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#not my annoyingly tall family
lizzaneia-elizalde · 7 months
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Yandere! closed off! ex/boyfriend x gn! lover! reader
Ughhh I tried doing angst but failed womp womp.
As you can see, this fic is more or less fantastical, but I tried to do realism, as much as realistic a yandere fic could be.
But I failed LOL I don't know how to write angst. I tried tho.
This one is inspired by an imagine that I saw on tiktok, that's also apparently stolen? I dunno.
I think this is my longest fic so far?
Yandere! boyfriend name: Lee
TW: Unaffectionate boyfriend, neglect, love bombing
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Lee was a man of few words. He never liked showing emotions, nor affection.
He didn't grow up in a family of loving members. Only people who did the bare minimum in affection, and poured their "love" in giving him gifts.
Fortunately, he didn't grow up a materialistic and greedy man.
Well, he wished he was.
At least he still has something to fill his heart with, something to be wanting of.
All he got from that kind of upbringing is dampened emotions that pushed his friends away. If he had anyone to begin with.
He's one lonely man.
So Lee did what he thinks is the best for himself. And it's to be selfish.
If someone tried to get close with him, he pushes them off first before he becomes attached. When his family tried to be loving, he cringes and shies away with the most disgusted face ever. He shielded his heart at such a young age.
And it had tall repercussions because of it.
Now, that he's an adult and in University, with that selfish mindset out of the way due to maturing, he just realized he doesn't know how to connect anymore.
But he's a handsome man, so finding someone was easy for him.
In an "eenie, minie, mo" type of choosing, he chose you, a starry eyed, affectionate, and optimistic person. Someone who adored Lee, and wished to be his friend, maybe more.
Why? You always ask yourself that too.
But that magnetic pull meant that you became his, and him became yours.
He was stoic with it, just asking you straight up to be his lover without any emotions. And you, overwhelmed with happiness, just said yes without noticing how frigid he looks with it.
Being with Lee was fun at first, well, that's what you tell yourself.
You showered him with affection, kissing him, hugging him, holding his hands... You tried everything to give him the affection he never had.
I mean, he always receives it well, right?
So it means it was okay... Right?
But as weeks passed, he never returned the affection, only a cold recognition with his eyes and a grunt, maybe a shoulder shrug. The occasional side hug was even more than enough for you. Then there's the rare kiss (on the forehead) that you relished on.
It was the bare fucking minimum.
And as pitiful as it sounds, you were satisfied with it.
Are you really satisfied with it?
You wanted that same amount of affection back, or less. You just wanted a fair two way relationship goddamnit!
It's like Lee was a void, just sucking your affection and not returning it.
You understood him. Really you did!
But the way he was so unbothered and annoyed by your simple suggestions of maybe doing more than he does is breaking your already broken heart.
You were gaslighting yourself, thinking that why are you asking Lee for so much when he can't give affection a normal human can? Why are you pushing him to do something he can't? Why are you being so needy and clingy?
Why are you so desperate?
Lee was not having it either. He was always so annoyed whenever you ask for hugs, kisses, dates...
What does he really want from this relationship?
As you wept your heart out for hurting for the wrong man, you steeled it and decided to do the inevitable.
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You dragged Lee to the beach for a little get together.
You wanted to see if he would remember that it's your anniversary today.
"Lee! Come on! I want to swim!" You enthusiastically said, running to the sand and giggling at how the sand tickles your soles.
As usual, Lee only scoffs and annoyingly shrugged off his backpack onto the blanket.
"I told you I'm busy." Lee muttered, annoyance riddled his face.
Lee didn't even flinch when he lied smoothly. He wasn't busy at all.
Was it really a hassle to spend time with you? In your anniversary, no less?
You cleared your throat before smiling once more, a whisper of broken unspoken promises lingering in your mind and heart shattered completely.
Maybe you could salvage it?
You approached Lee and gave him a sunscreen. He grabbed it with an exasperated sigh.
"Turn around." He seethed.
Somehow, you think this was a bad idea but you persevered and turned around.
He was harsh with it, slapping and rubbing your back like he was doing such an annoying task with a heavy heart and hand. You winced every time he digs the heel of his palm to your back, like he's delivering a message.
Why can't you leave him alone?
"I think that's enough!" You said with a happy edge on your tone, trying not to show that you were hurt physically and emotionally by what he's doing. You skipped to the waters, going underwater and letting out your tears.
The saltwater stung your eyes heavily, but it hurts less than what Lee's doing to you.
After letting out your frustrations into swimming, you decided you had enough.
With a heavy heart, you trudged towards him with a solemn look in your face.
Lee, who was just scrolling through his phone, heard you out with an angry look on his face when you called his name.
Yet, it slowly fell to obscurity, his body felt numb.
You told him how hurt you were, how him not showing affection and being constantly annoyed at you squeezed your heart until it popped, only leaving a pile of hurt.
"Lee, I love you so much that it hurts. I feel so horrible whenever I ask you to return the affection I give you because I know that you're not affectionate!" You wheezed out, your voice hoarse from all the pain bubbling over your throat, vomiting words you meant and never meant, but all was for Lee. "Was I only with you for you to absorb everything? Be satisfied with you just standing there idly, and returning the affection only in the bare fucking minimum?! Answer me!"
Your eyes search desperately for a sign of regret, a sign of guilt, but nothing.
His eyes showed nothing.
"Are you done? Then it's over then."
It was your turn to be numb, your knees weak as you slumped down, with Lee standing up. He grabbed his bag and left, not even looking back at your weeping form.
Happy anniversary, and sorry for your breakup.
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Lee felt free.
Finally.
After a year of tolerating your "clingy" self, he finally felt free.
Lee regretted being in a relationship. He thought that maybe, when he gets with someone, he finally won't feel lonely anymore.
But being with you suffocated him, and everything you did was annoying him to shit.
Did he feel bad?
Eh....
Weeks passed, and when he pass by you in the hallways, trying to talk to him for closure, he just ignores you like a breeze.
People looked at him like he's the most cruel person on earth but he just shrugs it off. So what?
Lee felt awkward though, so he avoided you at all costs until he thinks it's the right time to talk with you.
And when it was finally time, he saw you with an another man, making you happy and making you smile.
The man brought his fingers on the corner of your lips and turned it upwards, and he smiled brightly also as you rolled your eyes and laughed at him.
Didn't you love him? So what's this?
Lee clearly remembers you crying for him in such a heartbreaking state.
He scoffed with such disbelief and looked away.
Then, he felt his heart hurt. His eyes widened.
No fucking way.
Now, every time he pass by you, his heart hurts and his head fills with anger as he saw you become happy with the company of others.
Why were you happy with them? Weren't he your ultimate happiness?
Why are you laughing with them? Why not him?
His desperation for you to look his way, to give him your sorrowful eyes, to give him affection that is only rightfully his, is getting into his head.
Rumors of you dating again got to him one day when he was sitting on his seat in Physics class, wallowing in anger and desperation.
You moved on? Just like that?
He gripped his pen and broke it in half.
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"No! Lee let go of me!"
"I love you so much y/n please come back to me!"
"You're insane!"
"No! I'm not! Can you see? I'm being affectionate now! So please love me again!"
"No! Please! Let me go! I will not tell the authorities that you killed [redacted] and kidnapped me!"
"DON'T FUCKING SAY HIS NAME!"
"LOOK AT ME!"
"Only look at me, and say my name."
"You love me right? I love you too. There's no need for you to be shy now."
"Shy?! But all I wa--"
"Quiet! You're not going to be away from me. Not anymore. I was stupid enough to let you go, now you're not going anywhere."
"Mmf?!"
"Shh... The gag is necessary. Now, please, love me again, baby."
"Please."
"I'm desperate."
674 notes · View notes
teatreeoilll · 2 months
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𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐑𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 (𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐗 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)
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˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . •
w/c - 9k content - MDNI! 18 + , minors and ageless blogs do not interact! fem!reader, evil!reader, a lot of plot with porn, much hurt, much angst, cussing, mention of drinking and smoking, VERY shitty parenting, child abuse, character death but not one of the mains, manipulative themes, i invented suguru's parents names, did i say much hurt? everyone's in their early twenties, cellist!Geto, saxophonist!Gojo, violinist!reader, shitty!everyone, kinda dark really i guess so please read at your own discretion, I'm sorry, really
a/n - there will probs be a second part based on the ending, if my back will ever stop hurting from being hunched over my laptop for four days straight writing this insanity.
Dedicated to the dear @telvess who read every scene like five times while I wrote and re-wrote this.
• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .•
Jealousy. As a result of your young age, you couldn't put it into words quite yet, but you felt it - choking up your dry throat as your father held your head steady with his fingers digging deep into your scalp to make sure your head wouldn't move an inch.
"Look, child," he said, "really look."
"M-My head, Dad," you sniffled, "It hurts."
You peered through the tiny crack in the large white doors into an empty rehearsal room. Bare walls, empty chairs - all but one, where a young boy sat in the middle, dragging his bow across the strings of a cello like it would be the last thing he does in his life. He did it fervently, desperately, repeatedly over the strings to rumble the sounds through the room. His brows furrowed. His raven black hair was a cluster of strands jolting up and falling on his face each time he moved. It made him look exactly like what you felt - electrified.
Your jaw slacked, and your heart raced within the confines of your chest.
"You see, child?" Your father's words lingered above your head, "Can you finally hear what beauty sounds like?"
You heard, and it haunted you.
-
When he's playing, anyone would agree that Geto Suguru is breathtaking. Below the cuffs of his white button-down are pale hands, guiding long, strained fingers to move feverishly across the fingerboard. Above them, his face, a marble carving with half-lidded eyes, pointed idly at his cello.
Weary music for weary people, he thinks, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the dull faces with greying hair filling the large hall. Their constipated expressions stare back at him. They're just waiting for the cue to clap, although he doesn't mind - not as long as each note of the concerto* he played was perfect.
And by god, do they clap. A standing ovation, long enough to escort him in his path to the stage exit, loud enough for the echoes to linger as he greets the tall, blue-eyed man waiting for him there and frenzied enough to make your knees buckle under the tight fabric of your tailored evening dress.
"It was a good one," the blue-eyed man says, "as far as alarm clock music goes, that is."
"Funny how you keep calling it that, Satoru," Geto chastises, his fingers undoing the clasps of his cello case, "but you're always on the verge of falling asleep when you hear it."
Oh, you think, fiddling with the violin in your hands, so that's Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew who he was; the Gojo family name was arrogantly plastered on the walls of every concert hall in the city, including the one you were about to play in now.
Your tremble. You can't help it - that standing ovation set the bar so high you fear the bow in your hands might snap from the intensity of your grip. But it doesn't, and someone briefly introduces your name on stage.
You glance at the two men, catching Geto's uninterested expression. Your stomach churns. The dignified way it graces his annoyingly good-looking features makes your muscles tense; it's as if he's exhausted from doing the crowd a favor by allowing them to worship his playing.
Arrogant fucker. You think, and he nods at you stiffly, acknowledging the misfortune of performing after him.
As you drag your feet across the polished floor, you can only hear the sound of your own erratic breathing. "Breathe in, breathe out," you mutter under your breath as your shaking knees give the last of their strength to get you to the center stage.
And then a twitch, a breath hitch, and a loud thud.
The room hums with gasps for an instant before going silent again, and every eye in the vicinity watches you lay splayed across the wooden floor.
The shame burns in your cheeks, rushing through your face down to warm your aching body. As a desperate escape you turn your head away from the crowd, only to catch in the corner of your eye the two men still standing at the stage exit.
Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.
"Oof," Gojo huffs, wincing at the sight as he turns to his friend, "Come on, we'll be late if we don't head out now."
Like looking at a trainwreck, Geto's unable to turn away. His lips purse; what a pity.
The silence grew, and you knew you must do something - anything to let this moment pass. You push yourself up, throwing a quick glance at your violin, a string snapped, fuck. "I hope -," you grunt, your voice hoarse from disuse, "I hope Rachmaninoff* gets the same gasps." A wave of suppressed chuckles and claps gushes around you. Oh, thank god.
Your cheeks are still hot, and the first stroke of your bow is hesitant, just a soft flick of the wrist to see if the three remaining strings are still in tune. Is this a good idea? But the crowd's anticipating gaze burns through you, rendering you unable to move. You focus on replacing the missing notes and play the piece - with jagged strokes coming from your still shaking hands, some notes cut it, but just barely.
Gojo nudges his friend's shoulder, "Hey, I said we'll be late."
Geto's pursed lips open lightly, his dark eyes fix intently on your bow, "Hmm?" He hums at his friend's words, dragging him back from his thoughts.
a/n - * - Bach's Cello Suite in C Minor, Sarabande. * - Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G minor, originally for piano, transcribed for violin.
-
"A Jazz club?" you furrow your brows at the music and the tang of smoke already reaching you from the narrow entrance hall.
You'd only met Shoko a few short weeks ago when college started, and she quickly became your only friend - as often happens to two people in a room who prefer to be alone.
"Yes, my friend's playing - you'll hate him," she says. Shoko has that thing where she doesn't change her tone when she says something sarcastic, so you're stuck nodding at her words with an uncomfortable grin on your face.
She tugs you by the sleeve of your shirt, guiding you down the stairs and through the prematurely drunken crowd that eagerly awaits what would be the third song of the evening.
"This would never pass in our concerts," you mutter under your breath, although you kind of wish it did as you look at the people laughing, reaching for another drink, huffing smoke from their mouths while making idle chatter as the players take a short break between songs.
A bright, warm note pierces the room, and like an obedient platoon to an officer's 'attention,' all the eyes fall back on stage. The white-haired man under the mellow spotlight makes a swift move to wipe the mouthpiece of his saxophone before returning it to his lips and blowing into it again - this time, a cue for the drummer, who starts a ruthless pace on his cymbals.
"If jazz is a god," Gojo's voice rings through the room, "then the saxophone is its altar."
How could he say that with a straight face? You think, unable to take your eyes off his clearly pretentious demeanor that would be borderline comical if it wasn't redeemed by his outstandingly handsome face, from the rolled-up sleeves and undone button of his blue dress shirt to the round sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks like pure sin.
"The Voice of Chunk*," he announces the piece and the room booms with shouts of excitement as the saxophone howls its first long and angelic Mi.
By the time the set ends, Gojo's a mess. A dusty red color flushes his pale cheeks as he pants, a mad gleam in his eyes when he looks at the crowd, which only shouts for another encore. He wipes the sweat off his brow and leaves the stage without a word.
Shoko drags you down to an empty table near the stage, a cigarette propped between her lips as she utters, "Ah," to the sound of a squeaking chair, which Gojo Satoru plops on, splaying his limbs on the wood.
He turns to Shoko, pointing a thumb at you, "Your friend?"
"Mhmm," Shoko confirms, "(Name)." She takes a sip of her cheap beer.
Perpetually assuming everyone already knew him, Satoru Gojo doesn't introduce himself. "What'd you think?" He asks.
"It was very good," you say, and mean it. He wasn't humble, but as far as performances go, he didn't need to be.
"Good?" He turns back to Shoko, looking at her like a wounded puppy, "Shoko.."
"She did say very, Satoru." Shoko sighs, "He hates the word good."
Your breath hitches as Gojo lays a large hand on your thigh, "Calling jazz good is terrible." He says, "It means it did nothing to you. Even calling it horrifying is a much better choice."
Another chair squeaks in your proximity, and Gojo removes the hand from your thigh to place it on the table, "Suguru!" He exclaims. "How was it?"
God, what's he doing here?
"Horrifying," Geto smirks at his friend.
His dark eyes turn to you as he says, "Geto Suguru," and extends a large, calloused palm, which you hesitantly shake. The skin contact makes you shudder. His eyes narrow, "Have we met before?"
The truth is - Geto knows rather well that you have met before. He spent two days after the concert thinking about your figure lying on the wooden floor, and it wasn't for the curve of your ass that pointed towards him, although that didn't escape his thoughts either. His mind raced with thoughts of how quickly you bounced back from your fall, made a joke, and started playing. Could it really be so easy?
"Oh - maybe it's - uh," you babble, your mind already trying to devise an excuse to leave.
"Ah, I know!" Gojo chimes in, "It's our tumbling violinist," he chuckles, "I never forget a girl after I've seen her on all fours."
Geto raises an eyebrow. "We both know that's hardly true."
You stare at Shoko with desperate eyes pleading for a change in topic. She puts down her drink, "Where were you Suguru? I didn't see you the entire gig." Thank god.
"Just there," Geto motions to the side of the bar, where a beautiful light-haired girl sips on a drink, "I've seen him play plenty of times."
I should be polite. "Oh, so you like jazz?" You ask.
Gojo chuckles, removing his sunglasses to reveal clear sky-blue eyes, "Entertain our guest, Suguru."
Geto leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and even his words sound carefully rehearsed - as if he's being interviewed, "It's not that I don't like it. There's just no merit to it." Against your wishes, you meet his gaze, restraining yourself from rolling your eyes at him. "It's mostly improvisation. Not one jazz piece stays the same over time - it blatantly disregards why we value music. Can you imagine someone changing even one note in Rachmaninoff's preludes?"
Is he talking about the ones I played?
Geto leans back, "And that's without mentioning the mistakes."
You furrow your brows, and your chest tightens at his words, "The mistakes?"
"Suguru's just jealous," Gojo smirks, and his arm snakes around your shoulders, "because I've got an ability he doesn't. I like to call it blue." His other hand traces lines across the wooden table, making an invisible note staff, "You see, in jazz, there's no such thing as a mistake. It's considered beautiful even if you play a note a bit too harsh or out of key. They're called blue notes."
"Well, a mistake is just a mistake, isn't it?" You lie, too proud to admit you were ashamed of the embarrassing performance they witnessed, "You shouldn't be proud or overcritical of it - it just is."
"It's a good philosophy," Geto says softly, and a faint smile appears on his lips, it makes sense now, "It works well if you just play for fun."
A decade of rigorous violin practice flashes before your eyes, the callouses on your fingers you were teased for as a child, and he dares to say it's for fun?
Your cheeks heat up, "Well, what do you play for? Suffering?"
"Perfection," he answers. Prick.
"Perfection?" You sneer, clenching your jaw, "Then what about improvisation?"
"Leave that vice for the jazz musicians." He says, and his expression suddenly changes, "I'm sorry, I know you improvised in your Rachmaninoff; you did the best you could - considering." He means it earnestly.
The veins throb in your forehead, Is he pitying me?
Gojo laughs, "If you keep bickering, I won't remain the star of the show tonight," and you notice the not-so-discreet looks of the people at the other tables ogling you.
"It's getting kind of late anyway," Shoko says, smothering her cigarette butt against the ashtray's bottom, "Why don't we go before we miss the train?"
"I'll give you a lift," Geto says, and you stare at Shoko, hoping that your wide, begging eyes will lead her to decline, "Come on," He adds, standing up, "It's raining outside, and our violinist can slip up even on dry flooring."
a/n - * - Voice of Chunk, The Lounge Lizards, 1988
-
"I'll see you in school," You say to Shoko, who exits the back seat of the silver Toyota, leaving nothing but a bitter smell of smoke and a long, strained silence lingering in the car.
"Which way?" Geto points to a fork in the road.
"Left, then straight for a while." And could you be so kind as to crash us into the nearest wall? You chuckle inside your head.
He turns his head as if he heard you, "So, a mistake is just a mistake, is it?"
And your fists clench momentarily, their tension softened only by the quiet, sweet sound of Samuel Barber* playing through the radio, weaving its melody with the heavy pounding of rain on the car roof, "Well, if you dwell on them too much, you're not going to have any time left to fix them." You wish you meant it.
He ponders silently before asking, "How'd you start playing?"
Is he only asking to make a snide remark? You decide to keep your answer curt. "My father gave me his violin when I was young."
The windscreen wipers work full force to make the dark road ahead visible, "My mother never let me touch her cello," he says, his unbothered tone now laced with somber notes, "I hated the thing."
The ache in your chest is almost unbearable, your fingers dig into the fabric of your trousers. He hated it, and he still plays like that?
"Then why play?" You inquire, watching the streetlights' reflections glint in his dark eyes.
Because it matters, it has to matter.
He laughs, and you can't help but notice how his face softens when he does, "It pays for college," a speck of red tint dusts his cheeks, and a strange pull flares in your chest at his defenseless look, "Don't I look like a scholarship boy?"
"Maybe if I squint," you say as he turns to look at you. You narrow your eyes, "Nope, can't see it," and he laughs again, making the remnants of alcohol turn in your stomach.
When you arrive, you step out of the car and he watches you disappear into the building's front, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wheel. A weak, burning sensation plagued the muscles around his jaw; were they really so unaccustomed to laughing?
a/n - * - Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, Op.11
-
15 years ago
The Geto residence was an ever-tastefully decorated one-story house in the rural areas outside Tokyo, always graced by the echoing sounds of an Italian-made cello. Geto Suguru himself was a wide-eyed child, six years old, and already praised for being prematurely intelligent by his parents' arrogant friends; "Your little Suguru is so clever," one of his mother's friends said, leaning over the dinner table to tug mercilessly on his cheek, "I bet he'd skip a grade as soon as he starts school, don't you think, Kieko?"
To which his mother only hummed in response, quickly diverting the subject, "The Bolshoi* is performing in the city next month. Will you come?"
Suguru didn't mind these things much. He wasn't the kind of child to look for praise; he didn't care for it from strangers' mouths and never knew the delight of hearing it come out of his mother's ever-pursed lips.
The next morning, Kieko Geto sat on a sturdy, padded stool and played with unwavering concentration until the midday sun sipped through the windows, blinding her eyes. Only then did she stop, turning back to notice her son's inquisitive gaze peering from the doorway.
"Come," she instructed, and Suguru took a few hesitant steps to the middle of the room. His mother positioned the cello upright, the wooden beast towering over him as she pressed a flat palm to the middle of the fingerboard, measuring his height against it. "One day," she said, "you'll be big enough to play it, Suguru."
A phone rang, and his mother stepped out. Suguru stood a long while staring at the instrument that leaned lazily against the wall. One day - he didn't want to wait for some vague, distant day, and his arm itched with impulse.
Suguru lifted the bow from the stool, ramming it violently across the strings. It made such a horrendous sound that he thought for a moment he hurt it, and now the thing was howling in pain.
"Suguru!" his mother shrieked as she shoved him out of the way, "What did you do?" Her pale fingers grazed the cello, searching for new marks on the wood.
The bow in her hand glinted like a Katana under the sunlight as she swung it at his head.
The next few minutes were a blur. Suguru guessed he screamed since his father stormed into the room, pushing him to stand behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the creases on the back of his father's shirt, changing their shape like sand dunes as the man's arms moved frantically through the air as if he were conducting his own shouts.
The boy placed a hand on his forehead. "Dad," he tugged hesitantly on the creases, leaving red stains on the pale blue shirt, "Dad."
a/n - * - The Bolshoi Ballet
-
A failed poet turned local journalist once described Geto Suguru's playing as having a gut-wrenching elegance, and as you stood at the large doors leading to the conservatory's hall, you couldn't help but hear what he meant. Angelic strokes on the rumbling strings, and each note is -
"Shit," he cusses, dragging the bow harshly along the strings as if it could saw the instrument in half if he tried hard enough. Even as he does so, he can't seem to make it sound bad. The bow drops on the floor with a hollow thud, and he runs a defeated hand through his hair, brushing back a long black strand to reveal a two-inch, pale scar on the side of his forehead.
He lifts his gaze up, noticing you standing by the door. How long has she stood there? "Violinst," he says. "Come to practice?"
Seeing him laugh a few days ago must have been a figment of your imagination. "Yes," you utter.
"It's occupied until six."
You make your way to the low stage through the aisle between the empty rows of seats, "It's ten past six," you remark, and Geto glances at the clock, frowning at it like it broke a long-standing promise.
You reach the stage, putting your violin case on the still-warm seat of the lone chair in the middle. You shudder at the warmth, watching Geto lift the massive cello case as his other hand reaches into his pocket, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, "You want one?" he asks, holding it open.
You shake your head, "Thank you."
He puts one smoke between his lips, patting down his pockets, "Got a light?"
You shake your head again, "Sorry."
He shrugs, his eyes fixing on the violin in your hand, and you notice the slight puffiness under his eyes. "Not my day, I guess." And it's a long gaping silence while he puts the cigarette back in the pack, "Do you mind if I stay?"
"No," Yes. "But if you scrunch your nose at my mistakes, you leave."
"I don't scrunch my nose," he retorts.
"You do."
Geto runs a long finger along the bridge of his nose down to the tip, leaning forward slightly to meet your eyes, "Straight as an arrow," he says without a smile, and you turn red at the sudden proximity, fixing your gaze on the shiny white floor beneath your feet.
"Alright then," you mumble.
Geto sits in the front row, reclining on the backrest of the crimson-colored seat with his hands resting on his spread thighs while his cello case leans on the seat next to him like a second observer. You might as well put on a burlesque show from how naked you feel under his steady gaze.
You drag the bow across the strings, echoing a dissonant tone throughout the room.
"Are you testing me?" He says with a smug smile plastered on his lips, but you hoped for a heartfelt one instead.
"Mhmm," you hum, taking a few steps forward to the verge of the stage, where you take a seat with your legs dangling from the edge, "You passed." and he chuckles, soft and low.
As you begin to play, Geto gets up from his seat to pace back and forth along the aisle, his brows furrowed and his thumb pressed against his lips while he listens to the music.
Your muscles strain, bracing themselves for the suite's climax, now's the hard part, you think, letting out a frustrated huff as your eyes fix on Geto. You miss the first note.
He halts, and your bow leaves the strings as you await his reaction in the irksome silence of the hall.
For a moment, he's desperate. Desperate for you to do what he thought was an almost inhuman feat after such a mistake.
He takes a few steps closer, towering over you while his eyes stare intently into yours, "Keep playing," he demands.
Your breath hitches as you watch him slowly lower himself to his knees beneath you. He places large, calloused palms on your knees, eagerly spreading your legs while his eyes are still honed on your face, relishing in the red flush burning your cheeks. He runs a hand under your skirt, grazing your thigh with long, rough fingers, a hint of a smile on his lips when he hears your breathless gasps, "Keep playing," he repeats.
Smile, god, you hated that smile.
You play a few jagged notes before your arms give in, and you place the violin on the floor with a soft clunk. Your now free hands grasp his hair, freeing it from his neatly tied bun to fall down his shoulders.
"Eager girl," he mutters, tracing his finger along your wet panties, and you tug harder at his hair. I'm the eager one?
"Q-Quit teasing," you stammer as he yanks you closer to the edge of the stage, pulling off your panties with a swift move. You shudder as his warm breath fans over your exposed cunt, panting heavily as his fingers dig deep into your thighs.
"Hmm?" He murmurs, placing soft kisses against your inner thighs, letting his teeth graze the skin but stopping every time right before he reaches your soaked pussy. Just do it, for the love of god, just do it.
You're reduced to a quivering mess, fighting the urge to push his head into your wetness, "Please," you whimper breathlessly, frowning at the loss of your pride under his touch, "p-please stop teasing," and you finally feel his tongue lick a stripe up your clit as he grunts softly at your taste.
"Good girl," he groans out, letting his lips wrap around your bud, burying his face so deep in your cunt you feel his nose rub against your clit while he rasps out a soft "Fuck," that sends shivers up your spine.
He was messy, fervent, eager as his tongue worked on your clit, and you grew dizzy at the sight of the usually calm and collected man disheveled and red-faced between your legs, moaning out his name as you felt yourself clench against his lips, "S-Suguru, fuck -."
He'd never heard his name come out of your lips before, but this was a better first time than he could imagine. He grew unbearably hard in his jeans, rutting against thin air almost instinctively every time you rolled your hips into his face, "Say it again," he demands, and his deep voice sends a rush of heat to your face.
Can he do it? Can he make you even more of a mess on his fingers? Can he watch while you stutter his name, while your face is a beautiful flushed mixture of those blunders he loved seeing you make?
"Suguru," you look at him through glazed eyes, and he frees the hand that grabbed your thigh to slide two skilled fingers into your soaked cunt, "S-Suguru," you whimper out when they sink deeper, pumping into your sweet spot with a harsh pace.
A drunk smile grazes his lips when you clench against his fingers. It takes him all his strength to pull away from your cunt, "You want more, princess?" He teased, fingers pumping lazily into you.
You manage to whine a quiet, "Y-Yes."
"Then ask," he coos, his smile turning into a devilish grin, and you squirm at the loss of his tongue, clutching his hair tighter.
"Please, Suguru," you breathe. How many times will he put me through this? And your muscles contract when he flicks his tongue over your cunt again, "p-please, Suguru - I'm - " you babble as he resumes his harsh pace, your thighs closing on his head, hips rutting desperately for some more sweet friction against his tongue.
"Please, fuck - " you moan, arching your back. His fingers still push into you as he groans at the taste of your wetness gushing on his tongue, licking it hungrily while you pant almost inaudible whispers of his name, and he thinks he might come from the sweet sound of your voice alone.
His lips finally let go of your clit. He pushes himself up from his knees to face you, his mouth wet with your essence as he brushes his lips against yours. Barely a kiss, but you grow dizzy anyhow, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, running your other hand along his T-shirt-clad stomach down to the bulge in his jeans.
"No," he utters. No?
"Huh?" Your brows furrow, "Do you want me to take you out for a cup of coffee first?" It was supposed to be a thought, shit.
He laughs, and you watch the lines form in the corners of his eyes, "Could be nice," he says, "besides, it's your rehearsal hours; don't you want to practice?"
"Not really," you grumble, "You can use them if you like." You reach down to pick up your panties from the floor where he discarded them, only to see him grab them first.
"I could," he muses aloud, "I'm playing the Grand Hall opening in a few weeks," and he catches your gaze for a second, "but I'd rather watch you play." And you blush as he tucks your panties into the front pocket of his jeans, "You'll get them later," he says, "If you're good."
"If I'm good?" You furrow your brows, "If I don't make any mistakes, you mean."
"No," he asserts, his words a bit loud, catching you off-guard as you fumble for your violin, "If you're good."
After you refuse his ride home, it's a long walk of shame back to your apartment. You feel as though your pride was left in his pocket together with your underwear, but maybe, just maybe, you'll make something good come out of it.
-
"Dad put it - " Suguru's arm held his father's in a tight grip across the coffee shop's table, urging it to release the silver spoon in his hand, "Put it back, please."
"They've got plenty," his father barks, his eyes darting around to observe the busy staff of the cafe while he hides the spoon carefully in his bag.
Suguru lets out a weary sigh, focusing on the swirling cream in his coffee mug, "So do you," he says, the taste of stale regret mixing in with his drink when he lifts it to his mouth.
"Eh?" His father's eyebrows knit together, wrinkles forming under his five o'clock shadow when his lips purse, "You here to judge me, boy?"
Suguru takes a sip from his coffee but finds it stuck bitterly in his throat under his father's hostile stare.
"Thought so," the man says, his dirty fingernails tapping on the wooden table as he adds, "Now, will you finally quit fooling around with that thing?"
"I don't know, Dad," Suguru chokes out.
"She croaked this morning, the bitch. She won't come to see you play now, would she?"
Suguru's eyes widen, his hands quivering, pads of his fingers digging into the scortching coffee mug, threatening to tumble the liquid over the rim, "What?"
"Croaked, gone, dead. She left you that cursed cello of hers," his father eyes the sugar dispenser on the table, brushing his fingertips on it, "So you'll sell it. And give the money to your father," his shoulders draw back, he's proud, "for all the things he did for you, yes?"
"I don't know, Dad," Suguru mutters.
The man's agitated expression deepens the wrinkles on his forehead, "'I don't know Dad," his father mocked, "I'll tell you what you need to know. I took you away from that vicious whore when she'd done your face in with her bow, and you've never thanked me once, just begged me to buy you a damn cello when you knew that all our money was left in that house." A brute splatter of spit lands on the table as he sneers, "And I did, didn't I? Bought you the damn thing, drove you around with it like some chauffeur. Where's my thanks? Eh, brat? Where's my money?"
The man raises his arm, and a young, blonde waitress appears momentarily by their table, all smiles when she says, "The check, sir?"
"Yes," Suguru's father says, the chair under him screeching as he gets up, "My son will pay."
-
For hours now he'd been contemplating where to go. Who he wanted to see. but when Geto finally gets to your door, his face still flushes with the soft pink of an irredeemable shame while his urgent, stiff knuckles pound on the door. He knew you were home. He wasn't a brute - he texted to check, but he still couldn't calm the restless ache burning in his chest.
When you open the door, there's no hello, just the unyielding feeling of his body flat against yours as he presses sloppy kisses along your jaw, groaning when his teeth graze the tender skin of your neck, "Fuck," his breath fans over you neck as he pants out the words, "you smell sweet."
His face lingers in the crook of your neck, relishing in the warmth like a cold-blooded animal who'd die without the heat. His fingers dig into your thighs so harshly you fear they might bruise them as he lifts you up, "Smell so fucking sweet - " he keeps muttering under his breath as your legs wrap around his waist, your hands clinging to the muscles on his back to keep your balance.
"Suguru," you pant when he drops you on the bed, noticing the unfamiliar ruthless look in his eyes, hardly the same one you saw between your legs a few days ago, "Did something - "
"D'you want to stop and talk?" He chuckles, large, warm hands running across your body to discard your clothes, "Hmm?" He purrs, already confining you under his body, planting soft, teasing kisses on the valley between your breasts.
"N-No," you whimper at the feeling of his teeth against your hardened nipple, and you run a hand through his dark hair to yank him away, while the other hand tugs at his shirt to signal him to fuck, take it off.
He almost doesn't want to break away from your body, not even for the sake of finally feeling your skin rub against his. But he manages to regain his composure long enough to use swift movements to discard his clothes as you watch him, strong and veiny, a body that could be carved in marble if it ever stopped moving with devious intent.
"Suguru," you knew he loved it, the sound of his name coming from your mouth. "Please," you writhe under him, desperate for any kind of touch as he looms over you, holding himself up while deep pants escape his parted lips. He's too far for you to crash your lips against his, no matter how you try. You lift your head from the pillow, and he chuckles at your efforts, pumping his already hard and leaking cock, groaning when he lets the tip brush against your folds.
"So wet already, hmm?" His hand abandons his cock to push a finger inside your cunt, the squelching noises making the blood rush to your head. He's mad with need but can't let your squirming be over so soon, "All for me?"
"Fuck, Sugu - " you cut yourself off to grip his hair, making your lips crash, feeling his tongue swallow your moans as he takes his finger out only to push his cock into you with a deep thrust, "Ah - fuck - " you moaned into his mouth, feeling his tip rub against your sweet spot when he finally bottomed out.
He starts a mean pace, and a hint of pain jolts through you while you adjust to his size, loud moans escaping your lips, "Oh my, ah - God."
"Suguru," he corrects, reaching a hand to adjust your hips, and you moan at the friction against his abdomen, "moan it for me, princess," he groans out against your neck when you pant his name, "louder - fuck - " he pleas, his breath hitches when you clench against him.
He knows he can't hold it much longer, threatening to spill his load at every pant and moan and brush of his lips against your skin, "S- Suguru - " you whine, feeling his fingers draw circles against your clit, digging your nails into his back to leave shallow red scratches along his shoulder blades.
"You close, princess?" He lets out a shaky breath when he feels you clench again, gritting his teeth at the tightness around his cock.
The coil in your stomach tightens, and your eyes shut at the feeling of his messy, erratic thrusts, "Suguru - ," you moan, "Suguru - I - " you pull his head back by the hair.
"Mhmm," he coos, "you what?" he growls, his thrusts feeling almost impossibly deep when the heat pools in your stomach.
"I - I'm - close - " And it's all he needs to hear, locks of black hair falling to brush against your face as he smashes his lips onto yours, savoring the taste of your mouth as your back arches and walls contract around him.
"Good girl," he rasps into your mouth, pounding a few harsh thrusts before his hips stutter. You watch through glazed eyes how muscles tighten as he spills his seed into you with a low groan.
He collapses atop you, pressing his sweat-dampened face against your chest to relish in the sound of the fast, thumping beat of your heart. A few more seconds, and he can measure the tempo.
"Listen," Suguru says, smoking a cigarette out of the open window of your room while he watches you get dressed in the corner, "there's a few things I have to do early tomorrow," his eyes trail out to the street lamps out the window, their blinking lights reflecting on his car outside.
"Suguru," you stand over him, brushing the pads of your fingers against the scratches you left on his back, "did something - "
"Just a few things I have to do," he says, looking around the room for his shirt, "so I'll call you, yeah?"
-
"Uhm, so, did you hear from Su-" You cut yourself off, watching Shoko take a long drag from her smoke with her eyes waiting for you to finish your sentence. "I mean - " you clear your throat, "You know how a guy does something, and then he -" Your face grows red at the memory of Suguru's naked body, "And you think it was nice because you had fun, and then he -"
Shoko watches you babble for a while before saying a confused, "Yes?"
"Suguru didn't call me back," you finally utter. Wasn't it enough for him that I called first?
"Oh," Shoko takes a long drag from her cigarette, "and he needs to call you because..?"
Your face flushes crimson as you bury your face in your hands, "B-Because we fucked and I haven't heard from him since," you mutter through your palms.
Gojo Satoru has a habit of entering places like his presence was eagerly anticipated, swinging the door open with a dramatic expression, "Shoko!" He cuts through the conversation, his height exaggerated by the confines of Shoko's small dorm room as he puts his saxophone on the table, "The key is stuck. I'm going to need you to fix it again -"
"Later," Shoko sounds like a reprimanding mother as she motions toward your sulking face.
Gojo's eyebrows knit together, "Did something happen?"
"Suguru didn't call her after - " Shoko reconsiders her words for a moment, "after they had a nice time together."
"Hmm?" Gojo plops down on the bed in the corner, "Well, he won't call for a while."
You raise your gaze from your palms, tilting your head at the man, "What do you mean?" And your mind races, Oh god. He can't - hate me?
"You didn't hear?" Gojo's smirk fades from his lips, "His mother died last Saturday."
Wait, the same day he came and - ?
You widen your eyes at Shoko, who only shakes her head in response.
"His parents were divorced for quite a while," Gojo continues, "he hasn't seen his mother in over a decade - "
"But she's still his mother," Shoko remarks, huffing a cloud of smoke into the room that lingers stagnant above the table.
Gojo sulks, "I was about to say that. He's been stuck in his room for a week now. My father's pissed."
"Your father?" You puzzle, watching Gojo wipe his sunglasses on the edge of his shirt.
"He was supposed to play the Grand Hall this weekend." And you squint your eyes, waiting for him to continue, "My father pays his tuition for these shows, y'know."
"Your father pays Suguru's tuition?" You repeat.
Gojo chuckles, "Well, I'm not sure for how long, now that Suguru won't even answer his phone. Dad's been planning this grand opening for a year now."
Oh?
"Can't you talk to him?" Shoko was still holding onto the smoking cigarette butt in her hand.
"It's like talking to a - " Gojo cut himself off to knock twice at the white plaster wall beside the bed.
Your muscles tense, and the sound of your own racing pulse deafens your ears.
I should say something. "He's your friend," you croak out.
Gojo's expression changes to a stern one, a terrifying sight on his soft features, "What would have me do? Make him play while he's mourning for his mother? Fight with my father only to have him cut Suguru off anyway?"
You go silent, mulling over his words, but find nothing to say.
Shoko picks up the saxophone from the table, "Which key is broken?" she asks, and there's a hint of defeat in her voice as she waits for Satoru's answer so, at the very least, she can fix something.
-
Suguru had stared at the cello case for days now, hesitant to take the instrument out of its shell. He started staring at it when he took it from his mother's house after the funeral and kept staring at it on the two-hour bus ride and the three-hour train journey, and then, when he leaned it against the wall of his apartment, he still couldn't take his eyes off of it.
It called him. Not in the way you called him - the kind that made his heart flutter when he saw your name pop on his phone screen, which he ignored, simply having no clue as to what to say.
He still ran the imaginary conversations in his head every time you did, letting out sad chuckles into the stale air of his room. How have you been? Oh yes, my mother died, and I'm sitting here with her instrument, which she always loved more than me. Is it nice? Oh, it's more like a successful older brother - you want to hug him just as much as you want to chuck him out the window. Would you like to grab a coffee?
"It's been almost two weeks since you sat there," Geto stands in the little kitchen of his apartment, making a cup of tea he knew would join the others piled up on his bedside table. I'm talking to it now, he thinks, I've finally gone insane. "How about you pay rent?" He chastises the instrument.
For a moment, he thinks it really might pay his rent - for about four years - if he decides to sell it, and keep the money to himself. His hands find themselves opening the case.
He inspects it for a long while, his hands brushing reluctantly over the wood until they find the small scratch in the varnish, the one he'd left there over a decade ago, and he focuses on it. It's small, pale looking, almost too tiny to notice, like the scar on his forehead.
"Maybe it's fair," he mutters at it, "I hurt you, and she hurt me. Balance."
A knock on the door makes his hand falter.
"Suguru," you bang on the door, feeling your leg squash something under it. "Mochi?" you mutter as you pick up a bag from the floor, and the lock clicks.
He looks terrible, you think, with tired eyes and strands sticking out from his usually perfect hair. You hand him the crumpled bag, trying no to smile, "It was just here," you point to the doorway.
"Hmm?" He takes it from your hands, "Satoru's been leaving those here every day. I've got plenty. You can have it if you like."
The air in the room reeks of smoke and coffee grounds, and he steps away, losing your eyes as he moves clothes from a chair to his bed for you to sit on.
"How are you?" you ask.
"Fine," he responds instinctively. Silence. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Sure." Silence again. A good time to pick up smoking, you think.
Your gaze lands on the cello peaking from its case in the corner. "A new one?" You puzzle as he puts a cup of coffee in front of you.
"My mother's," Geto says, sitting on the chair across from you.
"It's beautiful," you say, and you watch a sullen look settle in his eyes. "Wrong thing to say?" you give him a half-hearted smile, attempting to lift his mood, "Because in that case, it looks terrible."
"I like it when you say the wrong things," He suddenly says, "They don't feel so wrong when you say them."
You take the cup of coffee in your hands, warming your palms against the glass, "You can say them too sometimes, y'know."
He takes a sip from his coffee, only to find he can't stand the taste anymore, wrinkling his nose, "I hate that thing. I've been contemplating whether to sell it or just throw it out the window."
"And what's the verdict?"
"Play it," he says.
"Then play it."
He gets up, pushing the chair back to the middle of the room as he walks to take the instrument out of its case. You're almost startled by how stiff he looks leaning it between his legs, a hold so tight on the bow his knuckles turn white.
He puts the bow to the strings with a feather-light stroke, and halts.
He looks scared of it.
Is that what stage fright feels like? He thinks as he watches you lean forward against the table, eyes honed on his hands.
"You just need to play it, y'know? Like children do, just wiggle the bow a few times." You say.
Like children do. "It'll be dissonant," Geto utters sternly, releasing his grip on the bow.
"That's how they laugh," your lips curl into a soft smile, "That's what my father used to tell me when he heard the horrible screeches I made on his violin when he first gave it to me, 'Don't worry, that's how they laugh.'"
His chest tightened at the words, and he forced the bow onto the strings, making a loud, off-key tone penetrate the room.
It's the first time you've heard him make a mistake, and it made every nerve in your system tingle. Your head went euphorically dizzy. This is much better.
He almost stopped at your wide-eyed look, but you just laughed, "Oh, please, you call that dissonant?" And you watch him push the bow onto the strings again, brows furrowed at the terrible sounds, but his movements unwavering.
It's fine to play it like this, he thinks, as long as it's accompanied by your laughter.
"Suguru," you utter, and he lifts his gaze from the instrument, "Will you play the Grand Hall tonight?"
He ponders for a moment, "I think I will."
"Then you better answer your phone," you motion towards the buzzing cell phone on the counter, "and take a shower," you laugh.
He looks down on his disheveled clothes, "That bad, huh?" He chuckles.
"Just a little."
You hear the shower water running as you fiddle with your phone, still dazed at what just happened. You press the contact and dial.
"Hey, Dad?" You chirp into the cell phone, "Are you still coming to the Grand Hall opening tonight?"
-
The new Grand Hall is a sea of white marble floors and golden framed artworks, crowded by black-suited CEOs and their overly lavish trophy wives.
Geto sits on the lone stool in the middle of the stage, watching them all take their seats, still busy exchanging pleasantries with each other while they wait for the show to start. His eyes drift constantly to the stage exit, where you stand with Gojo, smiling softly, mouthing, "Don't worry," at his stiff figure.
His mother's cello is still unfamiliar to the touch, a beast different than the one he owns which he had already spent years taming.
People fill the seats like ants, and the lights dim above his head. The pianist behind him is a weak-looking man, and he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his thin nose before giving Geto the cue to start.
The first stroke of the bow is a hesitant one across the strings that once earned him a blow to the head, but the second one has more vigor, and his eyes, half-lidded still, find your smiling face again to soothe his nerves. His bow falters; he didn't have time to change the rusty strings; what would Elgar* say?
And you can't help but smile at each terrible pitch echoing around you; each horribly dissonant tone is more beautiful than the next to your ears.
The sounds are low and deep, growling against the marble hall. He almost has it - the feeling - the one that'd let him stop quivering in his seat. His bow jitters. He never knew he could make so many mistakes in a piece that he played hundreds of times, but with your smile at the corner of his eyes, he feels it creep up his fingertips, rushing through his chest - joy.
"My son!" The doors to the concert hall bust open with a bang; it overpowers the soothing sounds of his cello and the melody of the piano, "He's my fucking son. Let me see him!" Suguru's father stumbles drunkenly into the hall, two dark-suited men at his heels.
The hall washes over with whispers, women pressing their carefully manicured hands to their painted mouths in awe while their husbands are already halfway out of their seats with a proud "I'll take care of the bastard, honey" stuck on their lips.
"Fuck off, pig." Suguru's father spews at the guard trying to drag him away, "He owes it all to me, the brat. Play for our guests, Suguru! " He turns to the crowd, "Enjoying the show, money-rolling cunts?"
Suguru stiffens, his eyes two dull, widened orbs staring at the scene as he stops his playing, ignoring the piano player's whispers to just play, kid.
Gojo rushes to the man screaming in the hall, "Mr. Geto, long time no see," he says, one hand gripping him by the edge of his booze-soaked shirt, the other wrapping around the man's neck in an almost affable way, "How about you see your son after the show?" A smile is frozen on his soft lips, his blue eyes staring daggers at the man, "Now be nice, or they'll tase you," he breathes down the man's ear, motioning to the guards whose fingers are already clutching the tasers.
"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.
a/n - * - Edward Elgar, Cello Concerto in E minor, Op.85
-
12 years ago
"You hear that?" Your father stood over you in the rehearsal room of the conservatory, his arms crossed over his chest as he paced back and forth, "That's how they laugh. Every time you make a mistake, they laugh at you, girl."
Your eyes were red as you stopped your playing, "L-Laugh?"
"Instruments make that sound so they can mock you," your father explained, correcting your grip on the bow, "and you have to do everything so they don't do that."
Every day, he'd drive you up to the conservatory and stand over you in that room for hours on end, brows knitted together at each whine the violin screeched out. And when it was finally over, he'd walk you down the long white corridor to the room at the end, where a small, dark-haired boy would play his cello.
"See that, girl?" He'd point through the crack in the door, "Perfection."
Perhaps that was when you started to despise Geto Suguru. Over the years, the feeling only grew, but it hadn't peaked before his smug smile sat next to you in a jazz club, finally uttering the first words he ever directed at you, "Geto Suguru, have we met before?"
And it felt strange because you had - or at least you thought you had, over a decade ago. Not that he'd know that you watched him play almost every day through that time, with the scrutinizing words your father whispered above your head, "Look. Really look," your father held your head steady with his fingers digging into your scalp, "It doesn't laugh at him, see?"
And you did see. And you wished that it laughed at him, too. Why were you the only one supposed to be laughed at?
You didn't mean to at first, really. Something about him just ticked it off, the urge for revenge. How dare he hate his instrument and play it so well, when you loved the violin and it betrayed you with every stroke?
You didn't mind the sex; he was still a handsome man. It made him trust you - and as long as you made him make a mistake - every laugh, every encouraging smile, every word, was worth it.
-
"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.
Suguru looks for them - your eyes, and that smile that seems to perpetually grace your lips - but when his eyes finally land on you, he finds it gone. You mouth something he doesn't quite catch before disappearing from the stage exit. He can't do it; he can't play anymore. His hand freezes against the strings.
You finally made a fool of yourself, Suguru.
You wait outside the Grand Hall doors, body shivering with anticipation when the crowd finally starts to leave the hall.
"Dad!" You shout when you see him, making your way through the people, heels clacking against the marble until you grab your father's arm, "Dad! It was horrible, wasn't it?"
"Hmm? Who'd you come with dear?" Your father inquires.
"Leave it, Dad. He was horrible, right?"
He looks at you a long time before saying, "It's a shame for that boy, the beginning was perfect."
-
10 years later
When he's conducting, anyone would agree that Suguru Geto is breathtaking. The moment he dropped playing the cello ten years prior, every one of his admirers had almost lost hope - that is, until he picked up the baton. A true genius, they'd say, forgetting his last horrible performance, which graced the headlines for a long time after he ditched it in the middle, and how he disappeared for the next two years after it. Lonley? Gods no, he's a busy man, or perhaps struggling with all his greatness to find a mind akin to his own.
But only the small orchestra that played under him knew that all these words were just flattery - he was cold and unforgiving of any and all mistakes, and he really, truly despised the violinists.
Or he did, until the new violinist ran late to the first rehearsal of the year.
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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 2 months
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Any enemies to lovers future AU Sterek fics? At first they annoy each other just as much as they used to, but ofc that changes. Thanks, ur awesome
Oh definitely.
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magical protection at the hands of a snarky spark by sychia_rin
(1? I 341 I General)
Stiles stormed his way through the room. The ward he literally just made felt broken.
He eyed the tall man standing on the balcony as he turned to face him, he quirked up an eyebrow looking as shocked as that grumpy face could get him. He must be some newbie guard.
"I just put that ward there shitface. Shoo," Stiles motioned for him to move. The guard stood in place, watching Stiles as he stomped closer.
....
Where an overworked Stiles works for the (royalish?) Hale family doing magical tasks. Vaguely Merlin inspired if you squint.
royal blue fits better with Derek by 08JustLizeth80
(1/1 I 3,129 I Mature)
Where Derek Hale is the prince of England and Stiles is the (extremely) ineloquent and mouthy first son of the United States.
Or
Where Stiles thinks royalty is such an archaic concept it shouldn’t even exist (which has nothing to do with his inadequate and totally not existing crush on the prince).
Knot Your Typical College Romance by stilesanderek (minxxx)
(1/1 I 51,546 I Explicit)
In which Stiles loves studying at Beacon Hills Supernatural University and even though he loves his group of friends, he just wishes that Derek wasn't included in it. Stiles hates the guy fiercely, and he knows it's completely mutual, and what he also knows it's completely mutual is the hate boner they both have going on for each other. What happens after they finally hookup after years of tension, though, isn't something Stiles ever signed up for.
“Shut the fuck up, Stilinski,” Derek hisses, their foreheads less than half a dozen of inches apart.
“Oh yeah, big guy?” Stiles says, stuffing his chest in defiance, licking his mouth once and then finally saying, “Make me.”
all you have is your fire by hansuckss
(7/? I 20,624 I Mature)
“Why wouldn’t I? I mean, if it’s a matter of saving someone’s life. You know,” Derek smirked. “There are lots of things I can do for an hour.”
Everyone knows they can count on Stiles Stilinski, the most composed paramedic at the fire station, and he takes pride in his work. At least until a new firefighter shows up. The newest firefighter-in-training, Derek Hale, is a former football player with a huge hero complex and limitless energy. And until fate brings them together, Stiles can put up with the man's presence. Sparks fly—not in a positive way. The fact that Derek is hotter than the fires he puts out and annoyingly charming doesn't help.
Help Wanted (But Not Really) by reillyblack
(9/9 I 26,096 I Mature)
"Stiles, I'll clear up your confusion about the position. Derek here needs someone to live with him. He's a difficult person to live with, so I won't sugarcoat that. But his responsibilities at the company right now make it impossible for him to actually take care of himself and his home. That would be your job," Laura explained.
Both Stiles and Derek objected at the same time.
Five Times Detective Stilinski and Fire Captain Hale Had Sex In Public, and One Time They Did It In A Bed by bleep0bleep
(7/7 I 32,853 I Explicit)
"Did you say--" Stiles starts.
"What?" Derek growls.
"We're not a couple!" they both retort in unison.
"We're not together," Stiles insists.
Lydia coughs pointedly. "An incident report filed by 87th Precinct Captain Erica Reyes. March twenty-fifth, eight p.m. Came back to the precinct to grab my coat, only to hear Stilinski banging his new boyfriend in the holding cell."
Words Cannot Espresso How Much You Bean to Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)
(1/1 I 68,366 I Teen)
“You’re late,” Derek informed him coldly, jaw clenched. He barely even moved his mouth to speak. This guy was seriously scary.
And because Stiles was suicidal, he said, “No, I’m Stiles.”
The look he got could’ve curdled milk. Stiles even noticed that Derek’s muscles were tensing, arms bulging even more and wow this guy was scary and hot but mostly scary holy shit.
“You’re not funny,” Derek informed him coldly.
Stiles shrugged. “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”
Like it or Not by Halevetica
(56/56 I 80,902 I Not Rated)
Stiles works as the editorial assistant at Vogue. He loves everything about his job except for his boss, Derek Hale. Derek Hale is the worst and Stiles hates him. But when Derek drags him to the yearly awards dinner within the company, he is forced to play boyfriend for the night to make Derek's ex jealous. Things couldn't get much worse...or so Stiles thought.
(Fuck you they said) As they threw their threads from their wedding bed by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)
(9/9 I 96,199 I Mature)
First Son Stiles Stilinski just accidentally caused an international incident. And apparently the only way to save human-werewolf relations is to marry him off to Prince Derek of Triskele. Stiles is going to need all of his acting skills to make the marriage look real, because the Prince is kind of a fucking asshole.
Enemy Lines by qhuinn (tekla)
(17/17 I 149,179 I Explicit)
This is the story of werewolf Derek Hale and human Stiles Stilinski: two people who grew up in the same town but completely different worlds, their realities split by the war between men and wolves.
Years later when Derek returns to Beacon Hills, he does it as Alpha of a military pack on a mission to capture those responsible for the region’s resistance. With his main objective, Sheriff Stilinski, out of sight, he settles for the next best thing: his son, Stiles.
Neither of them suspects they’ll need to trust each other if they want to make it out this alive.
The Final Pack by Kedreeva
(33/33 I 428,148 I Mature)
Humankind is fighting its way back from near extinction against the supernatural beings that fed upon the remaining humans in the aftermath of the 2012 apocalypse. On the front lines, Stiles' best friend gets bitten by a werewolf and Stiles must strike a bargain with wolves in order to save him.
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r3starttt · 1 month
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Call me by your name
fic M.list | Abby Anderson | read this or dni
an: I didn’t realize how much it’ll take me to write the whole story BUT i hope doin it will bring me back the reading and writing obsession + I’ve been relapsing on my shit again and this is my comfort movie. Enjoy and reblog, comment, whatever if you like it, I appreciate the support mwah.
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Somewhere in northern Italy.
It was summer, it’s been hot, unbearable hot the last few weeks. Your family, all Jewish, have a not so small cottage with the most gorgeous landscape ever, and that’s where you all spend any vacation or holiday that appears. Which is the current case.
Your mother’s and anthropologist, meaning she adores places with history like the small town you’re at, and teaching people since she can always learn new things as well. Your dad on the other hand, he’s just doing what a housewife would do, he’s a professor as well, just doesn’t really work since you were born, that’s the agreement your parents made.
So with that on mind you well knew this summer wouldn’t be any different, your mom with some new student who died to live the whole leaving in Italy experience and your dad being the perfect parent. Perfect family in a perfect place leaving and teaching the perfect live.
Not that you mind it though.
Coming to Italy means getting to see old friends, having new situationships with hot Italians and of course, visiting extravagant places your family likes going to and learning something new, whether it’s from reading another book like you’re used to, visiting museums or just going to somehow new anthropological areas that your mom adores taking you to.
It’s nice, and you never get bored even you do this at least twice a year. There’s always something new to experience.
You were currently in your room with what you considered an old friend, pretty close one. Curly hair, pretty, and stupidly in love with you. Marzia. The hot breeze that came from the window in your room filled the emptiness between both. You currently changing your clothes and her eyes purely fixated on your body.
That until the wooden floor of the house started to resound and vibrate, accompanied by the loud engineer of a probably old car. That was it “l'usurpatore” as you and Marzia called the new student your mom brought every holiday to your house.
Ignoring her basically eye fucking you, you decided to go and have a preview of this new person, just by the way its arrival sounded you could have an idea of how they would be. Probably on their thirties or forties, rich and a bit sophisticated because otherwise they wouldn’t have pay for this type of experience.
So you ran to the nearest window, not in your room to of course to one, avoid Marzia, and two, avoid the obviousness of your presence while criticizing whoever new guests you’d have to live together with for the next month.
The floor was old, and it was as loud as that engineer that kept sounding, until both stopped in unison, right on time so you could have a proper view. Interrupted, of course, by Marzia and some strings of her hair moving along with the air, right behind you but enough striking to catch the slightest of your attention. “E' fiducioso, eh?” you whispered once you hear It’s voice, she sounded pretty confident, loud.
There she was, a tall blonde woman with what it looked like a perfectly made braid ruined by both the unbearable heat of this place and the breeze that besides doing nothing but sending the hot of the air everywhere was also annoyingly loud.
She said something inaudible to both your parents, you could hear their voices but not loud enough to catch a word they said. By the way they shook hands and the way she kissed them on the cheek you assumed it was just a boring greet.
That meant two things, Marzia leaving and you having to take care of the guest for the rest of the week at least until they catch their pace. Yet before you even excuse yourself properly from Marzia the loud voice of your dad calling for you took you out of your thoughts, turning around and giving your curly haired friend a polite kiss on the cheek. “Devo andare giù” you said, letting her know you’ll be downstairs if not completely gone the moment your parents made you socialize with the woman.
Running and tryin your best to properly put on your clothes you went downstairs, accompanied by the loud sound of the wood along the whole floor and your sandals hitting the floor. There she was.
They were just coming inside the house to your moms office, now your own library too. Your dad motioned your hand so you would come in as well, murmuring a quiet and repetitive “come here”.
You made sure everyone was inside before coming in, getting a small peak of what this woman’s car looked like, again. It was fancy, clean and covered in a very shiny dark green. Suit her, you thought.
The moment you pass the door frame there it is, taller than you, stronger than you and with the most exquisite style you’ve ever seen someone wear. Maybe it was the way she knew how to combine both texture and color, or just her whole appearance, but she was by far the best looking guest you’ve ever had.
“This is our daughter” your mom said, stepping aside with a glass in hand, always so elegant. You said your name, the blonde woman smiled at you, extending her arm towards your direction to shake hands “Abby”
“You must be exhausted” she nodded, not as confidently as you saw her when she first arrived “may I bring your things up to your room?” a small "uhh" brushed past her lips before she ultimately agreed “my room?” you turned around, facing your dad who’s orders you already knew, followed by a silent nod. You replied the same way, slightly crouching to help Abby carry her bags to your room.
“follow her” some pats were heard after you turned around, probably your mom patting her somewhere in her body to do as she told her to, follow you to her room. After that you could only hear the silent footsteps behind you, until they overlapped with ones even louder. Marzia.
You exchanged looks with her, pressuring to go upstairs again and passing by her completely. Until the silence was broken by a kiss on someone’s cheek, making you turns around to see both and just running your eyes at the ironic scene that thankfully didn’t last much in front of you.
Once in your now old room, the door slapped loudly, making the woman jump by the abruptly echo in the room. The light had gone darker, letting in a blue ish color to fulfill the whole room. The bags fell in the floor for you to finish cleaning the room you’ve just made a mess in while changing clothes, picking them and placing them disastrously in your closet.
Last thing you saw was her body lying on your bed shamelessly. Her white t-shirt wrinkling as she did “you have my room now, I’ll be next door” your would probably sounded like mumbled to her at this point but you were doing the usual protocol. She hummed a tiredly ‘mhm’ looking you from the corner of her eye.
“We’ll be sharing the bathroom, hope you don’t mind it” you got on the floor to pick one last pair of jeans you’d left in the room, smiling at the random appearance of quiet snores behind you. She’d fallen asleep, probably exhausted as your parents just said.
That made you wonder where was she from, that was usually information your parents didn’t share with you.
-
Hours passed by, the sky was alredy tainted dark blue fading into almost completely black. It was one of those evenings where you could hear the crickets chirping loudly in the outside, the air even though was warm it wasn’t annoying, it was refreshing enough, quiet and peaceful. Sooner you should be called for dinner.
Currently you were sitting at your desk, hand facing the cold of it as you kept staring at the score with some notes previously made with a sharpened pencil that had left some annotations impossible to erase. The low music coming from your headphones however wasn’t enough to silent the bell that, as you thought, made sure everyone knew and got ready for dinner.
So you stood up, placing everything displayed on your desk decently enough to give the look of tidiness. Grabbing then the sandals randomly placed on the floor and quietly walking towards the door that lead to your original room now occupied by Abby. Knuckles hitting the cold and tough wood that adorned the door, three times, no answer at all.
Getting inside, as the door squeaked loudly you took a glance of the inside. Eyes falling immediately on the still sleepy body of the woman. A giggle escaped your mouth as you noticed, she’d woken up sometime since the last time you saw her since the braid wasn’t there anymore, replaced by her natural long hair that somehow you didn’t see when she first arrived.
-
Next day you woke up to your usual routine. The heat that filled the room accompanied by the unbearable sun that came trough the window woke you up early in the morning, before you could start sweating you took a usual shower with the coldest water possible, that also came warm due the ambience being hot and the sun naturally warming everything.
Red t-shirt and a pair of shorts with some white tennis shoes, that was today’s fit. It was basic, not elegant or fancy at all but it looked good and was just right for the climate you were still getting used to.
Breakfast was ready before you even went downstairs so you took your time before doing so. Yet the moment you sat and took the first bite of the food the lady that helped at that house made just for you, there she was. Amazingly energetic compared to yesterday but talkative as you remember, greeting your parents with her loud voice and just murmuring a small ‘hi’ to you, which you replied the same.
As they spoke about how much Abby had slept yesterday and some other stuff you naturally ignored she mentioned something about a bank account, feeling the heavy look of both your parents directed to you “I can show you around” the warm smile you received from them made you pay attention back. This is when your job started, showing the town to every new usurpatore.
“That’ll be great thanks” probably the hunger combined with the energy she’s gotten from sleeping so much the day before is playing her dirty, because such woman can’t be so ignorant. She broke the egg, the simplest food to eat. Of course the silent chuckle that passed her lips and the way her cheeks noticeable tainted in a rose tone made you say nothing about it, or do something as you would done with any other person.
She looked nice, that played part on it too. She had a blue striped blouse and a pair of white shorts, everything perfectly well-off and suiting her toned body just right. Shirt opened enough to show a but of the tank top she was wearing under, showing also a collar, you couldn’t really tell what it was but it looked like it was something religiously. No judgment though.
-
After breakfast you took her out, to see the town, have a small tour and get an idea of where things were so she could move in her own later. You originally suggested bicycles but she’s apparently too sophisticated for that. So she took the two of you on her car, the one you saw yesterday when she arrived.
It took you two some minutes to get to the main town square, she wanted to get something fresh because of the hotness that was everywhere. There was a pretty famous bar nearby, so she basically dragged you there, naturally having some small talk with everyone inside the whole time you were there.
It didn’t last long though, she wanted to get back outside to “live the whole experience” so you’re currently sitting with her on some bench she found, covered by some trees yet still warm. “So, what does one do here?” she had what seemed like some random sheets with something related to your mom’s job. You’ve seen her work your whole life and being a very visual person you could always tell when there was something anthropology related.
You were reading a book, accompanying her in her small trip quietly and so far doing nothing but small talk with her. So when you heard her you took a moment to process her words, too focused on your own world. Closing and placing the book on the bench, between the two of you and letting out a heavy sigh before answering. “Wait for the summer to end” she chuckled, that’s when you saw her.
She had some front stands of her hair now loose from her slicked braid, gracefully dancing over her cheeks due the breeze. Her cheeks were slightly red and there was some not so visible sweat covering the entrance of her hair.
She did the same as you, placing her sheets down and covering them with your book so they wouldn’t fly away. Her eyes met yours probably for the third time since she first met you. “Yeah?” her tone clearly sarcastic elicited a smile on your face, fading before she let you say anything “And what do you do in the winter? wait for summer to come?” tilting her head to the side she rolled her sleeves up to her elbows, not breaking eye contact once at all.
Your words came out almost as a reflex, feeling her gaze piercing your whole body “We only come here for Christmas and other holidays…for vacation” your voices overlapped, yet none of you stopped “Christmas? I thought-“ “like Easter as well-“ “I thought you were Jewish”
“Well we are Jewish, but, also American…Italian, French, somewhat a typical combination” you responded once she finally shut up, thankfully, you thought. She didn’t speak again, just stared back at you, nodding and letting out a very inaudible ‘mhm’ “besides my family you’re probably the only Jewish that’s put a foot in this town”
Her face changed, she looked relaxed now, even let out a small laugh “oh so you noticed?” you nodded as an answer, proud of your gossipy self “Im from a small town in New England, I know what it’s like to feel different” so, she’s from England. That says a lot about her.
“So what do you do around here?” She’s been dying to ask that. Abby felt that you, being so young and just about to star your adult life, had lots of free time, and she needed to know what you did in such place like this town. She had no clue about you but she felt like you knew everything about her, she wasn’t so wrong on that though. “Read books, transcript music, swim at the river, go out at night, I dunno” you finally answered, unsure on what to say since deep inside you there was a craving for her acceptance “sounds fun”
After that she just casually putted together all the sheets she’d been reading or writing stuff on. “Thanks kiddo, see ya’” and she left.
You were confused, unsure on how to get back home with this painful weather and on why she randomly left after having a proper talk with you for the first time. You didn’t hesitated or anything, naturally waving at her as she left.
It’s not like she owned you anything after all, the plan was for you to show her the town and that’s all. Now you knew she took things literally.
Or that’s the impression she gave.
-
It’d been a whole day after that, you didn’t see her when she came back home. You spent all day in your room, finishing those music sheets you’ve been working on, reading and spending some time before dinner with Marzia.
At this point she basically lived with you as well, and honestly you never got why your parents let her. Maybe they were being a little too supportive.
Or you two were a little too obvious.
Today’s morning went as usual, the typical routine you’ve been repeating for some weeks already. Along Abby now, who spent some hours with your mom debating on some random stuff you didn’t even tried to pay attention to and debating on some etymological definition for some word.
Which only made both of your parents more exited about her presence since no other student had ever try and correct your mom. It made you smile, it was interesting to see someone like her interact with someone like your parents, like your family.
The plan for today was to spend some time with your friends, something your parents suggested when Marzia was present someday and that made you say yes to it because how could you deny anything to her?
Later have a small dinner, outside on the beautiful garden your dad loved to take care of. And of course Abby was included in everything, whether she decided to be there or not, the invitation was there.
The climate today wasn’t the most adequate for what you planned to do, it was hot, as it has never been before. The sun burned and the air wasn’t fresh, no shadow could bring comfort, no breeze or drink could get rid of the warm that was everywhere.
So when Abby took from you the glass with ice and cold water that you needed to drink it didn’t make you smile exactly. And she noticed your unpleasant expression, laughing at you. “Why’re your mad mhm? Don’t be so tense” there was something about those words that made you want to rip your skin. It was painfully annoying to hear people say anything about how you didn’t look so happy.
Maybe it was only you but every time those words were hear there was a context of someone purposely annoying you. And maybe it was the way you were raised and how this woman kept on ruining every opportunity she had to know you better but you just couldn’t take it.
So you shocked your head, feeling overwhelmed by your friends loud cheers to someone playing volleyball and the warm that was slowly consuming your body, almost burning every cell in your body.
“Yeah you are, here, take this” she returned the glass you were about to drink some seconds ago, too disgusted to mix saliva you hold it, trying to find comfort at least by holding it. And it wasn’t until she pressed her hands on your back that you realized what she intended to do.
A massage. So you would be so moody and tense and annoyed.
So you tried push her away, but besides she kept being insistent and her body was though er and stronger than yours you didn’t really care, not if she was the one giving you a whole massage session.
“Stop moving” she hissed, practically manhandling you and starting to move her palms on top of your back, pressing right on the muscle “Marzia, come here” you heard right next to your ear, naturally rolling your eyes and straightening your back. Why Marzia and not her?
-
-
“Don’t you think he’s rude when he says ‘later’?” you sat right in front of your mom, already changed into some more fancy clothes, still fresh for the hot that was somehow still in the air even though it was night and the stars were already shining in the sky, lightening everything along the moon. “Arrogant”
Your dad spoke, pouring some liquid you assumed was juice with some alcohol in it or frutal water into what seemed like your glass “l don’t think that’s the word” he extended the glass to you, which you took with a slightly fake but polite smile.
“That’s how she’ll say goodbye, with a stupid ‘later’ and then will never come back” maybe your mistake was your creativity because you could picture her like it, too real and accurate for someone like her “Well, we still have to be with her for six long weeks. Maybe you’ll grow to like her” your mom said, standing from her chair to grab something that was on your side of the table. “or maybe I’ll grow to hate her” your mom took advantage of her closeness, hitting your hand.
It was clear you were annoyed. It felt like everyone in that table knew something you didn’t and was making fun of it.
I could be Abby’s absence, but the idea of her presence fit better with your ideas. You hated how she was so confusing and impossible to read, how she ignored you and only played with you whenever she was in fact around. How she seemed always busy and only had patience and interest for your parents but also made you feel like an adult whenever she noticed you.
You hated all the mixed signals and shit she’s out you trough in so small amount of time.
You hated her.
-
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crystal-moon-101 · 9 months
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I've been thinking about it for a while now, but I realized I really want to do some big project for The Secret Saturdays, so expect to see some things related to that eventually. But for now I'll work on other things as I build up to it, including how the Saturdays may look in this project. It'll take place a year after the series final, making Zak 14-years-old. So I adjusted the characters so, along with giving my own makeover for my own style. I also put them in similar poses in their main poster, including remaking the background for it, so I hope you enjoy! 🧡
Zak I really wanted to update since my drawing I made with him, Rex and Ben, knowing I could do much better with his design. Based on my previous drawing of him, I've always been fond of Zak having wild, thick hair, the kind that tiny cryptids would love to nest in. I also know that most people expect him to grow up to look more similar to his dad, big and bulky, but I've always been fond of having him stay short, with a slim, almost serpent-like build. Sharp, quick and almost feminine in a sense. Ironic given both his parents are really tall and built to break stone itself. He also still has dragon features like my previous design, like the dragon eyes, scales across his body and fangs/claws.
Doc and Drew I could mostly the same, since they wouldn't really change in a year beyond some slight changes to their uniforms. I kept the jumpsuits since I just vibe with them. I did try and make Drew look a little older, to give off more mum vibes, and cut her hair a little shorter since she strikes me as the kind of woman who cuts it every so often when it gets annoyingly long. Doc I adjusted the scar to go across the rest of his head, almost looking like a lightning bolt. I also gave them, and the other Saturday members, the same symbol Zak had on his shirt, to really help connect them as a family.
Zon I gave more patterns, Fisk some more fluff and Komodo more slick design, showcasing how different each of them are. They each get a band of sorts that hold the family symbol, letting people know who they're family with. Though I imagine it took some time to convince Komodo to wear his one, and not just eat it.
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siren-serenity · 5 months
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who is luffy to you?
characters: red-haired shanks, monkey d. luffy, portgas d. ace, straw hat crew (all platonic) warnings: fluff, angst, brief mentions of suicide?, spoilers of marineford a/n: - i've always liked the idea of luffy being this god that no one can touch, yet everyone wants to covet and hold precious to them - but i love the idea of the straw hats being so possessive over one another. like "he's mine and i'm his" vibes - the platonic soulmate vibes from the straw hat pirates??? i want that - @officialdaydreamer00, here is some ace angst for you!!! :D - feedback is appreciated!
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if one were to ask shanks, akagami no shanks, the fourth emperor shanks, who was luffy to him, he would have grinned so brightly (his smile reminiscent of a man long ago, who had brought change…great change to the world that they knew of) and simply said, “he is my anchor. And i am his shanks.”
those who knew him best would have chuckled, a knowing glint in their eyes. their captain was fond of short, simple answers, concise yet confusing. To shanks, one of them smiled, kindly explaining. a similar glint of fondness could be seen in their eyes. luffy was his anchor in the midst of his mourning. before luffy, he was just akagami no shanks, floating aimlessly with no purpose, no life in him. alive but not truly alive. but luffy…he came crashing, tumbling, and flying into their lives and buried himself in their hearts, especially the captain's. to shanks, luffy was his savior. he lived everyday knowing that he had a home to go back to (and a ‘D’ shaped smile to look forward to.
"I'll leave this hat with you. It's dear to me. Take good care of it! Bring it back to me someday, once you've become a great pirate!"
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if one were to ask ace, portgas D. ace (never gol D. ace), fire fist ace, second division commander of the whitebeard pirates, who was luffy to him, he would have laughed heartily. ‘he’s my little brother of course!’ ace would have laughed, a loving smile crawling onto his face.
but luffy meant much much more than that to ace. if luffy was shanks anchor, then luffy was ace’s tether. a tether, a chain, a rope, something to keep him in the mortal world. a reason to stay alive even though he had to hear those bastards spew curses at ‘gold roger’s child!’ every single day. a reason to stay alive even though he knew he had a demon's blood flooding his veins. even though he knew that he was the sole reason for his mother's death (if he was never born, portgas D. rouge would have been alive. alive and thriving. if only he was never born)
"Even though I've been good for nothing my whole life, even though I have the blood of a demon within me... You guys still loved me! Thank you so much!"
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if one were to ask the straw hat crew, the unofficial supernovas, the rookie crew who had shaken the world from its core, the everything-but-blood family, who was luffy to them, you would have received many different answers. some would have said luffy was their savior, dragging them from their mental torment and raising them to become something great. some would have said luffy was their brother. he was the younger, annoyingly endearing sibling, he was sometimes the older sibling, giving advice as if he had seen the world before his eyes. most would have confessed that luffy was irritating (but in a loving tone, as always). some would have said luffy was just...luffy. he was undefinable, unexplainable, yet they loved him the same.
some would have said luffy was a god. with drums echoing in their minds and resonating in their hearts before every battle. the fire of freedom licking at their souls, igniting something great, something life-changing again. sometimes, they would stare at tiny, stretchy, silly luffy and then imagine a tall figure, scarred with a cross on his chest, straw hat on his head, and then blinked. gone, dissipated in the wind. they could imagine a white-haired, floating being beside luffy sometimes, winking at them straight in the eye, before disappearing with a flash.
but luffy? luffy was theirs. luffy was their captain, luffy was their brother, luffy was their pirate king, luffy was theirs, theirs, and only theirs. at the same time, their souls knew that they were his. and he would never let them go.
so to the straw hat pirates? luffy was theirs.
and you don't touch what's theirs
"Luffy will become king of the pirates!"
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januaryembrs · 1 year
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THE LION'S SHARE OF WARMTH | Jaime Lannister x reader
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Request: ay!! heres to 1k!! :DD can I please have a Jaime Lannister x reader, where the nights too cold to sleep alone even in front of a fire, forcing them to cuddle to keep warm?
Description: A cold night between two enemies leads to an embarrassing wake up call.
word count: 1.1k
trigger warnings: none, swearing? Mention of the war going on ?
main masterlist
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For a girl born into the North, there was nothing you hated more than the cold. Your mother said you had just never grown accustomed to the climate, always insisting on the thickest pelts to cover your bed despite the fact your family had lived through the thickest Winters spanning back generations. 
Which is why you swore all twenty of your fingers and toes were damn near ready to fall off when you were forced to sleep outside on the road to King’s Landing. Call it being spoiled by coming from a respectable lord’s family, but had you not had a good reason to be here, you would be long gone and in front of a roaring fire by now on a night like this. 
That respectable lord just so happened to be Wyman Manderly. Your house had fallen to near mania the moment the war of the five kings began, and you had fled to Robb and Catelyn Stark with your twin brothers Wylis and Wendel. The Starks and the Manderlys had always been closely allied, and as all Northern houses you had grown closely knit with the great Wolf house. 
Which was why when Jaime Lannister appeared in a cage on the Stark encampment, bloodied and dirtier than you’d ever seen the once proud lion, you knew Catelyn Stark was fighting with every tooth and nail to get Sansa and Arya back from the capital.
And who better to send to bargain for the two girls than Brienne of Tarth, the strongest swords woman in Westeros, and Y/N Manderly, daughter of the richest Northern family. Since you already had money of your own and your family was incredibly loyal to the Starks, Catelyn and Robb agreed you were unlikely to be swayed by anything Cersei could offer you and could discuss an offer with the Lannisters like the astute and academic woman you were.
Which is how you got here, on a narrow and freezing road to the capital with Brienne and Jaime Lannister.
“My legs tire, we need to rest soon,” Jaime whinged for the umpteenth time that day as you and Brienne carted him in chains through the rough terrain. Well Brienne held the irons, seeing as she could overpower the man if needs be, while you had little more than a dagger to fend him off. 
You shot a look at the tall woman, the two of you mirroring each other with a glare of annoyance at his theatrics. You ignored him, continuing your steady pace onwards. The Lannister man seemed to be unused to people, especially women, not pouring over him with affection and lavishing him with whatever he requested since he began digging his heels into the earth like a lame mule.
“I said we need rest. Do you really think my sister will take kindly to me being returned to her as a cripple?” Jaime complained, yanking against the bonds to get your attention. You wished to disregard him some more until he said: “If I am to be exchanged for the girls and I come home bruised and deformed, what do you think she’ll do to Sansa and Arya?” 
You and Brienne halted. You hadn’t quite thought about treating him kindly since it was his forsaken family that had started this war in the first place. 
You looked to Brienne for assurance, the Tarth woman giving you a small nod in response. The two of you spun to advance on the man who wore an annoyingly winning smile at the fact he had gotten you both to listen. 
“We are stopping until the moment the day breaks, do you hear?” You growled at him, only making his cracked lips draw wider. “And wipe that smirk of your face, there will be no fire tonight,”
Gods be known you were so stupid to have said that. In punishing him you had punished yourself. Brienne didn’t seem to mind the frosty night air as she bundled up under her furs, sleeping soundly as if it were another night in a bed. 
“A Northern woman who feels the cold, that’s new,” Jaime snickered from his place behind you. Your body must have been shaking more than you’d hoped. You felt the night air kiss every inch of your skin as the wind whipped even the slightest bit and it sent a vicious shiver through your body.
“Shut up or I’ll maim you, Lannister,” You both knew it was an empty threat, one you’d barely made through without your teeth chattering loudly. It only served to make him chuckle, and you heard him shuffle closer to you. 
Drawing your blade, you were quick to raise the sharp tip to prod against the soft of his stomach. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You seethed.
“Relax. You’re clearly cold, and Cersei would have both your heads if I returned to King’s Landing with the shivering sickness,” Jaime said, attempting to slip an arm around your waist that you swiftly batted away with your arm.
“I’d rather risk your bitch of a sister than be anywhere near you,” You spat, raising the dagger up to his chin, “If you dare touch me in my sleep I’ll send you back to her in pieces, do you understand?” 
He raised his hands in defence, rolling back away from you and muttering something foul under his breath. You could tell his confidence was knocked that the Jaime Lannister couldn’t have his way with every woman he came across. Any other woman in Westeros would give an arm and leg to cuddle with him for warmth, any woman but you. 
You closed your eyes, the flame of anger enough to ward off the chill for just long enough that you were able to get to sleep on wrath alone. 
Your face blazed with similar heat when you awoke to the feeling of strong laughter humming through a set of ribs. You realised very quickly that your face was not pressed into the dirt like it was when you fell asleep last night but instead against someone's clothed spine. 
“I thought you said I’d be in pieces by now?” Came a raspy voice, and you shoved yourself upright aghast. Not only were you spooning the damn king’s guard whose very soul you loathed, but in no way could you blame him for it happening seeing as it was him facing away from you.
Your cold body had sought him out for warmth in your sleep.
“Embarrass-”
“That’s ENOUGH, Lannister,”
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flaneur001 · 3 months
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Since it’s Christmas, I had this fic floating around in my mind for sometime. So here’s [Redacted]’s Christmas Miracle. A little Christmas present for my fellow 14 days with you enthusiasts ^^
It’s a little long, but it’s a wholesome story.
(This wonderful visual novel and characters belong to -@14dayswithyou )
[Redacted] x GN Reader
Word count- 1541 words
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[Redacted]’s Christmas Miracle
It was Christmas Eve. The chilling air danced around [Redacted’s] form, biting and nipping at his exposed nose and ears. All his piercings felt cold on his face, numbing it in a way he liked.
He trudged towards the downtown bar, inconspicuously following a raucous group of friends from a safe distance. He didn’t have a hard time blending with the shadows, for he believed he had quite a forgettable appearance.
Sighing, he dumped a paper bag filled with contact lenses, hair extensions, and bar equipment into his black bag. He had lost count of the numerous personalities he had perfected and put on in the past few months.
[y/n]’s tastes kept changing as they went through phases, and he went along with their every preference, trying to fit into their fantasies and become someone that Angel noticed. [Redacted] would go to the ends of the earth for his Angel but the last personality was sure a pain to master.
It was during one of the multiple video chats with Moth earlier this month when [y/n] mentioned that they had recently developed a taste for cool and mysterious bartenders who were specifically, ‘brown-eyed, had slightly long dark hair, and performed cool tricks with cocktail-shakers’
Hence the brown lenses and the hair extensions. But [Redacted] winced when he remembered the endless nights spent trying to master the cocktail shaker tricks. All that effort and his Angel didn’t even notice him, save for a small polite ‘thank you’ that he knew they reserved for strangers.
He felt a little disheartened that this personality failed too. Nothing lately had been enough to grab [y/n]’s attention and he was itching to get closer to his Angel. To somehow be a part of their perfect little circle that he was always a spectator of.
He continued his slow pace, training his eyes on the only person that mattered in that group of friends. Or ‘fiends’ as [Redacted] liked to call them. Although he loved [y/n] unconditionally, sometimes he cannot help but question their taste in the people they chose to surround themselves with.
[Redacted] cursed fluently under his breath, “Why that handsy little piece of…” and balled his fists at his sides when he saw Teo playfully slap [y/n]’s bum, suddenly regretting not having brought his trusty sledgehammer together.
As they walked further down the street, it gradually became crowded with last-minute shoppers. For a short moment, [Redacted] ran into a big family walking towards the diner across the street. He lost sight of Angel and their friends, but due to his tall height towering over all the people, he lost no time as he spotted them in the gaggle of people.
A cold and wet sensation fluttered on his eyelids. One of the kids yelled, annoyingly tugging at his father’s coat, “Look! Look! Dad it’s snowinggggg” the kid said in a sing-song voice. [Redacted] looked up at the dark sky in wonder, “Oh, it’s snowing alright!” he murmured as if noticing his surroundings for the first time.
The atmosphere put a damper on [Redacted]’s already souring mood. He was not a holiday person, and these joyous festivities felt increasingly nauseating as he walked further down the street.
[Redacted] turned a corner, tailing Angel and their friends. A man dressed as Santa intercepted his silent vigil, grating on his nerves. Dangling a tiny candy-cane keychain, he spoke in that phony signature Santa voice, “Ho Ho Ho boy here, take this keychain for a dollar and make a wish…your little donation will help several homeless children.” the man demanded, eyeing him expectantly.
[Redacted]’s azure eyes volleyed between Angel and this darned man who seemed like he would not leave anytime soon.
Exasperated, he reached into his pocket and placed a dollar on the man’s outstretched palm—with more force than necessary—snatching the keychain from his grasp. He stuffed it deep into his jeans pocket and began moving towards the bar.
“Make a wish boy. Believe in the Christmas Miracle !” The phony Santa called after him. [Redacted] rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Miracle…as if”
The fact [Redacted] did not believe in miracles would be the understatement of the century. But he didn't know why...he foolishly wanted to believe in them...If only for today. Especially when his ocean eyes longingly traced the outline of Angel with their friends through the glass window from outside. They were sitting cozily inside a booth in the dimly lit bar.
He rubbed his hands together and pulled the hood of his hoodie on his head as he stood there in cold weather. The gentle snow covered his broad shoulders the longer he spent time outside. [Redacted] watched Angel’s antics with amusement, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
The clock was soon approaching midnight. Everyone geared up to welcome Christmas. Angel’s antics became wilder by the second as they slowly went from tipsy to a more drunken state. [Redacted]’s insides itched with anxiety. His protective tendencies flared watching [y/n] twirl around the expanse of the bar. Their friends only laughed at the sight, and Teo even had the gall to record them calling Angel a "terrible lightweight"
'Note to self-corrupt Teo's phone later', he mused with a cold smirk.[Redacted] heaved a frustrated sigh and resignedly decided to go inside and keep a closer watch. But just as he stepped inside the bar, a zooming figure crashed forcefully into his chest, knocking all air out of him.
With mild surprise, [Redacted] realized that it was [y/n] who had bumped into him. Tensed and a little shocked, [Redacted] steadied his little Angel with strong arms, and to his utter disbelief, [y/n] peered up at him, craning their neck at [Redacted]’s towering form.
[Redacted] was dumbstruck. His mind went blank as [y/n], his little adorable Angel, gave him a rare genuine smile. Although [Redacted] knew that his Angel was drunk, his heart still beat a mile a minute as he gawked at that beautiful little smile. His mind zeroed in on the fact that this smile was directed towards him. Not some personality that he had put on, but it was HIM, that they looked at like this.
He hung his head a little, feeling a bit self-conscious. But then his heart almost stopped, his breath hitched in his throat when Angel leaned in closer and traced the snake-bite piercings adorning his face, “These are pretty" they slurred in a cute voice.
“So, do you want to do it?” Angel asked, breaking [Redacted] out of his trance.
“D-Do w-what?” [Redacted] stammered his throat suddenly very dry.
“Oh we’ll have to do it…or else we’ll get bad luck.” [y/n] hiccupped, then yanked [Redacted] by the strings of his hoodie, winding them around their fingers as they pulled him in, mere inches apart from their face.
Reading the slightly alarmed expression on [Redacted]’s face, [y/n] chuckled as they whispered, teasing him a little, “I’m talking about the mistletoe silly..” they winked. And [Redacted] finally noticed the mistletoe hanging above their heads.
“WHOOP DRUNK [y/n] IS THE BEST [y/n] !!!!” Teo cheered in the background as Jae and Leon created a loud ruckus.
“YESS DARL SNOG HIM SENSELESS” Leon yelled too, sloshing around his beer on the table as he egged [y/n] on.
Gaining sudden confidence from all the cheering, Angel smirked smugly before they stood on their tippy toes and leaned in, kissing [Redacted] square on the mouth.
‘Am I dead? Is this what heaven feels like?’ [Redacted] wondered as [y/n]’s breath enveloped his senses. He could taste pineapples and coconuts on their breath.
‘So they had Piñacoladas’ he smiled.
But then his eyes widened when he felt [y/n] slip their tongue into his mouth. It was as if all coherence fled him when he closed his eyes. Giving in to indulgence, he gripped Angel by their waist, pulling them closer. A palm splayed at their back protectively, supporting them as another hand snaked around the nape of their neck, gaining traction as he angled them into a deeper kiss.
A minute passed and Angel broke the kiss in need of air, earning a low whine from [Redacted]. Their chest heaved in tandem. Angel's flushed face smiled at him before they whispered, “Wow…that was my first"
Angel pecked on [Redacted]’s lips one last time and retracted themselves from him. [Redacted]'s hands lingered on their shoulders a beat too long. He balked at the information dropped on him. ‘So it was their first kiss too? But they have always been so popular…’ he thought, marveling at his Angel with a starstruck expression.
The slow din of voices gradually came back, jolting [Redacted] out of this little moment. Angel's friends approached them and whisked them away as [Redacted] swiftly pulled his hood down, shielding his face.
“See you around..” Angel trailed off, waving their fingers at [Redacted], stepping outside into the chilly night air.
For the first time in forever, a big goofy smile broke onto [Redacted]’s face as he stood in the afterglow of that first kiss. It was beautiful and nothing like he had ever imagined. He pushed his hands deep inside his jeans pockets and began following the group when his fingers curled around the candy-cane keychain resting inside.
A mysterious smile bloomed across his face as he wondered, ‘Sometimes miracles do exist’. Trudging along the snowy road, watching his Angel from afar, the atmosphere didn't feel so gloomy anymore
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ornii · 1 year
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Bitterly Beautiful
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Chapter 5: My Family and I never see Eye to Eye.
"Nevermore was created as a safe haven for our children to learn and to grow, no matter who or what they are. I realize most of you have heard about the unfortunate incident involving one of our students. But I'm happy to report that Eugene is on the mend and is expected to make a full recovery. So let's focus on the positive and make this Parents' Weekend our very best yet." Principal Weems gives this speech to try to Alleviate the concerns of parents and students alike. But much to her unfortunate situation, three students were not buying her talks of peace, and they stood together, watching her. Wednesday, Enid and (Y/n).
"On the mend? Try in a coma." Wednesday said.
"Have you been to see him? You're his friend." Enid says to Wednesday.
"I'm the reason he's in the hospital." She replies, and (Y/n) turns to her direction.
"That is not your fault, it's the monsters. It's been silent this week, maybe we scared it off."
"Or maybe it went into hiding to avoid this weekend."Wednesday says, (Y/n) sniffs the air and looks around.
"I smell an aura of death looming.. your parents must be nearby." (Y/n) says, and Wednesday keeps scanning the room.
"How annoyingly perceptive of you." She says, "I knew I should have worn my plague mask."
"Would you look at my family?" Enid says, they look over to them running and prancing about like dogs. "Talk about toxic pack mentality. I give my mom 30 seconds before her judge-y claws come out." She says, (Y/n) shrugs.
"My parents don't come here, guess I'm free... you know, I'd love to meet your family Wednesday."
"Absolutely Not."
"Why not, they seem... unique." He says wearily.
"The combination of your lack of self awareness and their overall dismay and annoyance will form a black hole and suck everything inside."
"..." Enid looks at (Y/n), who was a bit stunned. "I'm.. gonna go." She says.
"Yeah, say hey to your mom for me." He says and Enid strolls off.
"Seriously how bad can it be?" (Y/n) takes a step forward to her parents and Wednesday grabs him by the wrist, like a vise grip, she's unmoving, he slowly turns to face her, and she glared at him like a demon is taking over her.
"What. Did. I. Tell. You?" She says, and before he can respond and probably dig himself a deeper hole, her family spots Wednesday holding his wrist.
"There she is. Oh, how we missed those accusing eyes and youthful sneer." A voice calls out, (Y/n) and Wednesday turn to the origin of the sound and it's her family approaching, seeming them "Holding hands." They quickly separate and the first to hug Wednesday was Gomez, a slightly short but very stout man of Hispanic origin. He hugs Wednesday who seems as vexed as usual. "And you must be one of Wednesday's new friends." Gomez says to (Y/n), who turns his attention to dwarfs him, he feels Wednesday staring a hole into the side of his head.
"He must be much more than just a friend, ive never seen anyone being held with such...ferocity by Wednesday, How are you, my little rain cloud?" Morticia, the illustrious maiden of the Addams family.
A tall, beautiful woman asked, long black hair and a stunning figure.
"I thought Thing was filling you in on my every move. I uncovered your feeble subterfuge almost immediately." She says, to the unfortunate dismay of her parents.
"So, how's the little fella doing? Does he still have all his fingers?" Gomez asks.
"Relax. I haven't snapped any of his digits. Yet." Wednesday says, they turn their attention to the man next to her.
"And you are?" Morticia asks. "(Y/n) Healy, Wednesday is dorm mates with a good friend of mine, and so we sort of just became friends." He explains.
"He's blind and helpless." Wednesday says, slightly deflating what he said. Morticia breaths a sigh of relief.
"He's blind, ah, that's fine I hate looking people in their eyes anyway." She says, trying to be, nice? (Y/n) looked beside himself after hearing that.
"Did.. did she just—" he begins, But Gomez gives him a hug as well.
"It's nice to see our little viper has Snared herself her own mouse." He says, "Welcome to the family." He says, and Wednesday is fuming. Its Pugsleys turn and he seems, simple.
"Are you a ghost?" He asks (Y/n) who raises an eyebrow.
"Uh, no? Why ask?"
"It's just.. I Never expected Wednesday to have a friend that still has a beating heart." He said, (Y/n) finds this a bit numerous and smiles.
"Heh, no my hearts still beating, unless she rips it out later. But you wouldn't do that to your friend right?" He says turning to her, Wednesdays face was locked in this expression of cold dead silence. She leans in to whisper into his ear.
"I will do, such painfully unspeakable things to you when they leave." She says with the utmost murderous intent. (Y/n) laughs awkwardly, but the Addams seem, unfazed by this.
"So, how has it been my Dear?" Morticia asks Wednesday who turns to her mother.
"Since you've abandoned me here, I've been hunted, haunted... and the target of an attempted murder." Wednesday smirks just so slightly.
"Ah, Nevermore. I love you so." Gomez smiles at this, reveling in the Chaos.
"Please Mr Healy, would you excuse us?" Morticia says as the Addams family leaves, (Y/n) just shakes his head.
"I, think I understand what Wednesday meant.." he says, his train of thought was interrupted by howling, and him getting jumped on. He doesn't resists as they laugh and he can recognize that laughter from anywhere. They help him up as he sighs.
"You guys, try and be more gentle."
"Sorry man!" One says, it was Enids brothers, which they were laughing and howling out as usual.
"How's Enid taking seeing her parents?" (Y/n) asks. They snicker and elbow each other.
"Bout as much as you can expect, still building up the guts to." One brother points to Enid still a bit away from her parents. (Y/n) walks over to her, they say nothing to each other for a moment. He offers his hand and she takes it, nervous.
"It's okay, just focus, it's just one weekend." (Y/n) says, and Enid takes a deep breath. They walk over and Enid begins to count. "One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand—" she begins
"Enid! Have you not been waxing?" Her mother asks.
"Three seconds. That's a personal best." She replies. (Y/n) chimes in. "It's good to see you too Miss Sinclair." He says, and she hugs them both.
"It's so good to see you too! You've been watching after Enid right? Making sure she finds the right mate?" Her mother, as inquisitive as ever says, much to Enids embarrassment.
"As much as I can.." he says sheepishly. "Perfect, you're always welcome in our pack." She says, but senses sometimes is wrong.
"Are you feeling well? You're looking a touch anemic. Have you been eating enough red meat?" She says to them both.
"It's good to see you too, Mom. And you, Dad." Enid says, but taking much effort to do so.
The Addams family enter the Principals office. As Morticia looks at the yearbook.
"Our old yearbook. I haven't laid eyes on this in over 20 years. Such good times we had, didn't we, Larissa?"
"Some of us better than others." Larissa replies with a smile, hiding the darkenss.
"Oh, don't be so modest. You always filled a room with your presence. Like a stately sequoia tree."
"And I guess that would make you the lumberjack."
"There's that biting sense of humor that I always adored. Do you remember when we did that duet for the Solstice Talent Show? Your Judy Garland impression was a dead ringer."
"Sounds positively suicidal." Wednesday chimes in.
"Oh. My picture's gone." Morticia says, and Weems smirks coyly.
"Really? Well, that is odd."
"May I borrow this for the weekend? That way Gomez and I can take a little walk down memory lane." Morticia asks.
"All right. Let's get down to the matter at hand, shall we? Hmm? Unfortunately, Wednesday's assimilation has been ...rocky at best." Weems begins.
"Because I refuse to embrace the culture of dishonesty and denial permeating this school. Starting with the monster that killed Rowan and put Eugene in the ICU. Although I do hear he's "on the mend." Wednesday says with scathing sarcasm.
"We've always encouraged Wednesday to speak her mind. Sometimes her sharp tongue can cut deep." Gomez said.
"Apparently her therapist feels she hasn't been very open to the process. Their time together has not yielded the results we'd hoped." Weems replies.
"I'm not a lab rat."
"Dr. Kinbott and I have spoken, and we both agree it would be most beneficial for you all to attend a family session this weekend." Weems offers.
"No." Wednesday replies.
"I thought that might be your reaction, but your parents can see the wisdom in it." Weems sneers.
"Um, not to side with Wednesday, but, um, we're only here for the weekend." Morticia begins.
"Oh, come on. What can it hurt? To be honest, I've always been a big fan of head-shrinking." Gomez said.
"It's not that kind of head-shrinking, mon chéri."
"Well, that is disappointing." Gomez says sadly.
"But anything for our little girl." Morticia says, much to the growing hatred of Wednesday Addams. The entire family was inside the Therapists office. They entire family is fairly silent.
"So, who wants to start? Maybe we can discuss what it's like having Wednesday away from home?" The therapists asks. Pugsley was the first to speak up,
"I mean, for me..it's been hard not having Wednesday around. I never thought I'd miss being waterboarded so much." He said.
"Morticia, Gomez. How have you been coping?" She asks.
"It's been torture for us too." Morticia begins
"Gomez: Fortunately, my brother Fester's rack fits two people."
"Morticia: Nothing like a good stretch to bring out the best in each other. Querida mía."
Morticia and Gomez cannot keep their hands off of each other, which just triggers Wednesdays eruption.
"Enough! I think it's high time my parents faced the music. It seems they've been lying to me. Keeping secrets. Murderous secrets that need to be addressed. Who was Garrett Gates, and why are you accused of murdering him?" She says, the question obviously triggers some, unpleasant memories for them both.
"Those charges were dropped. Your father is an innocent man." Morticia said.
"Local sheriff doesn't seem too convinced."
"Wednesday, stop. This is neither the time nor the place."
"Actually, this is exactly the place. These sessions are—"
"Doctor. This does not concern you. And I refuse to debate a decades-old witch-hunt with you right now. I—"
"Darling, maybe we should.." Gomez begins, but Morticia stops.
"No. This session is over."
"Have it your way, Mother." Wednesday stands up to leave.
"Wednes... Wednesday?" Morticia Rose as well.
"If you refuse to tell me the truth, I'll just have to excavate it myself." Wednesday leaves as Pugsley smiles.
"You... Thanks for the candy." He says to the the therapist.
"Actually, that's potpourri… Why don't you take the bowl?" she says, and Pugsley happily takes it. Outside, Wednesday is being scolded by her mother.
"What were you thinking? How could you ambush your father like that? Wednesday!"
"How could I? You insisted I go to this school. Did you really think I wouldn't find out your secret? You don't know the full story."
"Your father did nothing wrong."
"I'll be the judge of that." Wednesday leaves, heading to the Hospital finally to see Eugene. He was still working a coma, a breathing mask keeps air pumping through his lungs. She places a jar of honey down.
"I harvested hive number three. The bees miss you, Eugene. We all do." She continues, near a heartbeat monitor, thing crawls away from it.
"Thanks for keeping an eye on him. Any updates?" She asks and thing shakes his finger.
"He didn't deserve this. I should be in that bed. Why did you go without me?" She says to thing, a shadowy figure creeps up behind and touches her shoulder, Wednesday jerks her head around, just to (Y/n).
"Huh. Think that's the first time I've seen you scared." he says. He walks up next to her and focuses on Eugene.
"... Had enough of your family?" He asks.
"Much so..I brought him some honey." Wednesday says. She sniffs a bit and scowls.
"Why do you smell like you were trampled upon by hellhounds?"
"Enid." He responds calmly. It was dead silence for about 30 seconds, before he sensed that he made a terrible mistake.
"What did you just say?" She says, he picks up and snaps out of it.
"Sorry, Enids Family, her Brothers can be a bit, too much, her mom was all over me asking questions about how Enids doing and "Wolfing out." He explains, Wednesday now is more interested.
"You two seem disgustingly close.." she begins, and he smiles.
"Yeah, I met Enid when we first both came to Nevermore, and it was maybe a year in that there was. The incident." He says, which piques Wednesdays interest even more.
"Incident?" She asks, and he sighs.
"Promise you won't tell her or anyone?" He says, and Wednesday thinks about it for a moment and agrees.
"I'll take this secret to the grave."
"For whatever reason I truly do believe you." He says, and begins to tell it.
"So.. you know how animals have heat cycles, right? Well turns out, so do Wolves... very, aggressive ones. And be being the dumb blind kid I am, i took a box of tampons to Enid for her, well you know.." he explains and he rewinds to that fateful day, a one year younger (Y/n) approaches with a suspicious box. He knocks on the door to the dorm of Enid.
"Enid, I brought the.. you know." He says, he taps it again and the door creaks open. (Y/n) looks a bit, concerned, it was pitch black and he takes a step in.
"Enid? Are you okay?" He says, and there was silence. He closes it and feels a harrowing chill in the air, he walks to the door and closes it. He takes a few more steps inside, and what catches his ear, was the slightly growling from the corner. He turns to it, and takes a step forward.
"E-Enid?" He asks, and something lunges at him, and it was all a blur. Time returns back to (Y/n) and Wednesday.
"So, a hormonal frustrated werewolf teenager almost mauled and sexually assaulted you to death." Wednesday says, and (Y/n) nods.
"Yeah, I got Yeah, if you found random bloodstains Under your bed that was my blood. After that She cried and apologized, and, we sort of, I guess bonded somehow. She's not a bad person by any means, it's just the hand she was given was a bad one." He says, "don't hold it against her." He asks Wednesday.
"That still doesn't explain why you call each other.. "Bestie" Wednesday says trying not to vomit. (Y/n) sighs and takes his coat off, Wednesday watches confused as (Y/n) removes his sweater, and begins to unbutton his shirt.
"What are you—" she begins, and stops, watching him unbutton his shirt to reveal his bare chest and she just stares at it. He takes it off and turns around, she then sees eight distinct claw marks on his back, they're old but can still be seen.
"That.. was Enid. And usually when a Werewolf wants to mark their mate, this is how they do it. But I don't.. well me and Enid don't like each other that much, so rather being mates were.. besties. She's like a sister to me, i just want the best for her." He explains. He turns back to Wednesday who looks more, concerned.
"Hm." She says, "So you stay around Enid because those marks, symbolize a bond you cannot break. I find that idea primitive, but I can see it means much to you if you've been by her side ever since then. I'll refrain from insulting it." Wednesday says.
"...Thanks." He replies with a warning smile.
".. Now button yourself up, i don't want to have to keep staring at your refined abdomen."
"Yeah you right— wait, refined?" He says smirking. "You think I'm Hot—"
"Do Not. Push it." Wednesday coldly Fires back, she and (Y/n) leave back to Nevermore, where a vast lunch is being served. (Y/n) decides best to eat with Enids family, which truly has grown into his own as well.
"Mmm. I am famished. You're not hungry, darling?" Morticia asks Wednesday who folds his arms.
"My appetite eludes me, Mother. The same way the truth eludes you." She says and walks off, Gomez walks over, having listened to the conversation.
"We need to tell her." He says.
"She'll never believe us. We must stay strong. And hope that something more morbid comes along to distract her." Morticia says, "Or my new son in law."
(Y/n) eats calmly next to Enid as her brothers gouge down on food, her mother looks at Enid.
"So are you going to make me ask?" She says, and Enid smirks a bit.
"Ajax and I haven't defined our relationship yet."
"I'm not talking about boys, well besides— Nevermind, Have you wolfed out yet?" She asks, which just causes Enids moon to deflate.
"No."
"Well, that is a disappointment." Her mother says, and Enid slumps down.
"That's me. A huge disappointment." She says, (Y/n) gentle nudges her to try to cheer her up but, she just shakes her head. His moment of trying to cheer her up was interrupted very scarily by the door to Nevermore opening. The Sheriff, along with other police storm over to Gomez, and (Y/n) can feel the footsteps, a few members.
"Can I ask what this is about, Sheriff?" Weems says, but he ignores her and keeps approaching.
"Gomez Addams." Sherrif Galpin says.
"How can I help you, Sheriff?" Gomez says calmly, but his quickly apprehended.
"You're under arrest for the murder of Garrett Gates. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you." He says, and takes him away, much confusion and suspicion rolls though Nevermore, and began to look for Wednesday, who was more angry that confused. The two are standing in a corridor hours later, and (Y/n) speaks to her.
"It's too convenient..." my father returns on parents day and is arrested?" She says. And (Y/n) adds more information.
"Not Just that, but there's something you have to know."
"What is that?"
"The Coroner, he blew his brains out today. Said it was guilt from falsifying evidence from the case your father was in, this is too convenient.” He says, and Wednesday is now even more convinced.
".. Then that proves it, my father is being set up, the coroner, the file, all of this was a ploy." She said.
"Then there's only one thing left to do, hearing from the man himself.."
Gomez was apprehended and put into his prison garments and had a visitor. He was surprised by Wednesday, who was accompanied by (Y/n) in a Nevermore hoodie, which was fairly comfortable He motions for her to sit.
"My little tormenta, how's your mother?" He asks.
"Devastated. She hates you in orange. I caught her laying a rose on a grave earlier today. The headstone read "Garrett Gates." The very boy you've been arrested for murdering. Care to explain? " she says, and (Y/n) kneels down next to the sitting Wednesday.
"I think it's best if we hear it all from you." He said, and Gomez begins begins to tell it.
"Garrett was infatuated with your mother. He mistook her kindness for interest. His infatuation turned into obsession, and he started stalking her."
"Why didn't you call the police?"
"We tried. But his family were the oldest and richest in Jericho. No one believed us. Garrett's father, an outcast-hating bigot, was furious that your mother had accused his only son. It all came to a head the night of the Rave'N Dance. Your mother and I stepped out to catch our breath. And that's when I saw him. He had broken into the school. His twisted love for your mother had made him insane. His eyes bore into me, brimming with murderous intent. My life flashed before my eyes. Driven by jealousy and hate, Garrett was unstoppable. We fought along the scaffolding, and When I saw the sword, my survival instinct kicked in. I rose the sword up, and he ran into it..It was a terrible accident." Gomez gives the tale and the two began to consider it. Wednesday and (Y/n) are in the corner discussing it.
"If I'm being objective, his confession sounds entirely plausible, delivered with the perfect degree of sincerity. Perhaps my father is exactly what he says. Thank you for being honest with me. But then there's the matter of his tells. The way he smooths his mustache. The way he delivers a comforting wink. I've been playing Russian roulette with him since I was 12. I know them well."
"I.. see.. then it's possible this was at least negligent Homicide, or Manslaughter. It doesn't sound premeditated.. seems like self defense." He says, Wednesday returns and sits, and Gomez sadly looks ashamed.
"I'm sorry I wasn't a better father."
"Could we please do without the overt display of emotion?" Wednesday said.
"I know they make you feel uncomfortable."
"How many fathers hand their daughter a fencing blade when she's five?"
"Your saber strokes were an essay in perfection."
"Or teach her how to swim with sharks?"
“Sharks?” (Y/n) chimes in, peering from the corner.
"They found you as cold-blooded as I do."
"The right way to flay a rattlesnake?"
"They really do taste like chicken when prepared properly."
"The point is, you taught me how to be strong and independent. How to navigate myself in a world full of treachery and prejudice. You are the reason I understand how imperative it is that I never lose sight of myself. So as far as fatherhood goes, I would say you've been more than adequate." Wednesday said, as cold, as unfeeling as she was sometimes, she truly does care for her family.
"Gracias, Wednesday." He says so warmly, the Two leave, and talk about it. (Y/n) wipes a tear coming down his cheek.
"Why are you crying?" She asks.
"Sorry Just, glad your dads in your life, seems like a good man."
"Like I Said before, your mother and father were afraid of your power. Instead of trying to control it, they tried to maim you. I say you're better off with Enids Hellhounds."
"Yeah, guess I am... or yours—"
"That's Strike number two."
"Okay okay, im just teasing you. You know, poking fun."
"The last person who "Poked" me lost a finger."
"Noted." He feels his phone vibrate and pulls it out. Which then speaks.
"Text Message from Enid: OMG, it's absolutely terrible, no vibe check here, R U coming over, Plz, crying emoji, sad face emoji, dog emoji, dog emoji, dog emoji." The phone says. He puts it away and turns to her.
"You want to come? I'd be nice for you to try and relax and focus."
"No, Enid requires your attention, and... presence." Wednesday says, she exhales and shivers a bit, the cold wind biting on her. He sees this, and takes it upon himself. He removes his hoodie and hands it to her.
"..Why are you giving me this?" She said.
"Because you’re cold, well colder than usual. And if you start sniffling and sneezing im taking that plague mask." He says jokingly, Wednesday hesitates, but takes it, she puts it off over her Nevermore clothing and it was obviously too big but the way her small frame tried to take over the hoodie was just, dreadfully adorable.
"I suppose this will help against the cold, you may go back to Enid now." Wednesday says, almost like dismissing her dog. He just scoffs.
"You're right, well I'm glad you're not being so jealous about her anymore." He says walking away, and Wednesdays turns to him and she was about to yell, but she stops, a smell hits her nostrils and she sniffs the hoodie, which smells of Black roses, a perfect aroma. She watches him leave and then inhaled deeply, and sighed.
"... I suppose I don't hate his scent.." she says, she also walks off, but to the Sheriffs office, where he sits at his desk ready a newspaper. Until a voice snaps him from it.
"We need to talk."
"How the hell did you get in? Bernice? Bernice!"
"Bernice may or may not have received a call that her tabby cat Swifty is being held for ransom. My father did not kill Garrett Gates."
"Well, I have his signed confession, and he identified the saber he used to do it. Both of which I'm about to deliver to the District Attorney."
"Don't you find the timing convenient? The coroner kills himself out of remorse for a decades-old murder case the very weekend my father, your prime suspect, deigns to return to town."
"All I see is a guilty man who's finally going to pay for his crime. And cuffing him myself, oh, that was the icing on the cake." He smirks, drinking his coffee.
"If you cannot see the set up that's happening before you. You're Just as Blind as (Y/n). I found the monster's cave, and I gave you the DNA evidence. Did you even bother to test it?"
"This may come as a shock, but the world doesn't revolve around you. I did, DNA results, No match. Inconclusive."
"So you truly believe this is all some coincidence? Whoever hurt Eugene also murdered the coroner."
"Unfortunately, someone sabotaged the security camera in the morgue, so we don't know what happened. They stuck bubblegum on the lens." The sheriff said, and Wednesday remembers now.
"Black bubblegum. Maybe I should run DNA on that?" the sheriff said.
"Someone is trying to throw me off my game. This is all a distraction."
"No, this is about justice being served. Garrett Gates's family deserves closure, even if none of them are around to take comfort in it."
"What happened to them?"
"His mother hung herself in the backyard. His father drank himself to an early grave. Even his little sister didn't escape. She was orphaned, sent overseas, ended up drowning. Every last one of them's gone. Your father doesn't just have Garrett's blood on his hands, he's got the whole damn family's." the Sheriff says, wanting some semblance of Justice, even if the family weren't as, kind.
Outside, the families are enjoying activities such as frisbee and such. Enids family, well her brothers were enjoying the rough housing. (Y/n) sits with Enid, who gets a gift from her mother
"Here. I brought you a gift."
"That's so sweet. You didn't have to get me anything." Enid says smiling and takes the parchment.
"I know, but I thought we got off on the wrong foot this weekend. I just want you to know that all I want is the very best for you." she says and Enid opens it, she begins to look as it's, Brochures. For camps for Lycanthropy issues. (Y/n) obviously couldn't see it, but he felt Enids heart race and her attitude just, shift.
"What are these?"
"Brochures. For summer camp."
"These aren't just ordinary summer camps. These are camps for lycanthropy conversion."
"Oh, no need to be dramatic, Enid. You want to send me to conversion therapy for werewolves? It worked wonders for your cousin Lucille, didn't it? Seven weeks in the Balkan countryside and she was howling at the moon in no time. As it should be. Don't you want to wolf out and finally be normal, honey?" She says, Enid was about to cry, before she stood up and walked away.
"Enid? Enid!" (Y/n) stood up grabbing his cane before following into the Forest with her.
"Enid, Cmon talk to me! Pease!" He says.
"I don't want to." She replies solemnly.
"Enid, I know your mom is being a total control freak but—"
Enid stops and turns around, angry, so angry tears are forming in her eyes.
"What? That she's right? That I'm a disappointment and there's something wrong with me? I already know that (Y/n)! Everyone tells me that there's something wrong! I know I haven't Wolfed out and that makes me a failure and I'll never find a mate and I'll be alone forever!.. I...I.... Am I just a disappointment to you too?" before she can continue, it all became too much for her, and the tears were close to falling. (Y/n) just sighed, listening to her pour her heart out to him. He walks over and hugs her, Enid accepts it.
"Listen... there's nothing wrong with you being a late bloomer, anyone who thinks it's a problem is just dead wrong. You aren't a disappointment to me, to hell with anyone who says you are. But you have to stand up for yourself. Your mom wants the best for you but to ship you off to some camp is just, wrong. But she won't listen until you tell her yourself. Enid, please stand up for yourself." He says. He lets go and she wipes the tears from her eyes.
"I..I don't think I can do it by myself." She says, (Y/n) grabs her hand, and holds it calmly.
"Then I'll be there, I'll be by your side the entire way. It's what Besties do for each other, it's what family does for each other." He says with a smile, she wipes the tears and smiles strongly at him.
"Okay, okay I'll try." Enid says to (Y/n), as this happens Pugsley was sitting at a small lake. Wednesday, still wearing (Y/n)'s hoodie approaches.
"Go away."
"You forgot your fishing gear." She says as she ms carrying a small satchel.
"Stop trying to be nice. It doesn't suit you."
"Father packed your favorite bait." She says, Pugsley reaches into the bag to pull it his bait, which was a live grenade.
"What'll happen to him now?" He asks Wednesday.
"Well, he's confessed, so there won't be a trial. After he's sentenced, he'll be sent to a state penitentiary, where he'll lose his mind being separated from Mother. Did you know they haven't spent a night apart since they tied the knot?" Wednesday said.
"I always thought I'd be the first one in the family behind bars." Pugsley says sadly.
"Lurch and I had a bet going. Come on. Let's see if the fish are biting." Wednesday said, Pugsley took the pin off and lobbed the grenade into the water, it erupts under the water and fish cork rising up.
"That's quite a catch." She says.
"I'm gonna miss him, Wednesday." Pugsley said so sadly.
"It's not over yet. He's innocent."
"Well, if anyone can figure out who really committed the crime... it's you. You have to find out the truth and free Dad."
"Well, until that happens, we both know Mother will be falling apart. Which means we have to be strong. And by "we," I mean you. Now, give me one of those." Wednesday says, Pugsley hands her a grenade and she tosses one, it als explodes in the water.
"Where is Mother anyway?" Wednesday asks her brother.
"She said she wanted to be alone. Somewhere where no one would find her." he replies, and Wednesday knew exactly where to find her. Inside the secret library in Nevermore where she and (Y/n) were captured. Morticia looks around so, vividly, as if the memories of her days in Nevermore were being replayed right before her eyes, before Wednesday spoke her out of her joy.
"Hello, Mother."
"Hello, Wednesday. So you're a Nightshade. That didn't take long."
"Actually, I rejected them."
"Why? Because I was a member?"
"I'll never live up to your legacy here, so why try? I win the Poe Cup, you claimed it four times. I join the fencing team, you captained it. Why would you send me somewhere I could only ever exist in your shadow?"
"It's not a competition, Wednesday."
"Everything is a competition, Mother. But mostly I rejected them because they're a trivial social club. Or as (Y/n) would put it, a "Social Society of Self Servicing Shitheels.".. he likes Alliteration."
"We used to be so much more. Our mission was to protect outcasts from harm and bigotry. In fact, the group was started by an ancestor of your father's from Mexico. One of the first settlers in America." Mortcia says, which Wednesday adds in.
"Goody. I saw her painting at Pilgrim World."
"Oh. How ironic, since she was the one who killed Joseph Crackstone. The Nightshades were her secret, but deadly, answer to his oppression. I know why you've come here, Wednesday. So go on. Ask."
There was no hesitation, no sense of flattery in it, it was blunt, it was honest.
"Father didn't kill Garrett Gates, did he?" Wednesday asks, and Morticia reveals the harrowing truth.
"By the time I made it up the stairs, I found your father fighting for his life. It was terrifying. Garrett, no! I'll never forget the way he looked at me. He was even foaming at the mouth. It was like I was staring into the eyes of a rabid beast. It wasn't your father who picked up the sword, it was me..It was only when I heard the scream that I realized what I'd done. Your father was so... calm and brave. LTish, you need to leave right now. Go to your room and lock the door. You were never here." his words still linger within me...Your father took the blame in order to protect me. I was so grateful when they cleared him of any wrongdoing. But I knew, someday this would come back to haunt us." Morticia says, as a single tear falls down her cheek.
Wednesday considers this, and finds something, off. "You said Garrett was foaming at the mouth. His eyes didn't look human."
I've never seen someone so blinded by rage."
"Maybe it wasn't rage at all. Foaming saliva, dilated pupils, mental confusion. What are those all textbook symptoms of?" Wednesday asks her mother, who began to realize just what she's saying.
"But how can that be?" She asks, and Wednesday smirks "There's only one way to find out."
Wednesday and Morticia decide the best way to go about this, is to dig up the corpse. Inside the local cemetery, Wednesday, having the oddest smirk on her face, was digging up the grave of Garett. Morticia was there, just not helping.
"This reminds me of when you got your first grave-digging kit. You were so happy, you nearly smiled."
"Are you sure you don't want to join?" Wednesday asks, and Morticia tries to play it off.
"Uh... mm... No, that's okay, darling. I don't want to spoil your fun." she says, Wednesday continues digging until she jams her shovel into the casket.
"Moment of truth." she opens the casket and inhales the scent of death, which makes her smile so fondly. She looks upon the corpse of Garett to see hints of blue on his body.
"Hello, Garrett. I was right." She says, their late light decision was cut off by Deputy Sandiago, who catches them.
"Well, well, what do we have here? Guess there's gonna be an Addams family reunion in lockup tonight. You're both under arrest."
Wednesday and Morticia were taken into prison amd put in a cell next to Gomez
"Get comfortable. You can post bail in the morning." A deputy says, but even that couldn't down out the sound of Morticia and Gomez kissing passionately.
"I've seen jackals with more self-control than you two. Neither one of you are strong enough to serve hard time. And thanks to me, you won't have to." Wednesday begins, but her plan was quickly interrupted by an upset party.
"Seriously?" They say, Wednesday turns to (Y/n) who was let in to see her, he stands before her.
"Grave Robbing? Really?" He says, and Wednesday begins.
"What I found—"
"No." He says coldly, "Wednesday I'm all for you saving your family, but this? I don't want to see you in a jail cell. You should have turned off the headlights, made it less obvious, get a lantern. Cars make too much noise. Seriously if you're going to grave rob do it better." He says, and Wednesday was a bit, confused.
"You're not upset i desecrated a grave moreso I did it the wrong way?" She asks.
"Obviously." He says, and Wednesday almost smiled at him, but swttles for a smirk.
"I knew there was something special about you." She thinks, "So, what's your plan?" He asks, He approaches the Cell and Wednesday shows him something. She puts it in his hand and he, confused, looks at it, it was wrapping, but he opens it to a, severed decrepit finger, before (Y/n) could projectile vomit. He looks at her.
"... Wednesday, did you just put a dead man's severed finger in my hand?"
"Silence and listen, It's a souvenir from our outing. I borrowed it from Garrett. He died from nightshade poisoning. The remarkable preservation of soft tissue and blue tint confirms it. Which means Garrett was dying—"
"Before he was stabbed.." (Y/n) says, much to the relief of Morticia and Gomez, but (Y/n) thinks. "But why would Garett have nightshade? And why did he have it?"
"I had a vision when I snapped his finger off"
"Gross—"
"I said silence..The night Garrett died, he had a vial of nightshade poison that broke in his pocket. He wasn't just trying to kill father. He was going to use the nightshade poison to murder the entire school." She explains, "This information will be enough to exonerate my father and mother, and me." Wednesday said. (Y/n), very reluctantly clenched the finger and places it in his pocket.
"And I know just the guy to blackmail."
(Y/n) stands before the Mayor, who's son (Y/n) assaulted and who retaliated by trying to Carrie his dance with Wednesday.
"Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Mr. Mayor."
"Yes, well, veiled threats have that effect."
"Well I suppose it's down to Business," he tosses the wrapper finger at the mayor who catches and opens it. "Garrett Gates wasn't killed by a stab wound. That blue sheen is a sign of nightshade poisoning. But you already knew that, didn't you? Because back when you were sheriff, you were in charge and covered it up, weren't you?" (Y/n) asks. The Mayor scowls.
"Ansel Gates hated outcasts and Nevermore. He claimed the land the school was built on was stolen from his family over 200 years ago. Garrett went there that night to spike the punch and kill all the kids at that dance. Ansel confessed the whole thing to me in a drunken stupor. It was his idea."
"So Why did you instruct Dr. Anwar to falsify the autopsy report?" (Y/n) said. "You knew the truth about how he really died."
"Listen, my job was to keep the peace. If there had been a trial, Jericho's and Nevermore's reputations would have been trashed."
"Trashed? So you care more about the reputation of this town than the truth that there are people out here who hate people like me? You hiding the truth is just as bad as Garett, to me you're just as responsible."
"I resent your implication."
"Oh, you resent it? Well you're going to definitely resent it when I tell all of Nevermore the truth, including your coverup and if I do, Jericho and Nevermore will never be the same.." (Y/n) says, the mayor is literally caught by the neck in this, and he gives in.
"What do you want?" he says.
I want All charges dropped against The Addams family, Gomez, Morticia and Wednesday to be released immediately with a full and unequivocal apology from the sheriff's office. Do we have a deal?" He asks with a smirk, "Or I could go to the press, I know a really good lawyer." (Y/n) smiles, and the mayor is forced to give in.
The family was released and outside, thanks were given, mostly to (Y/n) who just smiles softly. Being hugged by Gomez and Morticia like hes their own. Morticia turns to her daughter.
"I'm sorry you didn't feel you could tell me. I know we've had our difficulties lately. Navigating the treacherous shoals of our mother-daughter relationship. But I'm always here for you, Wednesday." She says, and Wednesday takes a sharp breath.
"Always. Sometimes when I touch someone or something, I get these very violent glimpses from the past or future. I don't know how to control it."
"Our psychic ability resides on the spectrum of who we are." Morticia explains, "Given my disposition, my visions tend to be positive. That makes me a Dove."
"And for someone like me? Who sees the world through a darker lens?"
"You're a Raven. Your visions are more potent, more powerful. But without the proper training, they can lead to madness. If I could help you, I would, Wednesday. But we're not trained by the living. Somebody from our bloodline reaches out from beyond to help us when we're ready."
"Goody has. I've seen her before."
"Be careful, Wednesday. Goody was a witch of great strength, but her vengeance pushed her too far, and even she couldn't save herself." Morticia says, and Wednesday takes those words to her cold heart.
They return to Nevermore, and (Y/n) finds Enid and family, she and (Y/n) face each other and walk over to her parents.
"So, it's decided. Six weeks at Camp Howl. You'll need to pick which activity—" she begins, and he nods to Enid.
"No, I don't. Because I'm not going. Not this summer. Not ever. If I'm meant to wolf out, then I'm going to do it on my own timeline and not yours. I hope that one day, you'll finally accept me for who I am." Enid said, and Her mother was a bit taken aback but smiles, she walks off.
"See?" Told you it would work." He says, they turn around to her father, a tall stout man who just nods approvingly.
"I'm proud of you, Kiddo. And thank you." He says to Enid and (Y/n), before hugging them both, and leaving. Wednesday says her goodbyes to her family as Pugsley hugs her for too long.
"Don't push it."
"Well, at least we can't say Parents' Weekend wasn't a nail-biter." Gomez says hugging Wednesday.
"I knew you didn't have what it takes to be a murderer."
"As much as that stings, gracias, my little death trap." He says, and Morticia steps up.
"As I leafed through the pages of this yearbook, I was reminded of all the wonderful times I had here. But they were just that. Mine. You have your own path to blaze. I don't want to be a stranger in your life, darling. If you need me for anything, anything at all, I'm only a crystal ball away."
"Thank you, Mother." Wednesday replies, and Morticia hands her the book before leaving, Wednesday opens it, flipping though the pages and a shocking realization comes to her. She storms off to the headmaster and on her way spots (Y/n) laughing with Enids brothers, She, without skipping a beat yanks him by the wrist.
"W-Wednesday! What's wrong!"
"Rowan never left! It was Weems!" She says, which confuses (Y/n) but he follows as she storms into her office.
"I knew it. I did witness Rowan getting murdered that night."
"Excuse me?" Weems asks.
"When Rowan appeared the next morning, it was you. When you participated in the talent show, not only did you impersonate Judy Garland, you became her. You're a shape-shifter." Wednesdays said, which stuns (Y/n).
"Principal weems is this true?"
"That's a fascinating theory." Weems says, "I'm curious to find out how Sheriff Galpin feels when I tell him." Wednesday replies, and (Y/n) steps up.
"You lied about Rowan's death, his parents, the world! They deserve to know—" before he can continue, Weems rose from her chair, she was obviously tall being cover six feet tall.
"You won't tell a soul Mister Healy, Miss Addams. And it wouldn't matter much if you did. Rowan's father already knows what happened, and he fully supports my decision not to involve the authorities."
"Why would he agree to that?" Wednesdays asked.
"Because Rowan was not in his right mind. His telekinetic abilities were driving him mad and he attempted to murder you twice. His tragic death allowed us to rectify the situation without casting the school or Rowan in an unflattering light."
"You and Mayor Walker are the same, aren't you?Burying bodies to cover your dirty secrets!" (Y/n) says, actually disgusted by this.
"I did what I needed to do to shield this school from controversy and protect its students from harm."
"Tell that to Eugene. How are you protecting him?"
Wednesday fires back, (Y/n) was all for it, before sending an, off warmth. He turns to the window and approaches, Weems and Wednesday follow to see the harrowing sight. Flames, burning on the Nevermore lawn and the words "Fire Will Rain" etched deeply into the ground, only a symbol of the horrors yet to come.
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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 1 year
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Part 1
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Masterlist
Series masterlist
Preview 🍂 Part 2
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Pairing: Syverson x ofc
Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"
Series warning: Eventual smut, for now, fluffy mcflufferson.
Word count: 900
A/N: Remind me to never promise @keanureevesisbae anything ever again. (Just kidding hun, I'm actually super grateful for the fun li'l Sy prompt ❤️😏)
There's gonna be mistakes, because I had to make this a quick one...
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“Hi! You must be Sy!” God, this man was tall – at least 6’ to your 5’1. And he smelled good – why did he have to smell good? You didn’t have time for a man! You were just here as a favor to your friend. How did she know this guy, anyway? He looked older than you, early thirties to your mid-twenties.
“Yeah, hey. Lara, right?”
“Yes!” It was just one drink, you just had to keep it up for one drink.
One drink turned into two, into three, and eventually into four. You were in serious trouble here. Sy was easy to talk to, had a good job, he was easy on the eyes, and the fact that the stitches of the shirt he was wearing were clearly only hanging on by the grace of God did not hurt, either. The two of you talked about anything and everything; his job, your studies, family, pets, you name it. You learned he grew up on his granddad’s ranch in Texas, and that he would really love to own a home with enough land someday to have his own horses again – which led you to have a hard time concentrating for the next ten or so minutes while your brain decided it was very necessary to imagine this burly cowboy on a horse. It wasn’t. Really. You could have done without that mental image. At least until you got home.
And then, the ‘check, please’-moment. He was annoyingly insistent on paying, and absolutely wasn’t going to go along with your idea of splitting. Sy even went as far as saying that ‘going Dutch’ was a completely ridiculous idea, especially on a first date, but you paid him no mind. You can take the girl out of the Netherlands, but you can’t take the Netherlands out of the girl. Nevertheless, your little kerfuffle about who was paying lead to you blurting out a combination of words you’d never heard yourself say in any dating-related context: “Next one’s on me, then.”
“Next one, huh?” Sy smiled as if he approved of the idea. “I might have to get my hands on your number, then.”
You raised an eyebrow at him. That was not an actual question, and if this guy wanted your number he was going to have to do a lot better than this.
“’Course I could ask Julie, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, since she so kindly set us up today, but I’d rather get it from you directly. What do you think?”
“I think, Sy, that you need to be a little more to the point,” you replied to what you considered the most cumbersome way of asking someone for their phonenumber. Ever.
“Can I get your number, Sugar?” You pretended to contemplate your answer for a while, which didn’t sit very well with Sy. He took a step closer to you and repeated his question slower and in a lower register, both of which highlighted his accent in the cutest way. It was also vaguely threatening, which your body reacted to in ways you couldn’t describe as anything other than high treason.
“Y-yes,” you stammered as you felt a blush creep from under the collar of your blouse.
“Thank you.” Sy suddenly smiled and the threatening air that had surrounded him a second ago, was gone immediately. “May I walk you to your car?”
“Julie was going to pick me up,” you said without thinking about it.
“Well in that case,” Sy chuckled, “may I offer you a ride home?” You were going to kill Julie. Oh, well. She absolutely would have come and pick you up if the date had been a disaster. And you guessed she knew Sy well enough to know he wasn’t a total creep.
“That would be great, thank you, Sy.”
You talked some more on the way home, which wasn’t long, but you’re pretty sure you took a detour or two on the way there. Since you hadn’t been living here for too long, you couldn’t be completely certain. When you arrived at your house, you secretly hoped for just one more detour. Luckily, Sy got out of his truck to open your door for you, and insisted on walking you to the house. Sy squinted at you, clearly debating whether or not he should say something about the state of the house he was dropping you off at. Eventually he seemed to decide that whatever he had to say probably wasn’t something you didn’t already know.
“I had a great time tonight, Sy,” you said as you hugged him goodbye on the porch.
“Me too, Sugar,” Sy replied with a friendly hint of mischief in his eyes, “mind if I kiss ya?” You let him know that you didn’t mind at all. As his lips came closer and your eyes slowly fell shut, it felt like the ground disappeared from beneath you. Because it did. Fuck! The floorboards of the porch had finally given out. Luckily, Sy was more than capable of keeping you upright and unharmed. He laughed as he put you back down in a place that looked sturdier than the one you were in before, and he pressed a swift but sweet kiss on your cheek. “Ma’am, if you need any repairs on this death-trap of a house of yers, you’ve got my number.”
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ellivenollivander · 9 months
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Okay, love, I’m almost on the Leander train. Give me some of your softest HCs about him. I loved your alphabet about him and I need more. 💛
Thank you so much for giving me a chance to talk about my #1 legacy boy, you know how much I love him. I hope you fall in love with him, too. Special thanks to @imagrindylow for being my emotional support and letting me bounce some ideas off of you. Love our shared Leander Prewett brain. Also thank you @skittish1807 for just, putting up with us honestly. I found the template I used for these to help guide me right here!
Leander Prewett Headcanons
How do they feel about people shorter/taller than them? He is like, annoyingly, tall and he loves to playfully tease his friends and s/o about this fact relentlessly. Like, if he has something they want he’ll dangle it above their head knowing they can’t reach it. 
What are they like on social media? (What’s their username, profile pic, etc.) He’s boring, his handle would truly just be leanderprewett. Profile picture would either be a candid photo his friend or s/o took of him.
Their sexuality? Everyone in the wizarding world is bi, sorry I don’t make the rules ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ However, if that wasn’t the case he would tragically be very straight.
Preferred weather? Blue skies & sunshine. He gets cabin fever very easily and hates being cooped up inside for too long.
What’s their sleeping schedule? He stays up way too late and loves to sleep in when he can. Lazy mornings are his favorite.
Favorite music? Rock, Pop Rock, Indie. He also has a soft spot for classical music and Jazz with his upbringing and family life. Oh, this song reminds me of him very very much.
How’s their cooking? I answered this a bit in my sfw alphabet, but he enjoys cooking. Specifically recipes he grew up with, made by his Mom.
It’s movie night, what movie do they pick? He’s a sucker for romcoms. and if his s/o wants to have a full self care face mask junk food movie night he’s all in. However, he’s also the guy who doesn’t shut up when watching a movie, full of commentary. “Did you know that actor didn’t even want to play this part?” “Gods that CGI is terrible”  “That coffee cup is clearly empty”
How would they hold up in a pillow war? He wouldn’t hold back, and there’s been legendary pillow wars in the Gryffindor dorms. Garreth has been the victim of more than a few smacks across his head from Leanders pillow.
What’s their sleeping position? CONTORTIONIST. LONG GANGLY LIMBS EVERYWHERE.
Who do they go to for comfort? When he was a kid, his grandpa. Then as he grows up, Garreth (they’re besties) and his s/o. It takes him a while to feel comfortable doing so, though and usually the other person notices something is bothering him before he speaks up. They usually have to be the ones to coax him into talking.
Something small that they enjoy?His moms home cooked meals, long walks by the black lake. Riding his broom. A good book.
How do they feel about physical contact by others? Eh. He’s alright with a hug now and again. When it comes to his s/o he’s anti PDA. He does love when his Mom gives him a cheek or forehead smooch.  What is enough to bring them to tears? Failure. In any form. He’s hypersensitive to it as his greatest fear in life is being perceived as a disappointment to his family. (See also: His boggart would be his father).
Biggest pet peeve?Serious pet peeve of his: people who are just willfully ignorant and unwavering in their belief systems. Less serious pet peeve: just… impolite behaviors. Chewing with your mouth open, not saying please/thank you, etc etc etc.
How well do they take care of themselves? Very very well and he prides himself on it. He’s a very clean, well put together person and he always smells good. (@imagrindylow and I even picked out a cologne we think he’d smell like - BOSS Infinite) 
What’s something they like that may be surprising to others?He enjoys the mundane. He finds joy and peace in a very calm, domestic life. He wants the 9-5 office job. He wants to be successful if only to appease his parents and provide for his family. But he wants an easy going, office job that keeps him safe and brings him home to his family every single night.
Do they consider others family? Oh yes. When he has children, all of his close friends will absolutely be considered Aunts and Uncles to them. He absolutely believes family goes beyond blood. Though, those titles and feelings don’t come easily for him and those select few would have to be tried and true friends to him, and the people he cares about. 
Any bad habits that they have? I answered this one a bit, in this post but really just crippling insecurity, overworking himself and jealousy. What’s their idea of a perfect vacation? Anywhere that would give him ample time to spend with and bond with those close to him. Quidditch World Cup with his brothers. Weekend at the lake with his partner and children. In the modern world he’d absolutely be an Amusement Park Dad or think a cross country road trip would be a great bonding experience. (He’s wrong. Everyone cries at least once.) 
Do they get lost easily? Will they ask for directions if they are? He would not get lost easily, the man is over prepared for everything. If he did find himself lost, he would not hesitate to find a local and ask for help. Especially if he had his s/o or children along. (CAN YOU TELL HE’S A FAMILY MAN?)
How well do they accept advice?It depends not only on how close he is with the person giving him advice but also the level of respect he has for them. If he respects the person immensely, he will absolutely accept their advice with gratitude.
How much do they swear?Often, just not loudly. He’ll curse under his breath during an exam or while he’s playing quidditch or summoners court but he’s not one to be dropping f bombs in casual conversation. He’s polite.
How do they take advice given to them?Feeding off of how well they take advice, he would absolutely act on it if he accepted it. Putting his trust in their guidance.
Do they like being in pictures?He doesn’t love having his picture taken alone, but he’ll never say no to capturing memories with people he loves. His desk at work would be absolutely littered in photos of his s/o and children and family.
Is there anything they’re bad at?Emotional regulation lmao boys got a temper.
What’s their morning schedule?As much as he loves to sleep in, he does have a morning routine that if he doesn’t get to complete it’ll put him in a funk for the rest of the day. So he does make sure he gets up with enough time to get it done. He makes his bed (literally every single day), showers, grooms himself (shaving, cologne, etc), he takes his time in getting ready for the day. Not to look good, but to feel good.
Any past injuries? He broke his leg after falling off his broom when he and his brothers were goofing off, when he was a kid. 
Something that disgusts them Runny eggs and the smell of incense (it gives him a headache, which is why he drops divination the second he’s able). 
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despairlyhope · 7 months
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Gojo Satoru x Reader
The One that got away
‘Summer after high school when we first met
We make out in your Mustang to Radiohead
And on my 18th birthday
We got matching tattoos’
that day when our eyes met each other, we got influenced with such strange emotions surging through inside our mortal bodies. i felt cupid's arrow impact on me as aphrodite graced us with her presence and a feeling called, “love”.
we clicked— the red strings of fate intertwined our destiny using the thread that the divine has woven and bestowed upon our sacred passion for one another.
‘Used to steal your parents'
liquor and climb to the roof’
you were immature and childish— until now, however, it was one of your charms that made me fall deeper into the void of your ocean eyes. failing to grasp anything as I got lost in the sea within your sight. you were cocky and bratty but it made you, annoyingly handsome that i almost put you up for some ransom. you are so confident and reassuring us about our lives yet you can't even take care of your being— allow me to guide you with my whole life.
'Talk about our future like we had a clue
Never planned that one day, I'd be losing you’
our love was blossoming like the flowers in spring, promising to one another that we shan't be torn apart— that symbolizes our feelings are strong enough to withstand the storms, earthquakes, tsunamis, asteroids, and other disasters as the sky falls, we will stand tall in the hand of each other. we promised to protect and support one another— laughed and cried with you, never worrying about the outcomes or whatever lies ahead of us, the story that destiny prepared.
‘In another life
I would be your girl
We keep all our promises
Be us against the world’
satoru, i am deeply sorry for leaving you all alone. i fought hard enough against the enemy but their power was stronger than mine. nevertheless, they might have overpowered me but my love for you is powerful enough for me not to forget and think about you. i'm sorry for not keeping our oaths, i'm so sorry for dragging our unborn child with me– it didn't get to see the outside world and witness its mesmerizing beauty. maybe in another life, we'll meet again, in a world where we live normally– happily married, have a family, and us.
‘In another life.
I would make you stay
So I don't have to say
You were the one that got away
The one that got away’
in another life, i would still be your girl. we will stay together as you are my 'the one that got away' while i'm your 'the one that got away' but this time in our next life, we shan't let one another get away like in our previous timeline, we will hold onto each other tightly– on your loving arms, keeping me from harm. providing me with warmth and tenderness. we love you, satoru. we will see each other shortly in another life.
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shabriri · 24 days
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This is just a draft of sorts of a little fantasy tale. I love DnD, The Witcher, Tolkien, Elder Scrolls and much more, so this is like a tidbit of my own little world. It feels more complete in my head and much more real, so this is still a work in progress until I’m able to truly find the words I feel can build my world to it’s fullest. So for now it’s really just what I could manage to write down in my precious free time.
Down the forested road came a large wagon, pulled by two horses. A very unique wagon it was, made of a lovely dark wood, decorated on the roof with a lavender cloth and along the sides with golden engravings. The Starlight Express was making its way to its newest destination. Outside stepped the nomadic merchant, Astelia D’Norr, Star of The North. A tall, red headed woman with a strong build and emerald green eyes. The nomad took a glance around the area, as she was seeking new riches in the Kingdom of Vulkov. Rather recently, a nobleman had passed away within the Kingdom and had been buried in a family tomb nearby. This greatly benefited Astelia as her primary source of income was none other than grave robbing. The only problem with this tomb is that it has been deemed “unrobbable”.
For the past month that the Count has been buried there have already been more then 10 failed attempts to rob the tomb, all those who enter never come out. Rumors claim that the burial site is a maze of sorts, impossible to solve. That was until now. Astelia was filled with the upmost determination to get her hands on the gold that filled those catacombs.
“Shouldn’t be too far from here” she assured herself as she glanced down at her map.
“Wouldn’t be the first time you wandered off path.” Spoke another voice, deeper and with a thick accent.
“That’s funny coming from you” she annoyingly replied with…to her sword. She had stopped in her tracks and unsheathed her sword. The sword itself was rather regal looking, the hilt and guard were black and wore an intricate golden design, the hilt wrapped within a purple fabric of sorts and was capable of being wielded with either one or both hands. The blade itself had a sort of bluish tint to it, made from a rare metal found up north, though none of that would compare to what was actually within the blade.
“You know not of what you speak, youngling” the man defended himself
Astelia scoffed and continued her search. It was a shame that her only company was a cursed sword. Not just any cursed sword, but cursed with the spirit of her own ancestor. The magic blade had been passed down for generations after its original owner and current spectral resident, Ulfrit, was trapped within it. From the sword he can communicate and see the world, the world which he has seen change greatly over each generation with the current one being his least favorite. Mostly due to the attitude of his current wielder.
“Your story has been passed down for ages, Grandpa Ulfrit” Astelia said, though Ulfrit’s title would have a few greats in it. “Ulfrit The Great, The Legendary, The Savior, The Hero, The Undefeated.” She then continued, mockingly, “The Terrible, The Forgotten, The Enslaver, The Villain. You were no savior, no champion. You threw all that away after your conquest of Nurden, an unjust war you waged over what? Women? Jewelry? It was your lust and pride that caused that witch to lay a curse upon you. The Enchantress of Nurden can’t be reasoned with and yet you still knowingly angered her…” Astelia ended her rant, visibly flustered with her ancestor after giving him quite the history lesson.
The sword had no words to rebuke anything she had said. He was left embarrassed and shamed. His descendant was open with her thoughts and would not hesitate to argue with him, as they often did. As the time passed, Astelia had made her way to the Tomb of A’thelon, the fallen members of The House of A’thelon’s new home. A home she was going to rob.
“Tread carefully” The sword warned her
“These hairy fuckers have been around forever. They are sure to be well protected”
This was one of the few times Astelia had agreed with him. The family had a reputation for their rather long lifespans, much longer than most of the Simos people. The House of A’thelon was a royal bloodline, their blood was purer and thus their lives would be long, but not as unnaturally as they had been since the days of Ulfrit.
Upon encroaching on the grand tomb, Astelia noticed a Distinct lack of guards. This was quite the troubling discovery for her.
As her ancestor began to suggest that she turn around, she sheathed the sword to shut him up and pushed forth, very cautiously. Was it due to lack of luck or just by chance that the moment she sheathed her blade she was struck in the back of the head. The blow was enough to disorientate her, but not knock her unconscious.
“Who the fuck-!”
Upon turning around she was greeted by an armored skeleton, wielding a thick wooden stick. The skeleton donned a mail coif and hauberk, visibly one could tell it had seen years of battle. The existence of an undead thrall would suggest the work of necromancy, meaning that the journey just got much more complicated. As she examined the skeleton, the skull instantly gave away that it was not human. It was of Simos origin. The other give away was the bony tail that was flying right towards her, with a dagger being held within it. She instinctively drew her sword and proceeded to parry the dagger, knocking the tail aside and following up with a thrust towards the skull. The simian skeleton had collapsed right then and there, rather weak and likely the spawn of a lower necromancer.
“We’re dealing with a sorcerer of sorts” muttered the sword “Beware it’s witchcraft and tricks, wielders of arcane forces are not to be reckoned with”
Astelia nodded her head and pushed on forward into the tomb, the further down she went the cooler the air got. At some point a thick mist had started forming, seeming originating from a pair of giant metal door where the mist seemed to originate from. Donning the A’thelon family crest which was split in half between the doors. On the crest was a quartered shield displaying a sword, a crown, a tower and a Simo. They had warmongering origins that could be traced to the elder days where kingdoms were not her formed and only warring tribes had wandered.
Stepping forth, Astelia planted her palms against each door and gave a hefty push, parting the two and allowing for the mist to blow out strongly. Covering her face from the force of the foul mist, she was overtaken by the stench, it reeked of rot and decay. As she raised her head, she saw seven figures gathered, all startled by her presence. In the middle of them was the recently deceased Count. The sorcerers prepared to make their stand against such an intrusion…
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wilcze-kudly · 3 months
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Should I finish this fic about lil Kuvira's first day in Zaofu?
Found in the dephts of my notes app
The wooden waggon her family used had always been uncomfortable, being the rickety, unstable old thing that it was. But today, under the sweltering sun, it seemed particularly incommodious to her, especially paired with Father's angry ramblings.
- Your mother and I have have tried to get through to you, Kuvira, but you refuse to listen! - he admonished, repeating things she'd heard thousands of times before. - You have no discipline! No remorse for what you did! -
That wasn't true! Kuvira bit her lip. She had apologised, it had been an accident... It was Mother and Father who refused to listen! And Mother hadn't said sorry for grabbing Kuvira's wrist so hard it bruised, or for pulling her hair... Kuvira hadn't meant to throw that rock as hard as she did, hadn't meant to break Mother's ribs.
They approached the strangest city Kuvira had ever seen. Huge metal petals spread over the lush green valley, revealing tall, glistening towers that jutted into the annoyingly bright sky. This looked nothing like the village Kuvira came from, nothing like its clay houses and dirt roads.
Father continued berating her, motioning at the metal city with his chin. - There's a master metalbender here, who agreed to take you off our hands. - he said and Kuvira firmly stared down at her feet and the worn planks of the waggon. She wanted to scream. -Hopefully, she can knock some sense into you. And remember, this is for your own good.-
Kuvira sort of hated her parents at the moment, but that didn't mean she wanted them to leave her with a total stranger. She didn't want Mother and Father to drop her off here like they dropped off the pickens they raised and sold to the local butcher!
She didn't want to have any sense knocked into her, either! It didn't sound very pleasant. She swore to herself that she'd hate the evil metalbender who was going to take her away from the only home and life she knew.
She was chased out of the waggon, despite her clear reluctance. She clutched her small sack of belongings in her small, but already calloused by work hands. There wasn't much in it, to be honest. Two spare shirts and a pair of trousers, along with five pairs of socks and underwear. She had been allowed to take three toys with her and Father sold the rest the day before her departure.
She'd yelled and stomped her feet, of course, but it was no use. She might have been the strongest earthbender in the village, but she was still just eight, after all. Father had dragged her back home, grip painfully tight on her shoulder. He said he had sold her toys to pay for a healer to come take care of mother and then he told her to pack what was left of her things.
That's how Kuvira had been informed that her own parents were getting rid of her.
Father turned the waggon around so fast that Kuvira didn't even have the chance to say goodbye to Patchy, the old, balding ostrich horse that had served her family long before she had been born. Bitterly, she remarked to herself that Patchy was probably more of a family member to her parents than she ever was. At least Patchy did what he was told.
Kuvira stood in front of the weird city, looking up at it in... awe wasn't the right word, but neither was apathy. She just didn't feel like feeling anything other than the nervous gnawing at her stomach.
She didn't want to be here, she wanted to be back home! Even if Father and Mother took all her toys or made her work on the farm until her hands bled again.
She wondered if there was still time for her to bolt. Maybe she could make her own way home, or maybe she should run away altogether. Any course of action in the world seemed better than having to go with the evil, evil metalbender.
A clanging sound signaled the sealing of her fate as the odd, metal gate opened and a figure stepped out.
The metalbender did not look very evil.
In fact, she looked like one of those travelling acrobats and dancers that sometimes came to the village to perform for coin. Thin and willowy and covered in odd metal jewellery, her graceful limbs obscured by the green folds of a weird robe. With the circlet upon her head, peeking out from under wavy, jet black hair, she looked like some manner of royalty. At least she did to Kuvira, who, notedly, had never encountered any royalty.
- You must be Kuvira. It's nice to meet you. - the lady said cordially, the corners of her sharp but gentle eyes turned upwards by a soft smile that formed on her lips.
Kuvira remained obstinately silent, lifting the dirty sack to her chest, as if it could somehow protect her from her uncertain future.
The lady crouched down, so she was more or less at Kuvira's eye level. Her smile wavered a little, though it didn't leave her face completely. - My name is Suyin. But you can call me Su. - she tried again, reaching a dainty hand out for Kuvira to take.
Kuvira stayed still, furrowing her brows. The lady seemed nice, but Kuvira was here to have some sense knocked into her, if Father's words were to be believed. She didn't trust the lady, no matter how nice she seemed. After all, she was still taking Kuvira away from her home and family.
- You'll be safe here, I promise. - Su assured, as if she could read Kuvira's mind. She seemed so calm, content to stay crouched before Kuvira indefinitely, until the little girl was ready to take her hand.
Kuvira hesitantly took Su's hand, making her smile widen. Though Su's hands were much smaller than Father or Mother's, her thin, deft fingers still wrapped completely around Kuvira's tiny hand.
The woman stood slowly, making no sudden movements, as if Kuvira were a small animal that could be easily startled into turning tail. She gently led Kuvira towards the gate and into the metal city.
So maybe this was not the worst course of action in the world.
----+
Kuvira should probably have been looking around the city more, but she couldn't bring herself to spare it more than a cursory glance. Most of the buildings had a lot of metal incorporated into them, the clean streets were littered with small shops and full of people who wore robes similar to Su's.
Su had been walking rather slowly, letting Kuvira look around at her own leisure. Not like Father, who walked so fast that Kuvira had to constantly jog behind him, so her little eight year old self wouldn't be left behind.
Eventually, they reached a train station and Su beckoned her onboard. Kuvira had never been on a train before, and she couldn't help but kneel on her seat, nose pressed to the windowpane as the train pulled out of the city and made its way towards a similar, smaller metal flower.
She turned to look at Su questioningly. The woman followed her gaze, before explaining. -The city is made out of a few sectors and the monorail connects them. - she said, then she pointed to the 'sector' they were currently headed to. - That one there is where my family and I live, and so will you. -
- Family?- Kuvira asked incredulously. It hadn't occured to her that the metalbender could have a family.
Su beamed. - Oh yes, my family. My husband and our children. Your new siblings. - she added and Kuvira mulled her words over. She wasn't sure if she wanted any siblings. She opted to once again focus on what was behind the window.
Wide expanses of green, lush meadows with flowers dotted here and there and a far off river in the distance. And, of course, the form of... well, of Kuvira's new home, apparently, glinting in the sunlight.
The train reached its destination much sooner than Kuvira would've hoped it would, but she compliantly hopped off her seat. Su reached to pick up Kuvira's sack for her, but the little girl hurriedly snatched it away. It was her sack, her things! Su arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, simply motioning for Kuvira to follow her.
They stepped out of the train and onto a large courtyard, filled with vibrant greenery and stone or metal decorations. At the far end of the area was a huge house and apparently that's where Su and her family lived.
- I took the liberty of picking out a room for you, I hope you don't mind. - Su said as they walked to the house. Kuvira shook her head, and the metalbender continued. - It's rather close to mine and my husband's, so if you need anything, don't be afraid to knock, alright?-
- Alright. - Kuvira answered absentmindedly as they reached the door to the house.
Su smiled at her and stepped into the house, Kuvira right behind her. The metalbender stood still for a moment, cocking her head, before turning to her small companion. - My family are in the living room right now. - she announced and Kuvira frowned.
- How do you know?- she asked suspiciously.
Su smiled mysteriously. - Seismic sense. - she answered airily, leading Kuvira down the hallway. - I can use earthbending to 'see' my surroundings and tell where things are.-
Kuvira's eyes widened and her jaw dropped just a little. - You can do that?-she breathed. She'd, of course, been told that this woman was a master metalbender, but Kuvira hadn't exactly considered what such mastery entails.
Su chuckled softly. - Yes. My mother taught my sister and I when we were very young.- something sad and wistful crossed her relaxed features, lips curling ever so slightly downwards.
But Kuvira paid that no mind, too engrossed in the next question that tumbled from her lips. - Can... Can I learn to do it?-
Su ruffled the girl's hair, smile eclipsing the sunlight that wafted through the wide windows. - Of course, sweetie. As soon as you get comfortable living here. - she assured and that gave Kuvira more stability than she'd ever had. - Would you like to meet your new family now?-
Kuvira chewed her lip. She supposed she'd have to meet the rest of the house's inhabitants at some point... And Su seemed to really love her family. Kuvira didn't want to offend the woman and have the offer of learning seismic sense retracted the moment it had been given to her.
She nodded faintly and Su beamed, clasping her hands together. - Perfect!- she exclaimed, gently steering Kuvira down another corridor. - They already know you're coming, so you don't have to worry about being a surprise.-
Kuvira wanted to ask how many kids Su had, or anything else of the sort, but her attention was quickly drawn to voices, muffled and quiet, but rapidly becoming louder and more clear.
- Junior, dear, don't chew on your pencil.- a man's soft voice admonished quietly.
- Sorry, papa. - came the sheepish answer of a young boy.
- Papa, keep reading!- urged a little girl's voice. The man chuckled.
- Well, Opal, why don't you help me read it?-
- No, papa! I wanna listen to YOU read it!- the girl squealed, just as Su and Kuvira reached the door.
Su confidently swung the door open, to be met by a chorus of many little voices exclaiming: 'Mommy!!!'
- Hello, darlings! - Su gracefully slipped through the door, Kuvira hot on her heels, almost hiding behind the woman, in the folds of her robe.
- Good to see you, dearest.- the man said softly, his voice was warm and steady. - Did...-
- Yes.- Su replied his unanswered question, stepping aside a little, revealing Kuvira to the world. Immediately, several pairs of moss green eyes settled on the newcomer and suddenly, Kuvira wanted to leave very much. But Su placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. - Everyone, this Kuvira. She'll be part of our family from today. -
- It's very good to meet you, Kuvira. - the man was sitting on a couch, with a kindly, inviting smile. He closed a thin, colourful book and placed it in his lap. He leant in a little. - We've all been very excited to meet you, right kids?-
A couple awkward murmurs sounded from here and there. Kuvira shuffled her feet in discomfort. - Hello. - she finally hummed, tightly gripping her sack. Su lightly patted her back, as if commending her for finding her voice.
Someone approached Kuvira from her left and she snapped her head to look up. It was a boy, her age, with shaggy dark brown hair falling down onto his sun-kissed forhead and curious green eyes observing her from behind angular glasses. - Hi... uh, hello, Kuvira. - he smiled, extending his hand. - I'm Baatar. It's nice to meet you.-
Before Kuvira could even consider shaking his hand, another, more high-pitched voice corrected: - Your name isn't Baatar! It's Junior!- it came from a small boy, no older than three, who was cheerfully and confidently trotting up to the pair of older children.
- Shut up, Wing.- Baatar hissed through his teeth, before glancing at Kuvira and faltering. - I'm actually Baatar Jr. - he admitted sheepishly.
- And I'm Wing!- announced the little boy, flinging his arms around Kuvira's waist with a huge, toothy grin. Kuvira stiffened, but didn't exactly want to push him away in front of his parents.
- And that's Huan!- he motioned towards a gloomy looking boy, who was seated in an armchair, limbs splayed out haphazardly. At least, Kuvira thought he was a boy, his hair was somewhat long and she couldn't really tell with those long, odd robes everyone was wearing.
In lieu of a greeting, Huan offered a grumble, before turning back to whatever strange metal item he'd been nursing in his hands. Rude.
Wing tugged at the hem of Kuvira's shirt to get her attention again. - And that's Opal! And Wei! - he pointed at the two little tufts of jet black hair, crowding against their father.
The first was the only girl, hiding behind the biggest stuffed toy Kuvira had ever seen. The huge fluffy air bison almost completely obscured her small frame. There was also a boy, identical to Wing, curious mossy eyes peeking over his father's shoulder. Su's husband smiled, gently nudging the pair towards Kuvira. - Come on, you two, say hello to your new sister.-
- She's not my sister!- Opal snapped suddenly. And though Kuvira kind of agreed with her, she could tell by the look in the younger girl's eyes that it was meant as an insult. Kuvira scowled at her new 'little sister' who did much the same.
- Now, Opal, be nice. - Su gently berated, crossing the room and settling next to her daughter. - Kuvira joining our family doesn't mean we love you any less. - she reminded gently, hugging the girl.
For the first time, Kuvira wasn't next to Su and she was mortified to realise that it frightened her. She held onto her sack for dear life.
- Wei, would you like to say hello to Kuvira?- Su's husband asked gently. The boy who looked like Wing nodded slowly. He gave Kuvira a shy little wave, before shuffling behind his father again.
- Don't mind them. - Baatar Jr comforted, adjusting his glasses. - Opal's just jealous that she's not going to be the only girl anymore.-
- Not true!- shrilled Opal, mustering a surprisingly fierce glare.
- Totally true! - Wing chirped, still glued to Kuvira's side. He glanced up at her curiously. -Hey, can you earthbend? Mommy said you can earthbend!-
It took Kuvira a moment to find her voice again. - Yeah, I can earthbend.- she confirmed, though she hadn't done so since the incident with Mother.
Wing cheered incoherently. - Cool! Can I see? Can you metalbend? When did you learn? Huan can bend, but he does it boring and he never shows us anything cool! Do you do fun bending?!- he went on a tirade, disregarding an offended gasp from Huan. Kuvira's brain barely kept up with him.- I haven't started bending yet, but I will and then I'll be just like mommy and grandma Toph!-
- Me too! Me too!- announced Wei, his shyness defeated by the prospect of a sibling that did not use bending just for 'boring things'. He clambered out from behind his father, wide eyes locked onto his twin and newly adopted sister.
Baatar scoffed, crossing his arms. - Like you two aren't enough trouble without the ability to throw boulders around with your minds. - he grumbled, rocking on his heels.
Wing rounded on his brother, releasing Kuvira and hopping about the room. -You're just jealous because you can't fo ittt~ he singsang mockingly, bounding in circles around the two older kids.
Baatar smacked him up the head. - See, you know nothing about general history. - he took a deep breath and lifted his index finger. -While non earthbenders can't throw boulders via traditional means, technology bridges the gaps between us more and more. Like the catapults that the Fire Nation used during the Hundred Year War. Those launched rocks, no earthbending required. - he recited as if he were reading from a book, looking down his nose at Wing.
Wing was not impressed. - Boring! - he decided, still spinning around. - Grandma didn't use cata.... cata... - he furrowed his brows, clearly struggling with the new word. -... the things! I'm gonna be an earthbender like her and then I'm gonna be the strongest!-
Something vaguely malicious crossed Baatar's face, a menacing arch to his brow. - Oh yeah?- he lilted, leaning in. - You're gonna be the strongest?- he teased, grabbing Wing under the arms and tossing the three year old into the air before catching him. - You've got a long way to go then!-
Wing shrieked, kicking his legs and flailing his arms in futile attempts to escape his big brother's hold. Baatar Jr laughed madly through his smug grin.
Behind a discombobulated Kuvira, Huan muttered something condescending and rolled his eyes.
Wing's luck turned when Wei came to his rescue, leaping from the couch, straight onto Baatar's back with a shrill battlecry. The force of his charge sent the trio sprawling onto the soft carpet, still locked in a fierce wrestling match. For a boy outnumbered, Baatar was doing pretty well for himself, until Wei sat on his arm.
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diorsbrando · 2 years
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cw ! ━━ modern au. black + thick coded reader, fem! reader. characters are aged up 18+ (imagine him how he looked in naruto: the last movie). mostly sfw content. suggestive scenarios. undertones of nsfw. fluffy softness. established relationship. naruto’s in love :)
word count ! ━━ 1.3k
notes ! ━━ i was binge watching shippuden last night and i just... yeah that’s where this idea came from. pure impulse. i definitely think he’s the soft kind of boyfie to do this <3 not entirely proofread, but i did my best so excuse any errors. reblogs are heavily appreciated! 
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   NARUTO UZUMAKI IS THE KIND of boyfriend who would sneak through your window into your bedroom at 1 am because he missed you so much. . .  even though the last time you saw him was mere hours ago when you and your friends went out to see a movie and drive around the city.
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 you put the plate of oatmeal raisin cookies and cup of apple juice down as you checked your phone that laid down on the disheveled comforter of your bed spread. it was 1:34 a.m., much too late to be snacking on anything, but you didn’t care. food always seemed to taste better in the dead of night when you’re about to settle in and watch something.
before getting comfortable in the bed, you made your way to your large vanity mirror and slipped off your bonnet so you can re-tie your scarf a little tighter on your head, before intricately wrapping your hair back into the protective, soft shield of your bonnet. 
just as you turned around, the silhouette of a tall, male body appeared in your peripheral vision, thoroughly scaring you━ until you realized who it was. and then your body broke out into a cold sweat, the muscle in your chest beating incessantly for other reasons. not entirely because you were excited to see him.
“n-naruto? what the hell are you doing?!” you whisper-yelled from the other side of the glass. you muttered incoherents while unlocking the window, extending your hand so you can let him inside as quietly as possible. he wasn’t entirely listening to your harsh scolding. he was too busy staring at you... in an old t-shirt of his that he left here months ago, and his eyes naturally drifted down to hour bare, luscious legs. the blonde could feel his heart skip a beat when he noticed you weren’t wearing any bottoms underneath.
your annoyed groan pulled him out of the trance caused by you and your effortless beauty. “huh? what’d you say?”
“i said,” you started off in a stern tone, but it softened gradually the longer you stared at your blue-eyed boyfriend. you felt your body grown warm from the inside out the longer you pondered on the fact he came all the way here at this hour, just to see you. you’d always loved how much of a sweetheart he could be. still, your anxieties that someone, your mother perhaps, would hear the window open or all the extra movement coming from your room.
so you had to ask. “what are you doing here? i don’t want you to get in trouble because you snuck up here.” yes, you said you didn’t want him to get in trouble, and not yourself. it was true that your family did think he was a nice guy, but that trust and cordial behavior could quickly be ripped from under him had they found out that he came up to your room so late━ you parents were strict and annoyingly overbearing in that way.
all your worrisome thoughts immediately evaporated from your mind when you felt his rough but warm palms slip under your━ his━ shirt and pulled you against his own body. he didn’t waste any time to dip his neck down slightly and capture your lips in a saccharine kiss. it only lasted for a few seconds before naruto pulled back from your mouth, but only a little that his lips still brushed against your own while he talked. “...i missed my pretty girl. can’t i come see her?”
his voice slipped into a husky whisper that strip your legs of any strength it had embedded in their bones, and caused that familiar pool of arousal to build up in between your legs. you had a silky reply for him in mind, but as soon as your gaze met the deep, blue pools that were his eyes, the words suddenly got caught in your throat. the way he stared down at you, as if you were a constellation in the sky, all wide eyed and bright and shining. he marveled at your beauty, lost in the velvety nature of your voice, of the curve of your lips, the way your skin felt against his touch. you were naruto’s entire world, and he’d go to whatever lengths to see you, to see those pretty eyes and stunning smile; and he didn’t care what anyone had to say about him.
his longing stare overwhelmed you, it forced you to look back down at the nike logo of the black hoodie that clung loosely to his taut chest. “y-yeah...” that’s the only thing that you were capable of saying without embarrassing yourself. your cheeks already felt like they were on fire. and all he did was look at you like that, with those lidded eyes and that shadow of a smirk.
you couldn’t see the sly, cheeky grin that resulted from said smirk, nor did you see his pointed canines peek out from his smile. with no warning, the hands laying limply on your waist traveled southwards to the backs of your thighs, and with a soft grunt and a hum, he lifted you up with hardly any effort at all.
reflexively, your legs locked around his waist and your arms circled around his neck, holding onto his hoodie for dear life. you had to cover your mouth to muffle the yelp that was a millisecond away from leaping out from behind your lips. you stared anxiously at the ground, increasingly worried he would trip on something or stub his toe in your dimly lit room because he was too busy peppering chaste kisses on your neck and collarbone.
shockingly, he made it to your bed unscathed, and you felt him set you down on your message gently. you hesitantly unhooked your limbs from his body so he can take off his hooded sweatshirt, leaving him in only a white wifebeater, his muscled arms on display. flinging it somewhere on your desk chair, he climbed onto your bed and over the covers, snuggling in as if he were in his own bed in his own room.
“well, you surely got comfortable,” you commented cheekily as you got under the blankets as well. your 1am snack sat on your night stand, growing cold an abandoned.
“mmhm, sure did. c’mere real quick.” naruto didn’t even give you an opportunity to process what he said, let alone reply, as he pulled your body even closer to his own, until you sat on his pelvis. you were basically straddling him.
your perfectly arched eyebrow quirked upwards in intrigue, a teasing smile threatening to pull on your face. as if they belonged there, your hands lazily trailed up and down his thinly covered chest, and then wormed its way under the material of his undershirt to trace the grooves and creases of his surprisingly well defined abs. with the way he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, you could tell he enjoyed it.
staring up at you like this, not doing anything but blinking, breathing, existing in nothing but his tattered t-shirt and dark colored panties, he couldn’t find it in him to look away from you. “you’re beautiful. so fucking gorgeous. . . and all fucking mine.” 
his voice almost came out in a growl, and it left your essence to further drip and coat the part of your underwear that constantly rubbed against your sex. now it was your turn to look away embarrassed, biting your lip. naruto didn’t always curse like that, only when he was too deep in his emotions, whether it was excitement, anger... or intense passion. that amorous look in his eyes was enough to make you short of breath.
a firm hand came down on your plump, somewhat naked ass as he sat upwards, leaning forward to give you another kiss that was much more fervent than before. you whined into your lip-locked embrace, a wordless sign the blonde knew meant that you wanted him to do it again━ that you wanted more.
it was times like this, way past 1 am with pale moon hanging behind the clouds, where the both of you wished time would freeze, that the world stopped spinning, just so he can be stuck in this moment with you forever. right now. you were all that he needed.
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あ taglist ━━ @yamaguchism @aaphroditeeeee @salimcity @h34rt4u @deathskid @nekoriots @hellavile
( wanna be tagged in more naruto works and my other content? click here ! )
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Bracket F Round 1
Poll 18
Rider (@exist101) vs. Jules (@axebreaker)
355. Rider (@exist101)
She/her
Rider was adopted by the number 1 hero Tara, who if you don't know is a horrible person. She grew up surrounded by tragedies and seeing the problems of the world. She ended part of an unnamed group of heroes including Wolf, Beatrice, and Thomas, and ends up the second to last person to leave thanks to Tara. Tara does eventually go missing too, so at least there's that. Eventually Rider got her hands on Posedeon's trident and decided that with that power she was finally able to leave without being worried she'd be targeted. And she ends up becoming a villain too!
There's more I plan to detail when I make more vids for her
Also propaganda if she wins or at least makes it to the final round
She's a tall bird person based on a snowy owl, with sunset colored eyes. Pre-corruption her hair is shorter and more put together, post she's much more messy and angry. The picture I chose is post-corruption because she's a lot of fun. She also wore Tara's old crown, but not anymore.
356. Jules (@axebreaker)
he/him
Jules is a detective's apprentice and is overly cocky with a penchant of getting in trouble. He marches to the beat of his own drum, and often slacks on the job simply because he doesn't want to do it.  He is annoyingly attractive and likes to get under people's skin for fun. Obviously Jules has a troubled backstory, wherein he had a shitty family and he fled to rename himself and start a new life. Because of his rough childhood, he always feels the need to put on a facade and desperately clings to the idea of living the way he wants to so he can finally have a fulfilling life.
Jules has problems with authority but respects his mentor immensely. His bestie is a lesbian so he's a feminist ally! He loves sunny weather so much it turns him into a nicer person. His favorite animal is the crocodile and his dream is to go to Gatorland. Jules ruined my life so please vote for him it'd boost his ego
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