#STORM IN A TEACUP MESSED ME UP | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

masuchu · 5 months

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“𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒” [GENSHIN MEN]

what happens when you gift your boyfriend a rather … provocative photo? ‧₊˚

genre. smut, sending nudes but in teyvat so it’s a polaroid, dragon mentions in neuvillette’s, manhandling, praise, mentions of creampies (wriothesley), degradation in his also, bondage in ayato’s, reader is accused (teasingly) of cheating (kinda) in ayato’s

characters. neuvillette, wriothesley, ayato, al haitham, kaveh

love, masu. guys i need these men so badly . you do not understand i am in disarray . tried so hard to colour my text, this app hates me . also the ‘picture’ is a polaroid cause i hate modern au’s </3

那维莱特 ✦ 𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: A subtly erotic photo; your naked body laying in the bath. The water bubbly and crystalline, showing clearly the outline of your waist and the tone of your body. The soapy water hugged your tits so perfectly, hiding your nipples from view but allowing parts of the plump flesh to be seen.

You had only thought that the picture was pretty, but your lover proved that all things can have varied interpretations.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Well, you certainly know how to rile up the Hydro Dragon, don’t you? As soon as his eyes gazed upon your nude body laying so elegantly in the bathtub, his firm resolve cracked. Only minutely, but it cracked nonetheless. The image was tossed aside somewhere on his desk—he didn’t care where—and soft yet demanding hands fell onto your body.

“You temptress,” Neuvillette muttered, eyes travelling over every inch of your body, “what were you hoping for when you took such an image, hm?”

A giggle left your lips, and you lifted a hand up to his jaw. “I think you know, my dearest Iudex.”

A grunt echoed from him, hands gripping tighter around their current places on your form. At once, you were pulled into his firm chest, and you noticed immediately that it seemed larger than usual. A glance upwards told you that it was not just your imagination.

“Surely, you are smart enough to know not to prod a dragon? If you are not, I would be happy to show you the consequences.”

莱欧斯利 ✦ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: Countless strewn sheets of paperwork behind you, your half naked body laying on top. A black set of lingerie hugged you perfectly underneath your regular day shirt, which had clearly been unbuttoned with fervency. Your lipstick has a feature at the top of the polaroid, smeared and messy. An entirely rushed photo, but one that was guaranteed to push your hunky boyfriends buttons.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: “Wow. When you came for our regular tea break today, I was not expecting to receive such a sexy gift.”

You sipped your tea tauntingly, and hummed in response. You knew he would love it.

“I bet you had fun wrecking my desk, huh? Thought one of the Melusines had done it. Nope, just my slut of a girlfriend.”

The name made you tremble. The teacup in your hand began to shake as a result of your newfound lack of resolve, so you placed it down as gently as you were able onto the tray.

“W—who do you think you are speaking to?! You have no right to c—call me that—!”

His lips abruptly smashed onto yours, leaving you with no time to finish your scolding, nor catch your breath. Hands gripped you firmly and picked you up with ease; the kiss did not break once as he strolled over to his desk.

Only when your bottom was placed onto the wood, did he let up. He grinned at your heaving and desperate attempts to gain more oxygen. His resolve infuriated you, how was he not dying right now?!

“Mm, I’m thinking I should fuck you on here now. Try and make another mess. That way I can watch when you clean it all up, bent over with my cum leaking out of you. Looks real pretty in my head…”

Another burst of brattiness stormed through your veins like a tornado, pressing you to fight back against his crude tongue. Your mouth opened in attempt to retaliate, but he only pressed a finger against your lips and teased:

“Ah-ah. No more of that feistiness! You’re much cuter when your a good girl. I can tell you want me, so you’re going to beg for me. I won’t give in until it’s up to my standards, which are high. Feel free to begin, missy~”

神里绫人 ✦ 𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐓𝐎

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: Baby blue ribbons adorned your silky skin. Skin poured out from over the top of the fabric, pulled taut and carefully tied. The pattern was nothing too extravagant, your thighs tied to one another, your wrists tied in a bow, and a final ribbon around your waist. The photo cut off just before your cute, little pussy—a purposeful tease on your part, a tease that invoked a different reaction than what you had imagined.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: “My, my. What is this, my dear.”

You stood extremely awkwardly in front of your lovers work desk, hands clasped in one another behind your back. The plan seemed so perfect in your head, but now that it was in action— well, the embarrassment was certainly creeping its way up your body.

“D—do you you like it, love?”

A deep, ravenous chuckle reverberated from his throat. His eyes were lidded, hungry, and they took a horribly arousing journey over your body. Top to bottom, no place missed.

“Like it? Mm, I love it. Though, I am wondering how you managed to get yourself into such a pretty pose? Did you get Thoma to help you with the ribbon, hm?”

The accusation was false, but the shock of it caused an eruption of red to fill your face, hands waving up and down in denial.

“W—what? Why would I—?! I assure you he did not!”

Ayato’s sultry gaze morphed into that of hurt and betrayal; unnecessary guilt struck you in your chest.

“You look perfectly guilty to me, my dear. Before you plead innocence, I am willing to make you a deal. If you allow me to tie you up once more and have my way with you, I will forget about your betrayal. Sounds fair, hm?”

You gulped; it was hopeless. “Of course, Sir.”

艾尔海森 ✦ 𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: A perfectly choreographed photo; from a fleeting glance, it would appear to be a regular picture with an open book draped over your form. However, you knew Al Haitham was much more attentive than that. Your dripping pussy made a imperceptible appearance at the bottom of the polaroid, only just being cut off by the frame. The book was tilted deliberately so that a large amount of one breast was showing, the other remaining hidden by the leather-bound cover. It was a good effort to shock him, though, perhaps shock isn’t the correct word to use.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Al Haitham’s eyes squinted—so imperceptibly that the average person would never notice, but you did. You always did. A few seconds passed with his eyes analysing the picture, before firmly placing it facing down on his desk.

“What is this?” he asked sternly. His countenance seemed to remain composed if you blurred your sight, but slight twitches of his skin and furrowing of his brows gave him away. He was irked and aroused, a dangerous combination.

“It’s a gift! You don’t like it?” The faux innocence radiated off of you with ease; it was your favourite thing to do. Riling up your boyfriend might as well be your job title at this point.

“Hm. No, I don’t like it,” he rolled his eyes at the pout that materialised on your lips, “in fact, I hate it. It is extremely distracting. Attempting to whisk me away from my important work is an offence to the Akademiya, you know?”

Al Haitham’s eyes did one slow, suggestive rake over your body, and the air suddenly felt a lot thicker when they met your own pair of wide eyes.

“I did not mean to distract you….”

“Well, you have. Are you going to finish what you started, or would you prefer a week without cumming? The choice is yours, sweet girl.”

卡维 ✦ 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: Arguably the least extravagant out of all these images; it is simply just a photo of you laying gracefully on your shared bed, sheet wrangled and ruffled. You are not nude—no, you wear one of Kaveh’s silky button up shirts. It is far too large, and rides up much too high. Your cunt is on show for the Kamera, and your nipples are hard behind the fabric.

It was taken with no malicious intent, but even you can see how it took a promiscuous turn when you gifted it to your lover.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Kaveh let out a shaky breath, eyes wide and flickering between both you and the photo in his hands.

“Fuck, baby. You are so gorgeous…”

You coyly shuffled from one foot to the other, a subtle heat traversing to your cheek. The arousal of the situation was really hitting you, and clearly, your boyfriend too.

“I took it just after you left this morning… I didn’t mean for it— it wasn’t meant to be so.. lewd, I swear!”

Kaveh took a deep breath of fresh air—a substance which appeared to suddenly be extremely scarce— and pulled you by your hips against him.

“I don’t care, I’m actually grateful. Archons, I’m gonna take this with me on long trips now, you know? I’ll be cumming for you all across Teyvat.”

A tiny yelp left your lips as your needy lover began to nibble your neck, hands lingering around your ass, much too close to your soaking hole.

“K—Kaveh…!”

It had only been a minute or less, but he had already turned you into a panting mess. He removed his head from the crevice of your neck for a moment, and admired the work of purple art he had created along your skin. For no apparent reason, he grinned. He met your eyes with a clear radiation of mischief, before asking shamelessly:

“Wanna recreate the photo? Though, my cum should make an appearance this time. Want the one you gave me, and a dirtier one. What do you say, hm?”

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delta-pavonis · 4 months

Note

Dream Journal Rescue for the wip game, please

WHOO! Thank you for asking about this one, Nonny.

For the 2022 Dreamling Secret Santa I took a risk and wrote something that can be very divisive in fanfic and in fiction in general: first person narrative. I wrote the first half of i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) as a dream journal that Hob used to record his dreams after they came back when Dream got out of the fishbowl in 2021. It draws both from the early comics and from the TV show in terms of events/timeline. This fic got significantly less attention than the others I had written at the time, but it was also the one I was most proud of that year (and that's with Eros in Pragma and Hypnopompia turtur in there!). I am still extremely proud of it because it is, for me, I think very poetic writing. However, the first version of i had a dream wasn't post-fishbowl, but actually started before the fishbowl. Hob still kept a dream journal, and it still started in first person, but the idea originally was that Hob would figure out that something had happened to his Stranger because of his dreams stopping. Which meant that they needed to have enough of a relationship/rapport by the 1910s that Hob would trust that Dream would not miss a dream "date" of theirs without very good reason. Hence, "dream journal rescue" as the name. I only have pieces of the fic, but I keep them because I still viscerally love what I did with i had a dream SO FUCKING MUCH that I want to return to that style at some point. If you have read i had a dream you will see the bits I took from this and transferred to that.

This is totally G-rated and starts before 1889, as Hob is anticipating that next meeting, and then keeps going into 1914. Here's what I have in that WIP file:

21 October 1885

I think I need to write these down. Olive suggested I start writing these down. She is usually right about such things.

Maybe it will bring some clarity to this… mess.

I’m in the White Horse Inn. (It is always the White Horse.)

The year is not obvious from the decor, which is a riotous mix of 1389 and 1489 and 1789. Delicate teacups and straw-covered floor and fireplaces with chimneys. Of course chimneys. But I know, in the way of dreams, that it is the day of our annual appointment, the next one, in 1889.

I shake my coat and hat free of the London morning rain. I am many hours before the time of our appointment. This my usual - I always arrive early. To ready the table and, more importantly, myself for our meeting.

But in this dream I enter the White Horse to find the Stranger already there. He looks exactly as he did in 1789. Which must say something about my imagination since he has always been in impeccable fashion specific to the era of our meeting.

Or perhaps it is because he looks at me with the same burning intensity that made our last appointment so spectacular. His eyes devour me, just as they did when we parted last, and I am absolutely helpless to resist.

I am sitting then, across from him, cups of tea and venison pasties between us. His beautiful pale fingers trace around the gilded edge of the teacup. I am speaking, words tumbling forth, I can hear the droning vibrations in my ears and throat, but it is not where my attention lies.

My attention is riding the wave in his coalblack hair. My attention is wafting the bob of his throat above his high collar. My attention is tracing the sweet pout of his pink lips. My attention is flying through storm-sky eyes.

He reaches across and

Fuck. I can’t write this.

[There are several attempts at starting entries after the previous one. None manage more than a sentence.]

[No attempts at entries are made after 1889.]

1 November 1898

I woke up still drunk and still in very rural Wales (note: never ever always maybe return for Nos Calan Gaeaf in the future) and found this old journal in the bottom of my trunk, so I suppose I shall once again make a valiant attempt to take dear Olive’s advice to sort out the dreams of my Stranger that ever plague me.

(I have heard tell of work by a man named Freud who claims dreams can be used to better understand someone’s psychology and potentially even relieve psychosis. He'd have a field day with me. May I never come within 400 miles of him.)

My drunk mind lacks creativity for scenery and so when I sleep this night I find myself in the same village square I was in only hours prior… however, I am back in time about 400 years? Long before the industrialization of the region, before the extermination of these old traditions by the expansion of “civilization.”

I have just won the silly harvest mare from the clutches of the other young men bringing the last of the harvest in, a horse-shaped horror made from the final stalks of grain reaped. I am now expected to try to sneak this rustling beast into the home where the bulk of the feast is being prepared by the womenfolk without one of them dousing me with washwater. If I succeed in getting into the kitchen unscathed I will win their finest beer and an honored seat at the feast-table. I am always up for new games.

(This is all Iwan’s fault for convincing me to accompany him home for the holiday yesterday and for me getting drunk while they all told me stories of the Old Days. Let it never be said that I abandon a friend in their time of need.)

I easily weave through the crowds of women and children, in their dresses and aprons and smocks, clothing I haven’t seen in centuries but are still as real as yesterday, and cross the kitchen threshold only to find the room empty. An empty kitchen except for the crackle of the hearthfire and my Stranger sat on a barrel in front of it.

The large fire paints him in oranges and golds and he looks warm and inviting in a way that I have never experienced outside of my mind. It is the moment I know for certain that this is a dream.

When he looks up to me he appears confused, brows drawn, lips parted.

I am the first to speak, although words do not come easily to me. “What…?” After our parting in 1889 I can scarce understand why I am seeing him before me now. Although nightmares of the night plagued me in the months afterwards, I had been blessedly free of any night-time visits from my Stranger for almost a decade now. It has been an unexpected boon after so many years of dreaming of him more carnally. I know these facts within the dream. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t stand, cranes his neck back to look up at me, and I realize he has a low collar this night, lower than it had been even in 1489. I can see flame-gold arcing around the shadowed hollow of his throat.

“It is a Ysbrydnos.” He explains in perfect Welsh, as if I am some child. I do not question why I can so easily understand him despite my mediocre grasp of the language. It is a dream, after all. “Many call on me such nights.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, ‘tis a Spirit Night and you a spirit.”

He tilts his head to the side, bird-like and distinctly not human. “Not as such. But I will attend the dreams of many who call me here this night.” The Stranger’s voice is just as rich and decadent as it is in person. This detail my memory - traitorous bastard it is - does not neglect.

“Of course. Even the version of you I make for my dreams gives non-answers and evasions.” I can feel my whole body hunch in defeat. I wrap my arms around myself, look to the floor. “Just why…” Even my dream cannot steady my voice. “Why does my mind show you to me now? Why this torment?”

“Ah.” Now his voice is choked and staccato. “You did not call me here yourself this night.” Perhaps he is surprised, or ashamed, I cannot tell.

Still, I want to scream. “After last time…” I grit my teeth and continue to stare at the floor.

I see the toes of his black shoes enter my field of view. His chest is perhaps a handspan from mine. “Do you truly wish to never dream of me?” This inquiry is a mocking echo of his usual question, but there is no mockery in his tone. “Given…" He shakes his head, unable to say the words. Say the words he should say: Given what I did to you… Instead he restarts the sentence, "It would be well within your right to request it.”

I sigh. He almost sounds remorseful. What a fantasy this is. How contrived. “No.” And if I ever doubted before that this was a dream the tiny bits of relief I see wash over my Stranger confirms it. His eyes soften minutely. His shoulders relax a hair's breadth. “This might be the only chance I have to ever see you again. And I would take the machinations of my mind, I would take delusions of your regard, over nothing.”

He hums, looking back to the fire as he takes a step away from me. I feel cold and bereft. “This dream is over.”

And then I woke up.

1 Nov 1898 I have not dreamed of him in six months. one year. three years. seven ten fifteen

25 May 1914

After almost 17 years I found myself dreaming of the White Horse last night and when I focused upon it in my mind’s eye I almost burst into tears.

Wait, Olive always said that this was more effective if I narrated as if I was reliving the dream. That I would get more details back that way.

I begin the dream standing outside the White Horse Inn and knowing that I am dreaming. It is the first time I have begun a dream this aware and therefore it is noteworthy.

When I enter I feel his presence before I see it. Through the doors in the back, to the private room that had been set aside for us in 1789. He is once again in front of a fireplace, standing this time, hands clasped at the small of his back as he looks down into the flames.

(Note: Ponder this pattern more later, that I associate him in dreams with fire.)

The door to the room automatically closes behind me and he turns. Despite the venue, he is dressed, as always, in the pinnacle of fashion. All black - of course - but a suit with long jacket and waistcoat and tie nonetheless. The ever-present ruby sits heavy and dark just below his throat.

“I did not intend the delay, Hob.” And doesn’t that throw me for a loop. I did not know prior to that moment that one could get dizzy in their own dreams. “I sometimes forget that time flows… differently… for you humans. But I did think on our last conversation.”

Thirty questions stampede through my mind at once. Everything from ‘Did he just directly admit that he is not human?’ to ‘Which last time?’ I throw all of these aside and instead opt for a cautiously lilted “And?”

A magnanimous wave of his hand and we are sitting, the same tea and sweets that were present in 1789 grace the table between us. I hold my breath. “Perhaps we can pick up, as much as we can, where we were in 1789 before the Lady Constantine interrupted us.” I am so taken aback by the turn this dream has taken that I cannot for the life of me think of what to say next. Luckily, my mind does not require me to as he continues. “I believe you asked my name.”

I almost fall over myself to give him leave to avoid it. “Only if you wish it.” Just don't leave again.

He smiles, something brighter than usual, and it feels like looking into the Sun. “I have a list of titles, which we can get to later, but the simplest name is Dream.”

I clamp down on the anguish that’s in my throat, but it still comes out as a high-pitched wheeze from between my teeth. “Dream?! DREAM?!?” I let myself slump boneless into the chair, impropriety be damned, and splay my legs out in front of me, hands over my face. “Oh fuck my mind and these GAMES. Why can it not send me sweet dreams of you? Of COURSE you are named Dream… you are a dream! Has my subconscious no creativity? Christ in heaven…”

“Hob!” He shouts. He has never shouted at me before. I look to him through my fingers, meet twilight-blue eyes. “My name is Dream of the Endless and I am the King of Dreams and Nightmares.”

Shock, bright white and violent, runs through me and I quite literally fall out of my chair.

And then I wake up.

26 May 1914

I do not think I have ever been more wrong about something in my long long life.

Fuck.

My Stranger is Dream. He lords over dreams and nightmares. They are his Domain, his Kingdom.

F U C K

I knew that he was something Other. But this. This.

We met again last night, in my dreams. I don’t need to work at this anymore (thanks for trying, Olive) because he asked me last night if I wanted to remember this, remember meeting him. Apparently he has some manner of control over such things.

I told him yes. Of course I said yes. But I think I want to continue to keep track of what has happened, what will happen, in my dreams, here in this journal. If only so that I have something to refer to later when I have absolutely zero confidence that this is real. Some proof that I haven’t gone completely barmy.

Last night we talked. Just talked. It was in a liminal space, barely distinct as containing a floor and walls and chairs. All monotone, in blacks and greys and faint whites. It still reminded me of the back room from 1789.

He - Dream - told me so much. More than he had ever said to me in one go ever before. He told me some of his other names: Lord Morpheus (or just Morpheus), Prince of Stories, Oneiros, Shaper of Forms. He has a kingdom, home to dreams and nightmares alike. They are not only his citizens, but he creates them. Creates!

I have so so many questions.

But I must parcel them out carefully. Each answer is a treasure I will hoard.

I returned his generosity with words of my own.

#Dreamling #Pavonis writes #another dream journal fic

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inkrabbit · 2 years

Note

you can skip this request if it’s a bit much but i’ve fallen into a pretty bad depressive episode and gosh, i could just use a lot of comfort from my favorite ghoul so can i please request sodo x f!reader who is dealing with depression and he comforts her? thank you <3

keep your head up anon and I hope you start feeling better soon <333 hopefully this fic is to your liking

also blood tw since reader does injure herself!

The second the mug slips from your hand, tears prick at your eyes. Shards of ceramic fly across the floor as Secondo’s coffee seeps through all of the cracks in the floor.

“È sempre qualcosa!” You drop to your knees, hastily picking up the pieces of the teacup, holding back your winces when some of the pieces cut into you. Secondo finally enters his office, his face upturned in a sneer as he stares at you. You’re ready to hear him yell. You’re ready to hear Italian words that would make the strongest of ghouls shrink back. But he takes that extra moment to stare at you, his features softening as he crouches down beside you. “Oh, uccello canoro. What has happened?”

“I’m sorry, Papa.” You don’t realize the tears have started to fall until his gloved hand comes up to rid your cheeks of your tears.

“A coffee mug is not worth your sorrow,” he tells you softly. With a pat on your shoulder, he stands to full height. “Ghoul! To me!”

It takes only a moment before one of his ghouls is poking his head through the door.

“Yes, Papa?” Secondo gestures down to both you and the mess.

“Clean this up!” he orders. The ghoul slips inside the office, bowing to the man.

“Yes, Papa. Right away.” His attention focuses on you. “Allow me, please.”

He helps you up, though he’s not as gentle as you would’ve liked. Maybe it’s what you deserve. Still, Secondo storms over and shoos the ghoul away from you when you’re on your feet.

“Scustumad!” he barks. “This is not a ghoul, you simpleton! You must be gentle with humans!”

“Yes, Papa. Sorry, Papa.” The ghoul turns his attention to you, bowing slightly. “Sorry, Sister.”

“It’s okay.” You force yourself to give him a smile, holding your bleeding hand against your habit.

“Go on, quello piccolo,” Secondo tells you softly, hands gently pushing your back and towards his door. “Go get yourself cleaned up. And try to calm down, ah?” He gives you a smile. “I know your tears are not from a silly little mug.”

“Thank you, Papa.” You slip out of the office, though you let out the choked sob you’ve been holding in. You should’ve just stayed in bed today and dealt with whatever punishment you would’ve gotten. At least then you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself in front of Secondo and his ghoul.

You’re looking your hand over as you walk through the halls of the abbey. You don’t see any shards lingering in your hands, but the cut had been deep enough to make you bleed. You rub your eyes as you sniffle softly. Well, it could’ve been worse.

You don’t bother to go clean up. You don’t have the strength to. Instead, you make a beeline for the garden. Sitting among the flowers and away from everything and everyone seemed like a good idea. You could be on your own and alone with your thoughts, even if that was an intimidating thought.

There’s a wave of relief that washes over you when you see no other siblings around. At least you got to wallow on your own. You sit on one of the old benches, bringing your knees up to your chest as a sob racks through you. Your body shakes with each heave of your chest and it’s hard to breathe. Each inhale is shaky and broken, but you suppose it’s better than nothing.

You only force yourself to stop when the smell of campfire hits you. You pick your head up, seeing Sodo walking towards you with his hands stuffed inside his pockets.

“You reek, you know that?” he calls out to you. Ow. You curl in tighter on yourself, bringing your sleeve up to wipe your tears away. “Can practically smell you from the dens. What happened?”

“Nothing.” You try to hide your cut hand from him. “I’m fine.”

His tongue clicks on the roof of his mouth. “Sister, I’m not stupid.” He rounds the bench, taking a seat next to you. “And I don’t appreciate being lied to. So how about you tell me?” You flinch when his hand rests on your shoulder. “C’mon. I’m not that bad, am I?”

“I’m okay. Really.” You can feel your throat closing back up as your voice cracks. When his hand slides from your shoulder to your back, drawing you closer to him, you finally break. You uncurl yourself and bury your face into his shoulder as you start sobbing again. You feel his other arm cross over you, rubbing your arm as he softly mumbles “It’s okay” in your ear.

“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart.” His voice is so soft as you finally pull back, still sniffling. One of his hands come up, wiping away the new tears that have slipped down your cheeks.

“Everything!” you snap, “It feels like I can’t do anything right, I feel like shit, I look like shit-”

“Hey, calm down. One thing at a time.” You finally stop, nodding your head. “Alright, let’s start at the beginning: what did you do today that made you feel like you can’t do anything right?”

“Papa’s coffee. I dropped the mug and it shattered, and then I cut my hand trying to pick the pieces up.”

“Sounds like it was just an accident.”

“He called his ghoul in to clean it all up. Like he didn’t think I could be trusted to!”

“He didn’t do it because of that.” He picks up your injured hand and you feel his tail flick as he sees your blood. “See this? Ghouls are a lot more resilient. Papa was just worried about you.

“Now, what about how you’re feelin’, huh?”

“That’s nothing new.” You lean back from him as you cross your arms. “I always feel like this. Some days are just worse than others.”

“And I’m guessing this is one of those “worse days” then?”

“Yeah.” He gives you a small smile behind that mask of his.

“Now, about you thinkin’ you look like shit.” He lets go of you to bring his hands up, undoing the clasp that held his mask in place before pulling off the balaclava. It’s the first time you’ve seen any of the ghouls without their mask on and you feel your heart leap into your throat when you see him. He doesn’t look like the rough and tough ghoul everyone always thought of him to be. Instead, he looks kind, though his hair is tousled. He gives you a smile. “See? You look a lot better than me, sweetheart. You got lucky.”

“Sodo, you…” You’re a loss for words. You had always imagined what the ghouls would look like underneath their masks, but actually seeing it was amazing. “You’re so handsome.”

“Hey, I’m meant to be comforting you!” he laughs, but you see how his cheeks darken as he blushes.

“C-can I…” You trail off, not knowing how to word it without sounding weird. But he gives you a nod, still smiling. Your hands come up, gently cupping his face as you stroke his cheek. His skin is a lot hotter than yours and there’s almost a leathery feel to it. There’s a soft rumble in his chest, similar to a cat purring.

“You’ve got soft hands, Sister.” He takes your cut one, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. “You know, someone as wonderful as you shouldn’t be so upset.”

“Stop.”

“I mean it.” He looks at the dried blood on your hand, his forked tongue popping out to lick his lips. “Now, how about we get you cleaned up? There’s a little faucet by the hedges we can use.” The grin he gives you already shows he’s up to no good. “Unless you’re willing to let me lick it clean?”

“Sodo, that’s disgusting!” You pull your hand back from him, but you still join him in laughter.

“Faucet it is.” He stands up, offering you his hand and helping you to your feet when you take it. But he doesn’t let go. Instead, he keeps his hold on you gentle as he walks close beside you, his tail wrapping around your waist. “And just so you know, our little chat isn’t over.”

“Oh, what? We’re gonna have a bonding session?” you ask him. But you’re happy he’s not leaving so soon. He makes you feel less alone.

“Of course!” His tail unhooks from you as he takes his place in front of you, walking backward as you two make your way for the faucet. “Hey, maybe we could do each other’s nails? What color do you think would look good on me?” He holds out his hands, admiring his black claws. “I get tired of seeing this same color.”

“Sodo!” He laughs, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

“There’s that smile I wanna see.”

#request #sodo #sodo ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #f!reader #sodo x reader #blood tw #ghost #ghost band

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waltwhitmansbeard · 1 year

Note

~ It's been a while ~

May I ask number 7 of the Trust prompt list: giving them their personal space, for Shadowgast, please? :D

7. giving them their personal space

Essek Thelyss is an observant man. It is a skill borne out of necessity, honed by years, now, on the run from his own people, his own country. He clocks every pair of eyes in a room before they can find him first, is always aware of his exits, has Teleport and Greater Invisibility prepared at all times, ready to cast either at a moment's notice.

It is how he sees Caleb's bad days coming before Caleb himself does. There is the old adage about waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but Essek, who trances for only a few hours each night and gets to watch this human man twitch and sigh in his sleep, knows that there is truth to it. He knows when the frown settles deep into the creases around Caleb's mouth, when his arms and legs curl in around his torso protectively, when his eyes jump and dart beneath his closed lids, that the morning will bring storm clouds instead of sunshine.

On these mornings, he makes sure Caleb's favorite tea, black with honey from their neighbor's hives, is ready with a strudel, so that he wakes up to something sweet and warm. Essek combs his fingers through his hair, shaggy and streaked with gray, and lets his eyes flicker open, look around, assess the situation.

"Guten morgen," he says quietly. Essek's accent is still terrible, even after all these years, but he tries. "How did you sleep?"

Caleb rises slowly, one arm pushing up, then the other. He takes the tea from the bedside table, brings it beneath nose, and breathes. When he answers, his voice is small and rough, like shattered glass. "Not well."

He already knows this. Essek pulls his hand away. "Would it be helpful for me to be here, or would you rather have some space?"

He asks. He always asks. Nothing is more important than Caleb making this choice for himself. Caleb takes a long pull from the teacup, lets his eyes drift closed. "I think...I think I need some time this morning, Liebling."

Essek gently rests his hands against Caleb's scruff; it is one of his favorite sensations, the coarse hair beneath his soft palm. "Of course, my dear." He stands, walks to the door, and says, "I will be out here whenever you're ready. Should I send the cats in?"

Caleb nods, and Essek creaks open the door to let a pair of slinking orange and white cats into the room. They jump onto the mess of sheets and curl up against Caleb's legs. Essek slips out of the bedroom, and just as the door is about to close, he hears a whispered, "Danke, mein liebe."

#ask #ravendruid #critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #mighty nein #mighty nein fic #shadowgast #shadowgast fic #my fic

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mxliv-oftheendless · 1 year

Text

Alice in Borderland – Last Night in Soho AU

CW: murder, violence, abuse, horror, drugging, poisoning (It's an AU of a horror movie, guys)

(This came to me some time ago and I got so excited by the idea that I made a moodboard and short little snippet for it! The snippet is under the cut. Please read with discretion because it is an AU of a horror movie. But other than that, enjoy!)

“A police officer came by earlier. He asked about you, and about your well-being. A welfare check, he said.”

Arisu lowered his head as his elderly landlord spoke. He should’ve known this would happen—after how he’d been acting, someone was bound to call the police and ask them to check up on the insane graphic design major. He wondered who it was—Chishiya, or Usagi, or Karube and Chota… he wouldn’t have even put it past Niragi, after Arisu nearly stabbed his eye out in the library.

He tried to focus on the record playing in the background—he used to be able to depend on his mother’s records to bring comfort when not even his video games could. Now, though, he couldn’t help thinking about Takeru, the young man with so many dreams that had been exploited and murdered.

He’d been so sure that old man—Aguni, Karube called him—had been the one who did it, who took advantage of Takeru and used him, then killed him when Takeru tried to leave. But he’d been so, horribly wrong, and the innocent man paid the price. Maybe he really was going insane…

“It had me worried,” Danma-san continued. “He told me you’ve been saying a young man died up there in your room.”

Arisu glanced up. The old man’s face was strange. It was solemnly indulgent, like he was a schoolteacher and Arisu was a little elementary school boy he was scolding for pulling a girl’s pigtails. But why?

He tried to control the shaking hands that held his teacup and bent forward into the best bow he could manage. “I-I’m sorry, Danma-san,” he said meekly.

Apologizing didn’t seem like enough—not when Danma-san had been kind enough to rent him his room, put up with his video games and music, and look after him while he slowly unraveled. He wondered if Danma-san had known Takeru. Based on the man’s age now, he would’ve been the same age as Takeru in the 1960s. Maybe he could’ve asked Danma-san and avoided the entire mess he’d made of himself.

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Ryohei-kun.” Danma-san waved his apology away with his hand. “Really. It’s funny, because… you’re not entirely wrong.”

Arisu slowly lifted his head to stare at him in confusion, even as dread began to gnaw at him. What was he talking about…?

“Truth be told,” Danma-san went on, “I hadn’t thought about it that way before, until you brought it up. But I guess it’s true—a young man did die up there. The young me that came to Tokyo all those years ago.”

For a moment, Arisu could only stare dumbly at Danma-san, unable to believe what he’d just heard. The old man stared back at him, looking like he was patiently waiting for him to catch up.

Then Arisu studied his face. And suddenly, time seemed to rewind on Danma-san’s face. He slowly aged backwards—wrinkles disappeared, skin tightened and smoothed out, hair darkened and grew, until the face that stared back at him was…

“Takeru?” he whispered faintly.

How? How was this possible? He watched Takeru die…

But then he remembered what the old man, Aguni, said before he stormed out of the bar. “Why don't you ask Danma what happened to Takeru? He knows exactly what happened. He practically did it himself!”

“I had goals like you,” Danma-san kept speaking. “Dreams, like you. I wanted to be a performer on a big stage. I wanted to act.”

The faces of Takeru and Danma-san started phasing in and out, blending together before Arisu’s eyes. And it suddenly seemed like two voices were coming out of the man’s mouth; Danma-san’s and Takeru’s.

“Being a whore’s a little like being an actor, you could say.” The wry laugh grated on Arisu’s eardrums. “You have to pretend you’re somebody else—that it’s not really you there, being used so thoroughly by all those… animals. It was how I tried to forget them all, and all of their faces. I blanked them out, erased them. I had to, because then, it wasn’t so real.”

All Arisu could do was sit and listen in numb shock. Takeru was alive this whole time—he’d been in this house the whole time, indulging Arisu’s music tastes and reminding him that no visitors were allowed at night and letting him think he was dead. Arisu hadn’t even recognized him. But the eyes—the eyes were identical, the same shade of brown. Except what had formerly been lit up with sparks of enthusiasm and ambition were now bitter and dulled.

“So yes, Ryohei-kun. In a way, you’re right. Takeru did die in that room. He died in that room a hundred times. And then one night, the man who put me there—put me to work,” the word was spat out like something disgusting, “and stole my dreams…”

Visions suddenly flashed before Arisu’s eyes. It was the same scene he’d watched in the mirror, of Takeru struggling on the bed with the knife to his throat. But this time, when the knife was raised in the air and brought down… Takeru caught it. He wrapped his right hand around the blade and looked up. Then Arisu watched as the look of terror on his face slowly melted away to a look of unbridled rage. He yanked the knife out of the hand and stabbed it into the chest.

Danma-san turned his right hand over and rested it on his lap so his palm faced up, and idly ran his other hand over the two long scars there, a knife blade’s width apart. “Well…”

Arisu couldn’t tell what was reality—Danma-san in the living room looking down at his scarred palm with a look of barely-concealed satisfaction, or Takeru in the dark bedroom stabbing his captor over and over and over again, blood spurting all over him.

“I made sure he died.” Danma-san looked up at Arisu with the beginnings of a satisfied smirk on his face. “One hundred times.”

Arisu’s ears began to ring. His heart began to pound wildly with terror.

“And do you know something, Ryo-chan—can I call you Ryo-chan?”

Arisu quickly nodded his head, managing a terrified squeak of, “Y-Yes,”

Danma-san’s smirk became a full smile that looked absolutely terrifying. “It felt so good, Ryo-chan. It felt right.” His face suddenly melted away into Takeru’s, covered in blood and sharing an identical smile. “And then later, when all those assholes came knocking at my door, expecting me to lie back and take it as usual…”

The shrill sound of the doorbell rang painfully in Arisu’s ears, and the shadows of all the men—all the ghosts he’d seen in the library—passed before his eyes, headed for the stairs up to Takeru’s room.

“They made my life even more of a hell. So it was only right that I sent them there.”

Reality melted away again before Arisu’s eyes, replaced by the dark room lit up by red neon lights, illuminating Takeru and his knife as he murdered all the men. He stabbed them in the chests and slashed at their throats, getting his face and his once pristine, flashy clothes coated in even more blood. It was all Arisu could see, all he could feel, it staining his face like he’d been there himself, and all he could smell.

Then he watched as one by one, they were dragged away by Takeru, who ripped open the walls and floors of the house.

Arisu suddenly remembered what Danma-san said the day he moved in. “I hope you won’t mind the smell. I’ve never been able to get it to completely go away.”

He suddenly felt lightheaded and his stomach rolled, threatening to throw up the tea he just drank. He put the bodies in the walls and floors.

And he stayed rooted to the spot in his chair as Takeru did just that, roughly throwing and stuffing the bodies in the walls and floors, then boarding up and replacing the torn out wood and slotting the floorboards back in place.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the newspaper articles on them—you’re smart enough to do your research, Ryo-chan. Did you see they called them ‘missing persons’?” Danma-san gave a terrifying bark of a laugh. “It was actually funny after a while—everyone wondering and worrying about where they’d gone to, when I knew exactly where they’d been. I’ve always thought they were asking the wrong questions. They shouldn’t have wondered where they were, but who they were. But I knew exactly who they were. And I was doing everyone a damn favor.”

And then Takeru was there again, covered head to toe in blood. That look of ambition and determination was back, but it looked wrong—it was twisted, darker, like the determination of a trapped animal to escape its cage.

“I wasn’t going to be used anymore,” he spat at Arisu, gripping his knife. “I wasn’t going to let this fucking place break me.”

A tear slipped down Arisu’s cheek as he looked at Danma Takeru—the young man Arisu had seen as a kindred spirit, someone to admire… maybe even someone who could’ve been his friend. Why did this all have to happen to him? “I’m so sorry…”

Danma-san frowned softly, like he was comforting a little crying child. “Oh, Ryo-chan, why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault.”

“N-No, I… I understand.” He looked imploringly at him. “I know what you’ve been through.”

Something sharpened threateningly in Danma-san’s expression. “Oh, do you now?”

Arisu nodded, hoping he could somehow get the man to believe him. “I do, I—I saw it—”

“Did you?” Danma-san suddenly seemed incredibly dangerous. “And you think because you saw, you understand?”

Arisu wanted to break down in terrified crying. Another frightened tear rolled down his cheek. “I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to get you in trouble with the police—”

“Oh, don’t worry, Ryo-chan,” Danma-san chuckled, like it was all just one big joke. “The police think you’re insane. And it’s not like you’ll tell anyone.”

His heart pounded even harder in fear and he shook his swimming head wildly. “I-I won’t—I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” He couldn’t help a frightened hiccup. “Please don’t hurt me… I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, no.” Danma-san shook his head. “I know you won’t tell anyone.”

What did he…

His head suddenly felt so heavy. His arms and legs felt weighed down, like his bones had been replaced by lead. Arisu’s eyes lowered, and fell on the teacup he still held in his hands. He looked at the tea, and suddenly remembered what Danma-san said when he handed him the cup.

“Drink up. It’s a special blend.”

His eyes widened in horror, and he made a noise of terror as the teacup slipped out of his hands and fell to the floor. A rushing sound began to fill his ears and his vision swam.

“Don’t worry, Ryo-chan,” he heard Danma-san, or was it Takeru, say as he swayed dangerously on the couch. “I’m not gonna stab you like I did the others. You’re too much of a sweet boy to deserve that. You’re just going to peacefully fall asleep. And everyone will think you just offed yourself—they were worried you were going to do that anyway.” Danma-san looked him over in almost mocking pity as he gripped the couch and made strangled noises as he tried to cough up what he drank. “You poor boy… they really were all very concerned about you. Especially that one with the bleached hair—Chishiya, I think? The one I threw out after you snuck him in on Halloween. He might’ve been the one that requested the welfare check, I think, but the policeman didn’t say. With how he carries himself like a prideful cat, I didn’t expect him to care so much about you.” He looked mockingly moved. “It’s almost romantic.”

Arisu could only whimper in fear as he fought off the urge to close his eyes. He felt like he was going to faint. His vision swam and dark spots appeared. He could feel his grip weakening on the couch cushion. His mind screamed at him to get up, to run, to call Chishiya or Usagi or anyone and get help… but he couldn’t move. His limbs felt too heavy.

“So.” Danma-san smacked his legs before getting up to cross the room and go behind him. “We’re just going to let you make yourself comfortable,” he said lightly, “and lie down. Come on now, Ryo-chan.”

Arisu weakly sobbed and tried to get away from the hand placed on his shoulder. He didn’t want to die… not like this…

“Hey now, shh,” Danma-san, or maybe it was Takeru, shushed. He patted his head and gently pulled him back by his shoulder. “It’s okay. Come on.” Arisu was forced to lie back against stacked pillows, too weak to fight back. “Just lie back… There we go.” He patted Arisu’s head again, stroking his hair. “That’s a good boy. You can just drift off to sleep, listening to that music you love so much.”

Arisu whimpered and looked up. Takeru’s youthful face looked back at him, smiling down at him around the blood splattered over his face. “No more excitement for you tonight, Ryo-chan,” he crooned.

As he looked up at the man he’d dreamed about and grown to care about, Arisu couldn’t keep himself from weakly crying. He didn’t want to die… Especially not at the hands of someone he’d admired for months. It felt like a betrayal, even though Takeru had only ever been a ghost haunting him, never really his friend. He’d always thought of Takeru and seen him as the lively, ambitious, and talented young man—the sort of man Arisu would’ve been overjoyed to have as a friend. Not like this, a jaded, embittered man who had to kill to survive and escape the people who took advantage of him. Had Arisu taken advantage of him too? Was that why he was killing him?

He supposed he was never going to find out.

The rushing in his ears grew louder, slowly drowning out everything, even the music playing from the record player in the corner. It all felt like he was hearing it from underwater. His vision swam even more. His eyes felt so heavy…

And then, through the rushing sound, Arisu heard the doorbell ring. It began to ring over and over, like someone was hurriedly pressing the button. He tried to focus on that, locking in on the sound and training his ears on it. The fog in his mind cleared somewhat, and the muffled sounds became clearer as the ringing doorbell switched to someone began to pound wildly on the door.

“Arisu?!” a voice shouted. “Are you in there?! ARISU!”

Hope weakly lifted its head in Arisu’s chest. Chishiya.

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everything-fine-n-peachy · 2 years

Text

A Storm in a Teacup (Mark au)

A Storm in a Teacup - A lot of fuss about something unimportant

The Post Grad Series Warning: Low-Pressure Area

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: Mark x oc Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, angst (awkward mark lee) Warnings: mentions of alcohol and insecurities, some dark humor if you squint Word count: 2.1k Song: Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers TLDR: A drunk Mackenzie is saved by knight in shining armor Mark, or not.

“What we need is another drink.”

“That’s the tenth time you’ve said that.”

Mark looked up from his beer, laughing in amusement. It was only his second one. Mackenzie on the other hand had god knows how many (not counting the soju bottles). In the span of two hours, his neighbor was obviously already drunk yet he still had no idea why she was drinking.

His attention is yet again caught by the distant rumbling. He watched the sky shift to different hues of gray and blue thinking about the odds of getting hit by lightning one day. But that was irrelevant.

“Mark, you know I think you’re good at being happy. You should really teach a class on how to be happy.” Mackenzie said, downing another shot. She smiled at him through her drunken state, cheeks flushed. At the back of her mind she was sure she had just uttered something embarrassing although at this point, she couldn’t be bothered.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, you’re life’s a mess yet here you are … on vacation and,” she said, pausing to take another shot, “it seems to me like you’re actually having a grand time.” Mark only laughed. There was no malice in what she was saying. Technically, he was still jobless in a new city after two months.

Was he worried? Maybe.

But was he also having a grand time? The answer, he thought, might not be as simple. After All there he was on a Friday night drinking with his cute neighbor, too shy to make a pass on her.

Was it weird that it took him so long to strike another conversation with her after living next door for that long? Definitely.

Mark could only do the occasional “do you have any extra eggs?” or “can I use the kettle, ours is broken?”. It was astonishing how he went from confronting his boss about finally writing music for himself to this loser who was running out of good excuses to talk to the cute girl next door.

Maybe it was the universe (or Mackenzie’s drinking problem) that finally gave Mark his golden opportunity. As fate would have it, he was on his way to the store when he bumped into a grumbling Mackenzie lugging two bags of what seemed to be an assortment of alcohol. That’s when he decided that no good neighbor would be stupid enough to leave anyone alone with that much booze. Which is why he thought it would be a good idea to invite himself to whatever Mackenzie was up to.

“Hey, did you hear what I said?” Mackenzie interjected, bringing Mark out of his reverie. He blinked twice before responding.

“Yeah, I uh didn’t quite get that.”

“I asked you if you thought dogs go to like a dog heaven or do they also go to a human heaven.” She drawled on before letting out a hiccup.

“Well I uh-” before he could continue Mackenzie raised a hand up. “Are you okay?” he asked. She looked like she was about to burp with her chest heaving.

“Fine, just need another shot is all.” She stated with such confidence that Mark was actually about to believe her bullshit against his better judgment.

Suddenly, she lurched forward, her hand immediately landing to cover her mouth before she ran to the bathroom.

Mark did not need a visual of whatever was happening but he was pretty sure it was a sight to behold. Mackenzie’s muffled groans made it clear that she was probably going to be in there for a while. It would be his first time drinking with her but he’d seen his fair share of parties. At the rate she was going, he was surprised she wasn’t even blacked out yet.

As the good boy his mama raised, Mark immediately went to work on cleaning up the food and alcohol bottles littered on the table. He prepared some cold water before grabbing some paper towels and heading to the bathroom where Mackenzie was pouring her heart, or rather, her gut out.

“Easy now.” he said when he handed her the paper towels. Gently he began rubbing circles on her back with his palm.

After a few more belches down the toilet, Mackenzie finally slumped back leaning on the bathroom wall for support. Mark knelt next to her trying to settle the conflict of staying with her or walking her to bed while she was still conscious. His brain was about to short circuit when she suddenly spoke.

“You know what they said to me at work today?” She asked, eyes locked on the clock at the top of the bathroom wall, hands locked on the glass of water Mark brought her.

“Hmm?” he responded.

“They said the script I wrote for the commercial was, ‘not bad’.” He followed her gaze to the clock, listening intently.

“I thought, great. They’re saying I did alright, right? I should just take the affirmation and just let it be, right?” A silence settled. Mark thought it was actually pretty comfortable with only the rain and occasionally, thunder chiming in.

Mackenzie took a sip before she continued, “but, then I hear them tell the person next to me that they did ‘great’ or ‘an amazing job’.” Mark glanced at Mackenzie, whose gaze was now on the ceiling.

“Why do I always seem to do good enough but not great enough? I work so hard and scold myself for not working even harder but in the end I’m still just ‘not bad’ but never ‘great’ or ‘the best’. I mean, I know I’m not all that good at what I do but I’d just like to think about a time when I’ll finally not hate myself, you know?”

Mark felt like a raincoat on a hot summer day. He never did any of this with the expectation of actually hearing about why Mackenzie was upset. He just knew she wouldn't be alone. But now after the point of no return, he didn’t know what to do with himself. So he just sat there.

“God, why am I even telling you this?” She laughed, hitting his knee with her own. “I sound like I’m in a fucking soap opera and it’s not even the good kind.” Another fit of giggles.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Mark finally decided to stand up pulling Mackenzie with him. He supported her weight as they walked to the bedroom, more like wobbling for Mackenzie, though.

When Mackenzie was safely deposited to her bed Mark took it upon himself to bring her another glass of water knowing she’d be parched in the very near future. He heard her shift in position just as he laid the glass down on her bedside table.

“I’m sorry for burdening you with my insignificant problems.” She mumbled sleepily. “I can get a little dramatic sometimes.”

For a moment Mark stood there. What could he do or say that would make things better?

“You should go. This is nothing to worry about, really. Go.” Mackenzie continued to ramble on.

After an eternity of debating with himself, Mark finally decided to follow his gut and climb into bed to sit next to Mackenzie. Maybe he was drunk or maybe he was out of his mind. Either could apply. Regardless, he thought it was better than just standing there like a manikin.

His arms moved before his brain could and the next thing he knew, he’d scooped Mackenzie close to him and held her to his chest. It was supposed to be a hug. It still was though, just a really awkward one.

Mackenzie didn’t have enough brain power to process what was going on. Mark, on the other hand, was busy cursing himself. He felt like he was back in high school desperate for an answer at the mercy of a teacher who’d called on him in the middle of class.

It wasn’t until he heard a muffled noise that Mark snapped out from his internal dialogue.

“Are you going to smother me, cause I personally wouldn’t mind at this point.” Mackenzie whispered.

Immediately, Mark loosened his grip around her shoulder, “Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to… Oh my jesus. I didn’t mean to… I mean I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable I-”

“Shh” Mackenzie interrupted him.

“Sorry.” he mumbled silently while wiping his hand across his face. He leaned his head against the pillows and arms back within his personal space. This was turning out to be a stupid idea. Mark continued to stare up at the ceiling until he felt Mackenzie scoot closer to him again, her face squished to his side.

“Mark, I think you should also teach a class on how to do laundry… I think,” she said, taking a long sniff, “you’re also good at showering.”

He chuckled softly at what she said. For a moment he just watched her lying there next to him, fascinated at how he managed to get himself into this situation. He was almost too afraid to speak and ruin this perfect little moment but felt heavily compelled to say something.

“You know, back when I was starting to write songs I thought a lot like you. I didn’t really believe in the things I submitted. But I did it anyway. It’s funny cause everyone around me would tell me I could do it, but then I could never bring myself to take their word… Sometimes I think the reason why I got to where I did was luck. But also because I was just a stubborn kid.”

What the fuck am I saying

“You are pretty stubborn.” She laughed. He glanced at her and thought it was so artful the way the streetlight from outside softly illuminated the side of her face. He felt this inexplicable urge to hold her close to himself. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe he was just too familiar with sleeping alone with a heavy heart.

Carefully, he pulled her onto his chest and started to stroke her hair. He noted how she didn’t smell like fruit or flowers like he expected. Rather, it was similar to the warm towels she lent him on the first day they met. There wasn’t a specific name for it. He decided it was just inexplicably Mac.

“I know you think I’m this happy go lucky dude, but I would personally know what it feels like to be lonely with no one to talk to. So take my word when I say that I think you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

He continued combing through her hair while talking. “I feel that people like us tend to be too hard on ourselves even when we shouldn’t.”

At this point Mackenzie was barely awake. Among other things, she was very grateful to be in bed but she was also very drunk and exhausted.

“Thanks for the motivational speech, but you barely even know me, Mark Lee.”

“You’re right.”

“Life sucks”

“Mhmm… you could say that.”

“Look at our best friends hooking up while we figure out our shit. How come they have it all figured out?”

“Or maybe they don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we’re all just figuring it out and some of us are just pretty good at making it look easier.”

An elongated silence took root right then. Mark thought he was very much mistaken in thinking he could do much for Mackenzie. His gaze fell on her still form on his chest.

Who was he to play knight in shining armor when he couldn't even fight his own demons?

How many times had he struggled with being told that his own problems were insignificant?

How many times had he believed those people whose voices took up residence in his own mind?

Mark couldn’t even count.

“You aren’t God.” His mother would tell him. Sometimes he found it unfair that he never missed a Sunday at church growing up but still bad things happened to good people.

He closed his eyes, finally feeling the effects of the alcohol drag him under. Mackenzie shifted, nuzzling closer to Mark’s chest. On instinct he held her body closer to his own relishing in the warmth they shared.

“I think you’d make a very cute puppy, Mark. For the record, I think you'll go to dog heaven and human heaven.” Mackenzie murmured against Mark before finally succumbing to sleep. He was still for a moment, the tiny part of his still working conscious trying to make sense out of what she’d said.

He chuckled softly to himself upon recalling her question about dogs earlier.

Out of all things He thought to himself as he finally gave into slumber.

Maybe he would live to fight another day.

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hopeless-nostalgiac · 1 year

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Find the Word Tag

Rules: It's simple, see if the words exist somewhere in your writing and share a snippet. WIPs, published works, heck I even count author's notes sometimes. IMHO, variations on the words are allowed (shook instead of shake, cloudy instead of clouds and the like), and even synonyms (storm instead of thunder) if you really can't find something. Just share your snippets with your friends, tag some people and give them some new words to look for if they want to take up the challenge!

I decided to take part after seeing @loudlooks’s post. The words are: mirror, ball, blood, movie, hot

If anyone else wants to play: river, morning, tear, chair, warm

mirror - “Tender Curiosity” wip (I lie to myself about this one and say I’ll someday continue beyond the chapter and change I’ve had for it since like 2013)

Hands braced on the edge of the counter, Tony fought off his own wave of nausea, sucking in breaths, shallow and short. Each exhale scrambled his mind of unwanted images, each inhale swelled his exasperation. Heat seethed through his veins. It was misplaced, yet it took more effort to stave off than it would have to embrace, explode from the room, and leave the ex-Mossad assassin to her secrets, just the way she wanted it. If this was what came with their relat--friendship these days, maybe he didn’t want it after all.

A chance look in the mirror brought into view the tremble of her chin. Her eyes darted to the ceiling, fending off another round of waterworks. “Though I cannot say that this was…” She paused to swallow the sob in her voice. “Planned.”

The tears she refused to shed in his company extinguished the burn of his anger to smoldering coals. He never could stay mad at her. Irritated? Sure, they drove each other crazy. Real anger? No. It was a weakness, Tony knew. Getting close clouded judgment. Probably why Gibbs had a rule about it. Getting close was a risk.

It just didn’t feel like those things as he eliminated the distance between them, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. This felt right.

ball - “The Buttercup Theory” idea/wip

You really hadn’t lived until you experienced Ziva David meeting a puppy. It was like watching a hulking WWE wrestler cuddle up with a teacup kitten.

Okay. Maybe not that drastic. It was pretty freaky, though.

Freaky enough that Tony’s insistence that they leave, that Gibbs would be expecting them back far sooner than later, lost momentum. He couldn’t look away as she crouched to her knees in front of the small crate, an incongruous fixture in the sterile kitchen of his bachelor pad.

“Oh my goodness, look at you,” Ziva cooed at the ball of fluff huddled inside the metal contraption. Literally cooed. His partner for a pigeon.

“Who did you just become?”

The brunette glanced up, her gaze shining from beneath the visor of her NCIS cap. “You did not tell me you were thinking of getting a puppy.”

“Because I wasn’t.”

“It is not exactly the best timing, Tony.”

“Agreed.”

“Yet now you have a puppy.”

“I don’t have a puppy.”

The sparkle dimmed in Ziva’s eyes.

blood - “New Year Normal” wip (trying desperately to get this done rn)

“You are cranky, Tony.”

“You are blunt as ever, Ziva.” His crossed arms mirrored the knot of his grimace. “And I’m not cranky because I’m not a 3-year-old who missed his nap.”

“Then you are jet lagged.”

“After 15 hours at 30,000 feet? No, you think?”

She ignored his sarcasm while inspecting the underside of an end-table drawer. Clear. “You should eat something. Your blood sugar is low.”

“What do you know about my blood sugar?”

“I know when it is low, you are cranky.” Ziva tossed him an apple from the complimentary bowl of fruit. “Eat, or one of us will not leave this room alive.”

Tony caught it on a fumble. “Well argued, my ninja, but I’ll take my chances.”

He set the apple aside and scrubbed his hand from forehead to nape, ironing his sandy locks this unkempt way and that, not seeming to notice or care that his hair looked a mess in the end. It matched the shadowy scruff ringing his jaw, the puffy half-moons of fatigue beneath hazel eyes.

The breakdown of his normally fastidious appearance—his armor—left no doubt. Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. was out of sorts.

movie - “Land I Grew” wip

Leaning back against the counter, Tony dragged so hard on the bottle that the plastic crinkled and caved in on itself.

“Where’s your TV?” he asked after swallowing hard.

“I do not have one.”

“That’s cold.”

“I am not you. My life does not revolve around movies—”

“Ziva.” He lifted the half-empty bottle to eye level. “I meant refreshing.”

“Oh.” She crossed her arms.

Tony guzzled, stray droplets splashing onto the day’s growth of stubble around his mouth. His pink tongue flashed out from between parched lips, like a cat unwilling to waste a drop of precious milk. Or: a man never satisfied.

She would be thirsty as well, if she had run from his apartment to hers. They were clear across the city from each other now.

“When did you start running?”

“Like, 20 minutes ago. It’s not my best time, but--”

“Tony.”

“I had a lot of stress to burn off this summer.” His answer hovered between nonchalance and restraint. “No couch?”

hot - “Contaminate My Heart” (aka my tiva shower fic that I drafted during covid lockdown but then had a crisis of confidence and so it’s sat ever since)

Any rebuttal she might have formed evaporated in the blast of heated rain, striking her just right, dabbling neck and shoulders and arms, coursing rivers in the thin gaps separating their chests. A chill born of the time spent between showers rocketed outward from her belly button, spreading and vibrating off her skin. Her eyelids drooped.

“Good?” He knew it was. She did not care, draping her arms around him.

“Yes, my shower went out before I had a chance to finish.”

“Huh, usually you’re the first one done.”

Only then did Ziva break the trance of sensation. Tony’s grin greeted her, smug and goading.

“I did not realize we could lie, mon petit pois.”

His grin widened, or it seemed that way as he leaned forward, blurring at the edges of her vision. Hot breath exhaled across her forehead, a masquerade of delayed laughter. Or desire.

“You can do whatever you want…to me, sweetcheeks.”

#this is very fun and also a good distraction from actually writing #because writing is hard #having already written and rereading your work is better #tiva fanfiction #tat's writerly life

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embodiedchilde · 2 years

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An Archon's Bargain - Zhongchi fanfic

Hey yall. I started with a new fanfic and wanted to share it here as well. It's not yet completed so expect some delays with the chapter upload. ;D

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚ 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 1 ˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊

A month had passed after the whole gnosis stealing and Liyue drowning incident. It seemed like Liyue was once again back on track, being prosperous and even more bustling than ever. True to their words, the Qixing made sure that Liyue was in right hands even without the protection of Rex Lapis. Apart from losing the Jade chamber, Liyuan people hadn’t faced any major setbacks. The biggest drawback there was, was for the Fatui. Not only did they have to pay the price for all the damage they caused in the golden house, but they also had most of their authorities revoked as punishment. Tartaglia, the youngest harbinger who was the cause of all this mess, was tasked to go back to Liyue and resolve the political dispute he had caused during his stay. Fuelled by rage and injustice, the ginger went to visit Zhongli to give him a piece of his mind. He stormed into the funeral parlour demanding to see the manager consultant named Zhongli. The worker led him to where the man was seated and was calmly sipping tea. This made Childe even more angry, seeing how he had to bear the consequences of this man's and his senior, Signora's wicked scheme. While he was suffering, both parties were carefreely relaxing at his cost.

“Hah...” He spat out. “We meet again, old hag.” "Hello Childe." Zhongli took his gaze away from the porcelain teacup he was drinking from and looked directly at Childe with a smile. The archon was already aware of the commotion the young lad caused upon entering the parlour. He was used to his rudeness since he had known the boy for a long time now, but not once had he seen him this bothered. It was rather refreshing to say the least.

"It has been a while. How can I help you?" That smile... That damned smile of his gets me every time, Childe thinks to himself. It was as if the smile had a charm that could swoon all his frustrations away. Not this time, Childe reminded himself. He looked past his allure and slammed his hands on the table, making a loud thud sound. He posed himself as intimidating as he could, keeping firm eye contact with the seated man across the table. “Cut the crap. You know exactly why I am here. You and Signora screwed me over with your little game and now I have to clean up after you two. Ridiculous. How is that even fair?” Zhongli was usually a calm and reserved man but anyone disrespecting him in his own workplace had to be put in their place. Granted, he had retired and found his place among the mortal folk, but it didn't mean he had lost his title of being a benevolent archon, commanding of respect with just a mere gaze. His smile dropped as he got up from his seat, which frightened the young harbinger as he could feel the stern aura the archon had around him. Seeing Childe flinch when he approached him, gave Zhongli an idea on how he can teach the disrespectful harbinger some manners.

"Childe, if it hadn't been for your own foolishness, we wouldn't be debating about this."

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#childe smut #zhongchi #zhongli smut #genshin smut

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kanisema-blog · 21 days

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My Naughty Deity

The clatter of teacups echoed in the dusty attic, punctuated by the exasperated sigh of Mrs. Abernathy, my ever-reliable housekeeper. "Another mess, Miss Amelia! And what, pray tell, is this?" she sputtered, holding up a golden goblet overflowing with glistening purple grapes.

"Just a little snack," I chirped, a mischievous glint in my eye.

Truth be told, the grapes weren't exactly a "snack." They were a stolen offering from the temple of Dionysus, the God of Wine and Revelry. Stealing from deities was a habit I'd picked up after my rather unfortunate encounter with the mischievous deity himself.

It all began five years ago, when a freak lightning storm deposited a very annoyed Dionysus on my doorstep. He'd been banished to the mortal realm for a particularly raucous toga party on Mount Olympus, and his form was reduced to that of a grumpy, grape-loving teenager. I, a bookish introvert with a penchant for herbal remedies, was the least likely candidate to become his companion during his exile.

But Dionysus, with his mischievous charm and surprising depth, slowly chipped away at my carefully constructed walls. We'd spend evenings reading forbidden scrolls by flickering candlelight, his laughter echoing through the silent house. He'd weave tales of celestial tantrums and Olympian gossip, leaving me breathless with laughter. He, in turn, discovered a quiet joy in the simple act of tending my herb garden, learning the names and properties of each plant with an insatiable curiosity.

Our bond deepened, defying the boundaries of god and mortal. But as his exile neared its end, a bittersweet pang settled in my chest. Dionysus, restored to his divine form, stood at my doorstep, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes. "You've shown me kindness, Amelia," he said, his voice a rumble of thunder, "and for that, I shall grant you a gift."

Before I could protest, he placed a finger on my forehead, a current of energy jolting through me. "Now," he winked, "you can understand the whispers of the wind, the secrets hidden in the rustling leaves… and the location of the juiciest vineyards."

With a flourish, he vanished, leaving me with the legacy of our friendship – the ability to understand nature and, more importantly, an insatiable craving for purloined grapes.

Life after Dionysus' return was an exhilarating dance between the mundane and the miraculous. I continued tending my herbs, using my newfound knowledge to concoct potent remedies. The whispers of the wind, however, often led me to Dionysus' hidden stashes of heavenly nectar, much to the consternation of both the temple priests and Mrs. Abernathy.

Our stolen rendezvous became a cherished routine. We'd meet under the cloak of night, sharing stolen peaches and discussing everything from the constellations to the latest gossip swirling around Olympus. His divine mischief, however, often landed me in precarious situations – a particularly disgruntled nymph seeking revenge for a misplaced love potion, or a territorial dryad guarding an ancient grove. But his mischievous delight in rescuing me, with a well-timed bolt of lightning or a diversionary storm of laughter, only deepened my love for him.

Though our love story is unconventional, a tapestry woven with stolen grapes, whispered secrets, and divine intervention, it is no less genuine. My naughty deity, the God of Wine and Revelry, stole my heart not with grand gestures but with shared laughter over stolen fruit and whispered conversations under the stars. And who knows, perhaps one day, our tale will be whispered alongside the myths and legends of Olympus itself – a testament to the enduring love between a mortal girl and a mischievous god.

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filthy-darkweaver · 11 months

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Tea time for Faltheriel

"Why the interest in cultist activities?" Blonde Faltheriel prodded at his black-capped signet ring, "What we have is an extremely unfortunate scenario. My king is Kael'thas Sunstrider in every timeline we are aware of, save this one. In every single scenario, he was redeemed in Outland. Sometimes Illidan has mercy on him and cures his racial addiction. In other timelines, Kael'thas plays the ole' game and outwits Kil'jaeden himself. In a few others, Jaina Proudmoore seeks him out to save him, and then she eventually becomes his queen."

The Night Elf priestess known as Opalbane cringed. She looked at nothing for a moment, then took up her cup of tea again.

Faltheriel winked at her, "Don't worry, in my timeline, a squadron of Blood Knights, specially-trained for the task, dragged Kael to redemption. And he married their captain, so no mages, blood nor Kirin Tor, were harmed in the making of my world." Faltheriel winced, "In other timelines, he marries Sylvanas, or another crush he had. One queen was an absolute knockout, a rebel Eredar woman he met while battling the Legion for control of Netherstorm. It varies."

"What??" Opal shook her head, "Well. A union between those two, Jaina and Kael, just seems the most cataclysmic of all to me." She sipped the aromatic ruby tea, "Even if Jaina and Kael made it work in a thousand other timelines, the initial clash of their personalities, their magics, it just makes me shudder. And maintaining peace between their kingdoms would be a nightmare job, at best--"

Faltheriel interrupted in a staunch tone, "In any case, things have come to a head at my end. That is why I need your husband's help."

Opal itched the center of her pale forehead. Her kaldorei features were characteristically youthful and flawless. It aroused instant ire in some, but Faltheriel couldn't help smiling at her exotic beauty. He was taxed with being treated like a handsome elven anomaly himself, being sin'dorei, and couldn't help feeling relief in their fast comraderie. But there was something else they both shared, a tinge of malice, a burnt-around-the-edges quality. Hers was the violet-dark of the Twilight Hammer Cult, and Faltheriel had been fully inculcated into the fel green Burning Legion before he escaped. So they were both once power-hungry addicts, but saved from damnation by true love, apparently. People who, once they knew the light in their souls, angrily fought to tear them out of their separate messes.

For a brief period, Faltheriel's obsession had extended to Opal's husband. However, that was a misunderstanding, and over ages ago. Hopefully. By his absence today, Triumvir Alessandre Shademoon was clearly not convinced.

Opal smirked, the thought of a gruesome conflict she might yet puzzle apart enticed someone like her. "Come to a head? So then, my husband the master spy is right and King Kael'thas intends to invade our world in some form? You're clearly the advance force, albeit a darkly charming one, Faltheriel." She reveled in staying so casual about such things, showed off with another langid sip of tea.

Faltheriel frowned at her, "I don't think it's so simple as that."

Opal grinned and showed her elven fangs, "Fine. Lie directly to my face. A civilization such as yours, a mighty Quel'thalas all but restored, bathed in the arcane once more, near fluent in time magics that were once considered the birthright of Bronze dragons alone. In your world, and under King Kael'thas Sunstrider, have become mere Blood Elf cantrips--"

Faltheriel flattened finely gloved hands on the table, on either side of his storm-gray cup. "We are not speaking of invasion!"

"No? It sounds like Kael'thas has not changed in any era. We're finished with our business then." She set her teacup down with a firm clack, rose from the table. "I'll tell my husband, the assassin, to escort you the hell back--what happened to the main-world you, anyway? From this timeline? You dispose of him?"

Faltheriel checked at her mood swifting from reviling him, to mild curiosity. As mild as the Opal's Bane got.

"No, I--he was already dead." Faltheriel chanced showing true emotion on the matter of his alternative demise, "Just by, horrible, horrible chance."

Opal lay a hand on her hip. She wore a darkened mauve-and-white version of moon priestess robes.

"The um, marvelous strip club where my now husband worked, where we first met. It didn't exist. The Goblin man who dreamed it up got discouraged early on in his business pursuit by those who would judge him harshly, so he decided to keep his beloved kinks and cravings underground. A secret. And so, there was no prominent gay strip club at that end of Kezan, drawing handsome Night Elves and men of all races to come and dance." He watched her, he couldn't resist seeing whether Opal was as morally open as she purported to be. She looked right back at him, solemn. "So, on a certain night, the other me did not end up someplace naughty-but-nice. He ended up someplace truly nasty instead, indulging another kind of addiction."

"Fel magic?"

"Whatever passes for strong enough stuff in the bowels of Kezan. Between that and my utter loneliness and desolation trapped in the Legion, I destroyed myself. I'm sure the gruesome loss of my liege pushed me beyond the limit."

Opal lingered, a manicured hand on her chair. Then, she sat down again. Her voice was tender, "But in the other Azeroth, where you are from. You found and married this man?"

Faltheriel gently cleared his throat, "Dannox was a high-ranking druid, he'd faced plenty of nightmares. Perhaps worse ones than mine. Suddenly, a had a seasoned champion fighting on my side. And then there's my wife--"

Opal went instantly on the defense. She dug nails into the table.

"I got married twice! It's not like that. I'm not cheating. We're all together, we have a... we are a triad."

Opal relaxed some, "But about Kael'thas..."

"That is also so unlike what you must be thinking. It is a different world, Opal. King Kael'thas is disturbed that this is the one timeline, the only one, where he has not succeeded in defeating the Legion, come home as a triumphant king. Wouldn't you be? And people, other Blood Elves especially, will one day learn about this. We couldn't hope to keep it a secret for long."

Opal regained her knowing look, "So Kael wants to take the throne, here, to consolidate his power? Quell the doubt in his own timeline. About his true character, his motivations, practically every decision he makes on the throne. He must have some serious opposition."

"It's... yes, that comes into it. But that opposition exists only because the world is a dangerous place."

"Typical Azeroth, I suppose. The Alliance should give him a hard time, in my opinion. It's a wonder the Draenei of your timeline can stomach Kael'thas as a king."

"There, you see? And it's undecided yet whether he will build a permanent time-rampart in order to rule in both places--"

"Time rampart!" It did sound a bit evil, Faltheriel allowed for that.

"Or if King Kael'thas will merely reach out to his counterpart here in the Shadowlands, help him to retake the throne."

Opal scowled, "That Kael'thas is dead. You'd be putting a literal undead man on the throne. We already had that in Lordaeron."

Faltheriel brightened, "He'd be the Sun King forever! Eternal youth, a constant celebrity on the throne, and stability for Quel'thalas!"

Opal swore under her breath, what Faltheriel could hear at the end of it was, "...You damned fanboy zealot."

"Uh, the other thing, priestess, that I hoped your people would be greatly interested in is the task I have, from my good king, to discover why this anomaly has happened. Why was Kael'thas an utter failure and a despot on this version of Azeroth?"

"What?"

"I... well, there was some kind of timeline meddling, surely. By the Primalists? Or, Murozond? Or perhaps the Legion that hasn't actually been conquered like we think?"

Opal stared for a time, "I rather think the timeline has been altered, the other way around, in Kael'thas' favor."

"I don't follow you," Faltheriel's smile was certainly condescending.

"Your king wins in every single timeline there is? In all of existence? Not even Nozdormu... not as Murozond. He was never so lucky, the aspect of Time itself."

Faltheriel's smile hardened. "What, precisely are you implying so boldly, and to my face?"

Opal narrowed her gaze at him, "And Kael’thas so conveniently chased his lusts, whatever was the flavor of the moment. One queen was an eredar did you say? Where is his soulmate in any of this! Did he manage to marry his succubus in another timeline??"

"How DARE you!"

Now they were both up on their feet.

"Faltheriel Darkweaver! It is highly irregular that Kael'thas is rich, handsome and victorious, married to some hot dish in every single variation of Azeroth available to us! Don't you think? You're being played for a fool! This isn't about his vanity, at least I hope not! A man that vain would be insane, dangerous, worse than Denathrius himself, worse than Sargeras!"

Faltheriel gasped, clutched at his silken necktie, "You take that back!"

"And you open your eyes! Admit that Kael'thas is a villain, and he's coming to invade our world. I said it before, jokingly, but yes! You are the advanced force. Look at you!The scouting mission before the storm. Can't you see that?"

Faltheriel sat right back down, drained his teacup and resumed his lunch. His elegant apartment in Valdrakken was extremely quiet in that long, weird moment where he preferred to fuss with slicing the dainty remnants of a homemade roast and sprouts on his plate.

"I... I am not a scout. I consider myself more of a shocktroop!" His final, vain retort.

Opal growled and stormed out of there.

Faltheriel shouted after her, "Well we don't have to get along! Will you help me or not? We do still have a common enemy!"

Opal slammed the door behind her.

Faltheriel kept eating, alone, with his excellent manners until he cleaned his plate. He did briefly consider that he may be brainwashed and that his master Kael'thas craved more than perfection, but dominion, in some long-range plan that involved controlling the timelines. That Kael'thas, in every timeline, would, before too long, prove to be an insatiable, evil man.

But then he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a white cloth napkin. "She's just bitter! I'm closer to serving a godlike creature than she will ever be and it infuriates her! Ex-cultist witch!"

Another thought occurred to Faltheriel soon after. Did this mean her husband, Alessandre, would be out to assassinate him again?

Faltheriel threw up his hands, exasperated, "Oh balls! Fine, then. What will this be, the tenth time? Bring it on, Big Al!"

Alessandre murdering Faltheriel. That seemed to be another constant in every timeline.

#story

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milkytheholy1 · 2 years

Note

Hi hope you are having a wonderful day! I absolutely LOVE your Tmnt fanfics! And I would like to request a one shot of Rise Leo x male reader with prompt #49 where The reader steals one of Leo’s shirts (since we see the turtles wear clothes sometimes in the show)

Prompt 49: "Is that my shirt?”

The fantastical case of the missing shirt

Tmnt masterlist. Ultimate masterlist

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Leo had been wandering around his room for what felt like hours, going through the minimal wardrobe set up - clothes racked up on a chair - and through his draws, but kept coming up empty handed.

He had then gone to Raph's room, busting through the door in a fury, pointing accusing fingers at the snapping turtle. Leo continued to storm around the room, pulling out every article of clothing he could find, "Hey, hey, woah! Whattya doin' man! That's all my stuff!"

"Where is it? I know it's here!" Leo muttered under his breath, wrist deep into Raph's clothing. The eldest shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know! I don't know! Would ya just stop it!" he pulled Leo up by his shoulders and threw him out of the room, "Go mess up Mikey's room or somethin'!" he yelled out.

"Mikey, eh?" Leo hummed, now knowing his next stop. Mikey was just sitting with one of his favourite teddy bears, enjoying a simple and elegant tea party when a delicate knock on the door stopped him.

"Cominggggg!" he called out, putting his tea down and addressing the guests in his room "If you'll excuse me Miss Teddywinkle." Mikey leapt up, dusted himself off and moved to answer the door. The moment the solid wood opened, Leo dashed in, chaos surrounding his aura.

Mikey watched in horror as Miss Teddywinkle went flying into the air, her teacup spiralling out of her paws, the event occurring seemingly in slow motion. Mikey's scream was deep, his tears fanning across his face. He dropped to his knees, now holding the dying Miss Teddywinkle in his arms.

Leo stood back from his destruction of Mikey's room, "Nah, I still can't find it!" he groaned. He looked down to Mikey, "Yeesh, what happened here?"

"Leo you killed Miss Teddywinkles! Now who will I have sophisticated tea parties with?" Mikey whined. Leo rolled his eyes, "Just get Donnie to fix it- wait a minute, that's it!" Leo clicked his fingers as soon as the lightbulb lit, "Donnie must have taken it. Oh ho hooo, of course, it all makes sense now."

As soon as Leo was in Mikey's room he was gone, out like a leaf in the wind. He made a mad dash for Donnie's lab, banging on the metal doors like a psychopath. Eventually, they did open and Leo was finally able to confront the thief. Donnie was sat at his desk, shell facing his brother while he worked, "What is it, Leo?"

"Ha, it must've been you who stole my shirt, how else would you know it's me!" He pointed an accusing finger at Donatello. Donnie sighed, pinching his brother together. He turned in his spinny chair to face Leo, a mock look of pain on his face, "No, genius, I knew it was you because you're the only person to bang on the doors like that and two, I have security cameras."

"Oh, so you didn't steal my shirt?" Leo asked, slowly becoming defeated. Donnie gasped, hand pushed to his chest, "Me? Steal your shirt? Are you insane? I'd never wear anything like that, it's way too cheap. Besides, Blue was never my colour, I prefer purple as it symbolises royalty in some countries."

"Well, if you haven't stolen my shirt and Mikey and Raph are clean, then who has it?" Leo rubbed his chin in deep thought, it wouldn't have been Splinter, god he hoped it wasn't Splinter; he'd probably burn the shirt and forget about wearing anything remotely similar to it ever again.

"What about your boyfriend in the projector room." Donnie snidded, turning back to his work with a chuckle. Leo huffed, "I don't have a boyfr- (Y/N)!" he shouted out, rushing out of the lab and to where you last said you'd be.

And right on cue, there you were sat in a bean bag, the comic he lent to you safely in your hands. And on your body was his lucky t-shirt, the exact article of clothing that he had been looking for, and it was just right there...on you...the entire time.

"Is that my shirt?" Leo asked, drawing your attention away from the comic. You looked down and shrugged, "Yeah, I accidentally split some soda down mine and grabbed the first thing I could find. Why, is it okay?"

Leo shook his hands dismissively, "No, no, it looks good on you- I mean, it looks great- IT'S GREAT!" he finally spat out, rosy-faced. You snorted at him, returning your gaze to the comic "Thanks, it's my new favourite shirt."

"Why's that?" he asked, still utterly embarrassed. You glanced over at him with an honest smile, "Cause it smells like you."

You think Leo just died right then and there.

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tobitofunction · 2 years

Text

The Maniac and The Witch Part 3

a lot of time skips, some WandaVision at the end. Eren becomes a bit manipulative

part 3 of @oyasumimosura request

You felt Eren's tongue pushing past your lips, his hand groping at your waist pulling you closer to his warm body. Your hand went to his arm, which was surprisingly soft,” Your so brave, I thought my life was hard but you went through the worst” he whispered against your lips,” You aren’t scared of me? Aren’t you scared that I am messing with your head right now?” he shook his head and pecked your nose, before tugging your head under his, you felt his heartbeat through his chest, the Rhythm of his heart luring you to sleep slowly.

You woke up with Eren missing, you frowned to yourself, you quickly got changed and walked towards the dining hall,” The brat has cared to join us” Levi said sipping from his cup,” Sorry” you whispered sitting down beside Eren, opposite to Petra. It was quiet for about five minutes before Hange stormed in with Moblit right after them,” Levviii” she sang making the Captain roll his eyes,” Get your tiny butt up and you as well Eren. We are going to find out more about your Titan” she smiled, “ The rest of you keep cleaning. I want this base spotless when I come back. If it isn’t, you can clean the whole of wall Rose” he said before walking,” Move it Eren” he said making Eren jump,” Yes Captain” he said.

“Is the Captain always this serious about cleaning?” You asked Petra who was sweeping on the floor while you were scrubbing the walls,” You get used to it after a while” she said,” Can I be honest? I’m surprised that you are here. Like why you, no offence but I’m just wondering” she asked,” I came top of our class and was Keith Shadis favourite student. He must have praised their ears off” you shrugged, throwing the wet cloth back into the bucket making it splash. “Shadis scared me, I just barely made it into the top ten. So you being first I wow, you got my respect and I can’t wait to see you in action” she smiled. Gunther came walking in a short while after,” Captain Levi and Eren are back, we’re having tea outside” he said making you happily stand up and walk out the door.

“Eren, how did it- What happened to your hands?” you asked worriedly,” It didn’t work, I tried so hard but it just didn’t happen,” he said sadly,” Poor thing, does it still hurt?”,” It stings but I survive” he smiled putting his hand on the small of your back, leading you to picking table. You poured Eren tea, he looked so sad, so disappointing,” Don’t worry about it. It will work out eventually” you pecked his cheek making him smile. Eren picked up his teacup, but conscientiously knocked down his teaspoon,” Hey, let me pick it up” you said ready to grab the spoon,” I’m not a baby” he pouted reaching for the spoon, within seconds you were blinded by a bright light and a ringing filled your ear as well. You looked in the direction of Eren and saw the upper body of his Titan.” What the hell?” you whispered, you climbed onto the table and wrapped your arms around his chest trying to help him to get his hand out of the Titan, you felt a massive heat boil underneath your shoes. “It’s really stuck in there, isn’t it?” you said,” Pull harder,” he said,” Stand down, it’s an order,” Levi’s voice said making your eyes snap towards him, his squad had their weapons pointed at him making you tense. You let go of Eren making slip a bit.” What are you doing?” you asked,” Y/N, you better step away from him” Gunther said,” Why? He didn’t do anything, this was an accident” you said,” Y/N, little help” he grunted,” Errrreeeeeeen” Hange voice screamed making you wince, they threw themselves onto the Titan but jumped off it quickly,” It’s hot” she said excitedly,” Moblit, write that down, Titans without their skin are scolding hot” she said just as they were admiring the Titan you managed to pull Eren off the titan, falling backwards onto the wooden table with Eren falling on top of you making you groan.” No, it’s disappearing” she panicked.

*Timeskip to Reiner and Birth controls, I mean Berthold reveal*

You were angry, and furious even Reiner and Berthold were the reason so many people died. Unlike Annie, they didn’t solidify herself in a crystal, but they kidnapped Eren and Ymir, also a Titan. You were riding your horse alongside the military police, who were getting eaten left and right by Titans who appeared randomly.” This can’t go well” you whispered, so you looked around and used your powers to make sure that they don’t see you leave. “Eren? Can you hear me?” you said using your powers to contact Eren,” Y/N? Yeah, yeah perfectly,” he said as you rode away from the group, dodging Titans who try to jump at you,” Give me anything. I’m coming to get you,” you said,” It’s the forest where we captured Annie for the first time” his voice echoed in your head,” I will be there shortly”

You arrived at the forest, your horse was exhausted,” I’m sorry” you patted her mane,” You can relax for a while” you made a carrot and bucket full of water appear in your hands and fed them to her. You quickly found Reiner and Berthold, they were talking to Ymir about something, Eren was laying beside her, both of his arms chopped off, maybe so he can’t transform,” Eren, I’m here. I save both of you-“,” Don’t Ymir is now on their side and will leave with them” he hissed, his face twisting in anger,” She would leave Historia?” You asked,” No, they want her as well” he spat,” Don’t worry Eren, I make them pay”, you snuck closer to them and decided on the perfect punishment which your sister gave the Avengers. A look into their fears.

Reiner out of shock stumbles off the tree but you caught him with your powers and placed him back where he stood, as even tho, he’s the enemy you don’t want him dead, you want him to explain why and then he can rot in jail. While the three were stuck in a never-ending nightmare you.” Why didn’t you just let him fall to his death?” Eren asked,” It’s against my morals,” you said making Eren click his tongue as you helped him sit up,” What’s happening with them?” he asked,” Want to see?” Eren nodded,” Reiner first”.

You and Eren found yourself in a forest, it was raining like crazy.” Where are we? And where is Reiner?” he asked, you nudged Eren’s ribs and pointed to a Reiner he was watching a group of people running, they were wearing all white closing with some armbands around their left,” I think we are seeing Reiner’s past, his worst nightmare.’ Come you filth of a child, run not walk’ a man on a horse yelled at the young children,’ Don’t you want to become honorary Marleyan Citizen?” he yelled, every child seemed to struggle but one boy, in particular, seemed the worst, a small boy, tinier than the rest was a good bit behind the rest, he was clutching the gun to his chest and was breathing heavily as the older man yelled at him and his companies,” That boy, who is behind? I think that’s Reiner” you said to Eren. He nodded,” What are Marleyan’s?” you shrugged,” I assume, Reiner like me isn’t from where he claims to be’ you said leaning into Eren’s chest.’ I think we have seen enough. Seeing this brings back bad memories’ you said.

Suddenly you and Eren were back in the titan forest,’ We need to go’ you said, red energy wrapped around Eren’s body lifting him off the ground. You flew yourself and Eren a good bit away from the trio before lifting the mind trick. When the two of you landed at the entrance of the forest, you could see the rest of the squad coming closer.”Y/N, how did you get here so fast. I swore you were with us for the whole way” Armin said,” You got Eren” Mikasa gasped, jumping off her horse and crashing into Eren’s body making them stumble onto the ground,” Where is Ymir?” History asked,” With the traitors,” you said,” Why didn’t you save her? Why only Eren” before you could catch on to what was happening Historia flew into the forest making everyone call out for her.

*Another time skip to Eren getting traumatised after kissing Historia’s hand*

“Eren you okay?” you asked reaching for his hand,” You seem a bit out of it since the ceremony,” you said, Eren didn’t say anything but just pulled you closer to his body,” I love you” he whispered into your ears,” I love you too” you kissed his lips making a small smile appear on his lips,” So you are able to smile” you joked,” Y/N, are you still thinking of returning to your home? Even if you have me?” he asked,” I don’t know, I don’t even know the state of how my home is. I love the family I made here but I have family there too. Wanda my sister, I can’t leave her on her own, it would drive her into madness if she loses another person close to her’ you confessed,” Please stay with me”, you licked your lips,” You don't have to make a decision now but please stay”.

You decided to stay for a little while longer but it didn’t stop you, from looking for a way back home. You sat in a circle made of candles, breathing calmly with eyes closed contracting on everything around you, when you felt something horrible. Pain, death, heartbreak, betrayal and the centre of everything was Eren. You collapsed onto the floor, tears leaking from your eyes,” Eren?” you whispered to yourself,” No, it can't be Eren” you mumbled. You walked out of your room and looked for him, he was at the shooting range with Armin and Mikasa.” Eren, can I talk to you? In private?” he looked at you before handing Mikasa his shotgun. The two of you walked a fair bit away from the others before Eren opened his mouth” Yeah?” he said,” What are your plans once we got to Marley?” you asked, the questions seemed to throw him off,” Nothing really, just wanting to see people who think it’s okay to kill us like a bunch of pigs” he spat, he rubbed his chin,” No, really. I know you have something planned” you spend a lot of time with Historia and Floch lately. What are you discussing?”,” I’m just trying to comfort Historia, she is okay with being used as a breeding cow and then being eaten by her kids. I just want to put her to her senses” he said, you know he is saying the truth in some form,” If you don’t believe me, just look through my mind” he said, he grabbed your hand gently, he pressed a kiss against your wrist before moving his hand in front his forehead, you slowly moved your fingers, your eyes locked with Eren.

‘It’s the only way Y/N, please just listen, I need Zeke to help me unlock more about the Founding. When I kissed Historia’s hand I saw that I can use the founding, to unlock the rumbling’ he began,’ The rumbling?’ you asked nervously,’ I can eliminate everyone outside of Paradise, we could finally be free’ Eren said, your eyes widen.

You removed your hand from Eren, before taking a couple of steps away from him, tears are building in your eyes,” No, you can’t do that. There are innocent people out there Eren. Innocent people like your mother, do you want to a child live with the same fate as you did?” you asked, Eren stayed silent,” They took away my freedom, soon I will be taking away there’s and I want to have you by my side” he said slowly making his way towards you, gently taking your hand in his, giving it a squeeze,” What do Historia and Floch have to do with it?”,” Historia isn't a fan of the plan but Floch is willing to help” he tracing circles on the back of your hand,” I'm not helping you, it’s against my morals” you said taking your hand from Eren,” Against your morals. coming from the person who was willing to be experimented on to free her country” he said, his tone was laced in venom,” It was different, I didn’t geneoicde anyone, the only harm was done to me” you said,” Think about Y/N” he said grabbing your head, forcing you to look at him,” These people forcibly transformed people into Titans and send them to kill us. We are devils in their eyes and we always be devils” he kissed your lips,” I want to have a family with you, marry you and grow old with you,” he said, moving his lips to your jaw melting you under his touch,” Please help me and we can be happy” he whispered into your eyes,” Do you want Paradise to end up like your home?” he begged,” I want to be with you as well but I can’t support you” you cried pulling away from him,” So are you willing let us all die?”,” No, there must be a different way”,” There isn’t” he said grabbing your shoulder but blasted him away with your powers,” NO,I’m not going to help you Eren”,” Than GO” he yelled,” I thought you loved me” he said jumping up,” But it was all a lie apperatly. Go leave, I don't care anymore, go back home for all I care” he spat,” Fuck you Eren” you said walking away,” Thank god, I never did” he called after you making wince. Unknowing to you Eren regretted every word that left his mouth but he knows that the rumbling is the only way possible to get his and his family's freedom.

You stopped at the big three near Wall Maria, tears running down your cheeks like crazy. The last time you were in this much pain was when Pietro died, you felt a heaviness fill your chest, and you looked down at your hands and saw your powers swirling around your hands like crazy. You looked up at Wall Maria seeing soldiers working, memories filled your mind of Sasha, her pulling a large piece of meat from underneath her jacket and even more fun and sad memories. That’s the last thing you remember before everything went red.

You felt a hand touch your hair making you jump awake,” Y/N, your awake, dinner is ready” Wanda’s voice said,” Wanda?” you asked,” Yes? Where am I?” you asked confused,” Westview, silly. We live here” she said, you looked at her and she was pregnant, her hair was red similar to Natasha’s, she wore what it seems like 70s inspired outfit,” How did I get here? The last thing I remember was that Eren and I-”,” Who is Eren? Your boyfriend? You should bring him along, Vis and I will love to meet him” she said,” Wanda? What happened to Thanos?” you asked,” Who?” she asked confused,” The giant grape with the weird chin who was after all the infinity stones, Tony and Peter along side other aliens and someone named Star-Lord and a wizard named Strange were fitting him but he hit me with a green one and then I woked up in a place where Titan’s eat humans and-”,” Y/N, nothing like that happened. It must have been all a dream” she said, for a split second her eyes glowed red making you quiet down.

“Oh wow, Y/N joined the cast but I thought she was dead but Vision is here so nothing surprising here,” Darcy said munching on her popcorn,” She seems to be aware of what’s happening” she added,” Do you think we going to see that Eren fella?” Jimmy Woo asked,” The cast is getting stacked” he laughed,” Wait it’s over already” Darcy whined as the credits popped on the screen

#eren yeager #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x fem reader #eren x reader #eren x fem!reader #eren x you #eren jaeger x y/n #eren jaeger x you

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ravennm84 · 4 years

Text

Serafina

Part 2 Part 3

Based on @unmaskedagain post “Marinette’s Haunted Doll” this is my take on the story and the kind of things Serafina would have done to get even. There’ll be three parts, and will hopefully be posted through the week. Blood, gore, and character death ahead. You have been warned.

She was seven years old when her Grandma Gina’s sister, Ramona, passed away. Marinette couldn’t remember ever meeting her. Her dad said that she was a very private person and didn’t get out much. Since she had never married or had any children, all of her relatives were asked to come over to the house and divide the property before the rest was sold and equally divided.

While her parents had been in the kitchen, looking over some family cook books, Marinette had wandered around the old house until she came to a small room. It was full of spiderwebs and old toys, which greatly interested her. She spent a long time looking through the boxes and shelves until she found a locked chest in the closet. Remembering the key she had seen in a dresser drawer, she retrieved it to see if it worked. It was hard to turn, but she heard the click and was able to open the lid. Inside was a box with an envelope laying on top of it. Curious she opened the envelope and read the note as best as she could.

“If I’m dead, Serafina killed me.”

Tilting her head in curiosity, Marinette set the letter aside and opened the box. Inside was an old looking porcelain doll. It was covered in spiderwebs, the dress was old and ripped, she was missing a shoe, and the hat looked like it was stained with red paint.

“Are you Serafina?” She asked the doll before carefully lifting it out of the box. “I don’t think you’re bad, you just look lonely. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you!” Giving the doll a gentle hug, the little girl got to her feet and left the room and letter behind. Finding her parents, she asked if it was okay to take the doll home so she could take care of her.

Tom remembered seeing that doll when he was a kid and had always thought it was creepy, but if his little girl saw the good in it, he would trust her. And since none of the other relatives wanted anything to do with the doll, it came home with them.

Once home, the little girl raced up to her room with the doll and immediately got to work. She threw away the old dress, hat, and shoe before cleaning away all the dirt with a washcloth and carefully combing out the knotted hair. Then Marinette got to work on making Serafina a brand new outfit with new shoes and a hat. It took a few days, but she was really happy with what she came up with: a pink Victorian dress with rose and pearl accents, a wide brimmed hat with maroon feathers, and maroon slippers that tied with ribbons around the ankles.

Proud of what she had made, Marinette held the doll up high as she twirled around her room. She had been interested in fashion and clothes for months now, and making the pretty outfit for Serafina was a lot of fun. If anything, it proved to her that fashion design was what she wanted to do.

“I hope you like your new clothes, Serafina. You make the perfect little model, so I hope you don’t mind if I make more clothes for you later on. I promise to only make you clothes that will make you feel pretty.” Giving the doll a kiss, Marinette placed her next to her computer before skipping down stairs for dinner.

~oOo~

Serafina had not been expecting this when the young girl, Marinette, had opened her box. It had been decades since anyone had shown her any kindness. For so many years, she had been passed from person to person, shoved into boxes and hidden from sight or attempted to be sold off. Serafina had had no choice but to punish many of her past owners, and she had not been lax with their punishments.

But she didn’t feel the need to do that with Marinette, this girl was different. She wasn’t afraid of her. She didn’t scorn her and hide her away where no one could see her. No, this girl was kind and made Serafina feel loved; something she hadn’t felt in nearly a hundred years. Staying with Marinette, she knew that she would be happy. So, no one needed to die here.

And she was.

The porcelain doll smiled quietly on Marinette’s desk as the years passed, and felt more for this girl than she could remember with anyone else. She felt beautiful whenever Marinette used her to experiment with a new outfit before she would make a full sized outfit for herself. She had fun when the girl would sing and dance around the room, sometimes even picking her up so she could dance with her. She felt entertained when she would play movies on her computer, one time watching a movie about a haunted doll like herself; they didn’t watch much before she turned it off, but Serafina thought it was funny. Scratching people and leaving notes wasn’t scary, she had done much scarier things than that.

As Marinette grew into a teen, Serafina felt proud as she grew from a shy girl into a fearless superhero. Her owner had a lot of love and light to give, so it made sense to her that she became Ladybug. She also felt scared for the girl, not wanting to lose her to Hawkmoth, but silently promised her that if she was ever hurt, the people who hurt her would pay her back in blood.

Serafina was also aware of the tiny god that gave Marinette her power, just as Tikki was aware of her. No doubt, the god could sense the darkness that dwelled in her porcelain body, but realized that she cared for the girl and would not harm her. So the little god wisely said nothing, she would hate it if Marinette suddenly feared her.

After all, the three of them were happy and at peace.

Until the day Marinette came storming into her room, complaining about a girl named Lila. From what she could hear, this girl was a liar and was using her friends. Knowing how much her human cared for other people, that didn’t sit well with how it would affect her. Then she didn’t hear anything about the girl for months. But when she was mentioned again, it quickly got worse from there.

Serafina heard about the threats, the lies, almost being akumatized, her crush Adrien telling her to take the high road, all of it. She watched as one by one, her friends turned against her. Bullying her while accusing her of being a bully until only three of her classmates remained. She knew that the teacher and principal were useless and even accused Marinette of being a problem, especially after the expulsion. Serafina had nearly enacted her revenge that day, but held back when she was reinstated the next day.

Nathaniel, Rose, and Juleka were the only people left that believed her or even bothered to try and help in her class. There was also Kagami and Luka, Juleka’s brother. Serafina would admit, that boy was sharper than most. When he first saw her, his blue eyes studied her intently for a long moment until Marinette spoke up.

“That’s Serafina, she’s been passed down through my family for a long time. She was in really bad condition when I got her and took a lot of work to get her fixed up, but it was worth it. She was my first ever model and I’ve never felt lonely since she’s been around.”

Luka looked back over at the doll and gave her a smile. “I can tell, I’d bet no one gave her the proper love or attention until she came to you. And I think, if she could talk, she would say that you kept her from feeling lonely too, and all she wants is for you to be happy.”

Serafina liked that boy, a lot more than she had liked Adrien when he had come to play video games. The boy genuinely seemed to care for Marinette. And even though he could somehow sense that she was more than just a doll, he didn’t spill her secret. Yes, she approved of this one.

And then, less than a week after she returned to school, came the worst day. They were taking pictures at the school and Marinette had worked so hard on a new dress; it was pale purple cotton with teacup sleeves, a tulip skirt and pink lace at the hem. It was so sweet and looked like she was going to a spring tea party. Then half way through the day, she came into her room crying. Her makeup was smeared, there were bruises and scratch marks on her arms, another bruise on her cheek, her hair was a mess and covered in dark blue paint. The same paint that covered almost half of the dress. Tikki was doing her best to comfort the girl as she showered. Marinette was unable to save her dress and ended up throwing it away before she cried herself to sleep on her bed.

Serafina was angry, the kind of anger she hadn’t felt since Ramona had attempted to burn her in the fireplace… and that hadn’t gone well for her. Tikki flew over to face her. “I know what you’re thinking and I can’t condone you falling into old habits and killing her entire class. Despite how much they’ve hurt her, it would still break her heart if they all suddenly died.”

The doll actually considered that for a moment before picturing some very specific people. Lila, the liar that was trying to take away/destroy the person she cared about. Alya, the best friend that betrayed her, acted like a hypocrite, and took joy in hurting her. Adrien, the boy that not only broke his promise to help her as a civilian, but continually harassed her as a pseudo-hero. And finally, Hawkmoth, the person that was constantly putting her in danger. Everyone else that had harmed her would be punished, paying back the harm they had done to Marinette in blood, but those four would pay with their lives.

Tikki shook her head. “As angry as I am with Adrien, you can’t kill him. Marinette still has feelings for him and if he dies, she might never get over him. I can’t stop you from punishing them, but please try not to kill them. You know that she has a big heart and it would hurt her to lose any of them, so please keep that in mind.”

Serafina would have argued, but the little god was right. Killing around Marinette would only upset her. So she would do her best to punish them without killing them… although, accidents do happen.

~oOo~

It was easy enough to sneak herself into Marinette’s bag the next day of school. It was even easier to select her first victims. One of her classmates, Kim, stole her backpack and dumped out all of her stuff, including her. The boy laughed about Marinette bringing a doll to school as he ran up the stairs to keep it away from her. It took little effort to make the boy trip, in full view of everyone that had been watching, and fall backwards down the steps.

Serafina had landed at the top landing with a perfect view of the boy’s tumble, and it was oh so satisfying. She could see his knee bent in the wrong direction, a bone in his arm protruding from the skin, and blood dripping from the cuts and open wounds. But the sound was even better, all the cracking and popping of bone before he began crying like a little girl, begging for his mom. Ah, she hadn’t realized how much she had missed those sounds.

When the principal came out to see what was happening, she hid her presence and let the principal trip over her and fall as well. He even landed on Kim, causing more injuries to both of them. She held back a laugh as the grown man wailed and cried until the paramedics arrived. Loading the two into the ambulance while one of the teachers called the Board of Governors. A representative, M. Rupere, quickly came to take over the principal’s duties while he was gone, and was surprised when a bunch of students tried to blame Marinette for the incident.

“And how is it her fault?” He asked the students that surrounded him. “Did you see her push or trip M. Le Chien or M. Damocles down the stairs?

“Marinette brought in a doll and Kim was distracted by it when he was going up the stairs, that’s how he tripped and fell,” Lila told him with tears in her eyes. “Then M. Damocles tripped over the doll and fell down the stairs too. It’s just like how she pushed me down the stairs last week and I hurt my knee. I think she’s actually trying to hurt people.”

The man looked at Lila for a moment before looking to the top of the stairs, but there was no doll there. Then he looked back at Lila with a stern glare. “Young lady, if you had been pushed down the stairs last week, you would have been severely injured just like your friend or M. Damocles. And whether or not it was Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s doll that caused the incident or not, does not mean that she is at fault for the accident. To the principal’s office, right now. I think we should have a discussion as to why you are trying to blame another student for something she did not do.”

Totally shocked, the girl looked around to her followers for some support, but they were now looking at her with uncertainty. They had just seen two people fall down the stairs and receive severe injuries, so how was Lila walking around just fine without a scratch on her? Huffing in annoyance, Lila stomped her way to the office while the class stared after her, most of them noticing the lack of limp to her walk.

Serafina was pleased with how this was turning out, she had already punished two of the people that had betrayed Marinette and had begun sewing seeds of doubt with the liar. At the moment, she was hiding in the classroom, observing everyone so she could figure out the best way to punish them. She noticed Rose, Juleka, and Nathaniel sitting close to the girl and doing their best to comfort her. She also noticed Nino, a boy she had seen a couple of times over the years, casting looks back at Marinette.

During the first break, the boy cautiously approached her, clutching his hat in his hands. “Hey dudette, listen… I, um, wanted to say I was sorry,” he said, having a hard time looking her in the eye. “After Kim fell, what that Governor dude said about Lila not being hurt, and the fact that I’ve known you forever. I felt so stupid. You would never push someone down the stairs or cheat or steal from someone like that. And I tried looking up Jagged’s discography to see if there was any mention of a song about Lila, and there was literally nothing. I tried telling Alya, but she didn’t want to listen and-”

Nino was interrupted by Marinette giving him a hug. Serafina smiled at that. The boy had thought for himself and admitted that he was wrong. He apologized and Marinette was willing to offer him forgiveness. She supposed that Nino could also be exempt from punishment, so long as he never betrayed the girl again.

Half way through the second lesson, Lila had returned to the class with two weeks worth of detention and had a meeting scheduled with herself, M. Rupere, and her mother at the end of the week. Serafina decided to let the girl’s empire fall before going in to completely destroy her.

During lunch, when all the students had left. Serafina got to work on punishing Mme. Bustier. She started by slamming the door shut, it made the woman jump and look around the room, but there was no one there. Then the giggling started, causing her to look around the room again. This time, she walked up the steps to see if anyone was hiding in the room, but she was completely alone. When she turned back to her desk, the papers she had been grading were torn to pieces. A bit panicked, Bustier tried to run out of the room, but the door was locked. As she struggled with the door, she heard the scraping of chalk and froze for a moment before looking at the board. Large words were scrawled in block letters: LIAR, ENABLER, MEAN, CRUEL, and the most frightening of all, YOU WILL PAY.

Bustier’s hands were shaking as she erased the words from the board, not understanding what was happening. Only taking a breath when the door opened and her students began to file in. Serafina quietly laughed at the teacher’s fear, she was another person that she would take her time in punishing. Payback for failing to help Marinette. For now, it was time to take out her biggest supporter.

Again, it was much easier than it should have been to sneak herself in Alya’s backpack and go home with her. When the girl found her she sneered. “The klutz must have put you in my bag by mistake.” Then she smiled cruelly at her. “I think I’ll give you to Etta and Ella to play with before giving you back to Maribrat, maybe tell them that you need a makeover and give them some permanent markers too.”

Turning to take the doll out to her sisters, she stubbed her toe on her desk chair hard enough that she felt a crack and dropped back on her butt while hissing in pain. When she was finally able to think past the pain, she realized that she had dropped the doll and didn't see it on the floor. After wrapping her foot, she looked all over her room but couldn’t find it anywhere.

That night, things got… more than scary. Alya was absolutely terrified.

First, her computer turned on, on its own, and started printing off papers saying “YOU KNOW THE TRUTH”. She turned the computer off, only for it to turn back on after she’d climbed into bed and the browser pulled up past searches; specifically, the searches that proved that Lila had been lying. She had found that out after Lila had disappeared from school for months, but had kept to herself so she wouldn’t lose her credibility on her blog or have to admit to Marinette that she’d been right. Turning it off again, she’d decided to sleep on the couch when her phone suddenly let out a hiss and burst into flames.

Letting out a shriek, Alya rushed to her door, and had just barely opened it when it slammed shut on her fingers, causing her to scream as she struggled to pull her hand free. She could hear her parents and Nora shouting on the other side of the door, trying to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Her head got fuzzy and she suddenly felt cold, she realized that she was going into shock. Her parents’ shouts became garbled background noise and Alya heard the sound of tiny feet running around the room. She tried reaching the light switch so she could see, but it was out of reach.

From the light outside her window, she could barely make out the movement of a small shadow, moving from one part of the room to another. Coming closer and closer to her with every sweep. Alya began tugging harder on the doorknob and her hand. She needed to get out. Something was in the room with her. She could almost feel the darkness creeping closer. It wanted to hurt her!

What happened next, Serafina couldn’t have planned better if she’d tried. Alya jerked back her trapped arm and the doorknob at the same time Nora threw her shoulder into the door as hard as she could. Sending the teenagers flying into her bedside table and her head hitting the corner with an audible *crack*. The doll smiled silently in the corner of the room as the paramedics were called and listened to her parents cries for their horrid daughter to wake up. They called time of death at 2:03am.

~oOo~

It was a bit more of a chore for Serafina to get back to the school, but it was still manageable as her mother had to inform the school of her daughter’s death and pick up her things. The woman had also noticed the information that had been brought up on Alya’s computer and thought that she had been up late chasing a lead. And as the lead had to do with the disturbing behavior of one of her daughter’s classmates, she thought it best to show the acting principal the information before taking her leave.

Making her way back to the classroom, she saw that the news had spread already. Nino seemed to be hit the hardest, as it was his girlfriend, but he would get over it. Kim was still out of class, and likely would be for a few more days. Tikki saw the doll when she was peeking out of the purse and gave her a disapproving glare, but there was nothing she could do. And in Serafina’s defense, she had only intended on maiming the failed journalist, her death had been an “accident”.

When class let out for lunch, Serafina got back to work tormenting Mme. Bustier. Today, the door slammed and locked shut a few minutes after the last student left. The woman shrieked and was struggling to open the door when the giggling started again. Bustier started screaming for it to “go away” but the giggling continued. Turning back to the door, books began flying at her from all over the room, hitting her chest, back, arms since they were shielding her head.

Then the door opened to show a panicked looking M. Rupere. “I heard screaming, are you alright?” The red haired teacher looked extremely frazzled; her hair was a mess, eyes wide and dilated, and her hands were shaking.

“The books,” she said in a trembling voice. “There was giggling, the door wouldn’t open, and the books attacked me. And this was the second time!”

His eyebrows rose to his hairline as he stared at the woman. “Did you see who was throwing the books at you?”

Bustier shook her head in a frantic manner. “There was no one, the books just started flying at me after the giggling.”

Giving her a slow nod, Rupere gently motioned her to step out of the room ahead of him. “How about you take the rest of the day to recover? Some rest will do you some good.”

To his relief, Mme. Bustier agreed and collected her purse before leaving the school. Looking around the room, he was confused to see all the books in place on the shelves. Curious, he went to examine her desk and saw essay papers… covered in red ink with large “F’s” on every one of them. Reading the paper on top, all he saw were a few grammar mistakes, nothing that should have resulted in a failing grade. A bit unsettled, Rupere called the Board to schedule a psychological exam for the teacher. Serafina watched the man with satisfaction, at the rate she was going with that terrible teacher, she wouldn’t be around much longer.

Her next victims were Max and Alix during science class. She switched a couple of labels on the tubs on their desk before hiding in the room to enjoy the show. Half-way through class, Max poured a large amount of reactive chemical into the mix while it was warming over a burner, and the glass exploded. The two screamed and cursed in pain as Max tried wiping the liquid away from his face, only succeeding in getting more in his eyes. Alix tried wiping it away with a cloth, not noticing in time that the fabric was also soaked in the chemicals that now covered her entire face.

Serafina was impressed with how quickly Mme. Mendeleiev reacted to the incident. Doaning on gloves in an instant and leading the two students to the chemical wash station. Both students looked to have chemical burns on their faces, arms and necks. She could already see the burns covering a large amount of their exposed skin. While the class was distracted, Serafina switched the labels back so it would appear that the two had not been doing as instructed.

When school let out, the doll hid away in Mylene’s bag and ended up going on a date with the girl and Ivan. They commented on the bad luck their class seemed to be having and wondered out loud at what the cause might have been.

Mylene was hesitant to speak as the two ate their ice cream. “Do you think… maybe it’s karma coming back on our class?”

“Why do you think that?” Ivan asked her, seeming genuinely curious. Deciding that their conversation might lead to something more, Serafina waited and listened.

“It’s just… ever since Kim fell down the stairs, it’s got me thinking. Lila says that Marinette pushed her but the only injury she says she got was a bad knee, and she’s been walking around fine since then. And then she tried blaming Marinette for Kim and M. Damocles, when Kim shouldn’t have been running up the stairs and M. Damocles tripped at the top of the stairs when she was still down in the courtyard.”

“You’re right, now that I think about it. Lila lied to that new principal and she did it really easy.” Ivan nodded slowly, his brow creased as he pulled out his phone. “I wonder if she lied about anything else.” Mylene watched over his shoulder as he looked up the story about saving Jagged Stone’s kitten from an airplane. There was nothing, the only article that came up about a pet was his crocodile, Fang. The story said that he had hatched the reptile himself seventeen years earlier and any other pet wouldn’t be as rock’n’roll as Fang. “I don’t think Jagged ever had a cat, this article says that he’s only had Fang for longer than we’ve been around.”

Mylene pulled out her phone and called Rose, putting the call on speaker when she answered.

“Hi Mylene, did you hear anything about Max and Alix? Are they going to be okay?” The girl asked as soon as she picked up.

“Ivan and I haven’t heard anything about them yet, but we have a question for you, Rose, and it’s something only you would be able to answer.”

There was a slight pause on the line. “Go ahead.”

“Do you still chat with Prince Ali?”

“Sure I do! We video chat every Saturday and I send him videos of our performances with Kitty Section. Why do you ask?”

“Ivan and I were wondering… Has he ever mentioned Lila to you?”

There was another pause, although they could hear a hushed conversation in the background. “So, you guys figured out the truth about Lila?” When they didn’t respond right away, Rose continued. “I found out a few weeks after Lila says she came back from Achu. I mentioned Lila to Ali and asked him about the charities they had been working on together, but he’d never heard of her. And Ali is only working on charities involving children, nothing with the environment. When Juleka and I tried asking Lila about it, she got really mean and threatened us if we told anyone. I would have been akumatized if Marinette hadn’t been there to calm me down.”

Ivan and Mylene were horrified, not only had Lila been lying to them, but she had threatened Rose, Juleka, and probably Marinette too. “What should we do?”

“First, you should apologize to Marinette for how you’ve been treating her and let her know that you know the truth.” They heard Juleka over the phone. “Lila has been more terrible to her than anyone else and she keeps getting in Lila’s way to protect us and Nathaniel since we know the truth about her.”

“Who all knows?” Ivan asked, feeling a bit sick to his stomach. Sure, he and Mylene hadn’t really hurt her or done anything, but they hadn’t stood up for her either and they were supposed to be her friend.

“Us, Luka, Kagami, Nathaniel figured it out when she said she could introduce him to Stan Lee, Nino figured it out yesterday, and Adrien’s apparently known from the start but didn’t say anything because he doesn’t think her lies are hurting anybody.”

Both of them could hear the acid in Juleka’s voice when she mentioned Adrien, and they couldn’t argue with her. They knew he had led a sheltered life, but how could he claim that ‘lies don’t hurt anybody’ after sitting back and watching Lila and her friends torment and bully Marinette?

Mylene hadn’t even realized that she had asked that question out loud until Rose answered them. “He told us that it was Marinette’s own fault for antagonizing Lila, and ‘If she just took the high road like I told her, then Lila would leave her alone’. It took everything I had not to slap him.”

Coming from Rose, that really was saying something.

Serafina was then taken on a shopping trip to an arts supplies store, a card shop, and a stop at an ATM before going to Marinette’s family’s bakery. She smiled quietly and with great respect to the couple as they apologized to her girl, gave her cards, an entire bolt of soft purple cotton the same color that her ruined dress had been, a new sketchbook, and money to pay her back for some of the things that Marinette had given them over the past year. They even asked her to provide them with proper receipts, and admitted that they knew the amount they had given her wasn’t enough to cover everything. But they promised to pay her back before asking for anything else, as well as pay in advance for any future items or baked goods.

The little doll would have cried right along with Marinette if she could. These two had proven themselves to her and would avoid punishment, just as Nino had.

Taglist (it’s a long one):

@themagicmistic @andromeda612 @ramos123 @t1dwarrior-of-earth @justanotherweirdo277 @irisfox @thestrangestofthemall @plz-excuse-my-inner-ravenclaw @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @the-fandom-girl @wisecolorthing @mewwitch @luxurioushellgirl97 @seraphichana @fantasiame @whydoexamsexist @wispyrainbow @legodetectivemalsblog @kindasoundslikealien @shadowangelreborn @kazedancer @unmaskedagain @7-sage-7 @irontimetravelflower @ghostmaster83 @izang @ulmban @plushbookworm @corabeth11 @darkened-flame @caffeinetheory @iamablinkmarvelarmy @raiderofthelostbooks @cheshire5210 @chocolateherringtacofan @city-of-all-tunas @aadnrsstar @kitten12113 @interobanginyourmom @pandacatxd @nerd-nowandforever @jesussavedevenme @zoiechance @the-smallest-kittenz @wonderbat91939 @maskedpainter @tazer6787 @that-girl-sakea @seesea22 @with-forward-motion @ola-is-dead @thecrazyfantrollshasmoved @bayball @2confused-2doanything @queen-in-a-flower-crown @sabrina1414 @ceres-zephyr @if-you-give-a-chat-a-cookie @zalladane @tails-and-scales @rumbelle18 @sam-spectra @collegefae @pale-lady-dreamer @animegirlweeb @evaraux @consumeconstantly @iz-bell-saiah @puspa-san @wishing-to-be-a-fictional-chara @sassakitty @miraculous-ninja @fandom-trapped-03 @idontfuking @sillyfishrubberducky @anonymousreviewer-t @i-am-fallen-angel @zotinha456 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @chocolatecatstheron @crypticsabbat @startouchedqueen1318 @para-dox-normal @marinettepotterandplagg @incredulous-reader @professionalfangirl1738 @fangirlnerd001 @redscarlet95 @sixtyeightdays @iamtotalfandomtrash @tazanna-blythe @animehime94 @mysticsoulgirl @miraculouspenta @local-witch-of-mn @roseinbloom02 @senpaiweird @iggy-of-fans @tropestropestropes @sleep-deprived-aroace @comteqfr @neromerp13 @prudencerika @galaxylightmoon @c-s-stars

#marinette dupain cheng #Marinette deserves better #alya salt #lila karma #lila salt #lila gets exposed #bustier salt #class salt #class redemption #adrien salt

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

to taste your beating heart (4)

warnings: nightmares, flashbacks, mind control/thrall mention, mental breakdown, blood mention, impalement/staking, upsetting thoughts, panic, ptsd responses

A plastic-sounding click, like someone pressing a button.

Anx took a breath, staring intently at the person bustling around across from him.

Patton was making tea like someone vying for a professional butler position: setting saucers and cups in front of each of them, managing the teapot with a steady hand, motions smooth and automatic.

“Sorry, I’m just so used to setting up refreshments for guests,” he chuckled nervously. “My sister always insists on tea when she comes by, so—“

Logan shifted next to him, impatient and more than a little irritated after every one of his inquiries had been deflected or outright ignored. Patton had invited them in, though, and he was currently their best lead on one of the most vicious cases they’d ever dealt with.

Even if he seemed utterly incapable of answering any of their actual questions.

That wasn't saying he wasn't willing to talk at all. Roman was chattering with him, their most sociable member easily drawn into discussion and more than willing to natter on in the hopes that Patton would let some vital information slip.

Anx wasn’t the only one who noted the way their host set an extra saucer and cup out, but when he met Logan’s gaze, the hunter only rolled his eyes, more than content to dismiss it as another element of the stranger’s apparent airheaded personality.

Patton was still speaking, discussing the many alleged merits of ignoring allergies for the sake of fulfilling experiences. Roman, who was lactose intolerant, was nodding along wholeheartedly. Logan, who was the one to deal with Roman’s post-dairy consumption whining, looked a lot less agreeable.

His own attention remained pinned on Patton’s movements rather than his words. There was a pattern there, a careful turn of the cup so the handle was facing the right side, lift the teapot from the warmer, and pour. One by one, he went around the table.

Anx was the only one watching when the man finally fumbled. After pouring each of their cups with surprising grace, he reached that final, fifth teacup. He twisted the handle so it was right-aligned, lifted the teapot, poured— and then reached for what looked like a cream pitcher.

A beat late, Patton’s hands suddenly swerved to the side, and he pulled them back as though he’d been burned. His voice didn’t even falter.

Anx reached across the table lightning-quick and seized the pitcher, knocking a few of the porcelain jars over and effectively cutting through the conversion as he did. Roman was asking something, but Patton only stared at him, something both fearful and grateful in his gaze.

Anx pulled the lid off, and the thick smell of blood hit him, like iron and rust.

“Your sister, you said?” Logan asked, and Patton bit his lip hard enough to bleed.

Click.

He was in a different room of the same tiny apartment, though it took him a moment to recognize the interior.

Put bluntly, it looked as though a miniature hurricane had torn through it.

The wallpaper was shredded and splattered. The cute decorative furniture had been thrown askew at best, smashed to bits at worst. Everything was in disarray, the valuable and mundane targeted indiscriminately. An entire life torn to pieces.

In the eye of the storm, Patton stood, hands fisted in his hair and eyes bloodshot.

They’d known the backlash of the bond breaking would be hard on Patton, but they hadn’t been prepared for this. It was entirely possible that they had never run into a thrall this strong, one maintained for so long, in their entire hunting career.

Most aggressive thralls would attack relentlessly to defend their master from harm. Seeing as they’d been the ones to kill his “sister”, if Patton was going to vent his ire on anyone, it would be them. Roman stepped forwards carefully regardless, knowing that they owed it to him to at least try to help him recover. “Patton?”

“I should have helped her,” he replied tonelessly, voice half-ruined from screaming. He picked up a broken chunk of a table leg, and they all went tense, but all he did was slam it against the wall.

“I should have saved her!” he cried, punctuating every word with a swing. “Where is she, where is she, what did I do to her?”

“A better question would be: what did she do to you?” Logan asked, ignoring the sharp look Anx sent his way. They’d all been unsettled at the way the vamp had talked about Patton, like someone possessive over a favored plaything, but that didn’t mean they should be bringing it up now.

They’d finally gotten Patton’s full attention, as he turned to them with angry tears in his eyes. “She did everything for me! And I— I gave her away, I betrayed her…”

“She was hurting people,” Anx cut in, voice firm but not unkind. For all that he’d been through, Patton didn’t deserve unkind.

“I could have fixed it, I thought I was— I was getting through to her,” he pleaded, his voice unsteady and unconvincing even to himself. He dropped the wood, pressing bleeding knuckles against his face to stem the tears.

“It’s not your fault, Patton, okay?” Roman tried, stepping closer until he could reach out and set his hand on a trembling shoulder. Patton only seemed to bow further with the weight of his grief.

“Giving her up was supposed to kill me,” he said softly, the frenzy gone from him. “How am I supposed to live without her?”

“The same way everyone else does,” Roman pulled him in for a hug, his own eyes wetter than they’d been before. “One day at a time.”

Click.

The living room of the house— their house.

Perhaps more importantly, the smell of something burning.

Anx had always been twitchy about things like this-- a thousand potential disasters in mind for every little inconvenience-- so he bolted off the arm of the couch the moment the scent registered.

When he got to the kitchen, he heard the rattle of an active microwave, saw Patton standing and staring blankly at the display as the inside of the microwave clouded up with smoke.

Cringing at the thought of the smoke alarm going off, he turned on the overhead fan and pulled the window up before finally yanking the microwave door open.

A plastic takeout container was halfway to a melted puddle, mixing with whatever leftovers had formerly resided there. He slid on a pair of duck-themed oven mitts and grabbed the most solid-looking parts, quickly lifting and carrying the mess to the balcony where it could cool down without making their house smell like burnt plastic.

When he returned, Patton was still in that same spot, frowning slightly as though just realizing that something might be a little off. Like someone had pressed pause while the world fast-forwarded around him, Patton had described it once.

Anx flitted about for a moment, putting the mitts back and cleaning the leftover residue, and then finally faced his friend with a wry half-smile. Patton’s eyes snapped to him, as though just realizing he was there.

“Hey, Pat.” He reached out and set his hand against Patton’s back, watching as the touch helped ground him slightly. “Can you go sit at the table? I’ll bring us both something to eat.”

Without a word, Patton turned and walked to their little dining table.

Cooking was admittedly harder when he ducked away to check on the other room every few moments, but he managed alright, only singeing the eggs slightly where Roman would have incinerated them.

He set the table for them both, and sat across from Patton, who was motionless and quiet in his chair.

“Can we eat together?” Anx asked, offering Patton a fork so there was a physical prompt as well as a verbal one.

It took a moment, but Patton gripped the fork easily and started to work through the motions of eating, mirroring Anx. Whenever he faltered or seemed to forget what he was in the middle of, Anx would nudge his attention back on track.

Once they were finished, he gathered up his dishes and asked Patton to grab his, carrying them back to the kitchen together.

Patton paused for a moment at the sink, mouth twitching into a frown as he stared at his glass and the lingering layer of orange juice at the bottom.

“Does anyone want tea?” he asked suddenly, a well-practiced line in a cheery tone. “I’m very good at tea service, you know.”

Anx swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m good, Pat,” he declined instead of pointing out that they didn’t have any tea in the house.

Patton seemed to get a little hazier, his face going sad and then quickly lax again. Anx took the glass from him and offered him a hand to hold instead, squeezing his palm comfortingly when he accepted.

“I need help out in the garden today. Do you think you could lend a hand or two?”

He dipped his head in a nod, and as they made their way to the back door, Anx shot a text off to the group chat.

> nightmare on edge street: out in the garden with pat. bad day protocol, stat

When they came back in hours later, dirt under their nail beds and probably a little sunburned, Roman and Logan had already combined their talents to set up an elaborately decorated but still structurally sound blanket fort spanning the entirety of the living room.

Patton’s face twitched into a tremulous little smile as the others waved them over, and Anx felt him squeeze their joined hands gratefully.

Click.

The sequence rewound, restarted. Ran him through it over and over, the same scenes-- the same memories. Patton pouring tea with a determined, terrified glint to his eye. Patton’s mind struggling under the stress of the snapped bond. Patton working through a difficult day with the help of friends.

The scenery grew brighter and brighter with every repetition, like saturation turned all the way up on a screen, until they were as painful as sunlight on his bare skin. He tried to close his eyes, to move away, to change something, anything, but his body wasn’t his own.

Look at him, it seemed to demand, keeping him frozen in a sensory hell. Pay attention. Look what you did. Understand how you hurt him.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Clunk.

Silence. The memories vanished, leaving him floating in an impossible, endless black space. Between one blink and the next, he was eye-to-eye with a mirror image, something about it just slightly off.

He didn’t notice the stake in its hand until it was too late.

---

Anx jerked upright, hands jumping to his chest as the phantom sensation of wood between his ribs faded. His breath stuttered painfully, as though he expected to feel ichor welling up in his mouth any minute.

Staking a vampire was an archaic hunter method. It was difficult to manage, it was messy, and it was the slowest and most painful way possible to kill a vampire. He knew this, though he wasn’t sure which life was providing the facts.

Regardless of memories, he couldn’t know how it felt to actually be staked. He’d been injured before, with a coven as temperamental as his, but nothing like that. Nothing even close to that. It was just a bad dream, an imagined pain.

There was a subtle shifting nearby, and his head snapped up, eyes bright and teeth bared. If those assholes thought he was in the mood to have his space invaded--

“Easy, Count Chocula.” Across the room, the sword-wielder-- Roman, that was his name-- settled back into the armchair by the door, watching him with narrowed eyes. “I was simply noticing your… abrupt awakening?”

Right. Because he wasn’t settled into one of the tiny, dark rooms reserved for the newly-turned and those who couldn’t shake off the urge to sleep. He was captured by weird hunters, who trapped him in their weird house, and asked weird invasive leading questions about his weird night terrors.

He was also tucked into a bed, for some reason.

The comforter had already slipped down halfway due to his sudden jolt into wakefulness, and he wasted no time in kicking free of the sheets. The room was surprisingly dark in both theme and lighting, with deep purple walls and heavy spiderweb-patterned curtains blocking out any potential sunlight.

There was also a warding circle of ash carefully smudged in a perimeter around the bed, the burning containment runes strong enough to make him want to sneeze even from this distance. The diameter of the circle was wide enough that he could theoretically keep away from any stabbings if he pissed Roman off enough, but add even one more hunter to the mix and it would take virtually no effort to pincer him.

Nothing he could do about the new cage for now, with the hunter staring at him expectantly from his sentry position. He sent a poisonous glare back and hissed, still crouched on the bed like an exceptionally angry gargoyle.

Roman pressed an offended hand to his chest, but was cut off by an inordinately cheerful knock at the door. His expression flickered to a sort of bitter resignation, and he shot Anx a much more serious warning look before unlocking and cracking the door open.

“Hey, Pat! I thought you were taking a nap?” he asked with impressively feigned lightness to his voice.

“I was, I just— Is he awake?” Another too-familiar voice replied, sounded distracted. “I felt…”

“Yeah, Padre,” Roman admitted after a strained pause. “He’s up. You remember your key?”

“Of course!” Patton said, and neither of them elaborated on what the hell that was supposed to mean. Roman stepped aside, and Patton beelined to the bed like a compass needle to true north.

He stopped just short of the circle, like a determined enough— or cornered enough— vamp couldn’t reach out and drag him in. “Anx! I’ve been so worried about you! You took quite a tumble, are you feeling alright?”

Anx stared at him. The words were bright, but there was a thread of something fervent and barely-controlled in them, something frenetic in the way he shifted from foot to foot. It sent a pervasive feeling of wrongness down his spine, like looking at an old photograph and realizing that something you remembered from it was entirely absent.

Anx didn’t— couldn’t know enough about Patton to recognize when he was acting off, but every piece slotted neatly into place anyways, dragging him to a conclusion he didn’t intend to realize; Patton was pretending, ignoring the parts of him that felt bad to reassure the rest of them. After everything he'd already gone through, he was bearing the stress of being thralled without a word.

He could feel the thrall tether pulled taut between them, already mentally frayed from both the time passed since feeding and the pain that had ricocheted through him at his last order. Looking at Patton like this, it was bizarrely easy to loosen his grip and let that last thread connecting them fall apart.

Patton’s shoulders eased, all of him sagging slightly like a puppet with strings cut. And wasn’t that just an uncomfortably accurate metaphor.

In the next moment, the hunter was stepping neatly over the line of ash and into the circle, arms lifted. Roman shouted something, but his alarmed words were meaningless noise against the roar of anticipatory fear that overcame Anx.

Get away, his instincts screamed, but his body remained stuck, stalled by a resentful whisper in the back of his mind: Doesn’t he deserve to get a few hits in though? Look at what you did to him.

A sudden touch made him curl in on himself, but the arms that folded around him were careful, even gentle. His head jerked up, and sure enough, Patton was hugging him. He froze, struck dumb.

Over Patton’s shoulder, Roman was stopped a few feet away, hand outstretched as though he’d planned to yank Patton back out of the danger zone. Anx met his stare, eyes round as quarters.

“I did not tell him to do this,” he blurted, and Patton’s chest vibrated with a little sniffly chuckle. The human was so warm.

At the door, Logan appeared, glasses slightly askew. “Patton? I heard—“

He paused, taking in the room. His expression grew more and more unimpressed. “... I see. Exactly what happened while I was away?”

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #ts roman #vampire au #ttybh #to taste your beating heart #couldnt find a good stopping point T-T #Hope you guys enjoy!#writing #my writing #pov is confusing at the start but i hope it makes sense

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flameohotwife · 3 years

Note

Okay, #41 for the fluff prompt!! (I feel so powerful, hahaha!)

41. "Darling, I love you and all but please step out of the kitchen."

This turned... long! And sad-ish in parts, so I'm sorry! Maybe more hurt/comfort? But there is still fluff. I hope you enjoy!

Rated T. 2.2k words.

“Aang? Have you seen the dumpling pan?” Katara was crouched down, head and shoulders deep in the cupboard, looking for the right pan to crisp the dumplings she was planning on making for dinner. Her husband was flitting about, albeit slower than he once could, on the other side of the kitchen with what she assumed were fruit pie ingredients for dessert. The original Team Avatar were travelling to Air Temple Island from all over the world in a few hours to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the war ending, and their 50th anniversary together. They always tried to get together the week they’d met in Ba Sing Se at the Jasmine Dragon to remember what they’d lost, and to see how far they’d come. Though Aang and Katara hadn’t gotten married until several years after the war, they always counted that day on the balcony as their anniversary, as the only thing that had truly changed with their marriage was the world’s recognition of their relationship and its permanence. They were devoted and dedicated from the very beginning. Perhaps even before that.

“Oh, I’ve got it over here, Sweetie,” Aang called back to her. She jumped up, almost bashing her head on the top of the cupboard before wriggling properly out to stand and face him. Even in his old age he still maintained a certain twinkle in his eye when he was up to something, and Katara’s hands flew to her hips when she saw it.

“What are you doing with my dumpling pan?” she asked, warily.

“I thought I’d cook tonight,” Aang replied, though his hand rubbed the tattoo on the back of his neck tellingly. “I wanted to add some Air Nomad dishes to the menu. Sokka will be bringing some Water Tribe food already, Toph and Suki will have Earth Kingdom, and Zuko and Mai will bring Fire Nation… I just thought I’d add something of my own in.”

Katara’s throat caught for a moment, as it always did when she remembered. His loss always felt bigger on anniversaries, though his grief was an ever-present emotion. It rose and fell like the tides, but was always there, under the surface. Most people saw his smiling face and kind, loving spirit and forgot that there were only two airbenders in the world and why. That Aang had actually known and loved so many of the ones Sozin had murdered. He masked his pain well, but took that mask off around Katara from time to time, when he needed to.

“Sweetie,” she began, stepping forward to grasp his wrinkled hands. “Oh Aang, I was going to make Air Nomad food, too. I would never leave you out like that.” Her tone wasn’t defensive, only calm and reassuring, as she rubbed gentle circles on the blue arrows that adorned the backs of his hands with her thumbs. She wanted to remind him with her touch that his grief didn’t have to be his alone to bear. That she would remember his people with him. Just as she had taught their children old Air Nomad fairytales when they were small, and celebrated their holidays with him, and learned to cook their food. Katara was Water Tribe through and through, but her soul was bound to an Air Nomad. Moreover, she was bound to Aang, and she always felt his loss. Even when he hid it well.

Aang melted into her, then. A hug that was so deeply meaningful it was reminiscent of the one they’d shared on Iroh’s balcony, but with all the weight of his pain crushing down on them along with that promise of love and acceptance. It was as though through this hug she was able to share that weight with him, so she held him tighter. Half a century after learning about the deaths of his people, sometimes the wound still felt fresh, and Katara was always the healing balm to whatever ailed him, even when she knew she could never heal it completely.

Katara stroked his back lovingly with one arm as he clung to her. She waited for his breathing to even out, for his muscles to relax. Waited for a sign that she had taken enough of his grief that he could function again. Finally, he moved his head to kiss her sweetly. It was wet, and salty, but his movements were lighter again. She moved her hands to his face, wiping his tears as she pulled him closer, and he deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms fully around her waist and pressing against her.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He knew his grief was never hers to bear, and yet she did so willingly and with so much love. He could never thank her enough for the way she cared for him when he hit his lowest points. He wasn’t sure he could have made it without her. Sometimes the weight on his shoulders was so heavy he felt like he would sink without her unending love and support buoying him up, keeping him afloat.

“You’re not alone, Sweetie. Never.” Katara continued to caress his face as she looked into his sparkling, sad eyes.”Do you want me to help? I can make the dumplings and the butter tea. I never quite mastered the tofu but I could try if you want…”

Aang silenced her with another kiss. “You’re wonderful,” he said, pressing his lips to hers again. “The best wife, partner, and friend in existence.” Yet another kiss. “I think I’ve got it from here. Why don’t you take a break before everyone gets here?”

Katara laughed, not quite knowing what to do with herself. She reluctantly removed her hands from her husband and settled on making herself some tea and sitting at the kitchen table to observe him. Even though he was aging, Katara still enjoyed watching him when she had a moment, whether it was bending practice, or working hard on something, or even something as simple as cooking. She still appreciated the lithe way his body moved, the smooth, airy motions he made, the way his tongue stuck out when he was concentrating…

She sat back in her chair, grinning over her teacup as she watched him chop vegetables and boil water and roll dough. Sometimes observing him do the most trivial things—like cooking dinner for friends, or braiding their daughter’s hair when she was small, or working in the garden—reminded her how lucky she was to have him in her life. He was the Avatar after all. He could have maids and cooks and servants and never lift a domestic finger in his life, but that was never in Aang’s nature. And he could have chosen anyone as his companion, but he had always and only ever chosen her. Over and over. It was somehow both humbling and assuring all at once.

After some time, she rose from her seat, walking behind him to wrap her arms around him, reveling in his warmth. She couldn’t see the smile on Aang’s face, but she knew it was there when he pressed one arm over her interlocking ones, squeezing lightly with his hand.

She leaned up to press a light kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re awfully distracting, you know,” Aang chided. He turned in her arms to peck her on the nose. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to watch you cook. I forgot how much I enjoy it.” She gave him a very pointed look and he laughed heartily.

“Well, by all means, enjoy the show,” he said, wiggling his hips for her benefit as he extricated himself from her grip to keep working. Katara giggled. She was about to return to her seat when she noticed the clutter Aang was leaving in the kitchen as he worked, and decided to help him by tackling some of that so he could focus on the food.

When Katara cooked, she was very methodical. Every ingredient, pot, pan, and chopstick had its place, and was immediately returned to that place when she had finished with it. She knew if she didn’t keep up with the mess as she worked, it would pile up to the point that she would feel overwhelmed at the end, so she tidied continually. Aang, on the other hand, was much more impulsive in his cooking. He would think of an ingredient to add mid-stir, and leave the remnants on the counter, never quite sure if he might want to add more later. He would wait to clean up all the messes at once.

There was a time in their marriage where this had driven Katara crazy. The kids were still very young at the time, and the extra mess on top of the cacophony of kid-sounds and clutter and Momo swooping around the house would become too much, so she would constantly buzz around him, taking things and washing and putting them away before he was even finished with them. He would turn around for more of an ingredient and find it wrapped up in the icebox. More than once, he had had to take Katara by the shoulders, kiss her gently, and exclaim, “Darling, I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen.”

Now, much like in other parts of their relationship, she had learned which parts of the mess to let be, and which ones she could handle that would actually help him. She sat up with him at night while he transcribed ancient Air Nomad texts and histories; her presence a comfort as he worked through it all and felt the loss more keenly. Tenzin joined him now, of course, when he was home, but Aang still felt more able to work through his grief when she stayed too. When they were younger, she had sewn Air Nomad clothes for Aang and for the acolytes, and eventually taught the acolytes to make them herself not because Aang couldn’t sew or teach them, but because it was one of the things that they both could do. Something that she could take off of his already over-heaped plate.

They balanced each other. He was her rock on full-moon nights or when she missed her parents or when her emotional storm was raging. He was her center of calm when she was worried about the kids or about the world. But today, Aang needed her. So she washed the used dishes for him to use again if needed, and cleared the wrappings for him, being sure to leave the ingredients on the counter. She made sure to give him gentle touches as they worked; a hand to the small of his back as she passed him, a bump of the hip as they worked side by side. Loving smiles and stolen kisses as the afternoon sun fell lower in the sky.

Eventually their friends would arrive and they would be able to laugh and joke and remember together. There would be group hugs and arm-punches and happy sounds and smells would fill their home as they reminisced. Through all of it, Aang would sneak looks across the table at Katara, with a special smile reserved for her. Fifty years! They’d made it fifty years together, in no small part because of everything they had learned through their struggles as they grew together. Because of the weights and grief they shared with one another instead of bearing them alone.

“I may be old, Twinkletoes, but I can still feel your heartbeat when you look at Sugarqueen like that,” Toph jabbed as Aang snuck another glance at his wife. “How can you two be together for fifty years and still act as disgusting as when we were teenagers? I’m not going to have to pull you out of a linen closet at the official event tomorrow, am I? Because we are all too old for that.”

Knowing that she still sent his heart a-flutter the way he did to her warmed Katara’s old bones from head to toe, and she sent a look of her own towards her husband. Aang’s face reddened.

“Oh, no,” groaned Sokka. “Oogies! I’m out.” He rose from the table, pulling Suki along with him. “Dinner was great guys, and I’d like to keep it in my stomach, thanks. So, we’ll see you all in the morning when the kids get here?”

“Sounds good,” replied Zuko as he and Mai rose to join them. “We should probably turn in anyway. It’s getting late.” Aang and Katara stood as well to accompany their guests to the door before everyone went their separate ways.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening as always, guys,” Suki added as she hugged them both goodbye. “Try not to wear yourselves out too much tonight, hmm? It’s not as easy to recover as it used to be and we have a busy day tomorrow.”

Katara feigned shock at her sister-in-law’s tease but Aang only blushed further as Sokka faked retching and promptly exited with their friends. Aang was always so open about his emotions and intentions when it came to Katara, whether or not he intended to be. She simply smirked back up at him and took him by the hand, waving to everyone one last time before pulling him back to their bedroom. And, maybe they were a little extra tired the next day, but it was worth it. Loving each other through the many ups and downs of a lifetime together would always be worth it. Even when Toph berated them for it outside a linen closet door.

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