wasn't worth his time? She could hardly blame him, of course! She was a currently-penniless widow. She had offered herself freely in the past; he owed her nothing, just as she owed him nothing.

"Because I ain't reluctant!" Arthur exclaimed. "I'm...Christ, Irene, I want this. I want you, so much that it hurts. But the life I lead ain't got a chance in it for a happy, fairytale endin' where I get to live out my days in peace. I have people I need to take care of, and you have a life of your own to finally start livin'." He stated firmly. "So for both our sakes, we can't...continue."

"At the very least," Irene begged, her thumbs stroking the familiar scar on his chin while she peppered his face with light pecks, "may we still be friends, Arthur?"

"Irene…" Arthur breathed, tilting his face to the side and kissing her until she was dizzy. "You've given me so damn much, woman. Given me hope, and beauty, and music. My friendship ain't worth spit compared to what you've done for me."

Irene shook her head, blinking back her tears. "I'm the one that ought to be saying that, Mister Arthur!" She protested. "I wish there was more I could do to repay the kindness you've shown me."

"Miss Irene, all the payment I ask for is that you go and live your life to the fullest extent. Take tenfold from that son of a bitch what he took from you." Arthur swept back some of the curls on her forehead, the gesture achingly tender. "Do that, and you'll be paid up, alright?" He murmured.

Irene took his hand and kissed his knuckles, feeling the pronounced lines of old abrasions on the skin when she did. "Don't give up, Arthur. There is someone out there who will be worth it to you." She told him, her voice trembling a bit as she struggled to get the words out. "Someone who will see you for how kind and loyal you are and instead of taking advantage of it, they'll cherish it. Guard you close to their heart like a jealous little secret." Her smile was tentative, "that's what I would do, anyway."

Arthur cursed under his breath, shoving his thigh gracelessly between her legs. "Irene." He said her name and it was an oath, a prayer. Whether for himself or for her, she couldn't say. 

"Yes, Arthur?" Irene replied softly. 

"If you hear about me in the future, if…" he hesitated, clearing his throat as he drew his index finger studiously down the side of her face. "If somethin' happens, don't pay it any mind, alright? Remember me just like this. All gussied up in this frippery, lookin' like the world's most uncomfortable trained bear." He tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow. "Can you do that for me? Please?"

"As long as you remember me like I was in the wilds." Irene was pleased when he smiled. "All filthy, with twigs in my hair."

"The Irene of my dreams has always been the one from the wilderness." Arthur confessed quietly. "This is lovely, don't get me wrong." He continued, giving her skirts a playful tweak. "But you out in the forests, playin' your violin for the wolves an' howlin' at the moon...that's the Irene I think about." The man cleared his throat again after a moment, looking away. "Now, let's get you put to rights. Buttoned up and all that. I figure it'll be best if I go back first. Hopefully folk won't be too suspicious. Shit, I don't even know how long we been gone for." He swore, grumbling a little as he struggled to help her with the tiny buttons on her dress.

Irene giggled, feeling a bit hysterical. "Oh heavens, what they will think of me! My husband hardly cold in the ground and now I'm enjoying an absolutely scandalous rendezvous with a handsome stranger. I'll be the talk of Saint Denis for weeks!"

"Woman, if you don't quit your funnin'..." Arthur huffed, a wry grin pulling at his mouth seemingly in spite of himself. 

Irene rubbed her forehead against his own, smiling a bit wistfully. "Shall I ever see you again, Mister Arthur?"

"For your sake, I sure as hell hope not." Arthur replied bluntly. "Bad luck seems to follow the folks I hang around with."

…

He hadn't entirely lied. He did leave ahead of her. However, he didn't return to the party immediately. 

Instead, Arthur ducked into the study he had seen that butler enter when he and Irene were making their way up the stairs. A few minutes of pointed rummaging and a jimmied lock on the desk drawer later, Arthur Morgan (or rather, Tacitus Killgore) was the proud owner of various interesting, incriminating documentation. Leviticus Cornwall. Arthur barely resisted the urge to spit on command when he so much as thought the man's name. 

Footsteps passed by the door and he froze, pressing himself back against the bookcases until whoever it was had descended down the stairs. 

Hopefully, this information would please Dutch to the point where he would forget about Widow Carson. Arthur just wished that he could forget about Widow Carson. Irene. 

Maybe...maybe if she was still in the drawing room, he could explain. Maybe there was still time. It would be dangerous, of course, but she deserved the truth. She deserved to know why he couldn't promise her anything aside from a life of fear and misery. Shit, at the very least she deserved to know why he was cutting her loose!

Arthur left the study and retraced his steps to the drawing room, his heart in his throat and her name on the tip of his tongue. Irene--

But she was gone. 

The chaise was vacant, lonely in the cluttered room. Through the open French doors to the balcony, the sounds of the party below filtered in like something from another world. He stalled in the doorway for a moment, uncertain of what to do. An object on the floor by the chaise caught his attention and Arthur stepped forward. 

It was one of the vanilla flowers from her hair, the blossom sitting forlorn and abandoned next to the leg of the chaise. He scooped it up with all the care someone like him could muster, tenderly examining the fragile, bruised petals. Then, Arthur slipped it into the pocket of his suit coat.

Much, much later that evening (technically the next damn morning), when he was bedding down at Shady Belle, he delicately extracted the worn flower and proceeded to tuck it between two blank pages of his journal.

Irene, he wrote at the very bottom of the page, and then, in another life, if I was a better man, we could have been so happy together. Instead, I have to push you away to keep you -safe-.

What a fool I am.

The following page bore a loose, flowing sketch of her on the chaise, staring up at him while she clutched the front of her gown closed at her chest. The fierce look on her face that he had tried valiantly to capture on paper didn't hold a candle to the real thing. Irene Craft, he wrote, then scribbled out her name and instead put, -Politicians and the elite are of no use to me, Arthur, for I am of no use to them.-

Mayor Onry Lemieux's party.

Winter’s Cold: Part One

#arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 spoilers #arthur morgan x original female character #high honor arthur #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fandom #big yeehell hours #arthur morgan imagine

[fortunatelyhauntedblackcherry]

Moonshine - A Beetlejuice Fanfiction 06

Warning: swearing, tiny bit of angst, anger issues, Beetlejuice being a jerk... Well that part isn't new isn't it 🙄😂

During the next week, Beetlejuice set to work. He started off with little pranks, playing with the lights, appearing in the corner of the girls' eyes. Then all of a sudden their hifi-system started acting all weird. Random screams and stops appeared during the songs they played.

Soon after that, Beetlejuice realized that Rei absolutely hated summer and being hot. She put the AC in her room on max, and growled everytime she had to go out, where there was no air conditioning. So, obviously, magically the AC in her room started blowing boiling hot air instead of cold. This made Rei furious, which caused Beetlejuice to laugh like a maniac.

Later that day, the Roomba attacked Sirius. Then everyone else. The next day the hairdryer sucked a part of Sofía's hair in, which she had to cut off because it just couldn't stop pulling it in. She was screaming in anger, while Beetlejuice was floating around her with a wicked smile.

But nothing bad ever happened to Ari.

When Beetlejuice wasn't acting all mischievous, and Ari wasn't at rehearsal or work, he was hanging out with her. They talked a lot. From disliked foods to favourite songs, they chatted about everything, although, somehow, they both avoided talking about their "origin stories".

- I'm honestly surprised you're not fed up with me yet. - he said once when they were sitting on the roof. He told her how easily she could climb out, and that it's a great place to be alone. - I know I'm a burden... Even my mom thinks that. - his voice got lower and a streak of purple appeared in his bright green hair. - I hate her so much.

- Your mom is an idiot. - said Ari in a sharp voice. Deep down she somehow knew Beetlejuice was broken like her, and it made her angry. She sighed, and continued on a calmer note. - You're fun, and not a burden at all. - she let out a small laugh. - Besides, you're the first "person" who's not weirded out by my horror and death obsession. And it just feels so good to talk to you. Like, you get me. So why would I be fed up with you? - Beetlejuice didn't answer. Just smiled and bit his lower lip as the purple streak changed light pink in his hair. - Anyways, what do you want to watch tonight? - Ari put on some of her favourite movies and series on autoplay every night on her laptop for Beetlejuice to watch while she was sleeping. In such a short time it became a habit, just like Ari putting Minerva in her cage so she wouldn't harass Beetlejuice during the night. These little gestures made Beetlejuice feel accepted. Someone actually made him a part of their life... Even though Ari didn't see him. Yet.

But since every rose has its thorn, Ari made some ground rules too, which BJ was not very fond of, but he obeyed anyways. He couldn't watch her or any of her sisters get undressed, or dressed, or go into the bathrooms with them cause, "ew, B., don't be a creep". Ari didn't know that he didn't care about Sofía and Rei getting naked, since the only one that he was interested in and made him rock hard was Edgar Allan Poe's daughter, the other two sisters were not hectic enough for him. Although, he couldn't sneak up on his chosen little breather, since she somehow always knew when he was there.

- You feel like an iceberg, thought I wouldn't know you're creeping around again? - said Ari with a laugh once, when Beetlejuice wanted to beat his meat to her taking a shower. - Now get out before I perform an exorcism on ya, Bug.

One day, when Ari left in the afternoon, Beetlejuice decided to wreck a little havoc. Sofía just came back from taking pictures for her new project, and decided she would develop them (she was working in an old fashioned way many times). They were made for a new exhibition about abandoned places, and the cemetery nearby was a perfect location for that. Yes, mainstream, but hipsters adored her work and usage of light so she got away with it.

Too bad Beetlejuice decided to haunt her that day.

Sirius was out on a walk with Rei and Minerva was minding her own business (she got kind of used to the demon at that point, although, once a day she still wanted to claw his eyes out), so he did whatever he wanted. He stepped into Sofía's room after her with a huge smile.

The walls in Sofi's room were light lavender (which were hardly visible because of the photoes she put on them), the ceiling was white, and there were 2 windows, framed by leaf-patterned tawny curtains. The hardwood floor was covered in fluffy, white carpet. In the corner, there was a kingsized bed with purple covers on it, and above that, shelves full of memorabilia. On the left of the bed, there was a window, a sandcoloured nightstand, and in the far corner, next to the door, a white commode. On the other side of the bed, there was a pretty white vanity with a mirror and a huge mess on it. Sofía kept her stuff for traveling under this, which made her almost fall over several times. On the opposite wall, she installed her workspace: a high quality PC, a cabinet full of props for photoshooting and everything she needed for her cameras. On the right, there was a white wardrobe closet with a built-in mirror. But the best part of the room was behind the closet. Sofía made herself a darkroom where she could develop her photos. She probably didn't think about a nasty demon trying to set her hair on point.

Beetlejuice followed Sofi into the darkroom. She started to work on the pictures, and BJ took his time. He waited for the right moment. He watched Sofía develop photos some days ago, so he knew when were the pictures the most vulnerable.

She prepared her chemicals, poured them into trays, then set out to choose her negative. Beetlejuice was standing on tiptoe to see perfectly what was going on, since Sofi was at least a head taller than him.

Sofía did the focusing on her image, enlarged the picture, then made a testprint. Oh how pretty it was. The whole vibe it was giving off was so grim. Beetlejuice was giggling as the girl started preparing the final image. She put the first picture in the developer tray.

- Oh what a shame it would be if something would have happened to this picture... - Beetlejuice sighed sarcastically. - What an absolute tragedy it would be. - he looked up at the red safelight. His sharp canines were flashing as he smiled. - Just a tiny bit of light and... - he signaled with his hand and the red bulb shattered into pieces, leaving a bright white light behind. - ...it's gone.

- The fuck... - proclaimed Sofi as she changed the lightbulb. The one she got out was burning hot.

- Yeah, all of a sudden too much electricity flowed into it, which made it shatter... - Beetlejuice giggled. - ...how awful... - the girl put her hair in a bun and started working again. - What a shame it would be if that happened again... - and half a minute after Sofía put the new photo in the developer, the lightbulb exploded again. Now it was even scintillating. - Oops.

Sofi let out an angry growl and tried again. Beetlejuice hopped up on one of the tables and with a smile on his face, he shattered the next bulb.

- STOP IT YOU ASSHOLE! - she screamed in anger as she kicked the table Beetlejuice was sitting on. That only made him laugh more.

- What an agressive little breather you are, Sofía. Shame on you, calling good old BJ like that... - the girl was turning around constantly. - You cannot see me, nor hear me. What are your plans with this spinning? You're gonna get sick, babes... - and with that, he made the light-thread, which was still in the socket, shine bright like a star.

- LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT, I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU WANT, I'M GONNA SMUDGING STICK YOUR ASS OUT!!! - he made the light even brighter.

- Sweetheart, you can't. That shit hurts and it hurts even more to be called out like that, but, guess what? - he floated next to Sofía, and whispered into her ear. - I'll stay here forever!

And with that, he shattered the light-thread, and left a swearing, furious girl behind.

#alex brightman #beetlegeuse #beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice oc #beetlejuice the musical #fanfic #fanfiction #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #musical!beetlejuice #betelgeuse #beetlejuice broadway

[sincerly-kate]

Falling Skies: Part 4 (Crowley x Fem!Reader)

A/n: Yes I am now finally writing a part four to this series, and since I got a lot of positive feedback saying that they want me to continue the series; that’s what we shall do! 😘💙

Here’s a playlist I made for this series✨

-Kate

Warnings: Probably a few swears here and there, some heart aching fluff, Adam might be a tad ooc and for once no major angst (wow I know right?)

Words: Around 1.2k? oops...

Previously,

“Who is it angel?” I say without skipping a beat.

“The same white-winged bastard I nearly killed earlier.”

“Gabriel.” The three of us said all at once.

Now,

“No, absolutely not! I barely got to you in time last time you tried to ‘talk’ to him!” Crowley threw his arms up in the air walking away from the two angels, his hands rubbing over his face in frustration.

You tried to walk towards him, but Aziraphale held you back by your wrist while shaking his head at you, you turned to him and tried to speak but he beat you to it.

“He needs to cool off, he’s no good to no one if he’s in this kind of mood.” Aziraphale said to the nephilim beside him, seeing the relaxation in her face made him sure that she wouldn’t go after him, so he let go of her wrist in his light grip.

“Well, now that he’s not going to help us, what are we going to do now?” you said, now slightly frustrated, not at anyone really specific, but you just wanted to go back to normal- well, as normal as an angel, a demon and a nephilim can be.

Aziraphale looked at you with a wide eyed look, if this was like the cartoons, there most definitely would’ve been a light bulb above his head.

“I think I know just the person, follow me. I want to properly introduce you to someone.”

~

Once you and Aziraphale arrived at the park, you were absolutely confused.

“Why did you bring me here? You said we were going to go talk to someone, don’t you think this is a little too- ya know- people-y for this kind of talk?” You looked at him with utter confusion.

“It was the only way you two can speak without it looking too suspicious y/n, just trust me.” Aziraphale says, and with that he walks away, nodding to someone behind me.

You turn to see this young boy behind you, you huff to yourself, look at the ground and smile. Of course; Adam.

“Hey Adam, what’s going on?” You said now looking back to him, guiding him to a bench so the two of you weren’t in the way of others.

“Aziraphale told me that you were thinking of doing something dangerous, and it could possibly hurt you.” Adam looked to you with such an innocent face, you couldn’t help but give him a slight smile.

“Yeah, I was thinking about it.” Your leg bounces up and down as you fiddle with your hands, and look to the ground.

“Why?” 

“I need to do it to figure out why Gabriel did what he did.” You tried to be subtle with the boy, but you knew that it was futile.

“With your wings?”

You took in a shallow breath as you looked at all the people living their lives care free. The children in the playground behind the two of you filled your ears, the groups of two running and talking about their lives and upcoming events, You take a minute to refocus yourself before you answer Adam. “Yeah, that’s part of it.”

“What’s wrong with the way they are? It only changed what you look like on the outside, he can’t change who you are unless you let him.” He continued to give you that same innocent looking face as you slowly look at him with mild shock, you forgot he saw the whole thing, the burning of your wings and all.

You were not expecting that kind of advice from an eleven-year old, Antichrist or not.

“He took a part of me that day, a part that I’m not sure I can ever take back. Especially since I’m apparently a nephilim.”

Adam gives you a small smile, then begins to speak.

“That doesn’t change a thing about who you are though, especially to Crowley and Az. They love you for you, and that’s all that matters to them; that you’re safe and happy.”

You begin to feel your eyes water up at this young boy’s words. He was right though, you knew that deep down; Aziraphale and Crowley will be with you til the end- and forever after that.

“Thank you Adam, I’m glad Az dragged me out here after all.” You went to give him a hug which he reciprocated.

“It wasn’t just him you know, I might have asked him t knock some sense into you as well.”

You laugh and quickly break the hug to look at your snake-eyed demon,

“You needed to hear it from someone besides us, we don’t want to see you get hurt angel.” 

You were about to correct him for calling you angel, since- well, technically you weren't one- but he stopped you.

“No matter if you’re a nephilim, demon or an angel, you’re still my angel y/n; Always have been, always will be.” As he said this, you ran to him with tears streaming down your face as your run into him and hug him.

He looks down at you and pulls you in for a kiss that said everything you needed to hear without him saying a single word.

‘No matter if the skies are falling down or the sea parts, or if another Armageddon starts up once more, I’ll always be there for you.’  

The two of you break away, and look towards Adam.

“Thank you for everything Adam, I’m glad you we’re able to talk sense into me. I guess I couldn’t see past my own vendetta to see what truly matters.”

“Which is?” Adam says, confirming what he thought you were going to answer with.

“Love.”  Adam smiles at this, knowing he completed his job.

Crowley pulls you into a side hug, as the two of you invite Adam into the hug, which gladly accepted and ran to the two of you as you closed off the hug to the three of you.

After the three of you stayed in the group hug for a while, you decided that you guys needed to part.

The three of you went your separate ways after that, you and Crowley towards the bookshop, and Adam the other, but deep down you knew that that definitely wasn’t going to be your last encounter with the young boy.

~

As the two of you began your walk back to the bookshop, you locked arms with Crowley and you broke the silence.

“I’m sorry so stuck up lately. Neither of you deserved that, but especially the way I treated you with the whole Gabriel thing and-” he placed his finger over my lips.

“Angel, there’s absolutely nothing you need to apologize for, both of us did things that were not proud of, but it was all meant well. I don’t know how I’d live with myself if I let you get hurt and I stood by,not doing a damn thing about it.”

You nodded with a smile on your face as he removed his finger from your lips.

“Now, shall we properly try and figure out how to deal with him? No running away this time y/n?” He said with a devilish look on his face, his gold snake eyes making an appearance behind his glasses, for you to see. 

“Let’s do it. I promise I’m done running.” You say with a giggle

And so the two of you made it back to Aziraphale’s bookshop, where you began to brainstorm ways to get back at him for what he did to you.

As a group- finally.

Tagged List:

@carry-on-my-wayward-stark​

@ourownsideimagines​

@lukaerith-morningstar

Message me if you want to be tagged in this series!

#Falling Skies #crowley x reader #anthony j crowley x reader #crowley good omens #crowley #Aziraphale #good omens x reader #good omens #good omens fanfic #kate writes #adam good omens

[abbybubbls]

For Nostalgia (Wilford Warfstache and Darkiplier)

Summary: Dark tries to find Wilford’s pants, but finds something completely different.

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

“Wilford, I have a very important question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Where the fuck are your pants.”

Wilford was being very indecisive that day. It took him half an hour explaining why he couldn’t find his favorite pants with a bunch of side stories that had absolutely nothing to do with Dark’s question. Or maybe Wilford just didn’t want to wear pants and he wanted his story to sound interesting. It all concluded to him not getting fired, so that’s a… plus?

“Can you tell me why you didn’t want to go without pants today?” Dark asked. Wilford felt offended.

“I just told you, I couldn’t find my favorite pair! What, you don’t believe me?”

Dark put his palms together. “Precisely.”

“I’ve looked through my closet for hours,” Wilford pouted. “None of my other pants fit me, that’s all.”

“You just wanted to go waist-down clothless,” Dark replied flatly.

“Not true!” Wilford exclaimed, pointing down at his feet. “I’m wearing socks!”

At least he’s wearing ‘boxers’ too, Dark thought, trying not to look. But it doesn’t explain why he doesn’t have his real damn pants on.

I am innocent, I swear~ Wilford made a smug face while looking at Dark without his lips moving.

Sure you are.

“Why don’t I look through your closet and find your pants myself, Wilford?” Dark asked out loud.

Wilford’s face flinched, exclaiming “No!” before covering his mouth with his hand. Dark’s face stiffened.

“Why not?”

Wilford cleared his throat and chuckled, waving his hand around his face. “O- Oh, you wouldn’t like my closet, Dark. You wouldn’t like my whole room at all! It gets so messy and everything is everywhere- Oh! And it’s so cramped! We both know how much you hate tight spaces!”

“I was just in your room three days ago, Will,” Dark’s tone lowered. “It was perfectly clean since then.”

Wilford scritched his chin. “Y- You know me, Dark. I see no mess, so I create the mess!”

“And I’ve been in worse situations when it comes to tight spaces,” Dark added. “I’m pretty sure your exit-able closet is more tolerable than a broken-as-all-hell elevator that we never use.”

“When you mean ‘we’, you mean you, cuz you’ve never used it since that incident-”

“I know what I meant.”

Wilford huffed and crossed his arms. “Well, I’ve got some things that are super important in my room! What does it take to not disrespect a man’s privacy around here?”

I’m fairly certain you don’t even know the half of it.

Dark eyed behind Wilford, and spotted the Captain Magnum near Wilford’s gun, that was quite dangerously lying on the counter.

“And who cares if I don’t have pants on?! I’ve run around like a moron without them during an interview before, and nobody seems to remember it!”

Dark pointed over Wilford’s shoulder. “Oh hey, Wilford, look. The Captain is touching your gun without your permission.”

Wilford gasped and gripped at his hair. “WHAT HAPPENED TO COMMON DECENCY?!”

He ran down the hallway with Dark covering the side of his face with his hand. “MAGNUM, DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH MY BABY!!!”

“It’s alive?! ”

Dark smirked, and quickly sent himself inside of Wilford’s room.

(Click keep reading, or read on my AO3!)

Just as Dark suspected, everything in the room was spotless. Only a dozen pieces of sticky notes of doodles and interview questions were scattered all over the floor, but it seemed like they were brushed aside near Wilford’s desk mirror right next to his door. Will’s bed was a mess as well, with the blankets draping over the other and pillows flattened, but Dark thinks he likes sleeping like that anyway. There was also a sparkled up fake fireplace with a rack of colorful suspenders hanging above it as if they’d be stockings, with the red-faded-to-pink pair hanging at the dead center.

I’m sure those all won’t overheat and catch on fire. Sarcasm.

Dark bumped into the closet door, seeing that the frame reaches to the very ceiling of Wilford’s whole room. It’s not like Captain Magnum is ever gonna sneak in, why is it so tall? No matter. Dark opened the closet door, only for an avalanche of clothes to fall right on top of him. Not enough to make him stumble over, for Dark is as sturdy as a boulder.

Dark yanked all the clothes off of him, and saw that MOST of them… were shirts. The clothes that were pants though…! Were either stained, torn up, or just straight up too small. Dark was going to suggest in his head that Wilford could wear his collection of tight shorts like layers, but that’d make him appear too… big.

“Goddammit, Will.”

Dark stepped over the pile of clothes to hesitantly get himself inside of the closet. His head bumps against a light bulb with a pulley-switch next to it. Dark didn’t really need to turn the light on because since he was wearing his new white suit for a change, and he’d practically be glowing more easier that way with his twins’ auras and such.

But just because he can, Dark turned the light on by pulling the switch. The closet was a tiny bit smaller than the elevator he never uses, but at least there’s an escape route. Dark looked around every nook and cranny in the closet to at least find one, one good pair of pants that isn’t too revealing, and so that Wilford would give in to wearing until he finds his ‘most favorite’ pair soon. But if that doesn’t happen, it could be the goldfish situation where Dark buys or makes the same pair, and Wilford wouldn’t even know the difference.

There was a very tall shelf at the end of the closet, and Dark tried to reach up to the top to grab something, any thing… only to have a tan round thing fall off and land on the floor. Dust was flying, enough dust for Dark to almost hack and choke on while coughing it all away. And waving his hand around was definitely helping. “What the hell-?”

As soon as the dust died down to the floor, Dark rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. The helmet rolled on its side for a moment, and wobbled near the wall. It was Wilford’s old old old old old pith helmet.

Dark stared at it for a long minute, knowing perfectly well that Wilford wouldn’t remember having this helmet, not even remember being a colonel.

Dark picked the helmet up from the floor, and gently brushed the dust away. He looked up at the shelf. “He wouldn’t happen to have the rest, would he…?”

A corner of a sleeve was hanging from the very top of the shelf. To avoid the possibility of getting dust all over the place again, Dark put the helmet down on a lower shelf and stood on his tip-toes, and reached up with both of his hands tugging on edges of old linty clothing. His grip on both edges tightened, and he slowly lifted a neatly folded pile of bright tan clothes off the top of the shelf.

“No,” Dark muttered, blinking away dust. “There is no way…”

Indeed, it was 100% Wilford’s old outfit for when he was a colonel from the early 1900’s. Dark already had questions running through his head. How in the world does Wilford still have this? When did he put it in the closet? Why does Wilford still have this outfit after all these years, even when he’s so far gone from who he was?

Dark slowly brushed the grime and lint off of a small, silver winged metal that is still pinned on the coat. Same with a red and white metal on the other side.

Dark had no idea where Will’s red ascot went, it probably faded to pink like his suspenders and turned into the bowtie he still wears to this day. And Will’s glasses were definitely snapped apart, or shattered, or burnt when he realized that even seeing clearly didn’t matter to him anymore. All that is left is the pith helmet, the coat, pants (finally!), and the boots, which were surprisingly very well hidden in the darkness of the bottom shelf. Will shouldn’t have these.

Wilford’s voice from outside of his room gradually got louder, but that didn’t phase Dark at all. He had a few questions to ask. Chances are, Wilford might not know all the answers, but it’s worth a try to ask anyway.

“You may be taller than all of us, but it ain’t gonna phase me, Captain!” Wilford shouted, shaking a fist. “You wanna know why? Cuz Warfstache don’t take no sh(BLEEP!)t from nobody! ”

With a slam of his door, Wilford looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I should really fix that swear-detector thing.”

“Wilford.”

Wilford hiccuped, seeing Dark standing right in front of him with his hat, boots, and the rest of Will’s outfit in his hands. “Hiiiiiiiii…!”

Dark’s face was frozen in place, stern. “Care to explain to me what these are all about?”

Wilford was grinning nervously. “W- Well, they’re um- they’re winter clothes!”

“We live in Ca-”

“Traveling vacation winter clothes!”

“You know, depending on how much Mark uses us for projects, we’re technically almost always on vacation,” Dark said. “We’ve never traveled once.”

Wilford’s face dropped, and Dark took a step forward.

“So, Wilford,” he continued. “What are these clothes here for?”

“I- I found it in a zoo! I won it for a bet!”

“Wilford.”

“I don’t know!” Wilford exclaimed, throwing fists like a child. “I’ve always had them in my closet! I don’t remember what they’re for, but they give me warm fuzzy feelings, maybe a tiny memory or two.”

“A bad memory or a good memory?”

“I dunno, does it matter that much to you?” Wilford asked. “The good and bad don’t matter to me, cuz they’re useless memories! Memories that’ll come back and disappear from my head like always!”

Dark didn’t know exactly what to say to that. Why would he care about somebody else’s memories and whether they’d be good or bad? It’s like having someone constantly looking over your shoulder. Sure, Dark has been invasive when it came to Wilford being a pain in the ass, but Dark only did it because he didn’t want Wilford to cause any more trouble than he already did.

Wilford pouted with his arms crossed, and looked down at the floor as if he’s been ashamed of himself… for some reason. Dark stared down at the pile of clothes in his hands. His grip tightened, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, Will,” he muttered. Wilford blinked at him. “I didn’t mean to make this appear as a bigger deal than it should be.”

And all of this started because of pants.

“Have you…” Dark continued. “Worn this outfit lately?”

Wilford’s frustrated and hurt face softened. “Not in a while, no.”

“I was just wondering because of how much dust it was collecting,” Dark’s tone went gentle. “Have you thought about wearing it?”

Wilford’s hands were gripping on his sleeves loosely. “Kind of.”

Silence filled the room. Dark’s hands leaned forward. “Here. You can wear it. If you’d like.”

Without saying anything, Wilford hesitantly held the outfit out of Dark’s hands, and kicked some clothes out of his way as he headed inside his closet. Dark sat down at the edge of Wilford’s bed, waiting patiently.

A moment later, and Dark heard the closet door open. The familiar sound of boots slowly walking on the floor filled the room, and Dark saw Wilford in the entire outfit. He looked the same as he did a long time ago, only the mustache stands out a LOT more now than it did before.

Wilford was still doing the last few buttons of his coat as he left the closet, and Dark just noticed the wearing out on them. The belt around Wilford’s waist was a bit loose, but there was nothing for it to hold anyway.

“How does wearing all of that make you feel?” Dark asked.

Wilford’s hands rubbed all over his arms, and he tucked his face in his collar. “Warm, mostly! Gives me a trip of nostalgia.”

“You know how you said earlier you don’t remember what the outfit was for?” Dark asked, head tilting. “Maybe nostalgia is why.”

The front tip of the pith helmet was hiding Wilford’s eyes, which he did not like. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t remember a whole lot, just a few baby pieces.”

“I see no problem with that,” Dark replied, smiling gently. His watch hidden in his sleeve beeped. “Meeting. Wilford, do you want to go dressed like that?”

Wilford took his helmet off, tossed it on his bed, and ruffled his hair. He and Dark went over to his door. “Why not? It’s cozy and makes me feel good. And I did find pants so you wouldn’t be staring at me all day~”

As Wilford opened the door, Dark smacked his back. “Shut up.”

#markiplier #a heist with markiplier #who killed markiplier #takes place after the 'The Interview' ending #wilford warfstache #darkiplier #darkstache #i've posted this on DA and AO3 #why am i so nervous posting this on tumblr #probably because i'm a noob in this site #oh well

[luizemi]

Some fluff for Christmas

Merry Christmas @bluemoonfantasiesiii!! 

Here’s my take for SL 2019 Secret Santa: some soft KuroMahiSaku for you! I hope you enjoy this Christmas as much as your boys do ~ 

“You could dodge that, loser.”

“Apparently I couldn’t!”

“Loser.”

Sakuya represses the urge to throw the joystick at Kuro’s face. The boy does not even seem angry, sitting perfectly still on the carpet, his eyes stuck on the TV screen. 

“I’ll get done with that stage in a minute. Watch and learn.”

Sakuya mimics the self-proclaimed e-sport champion. Why does he even ask Sakuya to play with him? It is not as if he needed his help… Well, guess at least it means he is part of the furniture now. Sakuya sighs. He can hear the vacuum cleaner from the other room. He would go and help Mahiru, but the brunette has forbidden his mates to cross the kitchen’s threshold. It is his kingdom, after all. 

Sakuya squints back at the screen. Kuro has effortlessly completed the stage, and the list of his achievements appears. He stretches out. 

“Mahiru! Can I eat chips?”

A muffled scream comes from the kitchen. Sakuya muses:

“Translation: you will wait for dinner in due time like everybody, you lazybones.”

“But I need to refill my energy…”

Kuro lets himself fall on the carpet, mumbling about how hard that floor is. Sakuya does not dare saying that he could play on the couch, like any normal human being – first, they do not belong to this category; second, he knows the answer. 

“I can’t bring out all my skills by just sitting normally!”

Hence both of them playing right in front of the TV, on the floor. Most of the time, Mahiru keeps an eye on them from the couch, encouraging their progress and giving Sakuya knowing looks each time Kuro auto-congratulates for his own successes. As for today, Christmas 24th, Shirota has been too busy completing his angel in the house duty. Since the first lights of dawn, the boy has been up, rummaging in every room of the tiny flat. The others started to be really concerned when he locked himself up in his bedroom. From the living room, they could hear thuds and scrapings. But Mahiru would always answered that he was perfectly okay. As usual. 

“You are not focused, Watanuki”, Kuro snaps. 

His avatar comes just in time to rescue Sakuya’s, about to fall from a cliff for the nth time. 

“Do you even know how to hold a joystick?”

Sakuya rolls his eyes as the blue-haired boy crawls behind him. Kuro places his hands over Sakuya’s, and guides his fingers. The avatar performs a perfect backflip.

“Was that necessary?” Sakuya mutters.

“Absolutely not. But it was super awesome.”

Despite his choice of words, Kuro’s voice sounds as bored as usual. He puts his head on Sakuya’s shoulder and whispers:

“I’ll train the shit out of you. We’re going to become video games super stars. After all, we got a huge refund incoming…”

“Shh!!”

Sakuya knocks Kuro’s head with the joystick. How could one be such a goofball! The boy lets out a forced moan. He brings all of his weight on Sakuya’s shoulders, proceeding to make his fall on the carpet. Maintaining the green-haired boy on the floor with his arm under his neck, Kuro whines:

“Mahiru! I’m being tortured!”

“Who’s persecuting who?!” 

“Help me…”

The vacuum cleaner stops. They hear a few steps coming their way. Sakuya struggles his best, but Kuro is surprisingly strong. He has not moved an inch when Mahiru’s face appears above theirs.

“Can’t you stop being dorks for a few seconds?”

Dishevelled and upside-town, the boys glance at each other, kids caught in the act. Mahiru stares at them, his arms crossed, trying hard to look like a strict father figure. As they sit back quietly, the TV produces the jingle of a “game over”. Kuro lets out a deep sigh and grabs one of Mahiru’s legs:

“I’m desperately hungry.”

“You’ve done nothing all day long!”

“And you’ve been doing way too much,” Sakuya steps in. “And refused our help. Meanwhile, night is falling, and all we’ve done is sitting on this carpet, doing close to nothing, as you said…”

“Green bean is right. Not that I’m against lying on the carpet, though.”

Sakuya elbowed the blue-haired boy. Kuro goes down as if he had been severely hurt by the attack. He goes on:

“Mahiru… It’s only Christmas Eve, and with just the three of us. What about watching a movie on the couch until we fall asleep?”

“We already do that every day,'' Sakuya sighs.

Kuro fails to see the issue of this perfectly sane routine. Before they start to bicker again, Mahiru takes a deep breath. Then, he crouches to be at the boys’ level, and puts his hands on their shoulders:

“I’m almost done...”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Actually, I even need you to do something.” 

Kuro and Sakuya exchange a look. They nod – as long as it doesn’t imply running errands in a crowded supermarket as they did this morning. Mahiru smiles softly.

“You go get ready in the bathroom.” 

The boys glare at him:

“That’s not actual help, you know.”

“But this room is the only one left! Once you come back, I swear everything will be ready and I’m all yours for the evening!”

Jointly, Kuro and Sakuya leap on Mahiru. The brunette lets out a scream as he ends up stuck on the floor under his mates. Sakuya pokes his forehead:

“What do we win by letting you go?”

“We do not look like it, but we can be very demanding,” Kuro adds.

Mahiru cannot help but chuckle. Which is difficult with such a heavy weighs on his body. 

“I’ll be… the nicest… Christmas present…”

As he seems ready to suffocate, they decide to free him. Reluctantly, they even oblige to his request. Left on the carpet to catch his breath, Mahiru shouts:

“Oh, and don’t go in the bedroom!”

Sakuya stops to voice what has been on his mind for a few hours now:

“Oh yeah, about that… Have you like, destroyed it earlier?”

“Talk about a zealous housewife,” Kuro says from the bathroom.

“Just don’t get in!” Mahiru articulates.

Shrugging his shoulders, Sakuya turns around to help Mahiru getting up:

“What, have you hidden our presents in it?”

“I might,” Mahiru secretively smiles. 

Sakuya raises an eyebrow. Why so secretive? He strokes the brunette’s hair, attempting to put it back into order. Despite having worked all day, Mahiru’s face still glows. The green-haired boy pouts:

“You already are a perfect present in our lives every day, you know.”

Mahiru slightly blushes. His smile broadens. Sakuya feels his cheeks heating as well. Sakuya! Focus! You’ve got a mission! He claps his hands and shouts:

“Kuro, wait for me, you have no idea how to dress up!”

“I am a free and independent man!”

“Yeah, my ass, you lazybones…”

Sakuya disappears in the corridor. Mahiru laughs – they may be dorks, but they are cute ones. He rolls up his sleeves. Chores are not going to do themselves!

Table has been laid. Candles lit. A small tree adorned with way too many decorations for his height. Sakuya has just put the star at the stop of it when Mahiru joins the living room, finally ready to celebrate Christmas as well. Kuro is busy playing with the multi-coloured light bulbs of one of the wreaths. Upon this sight, Mahiru burst into laughter:

“You’re really cute!!” he manages to say. 

Sakuya looks down to Kuro. He opens his hand to the skies – maybe chores have finally driven their friend crazy. 

“We should take a pic,” Mahiru offers, taking out his phone. “Also, we have to call Licht, it’s his birthday!”

“I have no wish to hear my little brother’s voice on this holy eve,” Kuro sighs.

“Kuro! Don’t be an ass! Come on, raise up, you’re not on the pic.”

The selfie taken and posted on Instagram, the trio sits down to dinner. 

As expected of him, Mahiru has thought of everything. And most likely become the grocer’s number one client. An assortment of grilled food is followed by fried rice, with seasoned vegetables. Kuro and Sakuya fight over the remaining ginger, only to decide to let it to Mahiru in the end. They find comfort in the mandarin desserts Mahiru baked on his own. Drowned under the compliments of his mates, the brunette cleverly changes subject by offering to exchange presents. Kuro and Sakuya agree – as one, they go to the room, closely followed by Mahiru. Before opening the door, Kuro hesitates:

“Wait. We can come in, now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mahiru answers with a polite smile. 

Not very convinced, the boys open the door together. They stay on the threshold, bewildered. 

  Inside the small room, right where Mahiru’s bed used to be, lies a king-sized bed, so ridiculously enormous that it seems the walls are pushing themselves to make some space. The boys’ eyes go from the mattress to their host. Mahiru opens his arms, a pinched smile on his face, as he is obviously repressing laughter. 

“Merry Christmas from uncle Tohru to the three of us!”

Upon hearing the man’s name, the faces of the other two become even more amazed – and red. Mahiru cannot hold back any longer. He burst out laughing – now those faces would be worth the pic! 

Sakuya scrapes his neck, slowly getting a grip on himself. He opens the mouth to say something, but Kuro snaps out of it first:

“This… Is another level of dad joke.”

“It sure is! But well, you know my uncle, that’s just how he is. Also, you can’t sleep on the floor or the couch for the rest of your lives.”

There is nothing to be said against that. However, Sakuya comes across another realisation:

“So this was all the hustle and bustle earlier!”

Kuro freezes:

“Stupid Mahiru, did you just build a bed this size on your own?”

The boy chuckles, kind of proud. Luckily, the boys had accepted to go shopping when he received the parcel. And no, they were not to worry, the delivery man helped him hiding the bed base and the mattress in the huge closet. Though it was true he had all the troubles taking them out of it, hence the noises… Apart from that, the instructions were rather easy to follow! Most of all, he was astonished about how his uncle had the dimensions of the room correct. One inch more, and the whole thing would never have fit in… 

“But well, not that you care about that stuff! For the serious presents now!” declares Mahiru suddenly. 

Still in shock, each of them go and fetch theirs, before sitting on the new bed, very gently, as if it were that fragile. Sakuya looks carefully at the others – after all, he never had a proper Christmas, it was just his sisters and him exchanging home-made gifts… He has no idea how to proceed. Moreover, he is sure Kuro’s not the best example either. How many years has it been since the ancestor has had a Christmas party? Decades? Or centuries?

  Ignoring the embarrassment of his mates, Mahiru holds to them one present each. They are neatly wrapped in red paper, adorned with little Christmas trees. Sakuya squints. Kuro’s is bigger. The blue-haired boy seems to notice Sakuya’s looks. He sighs:

“We open them together… 3…”

“2…”

“1…”

Kuro holds out a small white pillow. On one side “Sleepy” is written in gold letters. He blinks at Mahiru.

“Still better than the carpet, right?”

Voiceless, Kuro slowly nods. He turns to Sakuya. The boy seems as stunned as he is: he has found two soft wristbands, one firefly green and the other fuchsia. He puts them on with extreme carefulness. Mahiru puts his hand on his shoulder. Sakuya cannot but notice he is wearing the very wristband he has offered him, it seems so long ago…

“It matches with your headphones,” Mahiru smiles.

Then he turns back to Kuro:

“Well, that’s all for me! It’s not muc-“

“Oh come on, you know you are already everything to us,” Kuro mumbles. 

Mahiru is taken aback. Sakuya as well, kind of – hasn’t he said something very similar just earlier this afternoon? Before he could add anything, Kuro holds out to him a parcel, wrapped in a funny way, as if he had asked a random kid on the street to do it for him. Sakuya accepts the present without any comment, though. The wrapping paper was disproportionate in comparison to what is inside: a video game tape, probably from the previous century. Sakuya is not even sure he has ever heard of the console.

“Not the kind of game you can finish on your own,” Kuro explains. “Even for a pro like me.”

Sakuya shakes in head in surprise. He actually… Wants to play with him? He does really enjoy it?

“Well don’t look at me like that! Never heard of retro gaming?”

The blue-haired boy looks away. However he is not quick enough to hide the blush of his cheeks. Without letting him any rest, Sakuya gives his present. 

“It’s soft…” Kuro remarks, making the other chuckles. “You do really think I’m a big baby, don’t you?” 

They laugh even more as he opens the wrapping paper. It is a black cat kigurumi! Mahiru can barely catch his breath upon this discovery. Too bad for him, the phone rings precisely at this moment. Trying to calm down, he tells the boys to test their new bed, and hurries to pick up. 

“Hi dearest nephew! Just calling to say that the three of you are the coolest and cutest!! Also, merry Christmas!”

A lot of noise is surrounding Tohru. Mahiru does not want to know where his uncle has decided to spend Christmas – after all, he was kind enough to let him having the flat. However…

“You’ve checked on Instagram, haven’t you?”

Tohru has a small laughter. Mahiru sighs:

“You know you could simply have left a comment, like basically anybody does?”

“I know, I know,” Tohru chuckles. But you see, you three remind me of the good old days! I wanted to wish you all the best in person!”

“You’re the one who refused to spend the night with us, uncle…”

“I sure did! Y’know, I wasn’t going to step in your intimacy!”

Mahiru sighs. He cannot help but being amused by his uncle’s behaviour. Tohru has always tried his best to be here for him – backing off must be pretty difficult. Apart from the fact that Tohru is not exactly the subtle type. 

“The boys loved your present.”

“Oh, did they? I’m glad then! You definitely couldn’t let them on the floor, right? It fits in your room?”

“Just fine. Though we don’t really have space for any other furniture now, but well. As long as Kuro’s got his console and Sakuya his music, we’re fine.”

“Great, great! Well then, I guess I’ll leave you to whatever juicy meal you’ve concocted…”

Mahiru nods. For a moment, he tries to focus on Tohru’s surroundings again. Music, but not directly near him. No one is speaking. Could it be – 

“Merry Christmas, uncle.”

“Same to you, son! Salute the boys for me!”

“I will…”

He hesitates. Lowers his voice.

“Tell Touma I wish him a merry Christmas as well. Wherever he is…”

Tohru makes a pause. Mahiru hears what sounds like a mused sigh. But it is with a composed tone that his uncle answers:

“I will. Have fun, Mahiru.”

He hangs up. 

With a concerned look on his face, Mahiru opens the door of the bedroom. His distress vanishes as soon as he enters. Kuro, wearing his kigurumi and holding his pillow against his chest, rolls over himself on the whole width of the bed. Doing so, he disturbs Sakuya, who is spreading his limbs all over the mattress. He looks just like a starfish, being rolled over by some kind of dangerous but limited creature. The giggles are back for Mahiru. 

  He crashes on the mattress, falling on Sakuya. Kuro, unshakable, goes on rolling. Mahiru grasps his ankle, pulling him next to him. Conscientious, the cat rolls just over his master. Upon the protestations from the boys, he meows. Sakuya moans, but there is not anything he can do really – so he just ends up laughing as well. Kuro quickly joins the hilarity.

  The fit of laughter behind them, the boys help Mahiru sitting up. Kuro hides the brunette’s face with his pillow, while Sakuya swiftly holds out a small envelope from his shirt’s pocket. After the brunette has struggled a bit, Sakuya decides the suspense has lasted enough. He winks at Kuro, who obliges to set Mahiru free. Bewildered, the boy discovers the envelope. He gazes at his mates. What could these two have worked out?

“Open it”, Kuro whispers.

“Oh thank you, he’s not that stupid”, Sakuya sighs.

They stare each other out, but their soft bickering is interrupted by Mahiru’s startle.

“G – Guys! What the…”

Kuro pats the boy’s shoulder.

“I guess that’s holidays for you, dear.”

“Holi – Oh my…”

He fails to find words. For all he can remember, he has never gone on holidays… His mother could not afford it, and Tohru is always so busy…

“Told you”, Sakuya grins at Kuro.

“B-But with what money…?”

Kuro cuts him:

“No, no, no, we’re not having this discussion right now.”

Mahiru raises up his glistening eyes to meet Sakuya’s gaze. The boy raises his shoulders. A week of holidays for the three of them… Doesn’t seem that bad, does it? And deeply deserved. The brunette vaguely nods, breathing heavily. Kuro jokes:

“Do not worry, we’ll become e-sport champion and take you with us on tour.”

“You, and the bed. We can’t let it here.”

“He’s right. We absolutely can’t.”

Mahiru still manages to laugh. He lets himself fall onto the bed, followed by his partners. To be in such good company for Christmas… Yes, that is definitely something to be proud of. 

  The bells ring midnight. Outside in the starry night, fireworks are launched. They can hear the neighbours raising up from their chairs and cheering at Christmas. But here, holding hands in silence, the three of them are just at peace. And they are more than proud of it. Slowly, the agitation settles down. Dinners have to be over, guests are taking their leaves, fireworks have stopped lighting the festive city. And a soft voice whispers:

“Merry Christmas, guys.”

“Merry Christmas, Mahiru.”

#secret santa #merry christmas #sl #servamp #servamp fandom #luiza's writing #watanuki sakuya #shirota mahiru #sleepy ash kuro #kuromahisaku #post canon i guess #y'know when everybody's fine and happy

[lamiaward]

like a ship that carried me along through the deadliest storm.

                                                      Persephone

Hades wasn’t dark. It just felt dark.

The plants weren’t choking, they only seemed to be gasping for water and oxygen desperately to her lungs used to the above-air, the above-sunlight. There wasn’t silence so encompassing that she felt her heart beat sounded like dad’s thunder, it was her pulse that roared up -becoming an-impossible-to-ignore feeling so large it sounded to her ears like all of Zeus’ lightning bolts thrown at once.

She blinked. The food, she was sure, smelled delicious. But she didn’t want any of it.

That’s mom’s favourite food.

Above, mom’s style of parenting had felt suffocating. She would’ve given anything for freedom. Below here, she longed for her mom’s tendency to use any knife’s reflecting surface to check her appearance, for how her questions verged on controlling, how you just saw in her eyes that she’d always see a child looking at Persephone.

She rubbed the spot on her chin. Her mom had a matching one above her lip. The first time Persephone had noticed they were exactly the same, she had excitedly grabbed her mom and brought it to the spot on her chin. Just like yours.

Of course, her mom had answered. All the women in our family have it.

She looked a lot like her dad. But that spot marked her as her mother’s child.

She kept rubbing it as he returned. He shuffled his feet, looked at her. Then straightened.  “Do you wish for any sustenance ?”

She blinked.  “Not particularly, no.”

He nodded. “ All right. Are you warm enough?”

They were gods. Temperature didn’t really matter.

“ Since you’re – “

She practically felt the light bulb go on in her own mind. “ I am a spring goddess, but that doesn’t mean I’m like a mortal. Or a plant, for that matter. “ When she saw his eyes clear, she quickly added. “ But some sunlight would be appreciated.”

“There is sunlight at the Isles. “he offered.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

It seemed like folly, to be polite to a man who had yanked her away from everything she had known and loved. But she had always been raised to be polite.

Even if she had her mom’s temper (although she hid it more often behind glass-smiles; most people didn’t bother to look at her eyes anyways).

“What do you need- want?”

I want you to leave. I want you to choose someone else. Something in her chest contracted at the image that flashed to her mind. Alishe, taken by him. Her friend’s records in their running contests not helping against this man, not when he had a chariot faster than the winds’ harnessed.

She swallowed.  “Would you leave me?”

He stepped towards her. “ I asked your father for permission.”

She knew it was a useless question. People thought her sheltered, naïve, simply sometimes- they didn’t know her. Her mother might have fought Olympus and Hades to keep her from ever knowing a fate like hers (like Poseidon’s crimes, his- she had heard it all, because people talked, and she had a band of friends who knew gossip could be a weapon of their own, and liked to arm her with it).

She still asked the question.

“ Did you ask my mother?”

A smile slowly appeared. “ Since when is that necessary? “

She did the thing she always did with anger. She hid it in her eyes and used a smile as distraction. “ True.”

His smile widened. His eyes weren’t the only truth, like hers. His eyes were like everything belonging to him- greedy. He sat down. Everything in her burned- her throat, her eyes- even her balled-up fists felt like they were burning. Except instead of spilling tears, she felt like they’d spit fire at his stupid-face. Her stomach felt like fire though, burning subtly, the acid raising up.

She swallowed it away. She knew how to handle men like him. Or in theory she knew anyway. From stories by her friends after they had outrun or outsmarted satyrs. But she was just-

“ I am tired. Would you –“ she cast around for the right words. “ would you allow me to retire?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “ If that is what you wish.”

He looked more like the man from the stories now. The one that was foreboding and untrustworthy and – He’s a spoiled child. The realisation was sudden. He had been kind and polite and even had a nice smile. But she also-

I’m like the pretty shiny thing he wants, and he gets upset when he can’t just have it.

She thought about her mother. How men had always been drawn to her- despite the temper, the higher-than-Olympus expectations, the vitriol she sometimes fired from her mouth. Something below her breast stabbed at her. She blinked.

She’d give a lung for her mom to even appear for a moment.

(Gods didn’t die. But they hurt.)

She swallowed, rubbing her chest absent-mindedly. She gnawed her teeth when she saw his eyes follow the motion- that greedy, contemptuous thing there again. But she pushed down the fire until she could offer him a simmering smile, warm and filled with promise (in his mind, at least. For her, it was just a smile).

She stood up, deciding that the smile would be enough. If he had known her, he’d have felt the absence when looking at that smile. Her normal smile came with crinkled eye corners and peals of laughter.

To her, the absence of laughter was deafening.

To him, she was sure, the absence of laughter mattered nought. And even if he had known her thoughts, he wouldn’t have cared enough. At the end of the day, he would still have taken what he wanted.

She pushed down the anger, inhaled through her nose. She pushed down harder, gritted her teeth. His footsteps didn’t snap her out on it-

She turned around, using the half-second before she was turned around to push all her anger in her eyes, to leave nothing of her anger in her smile.  

“Lord Hades, would you permit me to retire to my chambers?”

When he stepped so close that she swear she could feel his breath on her, like lady Artemis’ wild wolves. Warm and slightly moist and always with that undercurrent you won’t like it when I get hungry.

She pushed back that instinctual reaction, to establish her dominance (and okay, because it would be very satisfying) by punching him in the throat. Father will not allow that. Father definitely would not allow any display of dominance from her. Not when he had apparently decided that the one ‘fatherly’ thing he would do in his life is gift her to this man.

Even the way he smiled – something that had seemed nice earlier, might have even been lovely if she had just chatted with him sometime- made her grit her teeth, steady her breathing subtly.

“I would gladly.”

She stepped back. Not too much, but just enough that she didn’t need to work too hard not to punch him in the face. Still, she could feel her muscles twitch a little.

“ Thank you , lord Hades, but that won’t be necessary.”

“It is no – “ he nodded. They had one thing in common so far. They could both hide their emotions well if they wanted to. Although he hid his behind distant politeness. “ Of course, my lady.”

He bowed and kissed her hand. Her smile was as poisonous as she privately thought his touch was. She inclined her head.

“Thank you.”

And left.

                                                    Demeter

The plants themselves bowed over, seemingly dead (and wishing for it even more). They wished to return their lady’s seedling from the land of the dead. They wished to escape their lady’s anger.

Demeter stumbled to her feed. Her limbs were shaken with anger, her eyes tear-and-blood shot, her hair falling in graceful waves and yet looking more like Medusa’s tresses.  

A plant next to her was shaking, dew drops dripping to its leaves like the tears to Demeter’s lashes. She stroked its leaves with one finger, careful not to disturb the dew. “Fret not” she whispered. Whereas her smile was usually comforting, it now had the exact other effect. “We will get her back.”

She rubbed her forehead.

She had travelled. She had taken on a guise of old age. (gods didn’t get old, but they could feel it).

Once Hekate had found her, she had confronted Zeus. She had pleaded, earning only an eyebrow raise of the king of the gods. She would have kneeled, swallowed all her bile and pride and gladly done so if the reward had been her baby. She had grasped at his robes, reminding them of who she was. Not just to Demeter, but to him.

She should’ve known it didn’t matter. That daughter matter nought to a man who had sired thousands of them.

She had let loose of all her anger, pushing it outward flood upon flood of sharp and sharper words. It had still stuck to her , despite the feeling of emptiness.

She stroked the plant again. For a second, the tears in her eyes weren’t just because of her daughter. She wavered, then pictured her daughter’s brown eyes -so soft and so strong. And her baby’s face- always the face of a little girl, even if she was a millennium and more by now. The curls that she could never tame.

She pulled. Before her, the first flower cried out and the next and the one after that, thousands dying all at once as she retook her gift from them. She stumbled, clutching her head. Her life was intertwined with them; the recoil of all those plants dying pulled at her own life force.

But she was a goddess. She would not die.

But she was a mother. She was unstoppable.

She didn’t bother wiping away the tears. Kneeled know, before the bodies of thousands of what had once been her daughter’s friends as surely as the nymphs, the naiads, the minor goddesses- Persephone might never forgive her. But she didn’t need forgiveness.

She pushed one of the flowers to her breast. The blue already seemed less bright. She held it as she waited. Her heart hadn’t stopped beating like a hummingbird’s wings, and she felt the too-quick thuds right now, pounding at her head even more.

She knew she did not have to wait long. Dozens of humans died, and the gods shrugged and nagged about losing a favourite, only to forget when they found a new plaything. Hundreds of humans died, and the gods shuffled their feet, their eyes not entirely dry if there was a child amongst them.

Thousands died, and the gods cried out in fear.

 She was summoned to the palace.

The king had servants whose sole purpose in life was to fill his cup with nectar, mortals that kneeled in supplication, gods to whose power the limit was the king’s rule and strength. But she didn’t kneel. She let him kneel.

Zeus grasped her robes, his head downcast. She took his chin, pushed it up. His eyes still shone with defiance and anger. But she didn’t care. She showed her own anger, her own defiance to his so-called power.

He broke eye contact, shivered once. Just the once.

“ Desist this Demeter.”

“You’ve asked me this before.”

“ But I have never pleaded. I am even, I a king, I am even- “. He cut himself off.

“ I kneeled too. Remember?”

“ Yes.” He whispered.

“ Mortals mean nothing to you.” He didn’t fight the accusation.

“They mean something to you. Ease their suffering. “

“If the screams if your own daughter mean nothing to you, perhaps you need to listen to more screaming to finally learn to listen.”

“I have. Entire villages are perishing. Men curse us rather than bless us. They spit in the gods’ faces by murdering even their kin for some sustenance. This cannot continue.”

“Then do something, king.”

“I need to safeguard my people.”

She laughed at the implicit threat. “ Then act.”

“ Demeter, you are taking in a way that is far worse than what Hades has taken from you.”

“Not just Hades.”

“ Mothers are- .”

Zeus crawled back when she fully straightened. “ Don’t you dare speak as though you understand a mother’s grief. Don’t you dare – you do not deserve the epithet of father, you don’t deserve the title , the- you know nothing, despite your wisdom.”

She grabbed his throat, her kneels drawing gold. She glanced at it. “ I could slowly bleed you dry and you wouldn’t have felt a tenfold of the suffering that a mother separated from her child goes through.”

She swallowed. “ Not to mention the agony of a child separated from her mother.”

She squeezed, then slowly let go. “ Free my daughter. Those are my demands. No negotiation, no compromises.”

The king of the gods looked up at Demeter, earth-mother, bestower-of-splendid-gifts, queen-amongst-goddesses. Kings are only kings as long as they rule. Queens don’t need to rule to be queens. And what is a king of the gods to a mother?

The king of Olympus slowly nodded.

Demeter arched an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

And left.

                                                     Reunion

Persephone met her halfway, barging into her.

Demeter barely felt the sting as her daughter collided with her. She grabbed the back of her head, stroking it as Persephone clung to her.

“ Mama. Mama.” She whispered.

“Korè. “

Persephone closed her eyes. Inhaled the familiar smell. Vaguely recalled when she little, and her mom would left, and Persephone would drape one of her mom’s shawls around her neck and smell the same oils she was smelling now.

She pulled back, briefly squeezed her mom’s hand.

Demeter pushed back a stray hair, smiled.  Someone had once remarked that Persephone’s untameable hair matched her soul perfectly. They hadn’t been wrong.

Demeter had quickly given up on ‘taming’ her daughter’s hair, realizing rather soon that her daughter was far happier without the ritual of pretending it could be tamed.

“ Persephone. My darling baby, I- .” She nearly choked on the stomach acid that rose, didn’t even consider pushing back her own tears. Her baby girl’s mouth was stained red.

Persephone smiled, revealed the pomegranate seeds. “ Just six.”

That smile said I will be all right. I will learn to be happy.

But she was a mother. She knew to look at the eyes.

And they shrieked out a crescendo of don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave don’t PLEASE.

She sobbed in her daughter’s hair, pressing kisses against her temple. Persephone released her tears in the form of a wail, clutching at her mom’s hair. Grabbing at her hands, letting go, grabbing them again.

Don’t leave it said. Don’t leave her daughter’s wails communicated. Don’t leave, I’m just a girl, I am not ready, don’t leave her broken repeat of “mama” said.

Demeter didn’t offer words, just tears. She couldn’t promise her daughter that. It wasn’t in her hands.

I will leave. But my love for you never will.

                                 Inspiration & Sources & Such

This was inspired by this post : https://jo-march-is-a-lesbian.tumblr.com/post/622378966306734080/finelythreadedsky-finelythreadedsky-the-myth (which is an amazing, powerful post by the way).

It doesn’t follow the idea of that post exactly, but it made me re-imagine the myth in a way different from how a lot of people imagine it. For one, the focus is on Demeter and Persephone. It’s about motherhood. It’s about that bond between mother and daughter. It was very much also inspired by my mother/our relationship, and things happen in my personal life right now.

The title is from a poem called “I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone” by  Rainer Maria Rilke.  I very much also considered “ they will always be your clothes without you,as we will always be your daughters without you. “ but eventually decided the current title worked slightly better. That line is from a poem called “your clothes” by Judith Kroll.

Also, when I name a few of Demeter’s epithets, that is from this: https://www.theoi.com/Cult/DemeterTitles.html#Poetic

#to ***** ***** #aka to my mom #demeter #persephone #motherhood #grief #myth #re-imagined #retelling #greek mythology