#Silent Skyes
theskyesfamily · 7 months ago
Silent skies, how do you communicate? Is there a hoof language or do you write everything?
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Silent: *It’s very helpful for others that know how to understand what I’m saying. My wife went out of her way to make sure our sons knew it so we could communicate better. It saves plenty of time when it comes to writing my responses.*
*To add to that. I am not deaf. I am mute*
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shapa-likes-art · 23 days ago
Am thinking of soft domestic prinxiety...
;-; just-
The thought is so fucking sweet
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goldiipond · 2 months ago
I'm very curious about the amount of images in your olivia and ray folders
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bravo-four-seal-team · 10 months ago
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Chapter one 
@theysayitscrazy @rebelwrites @thelovelyleo23 @pinkrockstar19 @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @disasterfandoms @hails-halstead @milfdeacon @jasonbabymama @innerpaperexpertcloud @abby-splace @softi92 @itsonautopilot @velvetcardiganbucky @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @supervalcsi @fourthwallhateclub  @chibsytelford @kobababy​ @lemons-are-tasty
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Summery: Eric Blackburn has been raising his daughter Skye for the past 3 years alone, no one knows about Skye except two people Adam Seaver and Ash Spenser.
"You know to be good for Uncle Adam?" Blackburn signed to the little girl, who watched him and nodded. 
"Yes, daddy" she signed back, before hugging her father tightly "I'll miss you, be safe" she signed before she spotted her uncle and charged over to him, launching herself at him for a hug.
"Sorry about this being so sudden," Blackburn said, looking at Adam, who had picked Skye up. 
"Don't be,  go deal with the idiots" Adam chuckled, quickly signing to the little girl about getting pancakes, as Blackburn waved them goodbye, before he got in his car and drove to base, this mission was going to be tough, Mandy had been trying to get it greenlit for months now, finally everything was a go.
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Everything had been going to plan until the VSP showed up at HAVOC. “We need to call it. Go! Initiate siege protocol.” Blackburn said, as everyone began moving to do what he needed, as he walked to get the gear he grabbed his radio. 
"Bravo 1, in the blind. Havoc's been compromised. I say again, Havoc's been compromised. Bravo 1, Havoc has fallen." Blackburn had called over the radio. 
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He’s moving down to the garage to secure the door with Seth, when the VSP breached the door, Seth was killed on impact, from the force of the blast sent him backward, shrapnel embedding itself in his leg.
He ignores the pain, pushing through it, he needs to get his people out of the building and to safety, he's grateful for the dark trousers he has on to hide the blood. 
But it didn't hide his limping.
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He’s got a plan, placing a grenade under the chair, when the VSP knocks into it, he’s hit again by a smaller piece of shrapnel to his shoulder, he moved quickly after taking down the other men, ignoring the burning pain in his shoulder. 
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When they were flying home, that's when he knew something was wrong, he stumbled, knocking over some of the gear passing out. The team witnessed the whole thing and their route was cleared for an emergency landing.
Trent curses when he sees the wound, of course, Blackburn hid his injury, he started shouting at people to get him what he needed, his priority was to stabilize their commander before they landed.
Bravo all agreed, they'd wait at the hospital until Blackburn was safe.
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Adam came rushing in, carrying a little girl with him, the team was all confused as he passed Skye to Metal and proceeded to go find out where Eric was and what happened. 
"Hi," Metal said, frowning as the little girl squirmed out of his grip, she didn't want this stranger to hold her, she wanted her dad or her uncle. 
"Not so fast," Jason says, trying to stop the girl from running off, surprisingly it was Cerb that stopped her by grabbing the back of her shirt.
Eventually, Adam came back, and Skye ran to him.
"Where's daddy?" Skye signs to Adam, staring at her uncle, wanting answers about where her dad was. 
Adam sighed, kneeling "your dad was hurt sweetheart, he's in surgery, these men are going to look after you while I go to the base, these men work with your father" he signs, he spots the boys staring at them. 
Jason was the first to say "Your kid is deaf?" 
"Eric's kid. She's selective mutism... Has some hearing problems... Uses sign language." Adam talks calmly, watching Skye cuddle up with Cerb. 
"Blackburn has a kid and never told us?" Ray says, a little shocked.
"Not my story to tell,” Adam says, signing to Skye “Please be good for these men? They’re going to take you home while I find out what is going on with your dad” 
“Okay” Skye signed slowly. 
“Take her to this address, these are the keys, take care of her.” Adam said, looking at Jason “She’s all Eric has left.”
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neutrallyobsessed · 5 months ago
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i don't like musicals, i really don't, but as far as i remember, ballet is pretty cool, so if something like this happens lemme know
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insaneskye · 2 months ago
Oh and besties I’ve gotten back into Silent Hill. It’s a LOT and I could write ESSAYS for the games I’ve played
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carewyncromwell · a year ago
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[HPHM] Erika Rath Playlist
suggested by @wangxianforever000 // featuring Anouk Hoogendijk as Erika
    “Overture” ~ Bring It On the musical
“We Will Rock You” ~ Queen
“Wizards in Winter” ~ Trans-Siberian Orchestra
“On Fire” ~ T. Powell
“No Way” ~ Six the Musical
“Enjoy the Silence” ~ Depeche Mode
“I Ain’t Movin’” ~ Des’ree
“Starlight Brigade” ~ TWRP
“The Hall of Fame” ~ the Script ft. Will.I.Am
Erika Rath was one of the best Beaters the Ravenclaw Quidditch team saw in its history. From the time she joined the team in her second year, her talent was undeniable, and she would go on to help her team win the Quidditch Cup five out of her seven years at school. Erika’s talent, however, came about not just from her own great physical strength and resilience, but from a lot of hard work. The Raths are a very poised, soft-spoken magical family, running a home with no raised voices or flaring tempers and everything having its place, and are best known for their work in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Yet from the time Erika was little, she knew she could never fit into the mold set by her grandmother, father, uncles, and older brothers. Instead her one true love soon became Quidditch, which she found a safe place to vent her silent frustrations and bond with others without having to talk a lot. Although Erika’s grandmother and extended family are rather passive-aggressive in their disapproval of her life choices, her father and brothers are fortunately a bit more supportive, in their own understated way. They weren’t the sort to openly contradict the family matriarch or speak out in Erika’s defense, but they would send her Quidditch books and merchandise for her favorite Quidditch team, the Wigtown Wanderers, as Christmas presents. Speaking of the Wigtown Wanderers, Erika’s main rival at Hogwarts was Slytherin Chaser Skye Parkin, who started unfounded rumors about Erika stealing her teammate Carewyn Cromwell’s new Cleansweep between matches. The debacle resulted in Carewyn leaving the Slytherin team and Skye and Erika constantly butting heads for the rest of their school career. Eventually Skye ended up being one of Erika’s teammates when the two joined the Wigtown Wanderers as adults. It took a very long time for them to “bury the hatchet” so to speak, but over time (and with a lot of counseling from Skye’s old friends, Montrose Magpie Chaser Orion Amari and up-and-coming Quidditch commentator Murphy McNully), the two were able to find a way to communicate properly and pull together to bring their team victory. During the Second Wizarding War, Erika even helped Orion go into hiding with his infant daughter Eos and -- alongside Skye, Andre Egwu, Oliver Wood, and other members from the Quidditch league -- returned to Hogwarts for the final battle against Voldemort. Erika and her associates ended up forming something of an “air force,” attacking the Death Eaters, Snatchers, giants, and acromantula from above on their brooms in battle-like formations.
#hphm#hogwarts mystery#erika rath#playlist#just like with orion I gave rath a neutral color palette since she's sometimes ravenclaw and sometimes slytherin#this was a really fun challenge!#I've always liked rath as a character but we still haven't gotten as much material for her as I'd like#even now that she's on the friends list now post-quidditch-season-two#in carewyn's storyline she doesn't play quidditch so I spread out the quidditch season 1 plotline to encompass her entire school career#therefore erika and skye feud until their seventh year when they're going to graduate#and carewyn brings slytherin victory when it's orion's last possible chance to win the quidditch cup for their house#I love the thought of erika who's always been such a bad-ass on a broom#wanting to stick by her friends so much that she'll use all of those skills on a broom and with a wand and bat to protect them#and kick death eater arse too! <3#but yeah the reason I see erika being such a strong and silent type is because her family is so quiet#they don't talk about being unhappy or angry and sort of are these delicate little china dolls of people#who value peace and order at all costs and sort of expect everything to be clean and pristine#erika rebels against a lot of that but at the same time still doesn't exactly know how to communicate well#because she never learned how to talk to people without being supercilious and passive-aggressive#so she speaks bluntly with no filters without understanding how that in turn doesn't exactly help#her arc therefore is kind of learning how to balance out the extreme#being blunt honest and forceful and yet also not being so stubborn rigid and uncompromising that you can't grow#'wizards in winter' is one of my absolute favorite TSO pieces I was so thrilled I got to include it X3
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skye-penderwick · a year ago
First off I would like to thank everyone who submitted their ships cause those were cool to see and very inspiring.
Second, here is the alignment chart (this was fun to make):
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dancinghearts · 9 months ago
Tag dump, OCs
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eddiesblklvr · 5 months ago
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PAIRING: fezco (euphoria) x blackwoman!oc
SUMMARY: after a long sickness and a missed period, valentine finally realizes what’s wrong with her
WARNINGS: pregnancy (she’s 18 fez is 19), cursing, mentions of vomiting
WORD COUNT: 1.1k (she a lil tiny)
A/N: i want to write more for them so send requests if you want :)
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for about a month, valentine has been feeling terrible. throwing up constantly through out the day, feeling lightheaded, stomach cramps, feeling nauseous after smelling certain things, and some of her favorite foods made her want to throw up. apart from the obvious symptoms, her period was late, and that scared her.
she was too afraid to tell her boyfriend, so she told his little brother.
“what the fuck you mean you’re pregnant?” ash asks, sitting up in his bed as he looks at her like she’d grown two more heads.
“just come with me to the store, please?”
“why do you think you’re pregnant?” he asks her, narrowing his eyes in confusion. valentine sighs, not really wanting to get into all the feelings she’s been feeling for the past month.
“my period is late. c’mon, get up and get dressed.” valentine’s begging at this point, her eyes pleading for him to do as she says.
“okay,” ash sighs as valentine thanks him and closes the door, giving him time and privacy he needs for him to get up.
“ain’t no fuckin’ way.”
“which one should i get?”
“i don’t know, i ain’t been pregnant before,” ash responds, not really noticing how easily pissed off she could get now.
“ashtray, i will kick your lil’ ass down this isle.”
“i was just playing, damn,” ash tells her, “i saw those clear blue commercials on tv, get those.” valentine takes his advice and grabs three clear blue pregnancy tests before walking down the isle to self checkout. she didn’t want to feel judged by the workers for obviously being a possibly pregnant teenager while they scanned the tests.
once they were home, valentine made sure that fez still wasn’t there, him having left earlier that morning.
“im’a be on the couch when you get done,” ash tells her after walking her down to the bathroom and making sure she was okay.
valentine nodded, closing the door while ashtray walks back down the hallway. she quickly unboxes all three of the pregnancy tests, reading over the instructions to make sure she uses them correctly.
after peeing on the sticks, she sits them down on the counter of the sink and situates herself before opening the door for ash.
“could you—“ she takes a shaky breath before continuing, “could you come sit with me, please?” she doesn’t get an answer but a few seconds later she sees him walking down the hallway towards her.
she sits down on the toilet and sets a timer for 5 minutes, while ash closes the door behind him and sits on the floor beside her.
he hears her sniffling every few seconds but he didn’t really know what to do. he doesn’t know how to comfort people or make them feel better, having himself closed off at all times, but he rests his head on her knees, silently letting the terrified older girl above him know that he was there and that it would be okay.
valentine jumps a little when she hears the timer go off. she doesn’t make a move to stop it of flip over the tests, just stares wide eyed down at him, so ashtray makes the decision to do it for her.
he stands up, grabs her phone from her hands and turns the alarm off. he looks at valentine and sees her still looking up at him as he flips all three of them over. after looking over them a few times, there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. that’s all the confirmation she needs before she’s sobbing into her hands.
ashtray put the tests back on the counter and wraps his arms around her. for as long as he’s known her, he’s never seen her crying this hard. he didn’t know if she was upset or if she happy about the pregnancy at this point, it was hard to tell.
after a few minutes, she was finally able to calm down. she doesn’t know how she’s going to tell fez, she doesn’t know how he would react. she just hopes he won’t be upset or kick her out or something like that.
fez, valentine, and faye, dead asleep, were sitting in the living room watching a movie. val wasn’t really watching it, she was too worried about telling fez that she was pregnant with his baby. earlier in the bathroom, she made the decision to tell him that night when he got back home. she thought about it and she realizes that she was being irrational. of course fez wouldn’t be upset or kick her out, they’ve talked about having starting a family before. she knew it was just nerves, but there was still something in the back of her mind that made her scared of them still being a possibility.
he’s noticed her change of behavior all day, how tense she was when he smiled at her or even touched her hand. while she was scared of breaking the news, he was scared that she might’ve been losing feelings for him.
“val,” he calls out, causing her head to turn and look at him, “what’s wrong? you been acting, like, weird all day.” he rubs over her calf and thigh as he looks at her, his blue eyes soft and if you looked harder, you’d see the hint of fear he had in them. he gently pulls her over his lap, helping her straddle him.
fez rests his hands on her hips and waits for a response. he looks down and comes face to face with her breasts, confusion becoming clear on his expression. “aye, how did these get, like, bigger?”
valentine let’s out a soft giggle, sliding her hands from the back of his head to rest on his freckled cheeks, his beard tickling her palms. she looks noticeably nervous, biting on her bottom lip, looking everywhere except his eyes, playing with the chains around his neck, some things she does when she gets nervous.
“i found out why i’ve been so sick,” she says in a whisper like tone.
“mhm,” she nods, taking a deep breath, “i’m pregnant.”
fezco stared into her eyes for what felt like forever. she saw tears brewing in his waterline and a smile tugging on his lips, making her finally relax.
“for real?” he asks her with a shaky voice, his hands clinging tightly to her hips and waist. valentine nods, not knowing if she would be able to talk without crying again. even through she probably will again as soon as fez does.
“you sure? you not bullshittin’?”
“yes, i’m sure! i took three of them and they all said i am.” she sees tears falling down his cheeks, making her wipe them away before pulling his head onto her chest.
the two of them stay that way for a while as fez rubs, kisses, and talks to her stomach.
“i love y’all so much, mama. swear im’a protect y’all with my fuckin’ life.”
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foxgloveprincess · 3 months ago
Another Taste Of Devouring Rush
Pairing: Pagan Gods Stucky x Female Reader [First Person Narrator]
Word Count: 8.8K
Summary: Growing up in a brothel, you’ve known and prepared for the fate that awaits you. But your madam’s scheme is looking for the highest bidder, and two potential bidders have caught your eye—though you’ve never seen their faces.
Warnings: Dark (Soft Dark Stucky), Medieval(ish) AU (Historical Inaccuracy because it’s a fictional setting), Polytheistic/Pagan Beliefs, Mythology, Yandere Behavior, Obsession, Possessiveness, Manipulation, Dubious Consent, Smut (Foreplay, Vaginal Penetration, Unprotected Sex, Loss of Virginity), Forced Escorting/Companionship/Prostitution, Virginity Auction/Bidding on Virginity, Innocence Kink (sorta), Minor Character Death, Abuse/Violence, Blood/Gore. All characters depicted/discussed as SWers are over the age of 18. Minors do not interact (18+).
A/N: This is in the same universe as A Little Touch of Heavenly Light. Though I think it’s perhaps darker than Tony’s tale. Not just Steve and Bucky, but also the reader’s circumstances make this one a bit of a doozy. Anyone who gets the Man of La Mancha nod, you’re my new favorite person. 
I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work, at all. I cross-post to my own AO3 account. Seeing this anywhere else means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.
Title from “Breath of Life” by Florence + the Machine
This is not Beta’d, so all mistakes are my own.
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Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or unwilling to read/consume dark content, thank you!
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I was born in a ditch, left naked and alone to die. Too cold to even cry out for my mother. A mother who abandoned me. 
Another woman, named Aida, wandering through the cold streets deep in the night, stumbled across me and carried my fragile, near-frozen body to her abode. Tucked close to her breast, beating warm and welcoming. 
The sign for The Broken Beast has always hung crooked over its doorway, welcoming customers to a small establishment of the world’s oldest profession. Not the most ideal situation for a growing girl. But no one ever touched me. Not the patrons, not the prostitutes. Not unless they wanted Aida’s wrath to rain down upon them like the tide of the Gods’ Blood. And it has been all I’ve ever known.
“You’re special, my jewel,” she says, brushing away my worries with the strands of my hair that stick to my forehead. “Only when you are ripe shall you be plucked.” 
And every day I wait, learning from the women and men of the brothel—my siblings in trade. Etiquette, composure, seduction, sensuality. Blossoming and utilizing my developing talents to become appealing—the perfect fantasy. For I know, one day, that is my fate. 
Yet every dawn, when their weary legs carry their heavy hearts to the small temple at the edge of the city and they bow before Ari the God of Pleasure and Passion, I weave my way toward others. The Righteous Captain and his companion, The Freed Soldier. 
Of course, they remain silent. What use would two gods have for a future wretch. It soothes my soul, though, surrounded by their offerings. Gorgeous works of art and ornamented trinkets. No spark of envy in my heart, but a longing for that beauty. True beauty, when my world constructs it from fantasy more fragile than a butterfly’s silken wing. 
I bow before them, my head resting against my hands, prayers muttered on syllables barely a whisper. My heart clenches in my chest and tears prick at my eyes. Hope a withering thing in my chest. Anticipating the day my precarious peace will shatter. 
Shuffling feet alert me to an approach. Skye, her kind eyes gazing upon my prostrated form with pity. Not much older than I, but a mistress to many lonely souls. Still she remains soft, the closest person to a friend I have.
“Let’s go home,” she beckons with an outstretched hand. 
I accept, as I must.
“You come closer every day, my jewel,” Aida declares, the flimsy material of her curtains obstructing her view of the street below.
My shoulders slump, sinking into my chair as my spirit droops within.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I conceal my distress with a pristine,“Of course, ma’am.”
“How are your lessons?” she asks, turning her eyes to pierce through me. Locked on every movement with an exacting precision. Never in my life have I been able to hide from her scrutiny.
“They teach me well,” I reply, folding my hands in my lap and shifting upon the cushion of the chair, sitting straight. I clear my throat of despair, biting back the temptation keen to voice my deepest desires and greatest fears. My ankles cross behind the chair’s leg, uncomfortable no matter how I settle. I feel it, deep in me. The question rises from within my gut, and before I can halt its progress I ask, “Shall I be presented upon the dais tonight?”
Aida scoffs, a fond smile tilting her lips. “Oh, my gem.” She stands and saunters toward me, lifting my chin with a gentle finger. “You shall be the most prized whore in all of the Nine Kingdoms.” She pats my cheek and returns to sit behind the sturdy mahogany of her desk. A ledger falls open before her, pages filled with names and sums. Her voice stills like water after it ripples, tone clear and dispassionate. “You shall begin to entertain tonight. But only the one who desires you most will have the chance to gaze upon you and enjoy your deflowering.”
I clamp my lips together, a distressed noise stuck in my throat. My gaze drops to my lap and my fidgeting fingers before I glance back up. Aida’s quill scratches more names into her book, waiting. She knows me too well.
“There are others, far more beautiful than I. My features bear nothing exquisite,” I insist with a gesture toward myself, heart pleading for my freedom toward the only mother I have ever known. Yet, as well as she knows me, she never seems to hear. “Should any new courtesan not do just as well?”
Regretful eyes meet mine. “Oh, my jewel, you are far more precious.” Her hands fold together and prop her chin atop her desk. She sighs. “Your innocence is far more potent in attraction than any fine face. And it shall win us a grand sum.” She stands and leans forward on her palms. “You shall be my crowning glory.”
The tears well along my waterline, blinked away and choked down. I nod. Anguish creeps along my spine, grasping at my heart and squeezing until my breath hitches.
“Of course, ma’am.” With my final word, I stand, bowing my head and retreating from her stifling expectation.
Descending the steps to the vast main room with its bar and many tables, my steps grow heavy, bile churning in my gut at the thought of strutting across this floor and seducing patrons for Aida’s purse. 
Melinda greets me from her stool with a stoic nod. She tips back her drink and shifts silently in her seat. Though she says nothing, barely acknowledges me, her eyes flicker with the briefest glimpse of sympathy. It’s enough to draw me closer, settling beside her and dropping my head to the smooth, well-worn wood. Her presence—the slightest sense of her understanding—washes over me like the flames of a cozy fire in the dead of winter.
A bottle of aqua vitae clinks on the bar before my eyes, Melinda’s hand wrapped around it’s neck. She pours me a small glass, watching as I stare wide-eyed at the spirit. 
“Don’t let them have more than they need.” The caution in Melinda’s voice startles me, the quiet woman not one to often offer advice. “Keep something for yourself. Your rage, your humor, your joy—keep something and tuck it away.” 
“Thank you,” I whisper as I straighten to meet her gaze, gratitude lacing every word. My throat grows tight with emotion, tears pricking at the back of my eyes.
She says nothing more, grabs her bottle of mead, and swaggers away. Chin held high, shoulders straight, yet burdened by the many years of her trade.
I remain at the bar, staring into the cup before me and the rippling drink within. It’s never touched my lips before, but I’ve heard of the acrid burn, the numbness. Too many girls getting lost in drink before entertaining their suitors. The dangers and temptations. Delicate fingers trace the rim, a debate rampant and inconclusive whirring through my mind. In the end, I push it away. Deserting the bar for the solace of my shared room. 
The day passes in distraction. Evening draws nigh. The sun dipping toward the horizon. As the others leave for the bar downstairs, to get to work and earn their keep, I begin the transformation. Brush my hair. Rouge my cheeks. Dress in my finest rags. 
Voices swell below, raucous laughter and tittering giggles of delight. A farce. But one that brings coin and keeps customers returning again and again. My lungs expand on a deep breath and I stand without another look in the mirror.
“No,” Aida chastises from the doorway with only a glimpse of me, her frustration leaking from her pores. “This shan’t do.” Her fingers pluck in disgust at my cheeks. A sneer contorts her lip, hands grabbing at my chin.
A cloth wipes rough against my cheeks and her hands peel away the unsatisfactory outfit. She insists I wash again and presents a fine garment of crystal blue—pure, almost holy in its shade. Her foot taps as I scramble to appease her, turning once I am finished and awaiting her approval. 
Her face remains a careful mask, though preferable to the disgust of before. She reaches out her hand. “Come.”
I nod and follow, navigating the hallways of the brothel until we reach a room empty of occupant, but not of purpose. This place, once used for boarding, looks nothing like the barren chamber of the rooms where we sleep. Cushions in lush textiles line the floors. Colorful lamps swing overhead, flickering their flames. Swaths of fabric drape over once bare walls. A table rests before a long, translucent purple curtain partitioning the room. 
Aida draws me over and places me behind it. “You shall sit here,” she instructs, waiting to continue until I find my place. Raised upon a platform to survey the room before me. “Entertain your guests and who knows? One may desire to keep you.” She smiles, no warmth to her eyes, but a greed that consumes her. One with which I am well acquainted. It strikes me with her every glance in my direction.
“Yes, ma’am,” I whisper. 
She hums and spins on her heel, exiting with a click of the latch on the door.
Many pass over the threshold throughout the night, curious eyes seeking the Beast’s jewel. Some leave after a glimpse of the gossamer barrier. Others stay longer, sitting before me for a moment of my time. Ever demure in tone and bearing, I entertain them—ask of their stories and charm them as I’ve been taught.
It is not until the late hours of the night, when a kind older man departs with promises of a return, do I receive my final callers. 
Two figures enter. Strutting into the room with all the air of royalty. They sit like kings across the cushions, sprawling in a display of regal leisure. 
“My lords,” I greet, my chin dipping toward my chest, a gesture of deference still visible through the barrier. 
They do not speak for a moment. The silence elongating until I shift in my position and contemplate how I should continue to address them.
“What’s your name?” one asks, pleasant and genuine curiosity lacing his rich baritone. 
Whether he expects a pseudonym or the truth, I answer with my name on a stuttered breath, struck by his gaiety and left intrigued. 
“Your age?” he inquires.
Again, I answer with the truth, counting the years of my life. Older than the youngest who sell themselves here, well into womanhood and past the hopefulness of youth. The perfect age, Aida once said, to know better, yet not know at all. 
He hums. His companion remains silent. The companion’s head tilts, and I shift once more. Despite the gossamer partition fixed between us, his eyes bore through me. I swallow and match his stare, waiting.  
“Tell me of your tastes,” the first continues. And my gaze drifts from the silent figure.
“Tastes, my lord?” I question, not quite grasping his meaning. “Do you wish to speak of certain proclivities? Or—”
“Your favorites,” he intones, voice warm and soft with a tinge of amusement rife on his tongue. It’s sweet and disarming. I pause, contemplating the correct answer when he prompts, “Just the truth will suffice. Tell me of the foods you enjoy. The colors that catch your eye. The songs to which you long to dance.”
“I,” The words cuts off as my mind scrambles for the truth—too many thoughts whirling like a windstorm in my mind. I focus on the response most easily given. “My palate may not be as well traveled as some, sir, but I enjoy the sweet buns from the bakery down by the temple.”
“You enjoy sweets, then? All the better,” he jests with the confirmation of my reluctant nod, “for now I know a weakness. I must use it to my advantage.”
A laugh—a spontaneous thing, unpracticed and genuine—bursts from me. My lips spread in a smile. 
“And you, sir? What are your weaknesses?” I inquire, with an honest interest lurking behind my words. Never have I felt the necessity of knowing potential paramours in such a way, but something within my belly yearns for it now. 
“He’s bullheaded, and always pursues heavenly creatures without relent,” the companion speaks for the first time. 
His voice, soft and smoky, wraps around me and dizzies my head. My eyes trace his obscured form, and I breathe a laugh again. The delighted sound accompanied by them both. 
The rest of our night, we spend in each other’s company, exchanging pleasantries and small tidbits of favor until Aida shatters our peace to escort the potential bidders out.
Disappointment sits heavy in my gut, but I wait for my madam’s return. She sweeps into the room and brushes the curtain away, a twinkle of triumph in her eyes. My lips part on a question. Yet it goes unanswered, guided as I am to my rooms to sleep and prepare for the rigors of the next evening. 
Many more visit the second night. More the third. But each night, I wait. Bated breath and hopes high, anticipating the the arrival of the two lords who begin to occupy my every waking thought. 
Each night, always the last, they return, enlivening me with their attention and gentle affections. They grow bolder, sneaking closer toward the curtain. Prodding at the boundary between us.
“Why deep purple, little blossom?” one asks, soft voice reaching me. His fingers skim the fabric, catching on the tips and tugging until it flutters. “I have seen many don the color here. Is it the brand of your establishment?”
I swallow, leaning away from his unconscious lure. So close to them, so thin a barrier between us. The impulse tickles my spine and bids my fingers move—but I resist.
“My lord,” I explain with caution, “surely you know, in these lands, purple is the mark of a whore.” 
Silence stretches.
Broken by a growl—an almost inhuman sound, accompanying a cutting assertion, “You are not a whore.” 
I swallow, a spike of fear flickering at the base of my skull at the strict remonstrance. Lips parting, my mind scrambles for an apt response. Working through stunned and fluttering thoughts, I reply, “I am not, as of yet, my lord.” My head bows, unwilling to peek at their figures behind the delicate material. Heat warms my cheeks. “But I might be yours.” 
A sharp inhale meets my ears. 
The door bursts open, Aida ready for her nightly routine. The men stand, unmoving for a moment as they attempt to peer at my visage. To no avail as the curtain remains in place, not a shift or quiver.
No, the only quake comes from my blood, thrumming through my veins in an intoxicating rush. I wait, as I always do, for their reaction—just one more word from either of their lips. My fingers sink into the cushion beneath me, threatening to rip the cloth and expose the feathers and fluff beneath. But they remain as silent as me.
In incremental movements, I begin to stand. My legs untuck from under me, lifting me up. A shaking hand reaches forward. Fingers brush the fabric and begin to grip. Though my reason rebels against the instinct, every fiber in my being wishes to gaze upon their faces. To trace their features and drink in their presence without any impediment.
“My lords, if you would follow me,” Aida insists. Her tone breaks me from my thrall, barbed and biting—her ire roiling behind a composed guise.
When she returns, her nails dig into my arms, grip tight and painful. There is no gentleness in her treatment that night. Only a threat and a lesson learned.
Journeying with the others the next morning, I find the temple on an empty stomach, coaxed to deliver the first of my offerings to the God of Pleasure.
Everything within me revolts at his feet, bowing my head and refusing to utter my prayer. But I offer a coin from my meager purse before weaving my way toward beauty.
It feels right, supplicating myself to the patron of lost souls. The Freed Soldier looking upon my fatigued frame with indifference. 
“I cannot go on,” I lament at his feet, unable to glance at the altar of the Righteous Captain, knowing too well how conflicting my position is to his virtue. Only the Soldier may be my confessor this morning. “This venture, it taints me—spreading like a stain until it will cover every part of me.” Beneath my skirts, I loose a tiny sachet from around my thigh—a few aromatic herbs, a shard of iridescent glass, and a speckled pebble encased inside. “Please, I beg you. I will be loyal all my days.” Tears drip down my cheeks, and splash across the tiled floor. “Help me,” I whisper from quivering lips.
There is no answer. 
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The night falls, as it must, and I return to my shrouded position. The faces blur in their familiarity from behind my curtain. Voices returning from the nights previous. Aida keeps new, curious gazes away—culling the interest pool to those wealthy enough to bid for my innocence. 
The older man returns from the first night, his voice jovial. Though he doesn’t tell me it, his name sits scrawled on a piece of parchment resting under Aida’s arm, along with the others who vie for my attentions. 
They’ve started to sit closer, their curiosity feeding a need to discern my appearance. But none catch a glimpse—none that I wish to catch a glimpse.
Except for them. 
Only one comes that night. His companion absent from his side. My heart sinks, distraught and cycling through notions of my failure before he speaks.
“I hope you will forgive me,” the man excuses, sitting before the curtain, pressing probing fingers across the translucent cloth. “I wished for a moment of your time, alone.”
My throat clears, mind searching for the words to express my curiosity and sate my incompetence with answers. “Then your friend has no need of my services?”
“No, no,” he rushes to reassure, “business calls him away this night. Though he should return tomorrow, neither of us wished to lose an opportunity to see you.”
Relief floods through my veins, a grin stretching my lips. “I suppose that will do.”
“Be assured, my sweet, we shall only ever have you together.” 
Heat rushes to my cheeks. His implications and passion striking me to my core. His figure leans closer to the drape, so close I might perceive his features if it were more sheer. Even still, his proximity ensnares my senses, scenting the faintest hint of sage on his clothes, the brush of his breath. My heartbeat thumps in my ears.
“You shall be my sweet, shan’t you?” he questions no louder than a whisper.
Before my thoughts can form coherence, my lips murmur, “yes,” without pause, fervor rife in the declaration.
“Then I have something for you.”
He turns away, hands procuring a bag tied to his belt. He offers it out. Just on the other side of the curtain but no further. I reach for it, charades of anonymity and mystery cursed to the riverbed.
The curtain parts around my arm, fingers grasping at the pouch. A hand locks around my wrist, lips descending for a tantalizing caress. I gasp. 
The man smooths his fingertips over my skin. Such tenderness, reverence in the gesture. And I sit still, unable to break the sanctity of the moment until he releases me with a final kiss to my knuckles. 
I swallow, a lump forming in my throat, impeding any sentiment I might utter. My eyes flick away from the shadow of his face, locking onto my gift and untying the ties. Pulse fluttering beneath my skin, every fiber of my being grasps for composure. 
Peeking into the linen bag, my fingers pluck out a small, dark shard which melts in my touch.
“Eat it,” he encourages, eager and insistent. “It’s called chocolate.”
I hesitate, wondering at the food, trying to discern its flavor without a taste. Yet chocolate is not something with which I am familiar. But the shard finds its way to my mouth, melting as it did between my fingers. It coats my palate with sweet bitterness. A sound of delight trills in my throat, looking to the man who offered such a fine gift.
“Thank you,” I whisper, still struggling to form words and lost in the pleasures of the treat, and even a simple offering of gratitude feels ill-equipped to convey my appreciation.
“What?” I ask in confusion, glancing toward the pouch now resting in my lap and back to the gossamer.
“Steve,” he repeats, a patience to his voice, “it’s my name.”
“Steve.” It repeats on my tongue, sweeter than the chocolate still lingering. “A pleasure to know your name, my lord.” A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. An ache growing within my chest—inexplicable yet all-consuming. Akin to tenderness, affection. Accompanied by a pang, worse than those of a growing body. Knowing he and his companion are still but one of many who might win my innocence. Possibility and probability and favor warring against our fates that may not align.
But I disregard it. Allowing my own indulgence, engaging Steve in conversation and gaiety—as if I were not hiding behind a veil, and he were any man I might meet on the street. 
And the next night, they return together. My endearment to them growing even more incisive. Heavy as a boulder within my chest and piercing through me. Yet I have been taught well. A charming air shielding my true feelings from them, just as my face remains concealed.
“What think you of your other suitors?” 
The jubilance of my laughter ceases. Stunned by the man’s inquiry. Steve turns to face his companion, fidgeting in his seat. My eyelids blink, batting away bewilderment.
“They are of no concern, my lord,” I rush to say, stumbling over the words. Dread slithers down my spine, colder than winter’s frost. “You may be my only master, should you wish it.”
“And what would be the price of that?” he growls.
“James,” Steve reprimands, cautioning his companion and introducing me to him for the first time. 
Though my throat dries and my nerves pluck with discomfort, I reply, “I will never set the price, my lord. It is not one I wish to collect from you.”
Silence settles between the three of us. Long moments spent with our own thoughts. A chair creaks. A cup clinks. My breath stays within my chest, refusing to escape my lungs.
“Do you wish to be ours?” James asks, an edge to his words that I cannot define nor fathom.
“More than any other,” I reply.
“No matter the price,” Steve intones, question woven with an intensity much like his companion’s.
“Yes, my lord.”
It is the last thing I say to them. Their bodies rising as one and exiting the room. A strong, determined steeliness lining their shoulders and regimenting their gait.
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Aida barges into my room, expression a blazing inferno of rage. Her nails sink into my arms, dragging me from my bed and shoving me against the floor. 
“You think to trick me, to make a fool of my endeavors?” she questions, tone sharp and pointed. 
My chin ducks, unaware of my slight against her. Trying to puzzle together whatever infraction I have committed. 
She tilts my gaze up, fingers squishing my cheeks and nails biting at my skin. “I own you,” she seethes. “Until the breath leaves my lungs and my soul fords the Gods’ Blood, you are mine and no one else’s.” She pushes me away and I yelp, head smacking against the frame of Skye’s cot. “Play your games with your suitors, my gem,” she spits, “but do not think you may challenge me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I whisper, still lost and perplexed by her sudden wrath. But unwilling to provoke it further.
“Now,” she straightens, smoothing her hands over her bodice and turning her gaze from me. Yet still it sends a shiver down my spine. “You shall pray with your sisters and brothers at the temple. And come the evening, you shall see no more of those two lords who think themselves your keepers.”
I swallow hard, nodding and waiting to gather myself until her steps retreat down the hall. Head dizzy, I stumble to my feet and brush away the tears lining my eyes. For I know of whom Aida speaks. No two other men had sought me so ardently than James and Steve. I sniff away the distress and smooth my dress. Leaving my sorrow tucked away in the empty room.
My steps tread heavy toward the temple. My knees aching before Ari. Sorrow clings to me like a shroud and I cannot remember the words of my prayers before his feet.
I stay with my siblings at the temple, too forlorn to find my way to any other god to plead my case. Aida has spoken. As the madam of the brothel, her word equates to law and I cannot defy her. I cannot even fathom any strength to try.
Skye wraps her arm around me, guiding me back toward the temple door. Passing by a priestess with a half-veiled face, my steps falter. Her hand stretches before my waist, blocking my exit. 
“You so often find your way to this temple,” she states, her voice smooth and deep. A curl of shocking red hair falling to brush her cheek. Feline eyes scrupulous as they survey my frozen form.
My throat dries, a spark of fear curdling in my belly. “Yes,” I reply on a stuttered breath.
“You do not seek out your gods today,” she presses, gaze narrowed. 
Skye’s hold tightens upon my arm, a firm tug urging me away. But even she knows the respect owed to those in service of the gods. I release myself from her grasp and turn more fully to the priestess, whose emerald eyes shine with some divine knowledge.
“You know our station, sister,” Skye replies for me, biting even as her gentle hands reach for my waist. “Our prayers are sent to Ari in the morning light.”
“Yet her prayers are not yours,” the priestess refutes, turning her attention away from the woman at my side. 
I swallow, lips parted on some protestation that does not come. 
The priestess’s hands enfold mine, a small object placed in my palm. Voice soft, she whispers, “I have seen this appear upon their altar only when your prayers are the most sincere. Yet you have never noticed that it is yours.” With no further explanation, she bows her head and spins on her heel, returning to other duties of the temple and leaving me stunned with the weight of such a holy gift in my hand. 
“Come,” Skye urges, wrapping her guiding arm around me again. Her eyes trail after the priestess, confused and wary. 
My hand drops to my side. The points of the trinket prick at my palm, but every notion in my head knows without doubt that this precious thing must be protected. That Aida must never know it has come into my possession. It slips beneath my pillow, a ten-pointed star strung upon a smooth string. Out of sight and safe and mine.
The evening looms closer with the passing of hours, my heart heavy in my chest. For I know, with Aida’s supervision, I won’t see Steve or James again. 
As the sun descends on the horizon, despite my disappointment, I carry myself with charm and poise. Hoping to endear myself toward one of my few other suitors. For I must. My life hangs in the balance of their favor. 
“So, my dear,” the older gentleman inquires, “what shall I bring you?”
Swallowing down my dry throat, I reply with words fit to choke me, “Just yourself, my lord. I only wish for you.” The falsehoods are bitter on my tongue, forced. And I cannot help but compare them with the truths often spoken with my two favorites, the ones forbidden to me. 
Instead, I am left to please strangers, to lure the rich and bait them with innocence and false fidelity. It drains me each night. The first passing with no sign of Steve and James. The second falling with little hope. 
Until a crash sounds from outside my room. A cacophonous racket that sends me jumping in my seat. It startles my suitor as well—a younger man pleased by strokes to his ego and unconcerned with truth. 
“What in the Land Beyond is happening out there?” he huffs, standing from his place and stomping toward the door. 
Only to be forced back as it bursts open and another figure storms inside. He calls my name, his rough voice a boon, lifting my spirits—James. 
I stand, stepping toward the gossamer partition and wait for his approach. My tongue ties in my mouth, unable to exclaim in curiosity or astonishment, simply gazing at his form through the curtain. Sounds from without reach my ears, more crashes—broken cups and chairs. A ruckus that must have stemmed from him.
“You entertain them still?” he questions, hushed and incredulous. Reaching through the barrier between us, his touch wraps around my wrist. With a gentle tug, he attempts to draw me forward—an attempt I reluctantly resist. “You need not. Come.” He urges me forward again.
“My madam forbids it, sir,” I protest, voice quiet as a mouse yet as loud as I can make it. I do not budge from my spot before my pedestal, nerves a flurry of fear and confusion fluttering within my chest. 
He pauses, grip pulsing around my wrist with a stern strength. “You wish to stay here with them?” James spits the words with contempt, releasing me as if I scalded him. 
My lips part on a confirmation I cannot voice, silenced by an inability to form the proper words on my tongue. Tears prick at my eyes, dripping in cool rivulets down my cheeks. 
He huffs a scornful bark of a laugh, shaking his head and turning toward my evening’s patron. “You think you may have her?” he questions, tense shoulders held like a threat, feet stalking forward. “You will not.”
“Wait!” I cry, hiccuping a sob in distress. My hands grip the curtain, threatening to tear it from its hanging. “Please, James. Don’t—”
Another figure fills the doorway, just as broad and strong. He steps inside and closes the door behind him. 
“Are we ready?” Steve asks, his voice sure and soothing. 
“She will not come,” James replies, turning his attention back toward me and approaching on ominous steps. “Yet.” He whispers the word, almost against my lips through the thin barrier between us. 
His head tilts. A moment of calm passes, our breaths shared. But striking out in an instant, his hand wraps around my nape and drags me forward until his lips crash against mine. 
The fabric remains between us, but I taste his ardent desire in his touch and kiss, shaking me to my core. His heat burns me, tantalizing and tempestuous. And just as suddenly as he had ravished my senses, he releases me.
“You have promised yourself to us, lost little blossom, do not forget,” he murmurs against my lips before stepping back toward his companion.
They both leave through the door without a glance back. And I am left stunned. Lifting gentle fingers to trace my lips, my knees weaken beneath me and I fall upon my cushioned seat. 
Dazed, I continue my duties of the night, inattentive and lost to contemplation. Of Steve and James’ reappearance and urgency—of the hunger in James’ kiss. Ill-defined figures pass before the curtain, shadows forming the men left in my cadre of callers. Even in my dreams, hand tucked under my pillow and clinging to the star, I cannot bid my thoughts settle. Instead, it replays in my mind over and over. The press of James’ lips. His hand on my skin. His heat. The piercing of Steve’s gaze. His soft voice. His calm in the midst of chaos. Fantasies weaving together, leaving me in fits of sleep and waking with a gnawing need. 
It is the first time my prayers ring sincere as I bow before Ari—beseeching his lenience, desire threatening to overwhelm and consume me. 
Sitting before his feet, morning light soft against my skin, I prostrate myself, bending low and touching my forehead to the cool stone floor.
“Ravenous One, God of Passion and Pleasure, patron to lovers and the fallen, grant me clarity, I beg.” I speak through the dryness of my throat, spine pricking with awareness, knowing the bodies lined beside me might overhear my whispered plea. Yet I persevere knowing I can neither abide nor endure my heart beating for two men I shall never have. “Give me strength to fulfill my duty, to obey my madam, to forget those I—” Words threaten to fall from my lips, perched precariously on my tongue—words of love and affection I cannot entertain. I finish the thought, swallowing down those tempting utterances which wish to be spoken, “to forget those I fear I cannot.” My voice cracks, as fragile as my state of mind, searching for mercy—from my desires, from the gods, from myself. I lick my dry lips and stumble over the rest. “So I may serve you in all ways, a loyal and ready supplicant to indulgence. And may the Gods’ Blood flow forever and ever.” 
The candles before the god’s feet flicker. A soft draft brushing against them. I sigh and stand, patting my hands against my skirts and placing my offering upon the altar. A strip of luxurious fabric taken from my cushion wrapped around a small flask of Melinda’s best mead. 
Staring up at my new patron god, tears sting my eyes. A soul-deep acceptance settling within me. His fiery eyes gaze down at me, unseeing and unsympathetic.  
Preparing for the night brings me to the partitioned room, shrouded in secret and ready to beguile. 
An hour passes. Aida’s presence stifling in the close quarters. We wait in silence, yet my madam cannot stay still. Her irritation and uncertainty growing with each passing second. Her shoulders tense. Her fingers pressing to her cheeks and kneading the flesh there. She casts glances toward me over her shoulder, staring at the door with a glare. 
“What have you done?” she grits out between clenched teeth. Though she doesn’t turn, she waits for my answer.
“Nothing ma’am, I don’t understand. I thought—”
She raises her hand to silence me, storming from the room. 
Alone, I puzzle over the absence of my suitors. For they had all been eager—if not for our carefully constructed rapport, than for the thought of defiling my body. Surely they could not have all lost their interest in the span of one day.
My teeth sink into my lower lip, worrying over the flesh as dread rises like bile up my throat. To disappoint Aida would be a sentence worse than death—for she would make it so. Hands clasped before my chest, I mutter a prayer to Ari, pleading for my salvation. 
And it comes with the opening of the door. 
The older gentleman, the one with kind words and a penchant for trying to charm me in return, enters my room and sits before my curtain. 
“You must forgive me my tardiness,” he excuses with a good nature. “I was discussing some business with your madam.”  
“Please, sir, uh, do not fret over such matters,” I rush to appease, stumbling over the placation with a huff of relief. “I will wait for you, with pleasure.”
He makes a happy little sound in the back of his throat and eases into his chair, conversing with me freely and distracting me from the lack of other men eager for my company. He stays until Aida collects him at the end of our night, ushering him out with promises of satisfaction. 
And my routine shifts abruptly. When I stand to weave my way back to my bed, the latch on the door will not budge. Locked in the lavish room, I’m once again left waiting with no explanation. 
The door opens again, a delighted Aida waiting for me without. My brow creases with worry, unsure of this abrupt change in temperament.
“My jewel, come with me,” she begs with a gentle hand guiding my elbow. “Master Radcliffe quite enjoys your company and has just this night bid for your maidenhead.” She smiles over at me, brushing her fingers against my cheek.
Everything within me braces so that I do not flinch under her touch. “So he will be my new master, ma’am?” I inquire, keeping my voice steady though it wishes to crack and crumble into sobs. 
She hums an amused sound. “Only for one night.” She tucks my chin with her finger before drawing me toward her personal chambers. “If he wishes to own you, he shall have to pay a much more fine price.” Her fingers pinch at my upper arm. “If you wish for more, you shall have to please him, shan’t you?” 
She chuckles and prods me into her room. Her bed sits pushed into the corner adjacent to the window. Before the window, her desk. Across sits a cabinet—one I know well. 
The box bed waits with its doors open, the bed still small and cramped and lined with soft linens. My childhood spent locked away during the night, to keep me from wandering eyes and hands. It used to make me feel safe and protected. Now, the space sends a bolt of fear up my spine.
“In you go, my dazzling jewel,” she urges with a tinge of impatience, pushing me toward the door and dipping her hand between her breasts to retrieve an old, iron key. “We must assure your innocence only one day more. I promised Master Radcliffe we would take every precaution.” She smiles, a sinister glee sparkling in her eyes. “I will bring you your meals and allow you to bathe before your formal introduction.”
My feet hesitate, stuck to their spots on the floor before the bed. My lips part on a plea, but there is no time for its utterance. 
“Get in,” Aida insists, a firm hand on my back shoving me inside.
My legs tuck beneath me just as the doors swing shut, the lock clicking into place and leaving me in darkness. 
Her steps retreat and her door latches, though the flame in her room continues to flicker on its wick. The candlelight a sliver between the seam of the bed’s doors. 
My knees fold beneath me, the flat pillow cradled to my chest, face tucking into the cushion. Filling my body with air, I struggle to remain calm. Forgotten memories flash before my eyes, nights spent crying within these sheets, waiting for a kind word or comforting embrace.
Skimming over the wood to my side, my fingers find the small notch of a carving. The two stars well-worn by so many years spent tracing the crude shapes. Sinking into the bed and turning on my side, my shaky breaths calm, legends of the Righteous Captain and the Freed Soldier stirring a gentle warmth within my chest. Years of learning my destined craft accompanied by an overheard story, a whisper of legend, a glimpse of splendorous offerings.
My lips press together. My eyes close. There are no more prayers for me to utter, but still I spend a restless moment with thoughts of them before I drift off to sleep.
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The doors rattle. An unsteady hand presses the key into the lock of my bed, the iron clicking several times. I jolt awake, body forced upright.
“Is everything alright?” I ask, fearful of the answer. Despite the fatigue clinging to my limbs, I remain alert, heart pounding as no response returns. “Aida?”
The low light of the early morning greets me when the doors swing open. The grey fog outside Aida’s window tints the room with its dreary presence. Befuddlement strikes me. It is far too early for the girls to be awake and readying for their prayers. And I was sure I would not be permitted for the sake of my intact innocence. But instead of Aida standing before me, Skye’s wide eyes stare back in terror. 
“What’s wrong?” I whisper, foreboding dripping down my throat and pooling in my belly. 
“You,” her voice cracks and she glances away a moment before sniffing and turning back to me, “You have to come with me.”
Her hand reaches toward me in offering, spattered with crimson drops. My head tilts as I accept. Sore bones from the cramped space protest when I stand. But I make no complaint, focused on my friend—her mind wandering on thoughts I cannot comprehend. 
She rushes away, dragging me behind, her steps quick and frantic toward the room I share with her and a few others. Though their beds are disheveled from sleep, they are absent. My lips part in inquiry, but Skye proceeds with urging me to wash and dress, glancing over her shoulder after every move. 
“Wear this,” she insists, helping me don the gown of crystal blue—the one I wore my first night behind the veil—though it sparkles more now, shining incandescent in the dim light. “It is what they want.”
“Aida and Master Radcliffe?” 
Skye’s head shakes in denial, but her quivering lips do not grant me any other crumb of information. So I am left following her, and stuck in bewilderment. The house remains far too quiet as she finishes readying me. Only thoughts of Aida’s endeavor make sense as Skye checks my appearance. No other explanation forms within my mind. Yet she denied it. 
“Hurry,” Skye beckons with urgency. “We can make them wait no longer.” Her voice cracks over the words, eyes shiny with tears. 
I only pause one moment, reaching beneath my pillow to take the gift from the gods and shove it within the pouch of my pocket. Then my hasty steps mirror Skye’s, unsure yet scared for her distress, descending the stairs to find a captive crowd. 
By the time my feet find the middle step, the scene stretches before me in gruesome spectacle. Cowering in fear, my brothers and sister of the brothel remain by the bar—dotted by the same crimson splattered against Skye’s hands. On their faces, their clothes, staining their skin. Before them, lining the floor sit eight heads. Unfamiliar faces filthy and sitting in a pool of blood, their mouths open and eyes bloody and burnt hollows. Flies buzz about the room, landing upon slack lips and tongues, burrowing into the empty sockets. The stench curls in my nose, death and decay striking pungent and vile. Bile rises in my throat and I freeze. The horrific sight, inexplicable and grotesque, stays my step. Even as Skye prods me forward, I cannot force myself to continue. 
Then I hear my name, honey sweet and calm, from a voice I know so well. “Please, join us, my sweet.” 
I comply on trembling legs, swallowing hard and fighting back the urge to heave and scream. 
Steve and James stand in the center of the room, swords brandished and dripping. Pride in their bearing, a confidence borne of their bloodthirst. Just as crimson speckled as the rest, yet faces alight with satisfaction.
Skye scurries toward our siblings, stepping carefully around the congealing substance on the floor. Welcomed into their terrified and protective embrace as all eyes turn to me.
And I’m alone at the foot of the stair, unable to tear my gaze from the two men I once thought my salvation. Our focus does not waver, though mine darts between the two. Trying to fathom the meaning behind their display. Unable to place a name to their face—seeing them for the first time, unprepared for their beauty and their brutality.
“Who,” I croak, clearing my throat in the attempt to speak louder than a whisper, “Who are those men?” My trembling hand gestures toward the macabre sight.
“You do not recognize them?” one asks, brow tilted in skepticism. That voice—James? My head shakes in response, denying any knowledge of the men. He hums, pleased by the response. “They thought themselves worthy of you. To sit beside you and relish in your company.”
My eyes blink, a slow motion that tempers the faint feeling that assaults my head. A hand reaches out, gripping the bannister of the stairs and my other plunges into my pocket through my dress, grasping the pendant in an effort to ground myself. 
Lined up in a row, the men who bid for my maidenhead. Tracing their features with my eyes, sickness assaults my senses. My knees bend beneath me, weakened by the thoughts flurrying through my mind. The meaning of such violence. The cause for such ghastly arrangement. 
And then I see her. Behind the line of dismembered heads, contorted in an unpleasant pose sprawls Aida’s corpse. Her eyes staring blind toward the ceiling and arms splayed to her sides in unnatural angles. A thick, jagged line of red slices across her throat, no longer spurting her blood, but slick with it. It coats down her dress and across the floor—the source of the pool beneath the necks of those unfortunate men. 
I hiccup a sob, the sound stuck in my throat. Crashing around me, the world slips from beneath my feet. My legs collapse. Only the strong grip which wraps about my waist keeps me upright. Not Skye or Melinda or any other from the brothel. No. My head tilts, the sight of my rescuer churning my guts in a nauseous wave. The brown hair that brushes his shoulders, the crystalline gaze which pierces through my very soul. 
He shushes my whimpers, caressing his fingertips across my cheek, a look of awe brightening his features. He smiles. 
“Loyal for all your days,” he murmurs, focus attracted to the parted flesh of my lips. An aborted noise of horror chokes in my throat. “There will be many of them.” The promise rings in my ears as he rights me on my feet and gathers me close, bringing me toward his companion. 
“I believe formal introductions are in order,” the other says, standing tall and stalwart beside the severed heads, triumph straightening his shoulders. “We’ve waited for this moment for so long. Though I will admit, we hoped for more amenable circumstances.” His hand reaches up, scratching at the beard on his cheeks, a sheepish smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 
I’m released by the brunet’s arm, left standing where the pool of blood just grazes the side of my shoe. 
A babble of noise rises from those by the bar, harsh and harried. One swift glance from the blond stops it short, before a single phrase may form. 
He turns back to me, catching my eye and bowing his head. The softness of his expression, the warmth of his stare, before he utters the words, I know. “I’m Steve, little sweet.”
“I’m James,” the brunet intones, a smirk plucking at his upper lip. He holds himself with a bold smugness I do not understand, until he open his mouth to speak again. “Though perhaps, despite our many meetings, you might know us better by a different title.” 
A subtle glow begins to form around them both. Not from the rising of the sun, though it does begin to crest the horizon. It is something innate within them that grows and brightens. Almost until it burns. 
He gestures to Steve with a tilt of his head. “Patron to artists and carrier of justice.” His hand sweeps before himself as he steps forward, snaking his arm back around my waist. “I shoulder free will and aid lost souls.” 
I do not need to speak the words aloud. Though they sit, perched on the tip of my tongue. Instead, the Soldier sees them in my terrified gaze and nudges my chin with one of his fingers. But my head shakes and shakes and shakes, denial coursing through me.
“Will you come with us now?” Steve asks, stepping forward, a hopeful tilt to his brow. He reaches forward and gently grasps my arm, lifting it until my wrist sits within his grasp and he can brush his lips across the skin of my hand.
“Or must we extinguish this whole place?” Bucky inquires, whispering into my ear with a glance sent toward the people standing by the bar.
I swallow, heart stuttering in my chest and heave a deep breath. “I will go with you,” I reply around the lump in my throat.
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In the Land Beyond the River, where the gods reside, time moves differently. Every morning I wake to a new day, full of luxury and leisure. Yet every night it is the night of my ruin. 
Wandering hands, whispered words—over and over and over. My innocence taken from me again and again with the same affection and tenderness as the first night when I was stolen from The Broken Beast and found myself in the God’s Domain.
“Here, little blossom,” James coos, pressing a ripe fernberry to my lips, “taste this and let me savor it on your tongue.” 
My teeth pierce the flesh, tears already welling in my eyes—waiting for the moment it comes. When he will brace himself on my thighs and sink into me. Juice dribbles down my chin, tilted back so that Steve might lap at the sweet nectar. 
“You are divine, my sweet,” Steve sighs, fingers cradling my jaw and holding me steady.
Contorted as I am, I never ache—at least not for long. No matter how they may handle my body, my muscles never weaken and never tire. Instead, their ravenous embrace holds me tight until each is satisfied and I might drift away on pleasurable waves of respite. 
“Say it,” James prompts, the same words every night. 
I swallow around them, stuck behind my teeth. Though each night it gets easier and easier to say it, to confess and lay myself upon their mercy, to believe it with my whole heart. “I love you,” I say, repeating it like a chant, captured by Steve’s lips until they’re muffled in his kiss.
My thighs part wide, held by caring hands that smooth over the skin with a devoted reverence. 
“And we love you,” James assures with a soft smile, “more than you will ever know.” 
His member, thick and turgid, brushes against my delicate petals. My breath catches in my throat as it taps upon that sensational bundle of nerves. 
Fingers ease his way, stretching me until my lips parts on a moaning gasp, the very core of me weeping for them both. Then, with a tilt of his hips, James begins the plunge. It stings, as it does every night. No amount of gentleness or preparation readying me for that initial thrust. 
His hips rock against mine, furthering himself into me. Steve holds me secure, cradling me against his chest, keeping my legs wrapped over his, and my arms locked to my sides. He murmurs sweet sentiments into my ear until my mind turns hazy, dripping with their syrupy honey.
“That’s it. I’ve got you,” he coos in my ear, “our most precious girl.” 
“Yes,” I moan as James stills, the sting of his length accompanied by an all-encompassing hunger. The longer he remains dormant within me, the more ravenous it grows. 
James presses a kiss to my cheek, lips drawn in a smile. “Right where you belong.” He grasps my chin with sticky fingers, tongue licking into my mouth and tasting the sweet fruit and passion that coats my palate. He hums and consumes. 
And I let him, reveling in it. Aching for it. 
How many days have passed thus, I cannot count. Each as steady as the way James plunders me. His hips striking against mine in his fervor. He chases our ecstasy and drags me with him until we plummet into bliss. And Steve does the same. Maneuvering my body to his whims. His tender attentions guiding me until I fall again and again. Until no thought lingers in my mind, but of them. Not the slickness of the sweat on our bodies nor the coolness of the silk cushions. Not the brilliant moon lighting the horizon nor the crash of the river upon its shore. 
Just them. Always them.
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goldiipond · 2 months ago
they took the tags out of notifs on desktop but they come back if you filter for reblogs specifically?? why would they do that
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bravo-four-seal-team · 10 months ago
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Chapter Two.
@theysayitscrazy @rebelwrites @thelovelyleo23 @pinkrockstar19 @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @disasterfandoms @hails-halstead @milfdeacon @jasonbabymama @innerpaperexpertcloud @abby-splace @softi92 @itsonautopilot @velvetcardiganbucky @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @supervalcsi @fourthwallhateclub  @chibsytelford @kobababy @lemons-are-tasty @heathermann200 @jomariekirby
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Summery: Eric Blackburn has been raising his daughter Skye for the past 3 years alone, no one knows about Skye except two people Adam Seaver and Ash Spenser.
The team didn’t get a chance to ask any questions, Adam, he had vanished, leaving the team to get Skye back home. 
The drive was long and quiet, Jason unsure of what to say to the little girl, now knowing she couldn’t communicate without signing. After two hours on the road, he pulled up and parked outside of Blackburn's home, others soon arriving. 
The team moving out of their cars or a motorbike in sonny's case, walking up to the door that Jason unlocked and opened, Skye running in. 
They weren’t sure what to do, the little girl was sitting on the windowsill watching the outside, hoping her dad would be coming home. Hours passed, and soon day was turning to night, the outside world going dark.
"I'm concerned about her" Trent says to the team, his gaze is on Skye who was watching the door, she hadn't moved since they brought her home, every time they went to do something she would push them away. They guessed it was her way of telling them it was her dad's job.
"I know" Jason states, pinching the bridge of his nose "But we can't do anything. We can only watch her," he says. 
Brock had moved out of the kitchen and sat beside Skye, tapping her shoulder signing,  "My name is Brock, this is my dog Cerb" he watched the little girl's eyes light up.
"I like dogs, Daddy says when I'm older we can get a dog" Skye signed excitedly, at the fact one of them could communicate with her. 
"What's wrong?" Brock asks, watching her, Cerb laying down with the little girl happy enough to get all the attention from her. 
"Today is daddy's birthday" She signed, shoulders dropping. Brock's eyes widened, walking back to the others, who looked confused. 
“Did you know it was Blackburn's birthday today?” he asked, causing Sonny to choke on his beer.
Jason frowned as he looked at the calendar on the fridge, sure enough in red writing 'Daddys birthday' the master chief shook his head "He never mentioned any of that to us and we've been spun up and deployed during that time" he sighed. 
Ray sighed "Jason is taking the first watch tonight." He says, looking at the little girl who looked like a kicked puppy sitting at the window “Poor Skye...It's times like this when I think about the stress and trauma we put our family through...where's her mother?" 
Brock cleared his throat gesturing to a picture on the wall, he knew how it was set up, there were several pictures of Blackburn and a woman, along with the same woman holding a baby and family pictures, there were candles on the small table, “Memorial” he whispered. 
“What is he hiding from us? Why wouldn’t he ask us for help?” Clay quietly asked the questions they were all thinking.
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dear-odessa · 3 months ago
a long awaited return - valorant agents + reader, part one (?)
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trigger warnings: near death experience, hospital setting in valorant protocol hq, reader is comatose, needle mentions, a light argument, angst
word count: 1,421 words
summary: this is mostly an angst piece where the reader is in a coma because they were in the enemy viper’s pit, aka her ult, for too long. i use they/them pronouns for the reader for inclusivity! this is a platonic fic, but the relationship between the reader and skye can be seen as romantic.
authors note: please comment if there are any spelling mistakes and please provide critique if you have any! my requests are open as of may 12th 2022! feel free to send in anything— let me know if you want a part two, and thanks for reading!
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a machine beeps. you can hear your favorite song faintly nearby, along with the smell of your favorite food. an iv continues to give you fluids while you are stuck in this… void. you don’t know where you are, the room— was it even a room?— was pitch dark and cold. words around you were as soft as whispers, and sometimes you wouldn’t be able to catch some of it… but god, did you try. the constant migraine and mental fog you have is torture enough.
“… is at least stable, but we don’t know how long it’ll be until they wake up…” sage briefs, adjusting the thin blanket she tucked you in with a few days ago. some murmurs amongst the crowd of agents are heard, most of the voices being fueled with worry and concern still for your well-being. there’s also this tension in the room; guilt, sorrow, and anger— angry that they couldn’t protect you. sniffles are sniffed, fresh rain fallen, and tears are shed. time moves without you, or with you; you can’t exactly tell.
“how bad is it?” you hear sova croak, their voice hoarse. this usually happens after barking orders on missions; his words would sound strained until the sting in his throat when he talked had gone away. “i-i mean, it all happened so fast… and they weren’t in that viper’s fog for too long! right?”
“if you’re blaming yourself sova, you shouldn’t. this isn’t your fault, and they’ll bounce back— they always do! they gotta just wake up already!” raze exclaims, pushing sova’s shoulder lightly, putting on a tired smile. everyone could see through raze’s bravado; somehow, her spark had dimmed…
“can you just take this fucking seriously, raze? for once, can you be serious about something—“ phoenix barks, starting to march his way towards raze before a strong arm pulls him back.
“hey, get a hold of yourself, soldier! this is not the place for petty arguments. be respectful.” brimstone ordered, staring down at phoenix and raze, who both silently apologized for the scrabble.
“i-i’m sorry,” sage stammered, “i should’ve prepared (y/n) better. i should’ve waited until they were ready— maybe they weren’t ready for this… this is my fault.” someone grasps onto your hand gently, rubbing the back of it with their thumb. their hands are strikingly cold to the touch, and you feel a tingle from them wash over you. “for the meantime, please be respectful towards them. no fighting or bickering, just… be here for them. talk to them. it’s reported that sometimes when patients are in comatose states, they can hear us. i’m sure they wouldn’t want to hear everyone blaming themselves and being upset with one another. let’s just be here for (y/n)… okay?” sage advised, that cool feeling from those soft, small hands slowly putting your pain to rest. “(y/n) needs their rest now… i will be watching over them for the time being. skye will be assisting you on missions as your healer, and brimstone will be handling orders, understood?” the crowd of 17 agents had nodded in agreement, starting to leave the rooms one by one.
“are they really going to be alright?” yoru asks, grabbing onto sage’s arm.
“… let us hope for a smooth recovery, yoru.” the vagueness provoked a grunt from the man, and heavy footsteps walking away from you…
a machine beeps. you can hear your favorite song faintly nearby, along with the smell of your favorite food. an iv continues to give you fluids while you are stuck in this— woah. as your eyes start to flutter open, you start to stretch out your arms and legs to release that stiffness, hearing a few pops and cracks as your bones readjust. you rub the sleep away from your eyes, looking around the room you occupied. the white walls had vast landscape paintings strung up, the light from your medical equipment glowing a bright red. as you read the clock on the wall, you realized it was only around five in the morning. the sun’s light had only started to crawl into the room from the window as you groaned, pulling off the thin blanket you were tucked into bed with. looking down at your legs and arms as you sat upright, you noticed that your skin was a bit paler than usual, along with your veins being much more apparent as well.
you noticed your hospital gown had reached your knees as you stood up. you could smell the coffee pot brewing and eggs being burnt. you try and walk towards the door, but are pulled back by your iv needle. you hissed in pain, slowly walking towards the iv stand and starting to pull it with you instead of taking the needle out yourself. you opened the door, the handle reminding you of the cold hands that once held yours… must’ve been sage’s. you started to walk towards the living area, the wheels from the stand rattling and whistling as you stepped into the kitchen. you cringe in disgust at the horrid smell and sight of burning eggs, turning off the heat from the stove with a distressed sigh. really god, this is what you bring me back to?
“well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, eh!” a thick accent called out to you. you turned around to see your friend skye, pajama apparel with the messy rats nest atop her head that she’d call her hair.
“well, i don’t die so easily, so get used to it.” you joked, gasping as she rushed to give you the tightest hug.
“how’re you feeling? do you remember what happened to you?” she asked, looking you over. she let go of you, starting to usher you to a stool. “oh my god, you look terrible— n-not like ugly but y’know! a little unhinged, birdie.” she chuckled nervously as you sat down.
“i remember… god, that viper really put me down a peg, hmm?” you shook your head, putting a hand through your messy hair. “i feel alright but jeez, i could eat a horse right about now.”
“i’ll make you breakfast! let’s make your favorite, i promise i won’t burn it like you burnt those eggs!” she cackled, giving you a light punch on the shoulder as she rushed to the fridge.
“you didn’t put those on?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“no, i woke up to the smell! fuckin’ reeks in here, (y/n).” skye scoffed, pulling out some milk, cheese, and eggs. “might as well start cookin’ for everyone else too.” she sighed.
“(y/n), you woke up! god, what the hell’s that smell, yeah?” phoenix pinched his nose, opening a cabinet to reach for the air freshener.
“burnt eggs. someone put ‘em on and forgot to take ‘em off!” skye yelled, looking back at phoenix as she started to gather some utensils.
“god, i bet it was our little healer. you seen how all over the place she is, she’s goin’ nuts.” phoenix shakes his head, grabbing a gallon of orange juice out of the fridge.
“no, that was me! good to see you up, (y/n).” cypher patted your back, sitting down on the stool next to you. “what’s for breakfast this morning?”
“who says you deserve it? you left those eggs on! reckless of you!” skye scolds, pointing at him.
“i got into a chess game! it was actually very interesting, i was playing against myself again and—“
“enough.” a tired, monotone voice croaked out. an exhausted viper stood before everyone in her hello kitty pajama set. “i do not have the patience to hear cypher go on and on about his chess games at 5:30 in the morning.” skye and phoenix laughed, nodding as cypher crossed his arms.
“you wouldn’t understand! peabrains, i tell you, (y/n). you get it, right?” he asked, looking at you for approval.
“yeah cypher, definitely.” you shook your head as skye placed a plate in front of you.
“eat up, birdie. you gotta get some food in you, yeah?” skye emphasized, placing your silverware next to your plate. “good birdie.” you rolled your eyes playfully as you started to indulge in your delicious meal, smiling wide at the sweet or savory taste. phoenix poured you and him a glass of orange juice before skye started to prepare breakfast for everyone else seated at the kitchen bar. perhaps your sudden appearance didn’t make it difficult to get yourself integrated back into your normal life. the thought soothed your anxiety, and so did every bite of your breakfast.
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hurricaneonanesthesia · 2 months ago
hello! sorry for bothering but can I ask for a yoru x gn!reader? yoru is praising skye on a mission and reader gets jealous because he never say nice things to them and they just run into the crossfire, trying to be cool (don't need to say it doesn't works) and getting hurt on the process. yoru confront reader about this, saying it was stupid and just spill the beans, confessing to reader
alright, the only stupid thing here is this ideia and my english, sorry about that u can just ignore it if u want
Hi nonny! Your idea isn’t stupid and your english is just fine, not to worry! I’m so, so sorry that this took so long, I actually struggled with writing this piece mainly due to writer’s block but here you go! Hope you like it!!
~Admin Hurricane
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1.3k
Genre: fluff
Pairing(s): Yoru x GN!Reader
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Normally nothing could get under your skin.
“Skye that was….” Yoru cleared his throat, “....that was…pretty good,” Yoru said looking away, a faint blush lingering on his face as he looked away in embarrassment.
 Of course there was nothing wrong with commending your teammates, you and Skye were good friends as a matter of fact. But it was a known fact that you had a not-so-secret crush on the Protocol’s resident lone wolf. You thought you had hidden your emotions well. But when Jett teased you for gawking at Yoru in the training room, your defensive behavior only solidified her claims even more. What made it even worse was Phoenix jumping in on the teasing. Together with Jett, the two have tried to get the two of you alone, even going as far as locking both you and Yoru inside the Vulture. It’s only resulted in you falling even more for him, and the belief that Yoru just didn’t see you that way, most of the time just responding indifferently to you. The only time he ever actually expressed emotion was when one of your team members managed to pull off a super impressive strategy. 
You huffed hoisting you gun over your shoulder, “Yeah, that wasn’t bad. Nice job Skye,” you smiled at her, though your smile didn’t entirely reach your eyes. Taking notice of your shift in behavior, Skye patted your shoulder reassuringly, before nodding curtly to Yoru. You trail behind Skye, sulking silently, your mind full of all sorts of intrusive thoughts. Once you got onto site, you immediately proceeded to run towards attackers spawn without a care, ignoring the warnings your teammates called out to you. 
more utc!
Dropping into a roll, you slid out and into garage as you rushed out in B Main, running and gunning down any enemies that started to peek through. You ignored any pain  that you felt, dinking several of them as they retreated from your position. You were about to pursue them until you felt a hand press itself against your shoulder. 
“The hell are you doing,” you heard Yoru’s sharp voice pierce the air. You froze for a moment, watching the mirror agents run out of garage. Frustrated, you shrug off his hand in anger, running after them, disregarding any of the warnings Yoru yelled after you. Jumping on top of a few boxes thrown to the side, you pre-fired after the mirror agents. What you failed to notice were the sound of footsteps to your side. Hearing the sound of Yoru exiting the Rift. You turned to tell him to leave you be, but not before you felt the sharp pain of a knife being driven into your shoulder from behind. You collapsed to your knees, falling off of your perch, gasping at the feeling of your face hitting the pavement, the taste of asphalt in your mouth.
Sensing what appeared to be the enemy Yoru landing next to you, you closed your eyes bracing for the finishing blow. But it never came. You cracked your eyes open seeing your Earth’s Yoru tussling with the mirror Yoru, the two staring each other down with hostility. You shakily, propped yourself up with an arm, hissing at the pain that shot through, collapsing back to the ground. Using your uninjured arm, you fumbled for your pistol before aiming it at the wall behind the mirror Yoru, firing off a few warning shots. 
Seeing that you were still conscious and able to shoot somewhat accurately, the mirror Yoru cursed, before slipping into the rift and teleporting away, most likely to the safety. Seeing as you were probably safe, you dropped the pistol, groaning softly as your face made contact with the pavement once more. “Oi Y/N!” you faintly heard Yoru’s voice, as you vaguely sensed him shaking your shoulder. You could feel his arms curl up underneath you as he picked you up with ease, mumbled curses under his breath as he immediately ran back towards CT. You groaned softly, an acknowledgment that you were, in pain, but still alive, albeit bleeding out in his arms.
Yoru neared the Vulture with hurried footsteps, grumbling under his breath, mainly over your recklessness. As soon as the two of you approached, Sage only had to take one look at you before immediately pushing you and Yoru inside. “Put them there!” she barked at him, directing him to the small cot towards the middle of the jet. He placed you gently on the cot, a scowl on his face. It only hit you just then, you probably would have died had it not been for Yoru’s quick actions. Had it not been for the blood loss, you probably would have blushed at the thought that he immediately jumped to your rescue. 
Pushing Yoru aside, Sage immediately got to work, trying to prevent you from dying on her. You let out a sigh as you felt her healing wash over you. “Don’t die on me,” he said pressing a hand to yours gently, “If you die, then I’ll kill you.” You let out a pained wheeze, “I’ve gotten worse, this isn’t the first time I’ve been through something like this. It’s our job.” 
“That doesn’t matter!” Yoru growled, his hands balling into fists, “What you did was stupid and you ignored my warnings and just ran out! What would you have done if I hadn’t had the sense to run after you?” You propped yourself up on your elbows wincing slightly, but giving a nod of thanks to Sage as she left the room with a knowing smile on her face. “Uhhh, it doesn’t matter cause we’re both safe?” you answered in a questioning tone, shrugging your shoulders. “That’s not the point!” Yoru exclaimed, “Why did you run out there without thinking? Are you a headless chicken? No…even a headless chicken has more sense than you did.” You immediately fell silent, looking away, suddenly ashamed by your behavior. You practically withered under his gaze, not wanting to admit your true reasons to your reckless behavior. 
“If I had lost you out there….I don’t know what I would have done with myself,” you heard him murmur quietly. You look up in confusion, thrown off guard by his wording. Compared to his usual cocky behavior, Yoru actually sounded…frightened? You shook your head, frowning at him, “I don’t get what you mean.” Yoru scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, a seemingly irritated look on his face, “Come on, do you really think I’m an idiot? I know you like me, why else would you act like that. What, did you think that by doing so, you would impress me? You were irresponsible and rash,” his words were scathing and you felt like he was twisting a knife in your heart. You stared down at the floor, feeling like you were on the verge of tears. That is until you felt a finger slip under your chin lifting your face up to look at him.
“But even so…I’m the idiot who’s in love with you, as careless as you can be,” he grumbled, his face lightly flushed. You pulled your face away from his hand, feeling your heart fluttering in your chest. “I don’t believe you…” you muttered, wondering if you were dreaming. Scowling, Yoru leaned over, caging you in against the jet’s walls, his face inches from yours. “You know, I’m really starting to who’s the dense one here, is this enough proof for you?” he stated, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. 
Left completely speechless, you could only nod your head slowly, your mouth agape. “Good,” he smiled, leaning back, “You best get some rest, it’ll be a bit longer before we’re back at HQ.” Yoru slowly turned to make his exit to the cockpit.
“Yoru!” you called, before you could process what it was you wanted to tell him.
“What?” he tilted his head in your direction, his eyebrows knitted tightly together.
“Thank you,” you beamed at him, “I guess you’re not so big and bad like you put yourself out to be like huh?”
“Don’t mention it,” he walked off, seemingly brushing off your words, ignoring your last added part.
Reminder that my requests are closed for the time being! However, when I reopen them again, be sure to send something my way if you’re interested! Requesting Rules are here!
Want more of my writing? Be sure to check out my masterlist. Wanna know what else I’ll write for? Here you go!
Thanks for reading and have a lovely day!
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rrinsluvr · 24 days ago
Hello ava!! for your event, can i req best friend — rex orange country with kaedehara kazuha?? Thank you <3
hi skye!! you were so fast in requesting😭😭 there was a mistake it was supposed to be hurt/no comfort, i was rushing it earlier because i had to retype the playlist so i hope u don’t have any problems with that :) also, i wrote it as a drabble since you didn’t mention anything abt it,, so here it is i hope u like it<33
best friend — rex orange country | 0.458k wc | kazuha x gn!reader | contains :: fluff, angst, unrequited love, hurt/no comfort
from the first time you met, kazuha instantly clicked with you, having many common interests had been one of the biggest reasons. you easily became comfortable with each other and became attached to the hip, people even questioned whether you were dating each other— to which you both denied
having both vividly remember the day you both had met, you made a tradition to go to the exact place you met every year on that day. and each year you received the most heartwarming gifts from your best friend, as did he with you
because of that, it was inevitable that you fell for him and you were pretty sure you had made it obvious a few years into the friendship.
today was your anniversary with him— friendship anniversary. walking down the familiar sidewalk happily with the gift you had prepared for him in hand, your abruptly stopped when you saw an autumn leaf fall in front of you and softly smiled while picking it up with him in mind. though your thoughts were cut off when you heard a ping! come from your phone signaling that you had received a message. the message was from the very person you were thinking about just a few seconds earlier, you were thrilled to get a text from him yet that joy died down when you read the message.
hi im sorry, I can’t make it today. i’ll make it up to you tomorrow though
but it won’t be the same if it’s tomorrow|
you were about to send it, but you quickly retyped it instead.
it’s fine, i’ll see you tomorrow!
you sighed as you put the gift back in your bag as you went back home, but on the way there you saw him and another girl happily chatting their day away at your favorite cafe.
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in kazuha’s eyes you were perfect, he noticed every little thing about you, and so it was inevitable that he fell too. he didn’t know when, maybe it was when he met you, or when he ditched you on your anniversary for someone only to think of you the whole time, or maybe when you didn’t talk to him for weeks? maybe he realized only when he had lost you for a short while that he wanted to the one that makes your day, the one you think about as you lie awake.
well it’s too late for that now as he silently watched you intertwine your hands with another, wishing that was him
if only he had stayed with you that day, maybe he would have read the love letter you poured your heart into, maybe if he didn’t stayed silent all those years, he would have still been yours.
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songs unraveled! | archive! | playlist!
*ೃ༄ event taglist!open ::
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aftermathhhs · 3 months ago
ok last post for now. IN LIGHT OF CAPCOM SAYING A FEW NEW GAMES WOULD BE OUT BY MARCH 2023. these are my top 10 IDEAL ace attorney games ranked in no particular order by how bad i want them to be real. this will be a long post so it's under the cut. spoiler for basically every ace attorney game
Athena Cykes: Ace Attorney (Investigations). Simon gets to be her weird little girl and they make funny banter about random people in that way you can only have with a bruncle/neister bff relationship. This game is ideal because it's like a kind cat owner who has a very mean cat that they keep promising won't bite you but the cat has not only already bitten you but also summoned a fully grown hawk to attack you. Simply fantastic game material. This is also ideal because Athena would get to be the head of her own game for once.
Ema Skye: Ace Detective (Investigations). In addition to the last post, I am so incredibly fond of the original idea for the investigations series to be about Ema. Let Ema have Kay as an assistant, or maybe Klavier. Lana gets to cameo and take on the Beanix in AA4 role where she shows up to give some cryptic advice and then disappears.
Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney 2. I cannot get enough of this game. Please give me more. I love it so uncontrollably much. 10/10 best game of the century. Please give Apollo an actually coherent arc involving what happened with Kristoph and the setup involving the black psyche locks instead of a game that was Still Just About Phoenix All Along, Actually. Apollo Justice is such an incredible setup for a second trilogy that just... fails to deliver. Please follow through with these ideas. The no-spoiler rule has been the WORST thing to happen to the Ace Attorney franchise. Phoenix is an afterthought in this game.
Sholmes and Mikotoba: Reminiscence. I really want a game just about their escapades. I have not even played DGS yet I am so fascinated with these two and their history. It doesn't even have to be a full game, just like a DLC case or two. If this already exists please let me know but don't spoil me as I'll be liveblogging my playthrough of DGS and DGS2 I believe.
Sebastian Gets His Own Thing Because I Like Him: The Game. Speaks for itself. I really really like Sebastian.
The Prosecutors Office: The Game. I am desperate to see everybody interacting in one confined space while the Paynes stand there silently, unnoticed. Ideally, this will be in the art style of Investigations with overworld pixel sprites. It will be fully comedic. I can only survive off of fanfiction for so long.
Mia Fey: Ace Attorney. Here's the unsurprising entry. I would like to see more of Mia and Diego's relationship and would really like to see Feenie co-counsel. I think Lana should be the prosecutor because Mia has two hands and she is a bisexual girlboss. Lanamiego trueness. Lana and Diego do not get along but in the funny way.
Jailbreak. I really want a small story (fits better as dlc, probably) about the main villains in prison. I do understand that this is unrealistic and entirely inspired by fanart I've seen, but look me in the eyes and tell me it has absolutely no comedic potential. Exactly. It'd be hilarious. Kristoph and Matt Engarde would NOT get along and I live to see the day they inevitably strangle each other while Dahlia laughs from the corner, timeline be damned. Ft. Simon cameo where he looks wildly unimpressed by everything happening around him.
Trucy Wright: Magician for Hire. I love the idea of Phoenix being wildly supportive of his daughter's dreams, and I also really want Trucy to be able to express how she actually feels about the Gramaryes. She deserves better than the treatment the games give her. I think that she, Kay, and Ema should get to be the second-coming of the Yatagarasu.
Franziska von Karma: INTERPOL. I really want a game about Franziska, Lang, Interpol, and most importantly, please give us a Colias cameo. You don't understand. Colias Palaeno showed up for one case in one game and I somehow found him the funniest little man ever. I want a Colias cameo. Franziska also deserves to be able to lead her own game, as she has been trapped in Capcom's basement for too long. Lang is her weird little girl. Third DeLites cameo! I love the DeLites.
There we have it, my AA game ideas. I know NONE of these will become real, but a guy can dream. Thanks for reading!
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