#she hardly ever lets her emotions on the surface

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part Eight)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Smut, Age-Gap, Daddy Issues

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Later in the evening, you arrived at Cillian's and Danielle's holiday house in Cork with your parents. You all sat down, grieving, while Danielle opened a bottle of wine, offering it to everyone. You sat down with the group, sipping the smooth, dark red liquid as it slid down your throat. Conversation flowed easily, topics shifting from the funeral earlier that day to lighter subjects like movies and travel. But inevitably and unbeknownst to everyone else, your thoughts kept returning to the intimate moments you shared with Cillian.

Your mother, Sarah, seemed focused on the work messages that popped up on her phone, her attention drawn to the task at hand. Danielle, too, was lost in conversation with your stepfather Frank who appeared to be rather annoyed by his brother's wife's continuous antics. The air between them was dense and yet, the room hummed with conversation while a sense of unease hung in the air, subtle enough to go unnoticed by most, yet ever present to those who cared to notice.

Cillian often smiled at you in a way that was hardly appropriate, giving you a knowing look. It was as if he wanted you to know that you would always belong to him, regardless of whether it was behind closed doors or not. This thought brought a flush of both pride and embarrassment, causing you to look away, pretending to engage in conversation with the others.

Danielle glanced around the room occasionally, her eyes searching for something she couldn't quite grasp. She was oblivious to the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface, unaware of the bond between Cillian and you. And yet, she knew that something was up. Her husband was cheating again, and she needed to know who with.

There was no doubt about it now, but she didn't have concrete evidence, nor would she have expected you to be the one he was with.

The connection between you and Cillian was so subtle that nobody but you would recognize it and you even went as far as to pick up the phone and text him while he was sitting right across from you.

The rest of the company in the room did not suspect anything amiss; they only observed that you were slightly preoccupied.

"This suit you are wearing looks divine," you wrote to Cillian while looking around nervously, trying to divert any suspicion. He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment before taking a sip of his wine.

After a second or two, he typed up a response while ensuring that Danielle did not notice what he was doing.

"So is your dress and the fact that I know that you are not wearing any underwear beneath it now makes it even more appealing," came the reply which ultimately made you blush.

You looked around the room once more, satisfied that nobody noticed your exchange with Cillian before texting him again.

Feeling a bit anxious while texting, you stole another glance at Cillian, observing the play of emotion across his face – desire mixed with calculation. It made you realize just how much power he held over you. He understood exactly what buttons to push to get you where he wanted you.

"Will I get to spend some more time with you after everyone goes to sleep?" you texted back, suppressing a smile as you waited for his answer.

Cillian's thumbs flew over his phone, conveying his agreement in mere seconds.

"Absolutely. I will sneak into your bedroom after my wife has fallen asleep," Cillian wrote back, grinning ferally.

You felt a thrill course through your body at the thought of being alone with him again and of having him inside you while his very own wife was asleep next door.

"And what will you do to me after you sneak into my bedroom?" you flirtatiously teased, letting the excitement show clearly in your eyes.

Cillian grinned broadly when he read your message.

"First, I will lick that cum from earlier out of your pussy," he replied suggestively, running his tongue seductively along his bottom lip and your skin prickled with awareness as the image of him doing that to you.

"And then, I will put my cock back inside you and fuck you till you can't walk straight tomorrow," Cillian continued to text, making your stomach somersault with anticipation.

You gasped enthusiastically, already wet and excited just thinking about his words just as your mother Sarah spoke up, telling you to get of your phone.

You quickly turned off your cellphone and nodded at your mom as she handed you a glass of wine. As soon as you got the chance, you picked up your mobile again, typing another steamy message to Cillian.

"Are you serious?! Are you really going to come into my room tonight??!" You pressed send and immediately looked around the room to make sure none of the adults could see what you were doing. However, there was still a part of you that craved the risky element of potentially getting caught.

Without missing a beat, Cillian answered your question.

"Yes, baby. I will slip into your room, undetected, and ravish you for hours." He let out a low laugh, watching as you squirmed in your seat. His smirk said it all - that he had you hooked, completely under his control. No matter how wrong it might seem, you found yourself desiring him even more than you had before.

"You are on your phone again," your mother suddenly pointed out before apologising to everyone else in the room. "Y/N is seeing someone I think," Sarah then mentioned casually in her drunken kind of state.

You winced slightly, realizing that your cover may be blown and began to blush.

"Mum, please," you pleaded while Cillian put away his phone and smiled.

"Oh yeah?" he asked teasingly, causing you to cringe. "Who is the lucky guy?" he wanted to know while everyone watched intently.

Feeling cornered, you hesitated briefly before deciding to play it cool. "Just someone from school," you stated nonchalantly, trying to maintain your composure despite your racing heart.

"She won't tell us, but that's okay," your mother told the others, laughing lightly.

"Yes, because it is nothing serious," you told your mother while Cillian furrowed his eyebrows. 

"You know what? I should introduce to the son of our new neighbors one day. His name is Max and he is rather good looking. He is 22 and studies law at Trinity," Danielle then suggested, catching everybody's attention including yours. "What do you mean by 'rather good looking', Danielle?" Sarah queried, intrigued.

"Well, he's tall, athletic, with lovely green eyes...the type that would make anybody stop and take a second look," Danielle elaborated further, painting a vivid picture in everyone's minds except yours.

"Maybe we could set something up?" Sarah offered jokingly, showing interest in playing matchmaker for you just as Cillian jumped in.

"I don't think he is that good looking Danielle. Despite, he is a little arrogant, wouldn't you say?" Cillian remarked, raising his brow at Danielle as he took a drink of his wine.

"He seems charming enough, Cillian," Danielle commented casually while Cillian shook his head.

"I am sure Y/N can do better than Max O'Connor," Cillian told his wife, sending a wink your way and you realized that there may have been a hint of jealousy in this voice.

Cillian did not seem to like the idea of you potentially seeing anybody else besides him. Even if that wasn't necessarily true in reality, the situation provided fertile ground for drama and conflict.

Meanwhile, Danielle ignored the comment and carried on changing the topic to discuss various legal matters related to the death of their mutual aunt. All throughout these proceedings, your mind constantly drifted back to Cillian and your impending rendezvous.

As the hours passed, the party finally started breaking up, leaving everyone exhausted. Everyone retired to their respective rooms, signaling the end of social interactions for the night.

Soon after you retreated to your room, the house grew quiet save for occasional creaks coming from the floorboards. Your heart raced with anticipation as you slipped out of your clothes and put on a thin silk nightgown that hugged your curves seductively.

You then settled on the bed with a book and began to read to kill time, knowing full well that you weren't actually interested in reading. Instead, your gaze kept wandering to the clock ticking softly beside your bed. The silence within the room seemed deafening, amplifying every sound. It appeared as though time stood still as you anxiously awaited his arrival.

Finally, the moment arrived. Quiet footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you instinctively recognized those steps as belonging to Cillian. As he approached your room, his breathing quickened, betraying his mounting excitement.

With silent precision, he entered your room, shutting the door behind him without making a single noise. The sight of Cillian standing in the dim moonlight sent shivers down your spine, as he stood there, wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Kleins.

His skin glistened lightly with sweat, highlighting his slender but toned physique. Your breath hitched involuntarily, your heartbeat escalating rapidly. This man knew exactly how to ignite fire within you. Inhaling sharply, he moved closer towards your bed, his intent clear.

"Danielle is asleep, but we need to be quiet," he said after he reached the bed and, with a swift motion, Cillian pulled your nightgown over your head, exposing your naked form beneath him.

Desire coursed through your veins as he traced lazy circles along your chest with his fingers, eliciting tiny moans from your lips.

"I will try my best to be quiet for you, Cillian," you whispered, reaching up to run your hands through his hair affectionately. His touch left trails of electric sensations wherever they touched your skin. It was hard to believe this was happening right now, so close to everyone else in the house, yet feeling so incredibly private and forbidden.

"Good girl," Cillian murmured against your neck, giving it a gentle bite. You shivered at his teeth grazing your skin, the eroticism almost too much to bear.

"Now spread your legs wide for me and let me eat you out," Cillian instructed huskily, his mouth dangerously close to your earlobe. His hot breath against your sensitive flesh heightened your desire, urging you to comply instantly. You obeyed, spreading your thighs wide open, presenting yourself vulnerably for him.

The mattress dipped as Cillian lowered himself onto the bed, positioning himself perfectly to taste your sweet nectar as well as his own as, just a few hours earlier, he came inside your pussy. 

"Fuck, you are so wet and full of my cum," he exclaimed, appreciatively taking in the view as his fingers parted your labia. "I can't wait to taste you," he added with a grin, leaning in to press his face against your cleft.

Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly ran his tongue across your folds, savoring the tanginess that mixed with his flavor. Each pass made you feel wanton and depraved, wanting more of his skilled ministrations.

"Oh god, please," you moaned before covering your own mouth with both of your hands, trying to suppress the noises escaping you. The sounds emitting from deep within you confirmed his prowess and skill. But most importantly, the raw passion and lust filling the air intensified the experience, drawing both you and Cillian deeper into this illicit encounter.

"We taste fucking perfect together," Cillian groaned as his tongue entered your wetness once more, driving you wild with pleasure. He then suckled upon your clit, bringing you closer and closer to climax. Your body trembled violently, unable to contain its release any longer. With every thrust of his tongue, another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you utterly powerless against his expertise.

At long last, an earthshattering orgasm ripped through your entire being, nearly knocking you off the bed.

You tried to suppress your screams and moans, knowing that Cillian's wife was asleep next door, but it proved futile. The intensity of your climax coupled with Cillian's masterful manipulation pushed you beyond all reason. Your insatiable hunger for his touch consumed you entirely, transforming your senses and Cillian stopped quickly to cover your mouth with his hand.

"Ssshh, you need to be quiet," he cautioned tenderly, kissing your forehead delicately before pulling away, recomposing himself. However, his gaze remained hungry and predatory, making your heart race even faster.

"I am sorry. I will try harder," you reassured him while Cillian slowly positioned himself between your legs.

"Good girl," he whispered approvingly, running his thumb over your smooth skin. Your nipples hardened under his touch, aching for more contact.

"Now spread your legs a bit more for me and let me fuck that sweet little pussy of yours full of cum," Cillian commanded, his tone dark and demanding. Without hesitation, you obeyed his command, opening your legs wider to grant him better access.

"No, wait..." you began to say as Cillian positioned himself and guided his erection toward your entrance, teasing the tip around your wet entrance until you were both desperate for penetration.

"You need to pull out before you cum. I left my pill at home, so I didn't take any tonight. It should be fine, but just in case, you should not cum inside me again tonight," you warned him and Cillian nodded reluctantly before, inch by agonizing inch, he pressed forward, allowing only the smallest portion of his cock to enter you initially. Your muscles squeezed tightly around him, welcoming him inside your warmth.

"I will just have to cum in your mouth then when I am done fucking you," Cillian growled possessively, claiming ownership over your body. He proceeded to start thrusting into you, starting with shallow movements that built into harder ones as he got lost in the rhythm. Your moans and gasps filled the space, creating a symphony of pleasure that reverberated between the two of you.

Each powerful stroke brought him deeper inside you, causing both of you to lose control, surrendering completely to the primal nature of your connection.

"You feel absolutely amazing. So warm and tight. And I love how greedy you are," Cillian praised as he continued thrusting into you with forceful strokes. Your body trembled underneath him, your walls contracting repeatedly around his member.

He held your head firmly, pinning you to the bed as he spoke harshly, "you are mine to fuck, just mine!"

 His words stung like a whip, reminding you both of whose body you belonged to during this tryst.

"I am yours to fuck, Cillian!" you cried out, losing yourself completely in the act. Caught up in the heat of the moment, neither of you could hold back anymore.

"I am close," you told him fiercely, pressing your lips to his neck as your eyes closed, feeling his strength flow through you.

Cillian responded with fervor, speeding up his pace dramatically, rocking your world with each plunge of his length inside you.

"Yes! That's it! Good girl! Take my cock!" Cillian commanded, sealing his lips around yours with a fierce, dominating kiss that left you both craving more. His large hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you in place while he continued thrusting into you with such force that you found yourself unable to speak coherently. All thought processes ceased as the pure physical sensation took complete control over your mind and body. Every movement he made felt electrically charged, sending shock waves throughout your system.

As Cillian pounded into you with increased vigor, the bed shifted beneath your weight, hitting the wall multiple times until, finally, you came, hard and fast.

As the euphoria hit you, time seemed to stand still - and then everything rushed back in one tumultuous torrent of sensation. Forcing your way past your limit, you met Cillian's gaze with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. The look he gave you, however, suggested something different altogether – he wanted to make you cry out for him. With one final forceful push, he claimed victory over your body. You screamed, the sound muffling slightly against his palm.

Still, there was enough noise to alert someone nearby and, as soon as you had peaked, Cillian struggled to contain himself any longer.

Without warning, he pulled out and released his seed all over your belly button, watching intently as the sticky substance dripped downwards on to the sheets.

"Fuck you look so hot, covered in my cum," he growled, tracing his finger along the path it took before collecting some of it and bringing it up to your mouth.  Reluctantly, you opened your lips, allowing him to feed you his essence. As you swallowed, the bitter yet enticing liquid combined with the salty residue of arousal and sweat sent shivers racing through your veins. This marked a turning point between you two, blurring lines and reinforcing the bond of deceit that would consume you.

"That's good, isn't it?" he asked softly, his voice laced with both admiration and tenderness.

"So good, although I wish you could stay and sleep here, with me, tonight," you exclaimed, longing his closeness as, slowly and unbeknownst to him, you were developing feelings for him.

"You know that is not an option," he said dismissively, not looking directly at you as he got up. "I am married, remember? And if this wasn't bad enough already, my wife is asleep right next door," Cillian quipped lightly, avoiding direct eye contact with you, feeling guilty towards you as well as her.

"I know. It still would be nice to share another night like the one in the hotel," you admitted sheepishly, glancing sideways at him with a wry smile with was a suggestion to which Cillian agreed.

"I think that could be arranged when we are back in Dublin after this trip," he replied, smiling slightly. 

Your cheeks flushed red with excitement, hoping that day would come sooner rather than later.

Cillian reached down to the floor, reaching for his briefs and putting them back on. His eyes were lingering fondly on your face for a brief moment before he was walking towards the bed again and kissed you goodnight.

He turned off the lamp near the bedside table and exited the room quietly, shutting the door behind him with deliberate care. Leaving you alone, wrapped in his aftermath, savoring the memories of what just transpired between you two, the thrilling sensual interlude continuously playing on loop in your mind.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, especially Danielle, who slept oblivious in the adjacent room, you allowed these thoughts to become a constant companion, driving you wild in ways you never imagined possible as, slowly, but surely, you were falling in love with a much older married man, and you knew that this was a disaster to happen.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillianmurphy #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x y/n

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Bound to be

Requested: this a mix of a couple requests that involves reader and az not knowing that they are mates. Her getting sick and az taking care of her and her having nightmares about his past. Big old mix of everything.

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Feelings. Feelings never came easy for Azriel. He found it hard to understand what he was feeling at times. Even lacking the knowledge of how to call the sensational inside him. Azriel knew what they were, but... well, not always. Most of the time, the emotions that surrounded him didn't even feel like his own. Leaving the spymaster feeling like an intruder. As if he was somehow invading others' privacy. Then there was the frustration that comes with feeling so overwhelmed all the time. The mask he wore had to be thick. Thicker than anything else he showed the world. To protect himself from the always frantic mind.

Then you came around. Rhys needed your abilities to heal once Feyre got pregnant, and all the birth complications started to swirl around. But it seemed more like you weren't the usual type of healer. Well, maybe you were, but it appeared like you had other abilities. Since Azriel didn't trust you at first, he would leave his shadows inside the room you would spend your time with alongside his high lady. At first, he brushed his shadows away when they whispered someone special in his ear. But then curiosity got the best of him, and he decided to stick around during one of your visits. Choosing to stay hidden in the corner of the room as he watched you two.

Feyre was in clear distress, Azriel could tell even without his shadows. She rambled on, rubbing her palms together. You listened until a gentle smile spread on your face, and your palms touched her hands. Your hands suddenly started to glow. Traces of black moved up your hands as you seemed to pull all of the bad emotions into yourself. Feyre's shoulders sank as she let out a delighted sigh, tension long forgotten. It was mesmerizing. The shadow singer couldn't seem to take his eyes off you ever since. Azriel wanted to approach you. Many times. Yet he never found the right moment. If not one, then the other required your attention. You were always surrounded by people. Always laughing. Always willing to assist and be present when someone needed you.

You were walking back to the lake house, your hands full of books that you had borrowed from the library. Back in your little town, you didn't have access to many good reads. Some libraries were even banned. But here... here Rhys had given you access to almost everything that your imagination might come up with. The streets at night looked even more beautiful than in the daytime. It felt like the sky itself was so much closer to the ground. All it would take for you to reach a star would be to just brush your fingertips upwards.

Yet your mesmerizing twirl suddenly got cut short when you felt yourself hitting a tender surface. At first, you thought that you had just once again walked into a lamppost or a wall. That wouldn't have been the first time, but the growl from way above you proved otherwise. "Oh, my apologies," you said quietly, instantly feeling your cheeks flush a light color of pink. The last thing you needed was to disturb a local citizen and get in trouble for it. Not daring to look up, you moved to pick up a couple of books that had slipped out of your hands.

"Are you okay? Didn't you get hurt?", the sound of the voice, so familiar, made you look up in an instant. Azriel. The spymaster - one of the main men on Rhys's side. You two had hardly spoken. You've seen him around, of course, but he was always so distant, almost unhappy. You thought about reaching out and asking if he needed a helping hand with handling things, but Rhys had advised you against that, so you bit down on your tongue and stayed silent. You quickly nodded your head, forgetting that you hadn't yet answered the question as Azriel continued to hold onto your forearms.

"Pretty late to be walking alone," the spymaster said, turning to reach for the book that had slipped further. You shrugged your shoulders, "The city feels way more alive at night. It's so magical," you said under your breath. Knowing full well that he would probably not understand your almost childish excitement. But to your surprise, the spymaster hummed, "Been on the mountainside before?", you shook your head. Azriel glanced at the book in his hand.

"Ah, romance, Nesta's influence?", he chuckled, and you felt yourself getting embarrassed yet again. "I don't usually read that well... I just... ", you began nervously, but Azriel simply raised his hand, "It's okay, Cassian also reads this before bed." You just watched him, not sure what to say next. Not to mention that seeing him so close made your mind dizzy. Azriel was an unbelievably attractive male. His face oozed with confidence. Strong features only added to it.

"So, are you coming?", the spymaster said calmly, even if his heart was racing instead of his chest now that he had a chance to interact with you. Now that you were so close. Now that no one was intruding. Now that your attention is all his. "Coming where?" you asked, frowning slightly, "To the mountain to watch the lights?" Your heart skipped a beat. Was Azriel going to take you to a place that might be special to him? Or was it just something that everyone knew about? Should you decline? I mean, he might just be being polite, and he doesn't even want to do that. But you felt him reach for your hands full of books, watched as he moved them to his shadows, and they vanished into thin air. "How did you...", you pointed in Azriel's shadow direction. "Story for another time. Now hold on", the male stepped closer. Firm arms wrapped around your middle as he pressed you tighter to his chest.

If you thought that the city looked good from the street, it was nothing compared to the view up above. You kept your eyes closed for the majority of the flight, both out of fear and because you didn't dare to look at Azriel, who was only inches away. But now on the mountainside, you couldn't help but let your jaw drop. The tiny lights glistened in the dark. Dancing in different patterns. Mixing up in different shades and colors.

"I would warn you about drooling, but I understand," Azriel spoke up from behind you, and you quickly dropped your gaze. "I... do you come here often?", you questioned, the lights mesmerizing you once again. "Used to, now rarely", Azriel couldn't help but watch you. How you almost teetered off the edge, and if only you could become a part of the night, you would. He watched how the lights danced in your eyes. The spymaster had seen people happy before, but there was something special about your joy. Something that he simply couldn't explain.

That spot had become your favorite after that night. Now you two would slip away here after dinner with everyone. Azriel even went so far as to bring a blanket for you since you two hadn't crossed the line of just being friends. Even if he wanted to, or at least thought that he did. You would talk for hours and hours. Getting lost in the glistening beams in the sky and each other's company. Now it felt so right. To lay under the stars with Azriel. Like it was somehow all you had dreamed of and more.

A busier week had rolled in, and Azriel found himself away from home. In the beginning, he didn't mind it much. Considering that it was his job to go to different courts if duty called. Yet on the second night away, he remembered the promise he had made one night while you two were sharing a bottle of wine that Azriel had nicked from Rhys's collection.

"So, every night?", you were laying right beside him, fingers touching Azirel's hand, "Every night and whenever you'd like to," the spymaster had promised. You had wanted to come here as often as possible, especially if, after Feyre's birth, Rhys was going to send you back to your town. You needed to soak this all in. To soak up Azriel's presence in your life. "This is our spot after all, and I still highly encourage you to carve something in the tree," Azriel said, turning his head towards you and once again getting lost in you. He had shown you the tree. Well, his tree where he had carved in all of his fears and the words that swirled around his head. A strange feeling rushed through you once your fingers came in contact with the wood. Something inside you shifted.

Azriel felt restless. He had forgotten to let you know that he was going away. It seemed like such a natural thing to him to just go, and he had never had to inform anyone about it before. No one would miss him. No matter what the spymaster occupied himself with, he just couldn't seem to keep his attention settled on it for long enough. It felt like his own skin had shrunk and was now threatening to suffocate him. Azriel quickly undid the first two buttons of his shirt. Yet it didn't seem to do anything.

But it appeared like something else was going on. Someone much bigger than just him forgetting to let you know about his mission. What was clouding his mind so much? What was happening? The spymaster turned his attention back to the shadows he had left to guard everyone at home. Waiting for them to report anything that might seem suspicious, out of place, or not how it usually was.

They returned one by one. Cassian and Nesta were drinking in the living room. Rhys was with Feyre. She and the baby seemed more than okay. Then what was it, Azriel wondered—what was this unfamiliar feeling bubbling inside him? The need to move to do something. But what? Where? Then the last of his dark bunch returned. Even from the way it moved, Azriel could tell that something was wrong.

Burning up, it screamed, drenching in the cold. Azriel felt sick to his stomach. As the worst scenario clouded his mind. He had left behind everything. Papers, his stuff. Nothing mattered now that he was on his way back home. Back to you. Even if it took moments to swim in the dark as he went from place to place, it felt like a lifetime to the spymaster. As if the time was deliberately playing a game with him.

You felt heavy. Ever since you spent almost a whole night waiting for Azriel, you felt heavy. You knew it was silly. Big words usually meant nothing. But then again, you didn't want to believe that the shadow singer would stand you up like that. It was stupid that but you thought that maybe he was up there waiting for you. What if he wanted to see if you would come to him on your own? So you went up the hill yourself. Clenching your chest as you took deep breaths into your burning lungs.

The wind was unforgivingly cold tonight. It almost felt like your bones were about to snap in half. Your dress did absolutely nothing to keep you warm. You looked around but saw nothing. Not a single soul. Most importantly, no Azriel. You frowned even more. Where was he? Had something happened? Another breeze hit you right in the face, making you wrap your arms around you even tighter. You moved towards the tree, hoping to somehow find even a little bit of shelter from the cold.

Yet just like the first time, the moment your fingers touched the carved-in words, you felt this weird tinge. As an invitation to fully place your palms on it. So you did, as image after image filled your mind.

You saw a boy running through puddles. Scared. Clothes torn. Then a man lifted him by his throat as he screamed at the boy. A basement. Cold and filthy basement. Chains. Splashes of blood on the floor. Then came the sound of someone pulling at the chains. The moment the face turned your way, you practically sank to the floor. Azriel. Pale and underfed. Trembling and alone. His wings were pinned to the floor with wooden spikes. Then someone laughing. And that agonizing sound of Azriel's screams filled your mind as two males dipped his hands into the fire. Watching as his flesh burned away.

Azriel didn't know where he was winnowing; all he thought about was you. You. He needed to go to you. He needed to know what was happening. So when the shadows parted, and he saw the city down below, he couldn't help but curse. His memories must have clouded his path. But just as Azriel turned to walk away, he saw something slumped over by the tree that was almost bending to the wind.

He knew that you mattered more than anyone who was back there, but he still found himself stepping closer. Inching toward the dark figure until his eye could very clearly make out that it was you. As he reached for you, the shadow singer's heartbeat quickened once more. "Y/N," he called out, but all he could see was your eyes moving beneath the closed lids. What surprised him the most was that your skin was indeed burning to the touch. Azriel brought you closer to him. "Y/N, can you hear my, love?", he questioned, stepping into the open. But all he heard were muffled cries. Making it so hard for him to identify if it was caused by any sort of pain or by the fever that had broken out. "Fires...don't hurt...", you had eventually muttered something that Azriel had understood right as he winnowed back to the house of wind.

Azriel was pacing up and down the corridor. Madja had wanted space and peace while checking you out, meaning that Azriel was sent away from you almost immediately. It seemed like he couldn't breathe. Something was wrong. "Azriel, we'll have holes in the hallway from your walking", Rhys tried to soften the mood as he approached his spymaster but was only met with a tight smile. "Madja is with her; she will be just fine", Rhys moved to touch Azriel's shoulder, but the male shook his head. "Something is not right," he stressed out, "Azriel, you...", "No, Rhys, I can feel it here." Azriel placed his palm on his chest. Right, where his heart was beating. The high lord's face changed instantly. He knew you two were sneaking out, and if he was being honest, he was glad that Azriel had finally found someone he trusted, but he never imagined a mating bond being a part of this. Yet from the look on Azriel's face, Rhys doubted that he knew.

"Come on then," the high lord said, walking towards the room you were in. If there was anything besides frostbite and cold that you might get, then Azriel was indeed your only remedy. Madja moved to protest as the two stepped in, but Rhys shushed her as he moved out of Azriel's way.

The spymaster rushed to you, his hand instantly reaching for your still-icy fingers. Your tired eyes met his, and Azriel was close to tears simply from the sight of you being conscious. "I saw fires... your hands," you choked out as Azriel moved to run his fingers over your hair. Instantly sensing the fever that still wasn't gone. "You in the basement..", you whispered, eyes filling with tears. Azriel brushed them off quickly. He knew the tree was enchanted. He knew that only a certain type of person could enter the pain he had stored there. A mate.

"Don't talk; rest now," but you shook your head, "What was that? Why?", but your voice died down as a painful cough escaped your lips. Azriel instantly turned to Madja, who handed him a warm cup. "You saw my childhood; it's a long story. You need to rest now," he observed you sipping slowly until you sagged back into bed. Beads of sweat form on your forehead. Reaching for a cold cloth, Azriel placed it on your burning skin. "Tell me the short version, then." Your tired eyes didn't leave the spymaster, and he knew that he didn't have enough strength in him to deny you an answer. "We're mates, Y/N," Azriel whispered, and you let out a gasp. The strange pull in your chest made more sense than ever now. Your weak hand squeezed Azriel's palm as you gave him the best smile you could give him at this moment. Azriel leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your knuckles. "You'll stay?", you asked him weakly as another coughing episode began. Azriel tried to mask away his concerns as he smiled at you and said, "I'm never leaving your side from now on, love."

#azriel x reader #azriel x you

[sapphos-ode]

Little Cat

Part 13

Larissa Weems part 12 | part 14 | ao3

Massive thank you to @h-doodles for letting me hurl ideas at her and helping me actually figure out what to write for this part!

Again apologies for the gap between updates. I hope you enjoy this one x (9.2k words)

CW - alcohol consumption is mentioned, and it gets a bit suggestive near the end I think that’s all I need to say?

~

A sharp prickly sensation comes over you and your body feels as if it’s been filled with lead. Your limbs are like dead weight and you’re thankful for being seated. Otherwise you’re sure you’d have fallen to your knees. You create space between your bodies and look into Larissa’s eyes with a thousand yard stare, as your brain replays her answer.

You feel an onslaught of despair in your chest, you feel like a fool. For reading the signs wrong, for thinking she’d ever be interested in you. For falling for her. And you’re terrified for what that means for your friendship, had you ruined it or could you salvage it? You desperately hoped you could. You know, deep down inside, that you couldn’t cope not having Larissa in your life. You weren't a greedy soul, if you couldn’t have her as a partner - to call yours and yours only, then as a friend, hell even as an acquaintance would do.

A third emotion wriggles itself into your body, guilt. But it’s not yours for your heart to bear.

“I shouldn’t have allowed this to go so far,” her tone is clipped as she holds her head high.

Nausea overcomes you and the world seems hazy.

“It’s highly inappropriate,” Larissa begins talking again with a dismissive wave of her hand, twisting the knife in the wound, “you best not let your feelings affect our working relationship,” she’s inwardly taken aback at how impartial she sounds. You begin to piece together the source of her guilty conscience.

You let out a harsh laugh. It’s short and more of a strong exhale from your nose than it is a laugh. “You can’t really mean that, my feelings are a game for you-?”

“Don’t put words into my mouth Miss. Karnstein,” there’s a bite behind it. Laced with warning

“It’s hardly putting words in your mouth when it’s what you’ve just insinuated!” You don’t mean to shout at her.

“Watch your tone,” her voice is a controlled hushed whisper, and you wished she was yelling at you instead.

You have a scathing remark ready on the tip of your tongue but you value your job so you keep your mouth shut. Instead you draw into yourself and hug your knees to your chest, casting your gaze out onto the landscape before you. The strained silence between you lasts a while and neither of you make to move or speak.

After what could’ve been minutes or hours, it doesn’t matter much to you right now, you speak with a broken voice. It’s a shadow of a breath but Larissa heard every word you say, “I think you should head back.”

“It is getting horribly cold…”

Larissa stands and in your peripheral you can see her offer a hand to you. The nerve of that woman.

“I’m going to stay out for a bit longer.”

“It’s getting dark,”

Larissa really didn’t want you to be navigating the woods during nightfall on your own. Especially on your own. She’d be much happier if you came back to Nevermore with her - that way she’d know you were safe and sound. Right now it was dusk and only just light enough to see.

“I know,” you keep your response short.

“Atikah…” the woman presses with an urgency.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You sit still, begging her to just leave you alone. She eyes you warily, committing to memory the way your jaw tightens and the muscles in your neck quiver and flex as you fight the frown that desperately wants to twist your lips. Even with anger bubbling under your surface, she still finds you enchanting, wanting to trail her fingers along your jawline and hold you to her chest. To take back her words and admit that she longs for you in every waking moment and in every moment she sleeps too, that she needs your soul intertwined with her own, every second she goes without it ails her.

The blonde takes a sudden breath in, your head turns just a fraction and she sees the waning flicker of hope in the corner of your eye. But her voice withers away in her throat when she tries to tell you that you weren't a mere pastime for her. Your eyes narrow at her and you look back out to the sea of treetops. Your hair falling over your face banishing the woman from your sight.

Larissa’s hand falls back to her side and she turns heel, leaving silently, save for the sound of leaves crunching under her feet

~

The moon sits proud in the sky, the brilliant white of its surface glowing against the deep velvet ultramarine of the night. Clusters of stars littered the canvas of the sky and they remind you of a moment in time, not too long ago, when you saw them in the eyes of another. You perish the thought quickly when you feel tears build up again.

The tracks of tears cried earlier have long since dried upon your face, leaving an uncomfy tautness. The cold air stings and the tips of your fingers are numb.

The vibrations of your phone breaks the morose trance you had fallen into as you stew in your mind. You don’t remove it from your pocket, yet. Instead you choose to stand slowly, your knees clicking and your muscles crying out from their stiffness. The air is cold and it nips at any exposed skin.

The caller ID reads ‘Alice’, your eyes flit up to the top corner to read the time. Hours have passed and you resign yourself to the fact that you need to return to Nevermore. You decline the call and turn on the phone torch, it’s bleach white light illuminating the forest floor.

~

The second the Principal reached her office, the warmth of the school a welcome change from the chilled air, she had sat down at her desk and immediately buried herself with email after email, accepting meeting requests left right and centre. She wanted to open a bottle of wine and down it in one fell swoop but it wouldn’t keep her mind busy and off of you.

The whole time a grotesque lump formed in her throat, and a malevolent pit grew in her stomach. Had she just messed up one of the best things to ever happen to her? Probably. But it just went to show that love was not made for her. And the universe, ever cruel, had given her someone she couldn’t have. Someone who’s hand fits so perfectly in her own. Someone who gave her their full attention, and never made her feel like a second choice. Someone who had chosen her. All she wanted was to be wanted. And she had said no.

Larissa isn’t sure when her hands left her keyboard and held her head as she sobbed without abandon. The kind of sobs that shake your whole body, where you can’t support yourself and you struggle to draw air because you just keep crying out. The kind where slowly your head falls from your hands, and rests on the desk because you’re so spent it’s impossible to keep your head up.

Larissa Weems sits at her desk. Heartbroken over a woman she could have had. If only she wasn’t so scared.

~

Thursday is a bleak day. Well, it’s not. But you don’t feel present in your own body, you go through the motions. Your enthusiasm as you teach classes empty - your break is spent in your classroom. And so is your lunch. About halfway through Alice pokes her head in.

“Hey?”

You startle, clumsily wiping your eyes with your sleeve and sniffling. You muster up a smile.

“What’s up?” You sound too cheerful.

“Nothin’, just it’s not like you to not come to the lounge for lunch. What’s wrong?”

Alice knows already, she can just tell. If last night had gone well she’d have known all about it by now. She’d be sick of it from how much you would have talked and gushed over Principal Weems. Your silence worries her.

You take a steadying breath before slumping in your seat. Absentmindedly fidgeting with a pen on your desk.

“I… told her, that I like her and- ” you swallow thickly, “Alice she saw it as a game,” your voice breaks and cracks.

You look up at Alice and she’s at your side in an instant holding you. You bury your face into her shoulder and cry for the umpteenth time that day. All the while Alice runs a hand over your back and holds you close.

“It’s- it’s so s-stupid!” Your voice is dampened as you talk into Alice, it’s also riddled with high pitched hiccups, “I’m- I didn’t date her! And I’m crying as- as if we broke up!”

“You guys looked like you had something going on, it’s not stupid,” Alice defends your own feelings for you.

“I thought so too! But we were just friends, and- like I’ve been rejected before. But this- this really fucking hurts!”

“Rejection always hurts,”

“No! I- you don’t get it, I didn’t feel this bad when I ended things with my ex! We were together for three years!” You sit back to look at Alice, holding her shoulders, “Alice! Three years and I was less sad than I am now! It doesn’t make sense- I’m being dramatic!”

“Whoa, you’re not dramatic! You just felt a really strong connection. Right?”

“Yeah…” you pout not unlike a small child.

“And she… you know, didn’t take it seriously… it hurts, so just let yourself feel,” Alice continues to placate you, “take your own damn advice,”

“If she just said she didn’t return the feelings… that would’ve been fine. I’d have accepted that and respected her space. But what she said made me feel like a fool…”

Alice debates if she should ask what Larissa’s answer was but you offer that information up freely.

“Oh…”

“I hate feelings,” you mutter.

“They suck, yeah…” Alice strokes your hair in a bid to comfort you, “You know what?”

“What?”

“We should hit Burlington on Saturday. Have a girl’s night out, just us.”

You ponder the idea, you have no plans for the weekend and another’s warmth would probably help soothe the wound, “Sounds good to me…”

The rest of lunch is spent with Alice squished next to you on your chair in silence as you calm yourself enough for your next class.

~

Marilyn wanders the halls of Nevermore, they’re quiet given the school day has ended. Normally she’d feel bad about approaching someone after work but she was off to see Larissa, who without a doubt would still be working dutifully.

She knocks on the heavy oak door and waits to be called in. But she receives no answer. Any other teacher would leave and come back another time, but this was Marilyn. She also happened to be somewhat friends with Larissa. So she knocks once more, again unanswered. She still opens the door and pops her head in to find Larissa sitting in her desk chair at the window. Something outside has her attention, so much so that the blonde doesn’t register the soft hello.

Marilyn enters the room and closes the door quietly before padding over. Not wanting to startle the Principal. However her attempt was in vain because when she stopped next to Larissa, just at her shoulder the woman practically threw herself out her chair with a scream.

“Marilyn!?”

“I’m sorry!” The redhead was in turn scared by Larissa’s outcry. Her hand shooting to her chest as she bent over and began to laugh.

Overcoming her initial shock Larissa shares a light chuckle, bowing her head as she calms her breathing.

“I didn’t hear you come in, sorry,” as she speaks she looks back out to the window subconsciously.

Marilyn takes a few steps forward, curious as to what has the Principal so interested. Her honeyed brown eyes fall on you, crouched down on your balcony tending to your plants. She gives a knowing look to Larissa and nudges her with her shoulder.

“She’s a real catch, you know,” accompanied with a smirk.

“She is…” Larissa says with a sigh.

“You complement each other well,”

This does the trick in stealing Larissa’s attention. She looks at Marilyn wide eyed but is quick to school her features and offers a strained smile, sidestepping the comment, “How can I help?”

“Oh, just some Rave’N planning- why are you wearing a scarf?”

Larissa’s hand comes up to her neck, resting on the soft fabric of your scarf. She’s too embarrassed to admit that she liked wearing it. It was a little piece of you, and probably the only part of you she’d have from now on. She had zero intentions of returning it.

“I’m cold?” She answers dumbly.

“But you have the fire going? And it’s roasting in here?”

“I… just need the extra warmth,”

“Okay.” Marilyn’s not convinced, but doesn’t press any further, “Anyways, a few weeks back I was spitballing theme ideas, and I suggested a masquerade?”

Larissa nodded along.

“Well, a masquerade ball theme on its own is rather boring, especially with how creative last year’s one was, if I do say so myself,” Marilyn puffs her chest out. She was really proud of the Climate Crisis Meets Extinction Effect theme. “I want to add a twist though, but I keep drawing blanks. Alice- sorry. Miss. Hansen hasn’t been much help. I was hoping to pick your brain!”

The blonde raises a perfect brow at the botanist’s slip up, since when did they get close?

“Larissa?”

She must have lost herself in thought.

The blonde’s eyes refocus and she apologises before trying to think of ideas. Instead she ends up wondering if you’d be attending, she had yet to pin the sign up sheet for chaperoning to the notice board in the lounge. As if you were a magnet, Larissa’s head turns back to the window where you still prune your plants. She swallows and presses her lips into a pained frown.

“Larissa?” Marilyn’s tone is soft as she leans to the side to get a better look of Larissa’s face. She takes note of how the woman’s eyes take on a watery sheen. “Did something happen between you two? Now that I think about it Alice did mention Atikah has dropped off the radar a little since last night… Wait, didn’t you guys go on a date to see the sunset?”

The Principal clams up at her friend’s words. She’d forgotten that Marilyn had thought the pair of you were seeing each other. Her instinct is to divert the conversation topic but she knew despite Marilyn’s airhead tendencies, she was very perceptive to others’ feelings. If she didn’t know Marilyn was a normie she’d have believed she was an empath.

“Yes…” Larissa answers weakly to both questions, unable to meet Marilyn’s gaze.

She looks at a point high up on the wall just behind Marilyn, her neck strains as she holds her head high and fights off the tears welling in her eyes. It’s one thing to open up to her friend, another to cry in front of her. Larissa was too prideful for that. Or maybe she thought she wasn’t allowed to show weakness in front of someone else. After all she ran the school, she was the one who had to keep it together so that everything ran smoothly. Right?

“Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

The blonde nods slowly, silently building the strength to outwardly voice her feelings. In doing so a few tears trickle down her cheeks, following the contours of her face and falling into the corner of her mouth. She can taste the salt.

“Oh Larissa,” Marilyn places a hand on her shoulder and is met with no resistance when she guides Larissa to the couch in front of the fire.

The botany teacher angles her body to face Larissa, who has more tears streaming down her face whilst she maintains a stoic expression, but her lip quivers despite her efforts.

“What happened?”

“I… rejected her.” Larissa furiously wiped her tears away and by sheer will power stops any more from falling.

“What? You guys broke up?”

Larissa falls against the backrest of the settee, losing all proprietary as she lets herself slide down, “We- I guess it was a date last night, oh I don’t know! But she confessed.” Larissa makes meaningless gestures with her hands as she figures out her next words. Staring up at the ceiling.

Marilyn remains quiet, letting Larissa have space to collect her thoughts. She’s quick to join the dots and realised that you guys weren’t an item as she had believed.

“She likes- liked me back, and I told her no. Gods Marilyn, I wanted to say yes!”

“Why didn’t you?” The woman speaks tentatively.

“I can’t be with her… it isn’t fair on her,” Larissa shoots back, as if it was common sense to reject your crush’s confession.

“But how so?”

“How so? I’m what? Twenty plus years older than her, I’m her boss,” Larissa shrugs mostly to herself, “I have too much baggage, and I’m insecure.”

“You? Insecure?” Marilyn exclaims incredulously, “You’re a force to be reckoned with, and a very self-assured woman!”

“Yes, as Principal Weems, not as Larissa,” she groans in frustration.

“Got you, sorry.” Marilyn twiddles her thumbs in her lap. “Did you give her a choice?”

Larissa lifts her head, looking bewildered at Marilyn.

“Like, did you tell her what you just told me?”

“No…” Larissa speaks carefully. Unsure of what Marilyn was meaning.

“She’s young, yeah, but surely she deserves to be given a choice, you know. I mean, Alice and I have started dating but she’s still discovering her sexuality,” At this Larissa sat up, hooked on every syllable falling from Marilyn’s mouth, “she’s not sure if she’s just experimenting and all that. But she did tell me so I could choose if I wanted to be with her, even if she later finds out that she doesn’t like women after all… I guess that’s similar to your situation,”

The blonde slumps her shoulders and holds her face in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. “I’ve fucked this, haven’t I?” Her voice is muffled.

“Yeah, you kinda have,” Marilyn says it as it is, whilst rubbing Larissa’s back in an attempt to sooth her.

A new wave of tears fall from Larissa’s eyes, wetting her palms as she lets her body rock with each sob.

“Oh Larissa,” Marilyn shuffles closer and pulls the woman into a hug. In the back of Larissa’s mind she tries to think of when she was last held by a friend, excluding you. You were the exception in her life.

“You can always talk to her, it’s not like her feelings suddenly vanished when you rejected her,” Marilyn maintains a hopeful note to her voice. She thought you two were adorable together and she really wanted the both of you to be happy.

~

You managed your Friday classes better than yesterday but you opted to eat lunch in your classroom again, a few students wanting a quiet space to get some extra studying done kept you company. You saved your self wallowing for later and offered help whenever they asked.

Your evening is spent with a carton of ice cream and a binge watch of Brooklyn 99, it was the perfect series - light hearted but with its meaningful moments, and didn’t require your full attention.

The finished ice cream sat on your bedside table, your laptop still sat open on your covers with Netflix asking if you were still watching. You were not. You had fallen asleep to the soothing sound of Captain Holt furiously yelling ‘bone’.

As you embark on a fitful slumber, Bärchen slips into your room, thinking you were still up given your lamp was turned on. Basking the room in a warm light.

She takes a second to survey the scene before her, taking a risk she shifts back into Larissa. Carefully she leans over you and closes your laptop, depositing it on your nightstand, it was less cluttered than usual. Your notebook hangs off the edge, with a pen laid across the open page. There’s more entries since she last saw it. Her name makes two new appearances, one from the Harvest Festival, ‘love and fondness’ penned next to it, the second is dated from the night she watched the sunset with you, all you’ve written is ‘guilt’. Questions burn in her brain and she wishes she could ask you what it meant, with a cautious glance to your sleeping from she flicks back a page to the one where she first saw her name alongside a handful of students’ names as well.

‘Larissa - nerves, anxiety, love?’

The question mark had been penned over and turned into a thick exclamation mark, she can tell you had pressed hard with the pen as the strokes left an indent on the paper, the word ‘love’ was now underlined. She recalls that day, when you had almost kissed her… until Enid had interrupted.

You toss in your sleep, breaking Larissa’s pondering. She stays stock still, heart racing. Praying you don’t wake up. Alas you just turn over, now facing her still fast alseep. She catches you shivering and instinctively pulls your covers up, tucking you in. She moves back but the sight of your troubled face tugs at her heartstrings. The blonde leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, and brushes her thumb over your cheek a few times with airy strokes. Your face relaxes and your body releases the tension it held.

“I’m so sorry,” her whisper is shaky and hangs heavily in the air.

Larissa allows herself a few more seconds to admire you before she turns your lamp off and takes on the form of Bärchen. Leaving silently through the window.

~

Alice sits perched on a stool as she watches Marilyn flutter around her myriad of plants in the greenhouse, the wolfsbane had been moved and locked into the other room, safely away from the lycan.

The history teacher had discarded her jacket on a desk, even in Autumn the greenhouse was humid and warm. A Ricky Montgomery song plays quietly in the background, and Marilyn hums along to it, engrossed with her plant babies. Alice can’t help but dote on the redhead, she looked so cute in her blue jumpsuit.

“I can feel your staring pet,” Marilyn teases as she looks over her shoulder at Alice who sports a lovesick expression.

“Can’t help it,” she shrugs with a lopsided grin.

Marilyn places the watering can down and skips over to the lycan, her arms wrapping around the younger woman. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Today’s Saturday, right?” Alice asks, as she leans into the embrace, Marilyn nods, “Hitting a bar with Atikah, in Burlington,”

“Better send me a fit check, is that what you call it these days?”

Alice snorts much to her mortification, a hand slapping over her face as it turns red, “Y-yes, that is what it’s called. And I will, or- ” she drags out the last word.

“Or…?” Marilyn mirrors her tone. Raising a brow that disappears behind her thick fringe.

“Or you can join us, that way you can have a ‘fit check’ in real life,”

“Oh I couldn’t, I wouldn’t want to gatecrash- ”

“Nonsense! Atikah would love it if you came!” The werewolf cuts her off.

Alice had told you about the latest development between herself and Marilyn. And you had been ecstatic about it, momentarily forgetting your own miserable love life.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, I promise- Oh! I told her about us by the way, is that alright?” Alice holds her breath.

“She’s your closest friend, I’d be worried if you hadn’t told her,” Marilyn shakes her head in mirth before stealing a peck on the lips.

“Okay cool! Also, I haven’t told her yet but I’m gonna wingman for her, try get her a hot girly!”

“Oh? Is that so?” Marilyn has a wary look on her face. This wasn’t good news to hear.

“Yeah… why would it not be?” Alice pouts her lips as her brows draw together, “You know something, don’t you?”

“No!”

“You do so! Spill!” Alice presses.

“I told you, I don’t know anything about anything!” Marilyn throws her hands up in a sign of peace.

“Hmm, whatever you say but Atikah needs it…” Alice shrugs, “Also. You are such a bad liar!” She lunges for Marilyn’s waist with wiggling fingers. Procuring peals of giggles as the woman fruitlessly attempts to wriggle out her grasp. The redhead regrets ever having told Alice she was ticklish.

~

Alice sits in her classroom, catching up on some marking. She had handed out a surprise pop quiz on Friday much to the chagrin of her students. And stupidly had promised it would be graded and turned back to them for Monday.

Reading similar answers over and over was doing her head in. She was almost finished banging her head against the desk in misery when she remembered she had meant to send you a message earlier. She grabs her phone and opens up her chat with you.

Alice: i invited marilyn out tonight is that okay

She sends the text off and then pockets her phone, knowing you would see the notification right away but still take at least an hour to reply. To her surprise you text back right away.

She watches the little speech bubble in suspense.

Atikah: Yuh ofccc, why wouldn’t it be? x

Thank goodness you weren’t annoyed!

Alice: yh but it was gonna b a just us thing tho didn’t think when i asked her

You tut to yourself at her poor grammar when it came to texting.

Atikah: The more the merrier gal, dw about it.

Atikah: Besides I still gotta give her the whole best friend talk

Alice: swear to god if u do ill have ur head on a stick

Atikah: I’ll*

Alice: stfu

Atikah: Love you too bitch xxx

~

You had spent the day catching up with yourself, cleaning your quarters and a quick trip into Jericho to restock your fridge and most importantly your small booze collection.

When you had awoken in the morning you hadn’t thought anything strange about your laptop being moved or your lamp turned off. You deduced that you must have been so exhausted you couldn’t recall doing any of that. Larissa’s kiss had left a faint dash of her lipstick on your face but in your sleep it had rubbed off. Her little token of affection lost, never to be recognised by you.

You’re in the middle of rummaging through your wardrobe when Alice lets herself in. Only announcing her presence with the racket she makes in your kitchenette - slamming cupboard doors. You really should get into the habit of locking your door.

“Let’s get tonight started!” The lycan pushes your bedroom door open with her foot, her hands full with two glasses.

You don’t need to ask because you know that she’s already poured generous amounts of alcohol into them. She forgets her lycanthropy gives her a higher tolerance to the substance than the average person.

“It can start after you help me pick out what to wear,” you talk into your closet not looking away from your clothes.

“Move! I already have your outfit chosen,” Alice pushes you away and thrusts a glass into your hand before rifling through your wardrobe.

You busy yourself with setting up your speaker and finding a playlist that's suitable for pre drinks. You take a long swig from your glass, wincing at the strength of it but enjoying the warm sensation it leaves as it travels down your throat. Alice had given you some vodka mixer concoction and it brings memories from your student days to the forefront of your mind. You can’t comprehend how vodka used to be your choice of drink back then.

“Here!” Alice looks triumphant as she lays out the clothes she’s selected onto the bed before turning to you, “it’s perfect! It’ll show just enough skin to entice someone but not enough to satisfy them- ”

“What are you on about?”

“I’m gonna help you get with someone, anyways as I was saying- ”

“Whoa, hold it! I know I’m feeling marginally better but it’s been like three days since??? Getting to know someone who isn’t Larissa isn't really what I want- ”

“You’re not gonna get to know them silly, it’ll be to rebound, put a spring back into your step, y’know? To remind you you’re still a hot bitch even if Weems doesn’t see that. Anyways, enough about that, let’s talk clothes,” Alice points to the outfit she laid out for you, “with those dangly silver earrings you have- Oh! And with your necklace, with the- the uhhh, the thing!” Alice scrambles for the word she’s looking for.

“The thing? Right… yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” you lay the sarcasm on thick.

“Shut up, but you know the one that sits low on your chest! That one! Wear it,”

“Yes ma’am,” you mutter good naturedly.

There’s a knock at the door and Alice says she’ll get it. As she leaves, another person enters your room in the form of a white cat. Larissa had told herself these visits would stop but after two days not seeing you, she couldn’t cope. And had given in. Reasoning that she may not get to be close to you as Larissa, but as Bärchen she could at least bask in your presence and watch you without worry.

“Hello!” Marilyn calls through your quarters, and you greet her back.

You poke your head out your bedroom door to let them know you’re just changing before closing it. Larissa has no time to react before you’ve whisked off your day clothes and stand in the middle of your room clad in just your underwear. She freezes, half her body inside your room, the other outside on the balcony. Her eyes are trained on your body and she starts to purr involuntarily. The sound snags your attention and you offer her a reserved smile.

“And I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me,” you chuckle, it had been almost a week since you’d last seen your little feline friend.

You lean down to pick her up, in doing so giving Larissa a front row seat of your cleavage. She prayed to every higher being for strength as she felt your hands wrap around her lithe body. Bärchen’s fur was soft and plush against your skin, you cradle her in your arms and press little kisses to her forehead. With each smooch her purring somehow gets louder.

“You changed!?” Alice’s words are muffled through the wooden door.

“No!”

“Hurry up!”

You shake your head and plop Bärchen onto your bed before changing into a lingerie set from your fancy underwear collection, as you like to call it. Otherwise you chose comfort over sex appeal when it comes to pants.

Larissa only watches your body as if she’s entranced. She wants to look away, this wasn’t right, especially after turning you down. But you were so perfect in her eyes and she wanted to commit every stretch mark, every fold, every curve of your body to her memory. Because she knew she’d never see you like that otherwise.

You shove on the outfit Alice had curated for you and checked yourself out in the mirror, you had to admit you did look hot. And you felt good in the clothes. After a little more scrutinising you decide you’re happy with how the clothes sit. Laughter from the next room draws your gaze to your door, with a deep breath you down the rest of your drink and then all of Alice’s. Her fault for leaving it in here and not taking it with her.

“Guys you better not be shagging on my couch!” You holler as you open your door. Letting the two women spill into your room.

Marilyn enters first and her eyes zero in immediately onto Bärchen. Bypassing you entirely to fuss over the cat who was hesitant to her touch.

“You have a pet?!”

You open your mouth but Alice shouts over you, telling the redhead to not ask questions. But she has another one to ask and disregards the lycan’s warning.

“Does Larissa know?”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’.

“Hey? Where’d my drink go?”

You shrug.

The next half hour is spent with Marilyn on your balcony, cat in her arms (who is desperately trying to escape) as she gives an in-depth lecture on each of your plants, whilst Alice does your make up and hair inside.

A good few drinks later and you’re sufficiently tipsy with a cab enroute. You chuck what you need into a small bag before heading over to your bed - Bärchen had rushed over and buried herself on your duvet the second Marilyn had released her.

“I’ll see you later,” you press a kiss to her furry forehead, leaving a lipstick stain before tucking her small form into the bed. She blinks at you, slowly.

“Ooh! I wanna say goodbye to the cat too!” You hear marilyn exclaim from your living room.

She runs into your bedroom and peppers little pecks over Bärchen’s head before she could escape under your covers. You hear a low growl and shake your head.

“She’s a fussy princess,” you joke before dragging the botanist out of your room.

~

The trio of you waltz into the bar, Alice and yourself giggling whilst Marilyn grumbles to herself. The bouncer had let Marilyn in first then asked for Alice’s ID and yours.

“I’m not old!”

“You- you’re not, you’re just mature- hey!” Alice recieves a quick slap on the arm.

“Think you’re in the doghouse tonight,” you quip before beelining to the bar.

The establishment was dimly lit, it was the kind of place that couldn’t decide if it was a nightclub or a bar. So it ended up this weird amalgamation, with seating and an open space for dancing, a humble dj booth pressed against the far wall. The music was loud, too quiet to call it a club but too loud to be heard at a normal talking level.

“Hey, uh could I get a double vodka coke… a single rum with coke as well, and a…” you try to think what Marilyn drank.

“Sambuca and orange juice,” Alice appears at your side, and fills in the blank your mind was having. “Oh and three tequila shots. Lime and salt please!”

The bartender smiles and gets to work. You glare at Alice, “Tequila? Are you trying to kill me?”

“Can’t handle your liquor?” Marilyn chimes in, with a teasing smile.

“I could outdrink you easily,” you shoot back with a defiant look.

~

As the night progresses the three of you abandon the table you had sat at in favour of the dance floor. A crowd had formed since you had entered, the place was busier - almost packed full. You enjoy how the bass vibrates through your body and the music blares. You know half the lyrics but still sing along. The alcohol removes the weight you feel on your shoulders. The smile on your face is genuine and reaches your eyes.

Marilyn had disappeared off to the bathroom and Alice had decided it was time for another drink. You declined her offer to join her at the bar, too content to stop your dancing. Just as she slipped through the sea of people, a body presses up against you from behind. Hands rest on your waist, itching to go lower.

You are fully ready to turn round and square up but a raspy voice stops you. Whoever it is has leaned down close to your ear in order to be heard over the music.

“Blow jobs or sex on the beach?”

‘What the fuck?’ You’re too stunned at the blaise of this person. Just as you’re about to tell them to go do one they buy themselves a second chance.

“I’m talking about drinks, of course, but we can talk about the actual acts if you’d prefer!”

You look over your shoulder to be met with a taller woman around your age, her thick dark curls tickle your cheek whilst her earthy green eyes, speckled with dashes of brown, fight to stay on your face and not stray any further down. She had a strong jaw and heavy set brows, she reminded you of some kind of Amazonian warrior.

You reach up and hook your arm around her neck, pulling her down to your level before responding to her. “I think that’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard. Do you want to try again?” You fight to keep the laughter out of your voice.

She smiles, giving a toothy grin. Delighted you’ve taken the bait. She sucks in air between her teeth and winces theatrically, “Ow- tough crowd. Okay okay.” She taps her chin in deep thought, “How about… I’m not drunk. Just intoxicated by you.”

“Better,” you feel your mouth stretch in a smile as your eyes fall to Maven’s lips. She’s sporting a deep plum coloured lipstick. “But you just got that from some trashy click bait website, didn’t you?”

Maven feigns offence, her mouth falling open and her bushy brows shooting up to her hairline. She spins you around to face her, holding you at arms length by your waist. You take this opportunity to look her up and down, taking your sweet time with no attempt to hide it.

“Do I look like that kind of person? You think that lowly of me?” Maven apparently missed the feeling of your body, she pulls you back to her before whispering in your ear, “you’ve wounded me and I think only a kiss can fix me,”

“A kiss?” You take on the same tone you would if you were playing along with a small child’s story.

Maven nods. Eyes lighting up with hope.

You kiss her cheek, “here? Or…” you place another on the corner of her jaw, “here?” Your lips find the swell of her throat, “what about here?” You look up at her through your mascara coated lashes. “Or…” you place a kiss on her chest.

“Fuck…” she bites her lip, a hunger festering in her eyes, “how about lower?”

“Lower?” You raise a brow and humour her, trailing your mouth down to the end of her dress’s plunging neckline at her solar plexus.

She lets out a deep throaty indulgent moan.

You stand up straight and wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her just millimetres from your face. Your eyes give her a challenging look and she’s quick to take the invitation to your lips. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated - but the feeling of a warm body against yours, plush lips bruising your own, and a demanding tongue exploring your mouth is enjoyable.

“I’m Maven, yours?” She gasps out pulling away for air, before rushing back in for more.

You move your head back, giving you enough time to mutter your own name before letting her kiss you again.

When drunk, there’s very little getting to know each other before you have your tongues down each other’s throat. And Maven was no exception. You were accustomed to it, having had your fair share of tipsy make out sessions with strangers, with the only thing you know about them being their name. And that’s all you wanted to know.

“Can I take you home?” Maven speaks very closely to your ear, her voice is raspy and tinged with a little too much eagerness. But not enough to give you the ick.

You give her a quick once over and say yes .

Maven takes your hand and leads you to the door, outside to one of the numerous taxis waiting for customers. In no time at all you’ve found yourself sitting in the back of a cab. As Maven gives her address you check your phone. A couple texts from Alice sat in your notifications from about twenty or so minutes ago.

Alice: u still on the dance floor? found Marilyn btw

Alice: girl hello?

It seems she must have lost the spot you were at when she had left to get another drink.

Atikah: No just left sorry! I’m going back to someone’s tho ;) hope you and Marilyn have a nice night x

Atikah: Thanks for tonight, I’ll send you the address later. And text when I leave for Nevermore x

Alice replies immediately.

Alice: gotcha i expect a full debrief tomo mari and me are gonna go back

‘Mari and I,’ is all you think to yourself.

~

Larissa had left your quarters not too long after you had. She was feeling shit. There were no better words to describe how she felt. She just felt. Shit.

Shit because she was feeling fomo, at the big old age of forty six, shit because she felt immature for the fomo, shit because Marilyn was able to start seeing a younger woman, shit because she wanted to have that too, shit because she wasn’t with you right now to shower you in compliments, shit because she wasn’t there to lay her claim on you if someone bought you a drink at the bar. Shit because she… because she missed you.

The blonde felt like she was losing her mind in her quarters - she kept finding herself looking out the window, hoping to see if your light turned on. So she climbed herself up onto the roof and settled in a spot where she could see the world but not be seen herself. She had spent many nights in that exact spot as a student enjoying the tranquility. The blonde shivered in the cold air, having not thought of wearing a jacket. What she did have was the next best thing - your scarf, which she draped over her shoulders like a shawl.

From her vantage point she can see the headlights of a lone car as it travels down the road towards Nevermore’s circular drive. It stopped at the gates and let out its passengers. Two figures. They waste no time hurrying down the gravel path and as they get closer to the school building Larissa can just make out that it’s Miss. Hansen and Marilyn. She casts her gaze back to the car which is in the process of a three point turn.

A deep frown settles on her lips. You should be with them. Why were you not? She’s about to jump to conclusions in her head but stops herself, you’d probably arrive soon in another taxi… most likely you had bumped into an old friend and said you’d stay and catch up with them, that you’d head home later.

~

You’re barely through the threshold before Maven has you pinned against the door. Her lips back on yours as she hungrily laps her tongue around yours. Her moans getting lost in your mouth.

Her thigh forces its way between yours, not that you put up much resistance in parting them. Her hands - her big hands - travel down from your shoulders over your breasts, kneading them and teasing out soft whimpers from you. Your hips jerk at the sensation but it doesn’t last long, Maven’s hands go straight for your hips. Pulling you down onto her leg and guiding your hips in a rolling motion.

You can feel yourself grow wet. You tangle your hands in her wild curls as her lips move down onto your neck. Where she sucks and licks. Leaving deep red marks. Your mind is too cloudy with carnal thoughts to stop her. All you can focus on is how good her thigh feels against your core which now throbs.

No words are exchanged, only grunts and desperate whines ring out through the empty apartment. You're vaguely aware of how Maven has started working on your chest, marking the skin with her mouth. Creating more red welts you’d have to deal with in the morning.

Her hand slips past your clothing, deft fingers stroking you through your dampened underwear. Maven can feel the thin lace fabric on her fingertips. You let out a sinful moan and close your eyes, leaning your head back. A hungry smirk plays on her face.

She drops to her knees, pulling the fabric of your pants aside. Her tongue, firm and warm, and wet runs along your folds. Sending a piercing wave of pleasure through you.

~

Larissa waited on the rooftop but no car came down that. Her mind ran amok with all the worst things that could be happening to you. And so she ended up back in her office. Employee files strewn across her desk as she fumbles to find yours.

“Karnstein… Karnstein, oh come on!” She burst out in exasperation as she pulls out a file for a Meinwald Karnstine.

Meinwald had retired several years ago, and Larissa had no idea why his file was still there. It was promptly chucked over her shoulder in the general direction of her waste paper basket. Her search continues.

Eventually she finds your file. It had somehow ended up in a different area. Usually Larissa was very particular and kept everything in alphabetical order when she could. She must have misplaced it when you had handed back the forms before you started officially working at Nevermore.

No matter, she’s found it. And most importantly, found your phone number.

~

“God! Lar- ” you open your eyes to look down but you aren’t met with blue eyes that reflect the softness of the summer sky and the complexity of the sea. Instead eyes of green like the moss that covers old stone ruins in forests gaze back. “Shit…” your chest rises and falls as you slow your breathing.

You push Maven’s head back and slide down the door so you're kneeling in front of her. Your shoulders slump as you run a hand through your hair.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Maven sounds genuinely worried which makes you feel even worse. “Did I do something-?”

“No!” You screw your eyes shut, “No,” you speak more gently this time, “you haven’t, I’m just… I’m a bit of a mess,”

“We just started,” Maven chuckles lightly, she’d happily take you to her bedroom and dim as the lights if you were worried about how you looked.

“No- I mean like, as a person. Right now,” you elaborate, “I don’t think this hook up… it’s not fair on you. I’m… I’m kinda hung up on someone,”

“Oh… right, okay.” Maven sits back on her legs and tries to find something else to say.

“Can I use your bathroom?” You don’t have the strength to meet her eyes.

She points you in the direction of her toilet, you lock the door behind you. You grab some toilet roll and clean yourself up. There wasn’t much to clean, like Maven said. You guys had really only just started. You flush the paper down the toilet and check yourself in the mirror. Deep purple lipstick is smeared across your neck and chest, you’d prefer if it was red. With a sigh you grab more toilet paper and wet it in the sink before wiping your skin clean.

~

Maven was kind enough to call you a taxi. And had accepted your apologies with grace. Softly saying she would be happy to bump into you in the future. Your strained smile and silence told her all she needed to know.

The taxi door shuts and after giving the address to Nevermore with a trembling voice, the tears start trickling down your face. You wipe them away with your arm. Trying to keep your sobs quiet.

The driver looks at you worriedly through the rear view mirror a few times but stays silent. You’re glad, because you don’t want to have to talk.

By the time you reach the school you’ve stopped crying - Maven lived quite a bit away, giving you ample time to get ahold of yourself . You pay the man before hopping out and rush to get back to your bed.

~

It’s almost two in the morning and the halls of Nevermore are silent save for the sound of rushed footfalls. Larissa’s loafers hit the ground with muffled thumps as she pulls on her coat over her night slip. She presses the call button on her phone and brings it to her ear, the dial tone ringing out. In her other hand she fiddles with her car keys. Larissa is so focused on listening for a change of tone that she doesn’t hear a second set of footsteps ring out.

She whips round a corner and comes to a shuddering halt. Because lo and behold, there stands you. Looking down at your phone. Brows drawn together as you read the unknown number. Feeling a pair of eyes burning into you, you look up. Your mildly perplexed expression falling into surprise. The first thing you notice is that Larissa’s hair is down. Her silken locks cascading over her shoulders.

You hadn’t seen Larissa since she disregarded your feelings. You missed her dearly but bumping into her on her way to meet with her fuck buddy - you presumed because where else would she be going at two am and who else would she be calling? Wasn’t how you planned on ending the night. Was it too late to go back to Maven’s?

“Hi,” you mutter weakly whilst declining the call.

You don’t wait for Larissa to reply, walking past her as she just stares at you mutely, apparently too shocked by the state of you to say anything. You make sure to leave a distance between yourselves as you step around her.

Unable to bear another second near Larissa, you pick up the pace and disappear round the bend and down the hallway.

“Atikah!”

You stop suddenly. You want to keep going, to ignore her. For the sake of your broken heart, but there’s something in her voice that makes you willing to suffer more pain if it means you can have one more interaction with her. Even if she’s going to reprimand you for coming back drunk. Or drunk-ish. You had pretty much sobered up on the way back to Nevermore’s.

You stand still, waiting for her to come to you. Of course, with her long legs it only takes her a few strides. You feel her presence behind you and turn to her.

“Atikah I- ” Larissa cuts herself off, her resolve wavering but then she notices the hickeys that adorn your skin, and something clicks in her head.

Seeing love bites on your neck left by someone who wasn’t her woke some possessive beast inside her that had been lying dormant. It wasn’t her place to feel that though, you weren’t hers. But she’d be damned if she didn’t lay out her case before letting someone else have you.

“We need to talk,”

“I’m tired Ms. Weems,” there’s no hidden edge to your voice, you just sound… tired. Like you had said.

“We need to talk, Atikah.” Larissa speaks as if it was life or death. And maybe it is.

“I just want to sleep, please,” you plead. You’re beginning to see double but you’re not sure if it’s the tears welling up in your eyes or from exhaustion. “Please. Just let me go to sleep,”

“How much did you drink?” Her voice drops to a murmur.

“Too much, I want to go to bed.”

Okay, maybe you hadn’t really sobered up in the taxi. That or the alcohol had caught up to you. There’s a haze that clouds your mind.

Larissa chews her lip as she watches you slowly wilt in front of her, looking up at her like a kicked puppy.

“Can you get to bed yourself?”

“I- I don’t wanna be alone,” you have no clue why you said that. It was true but Larissa wasn’t the right person to say that to. You knew her feelings and you truly believed you couldn’t change them.

“Come on,” she sighs, not out of ire.

~

The blonde guides you through the halls, you don’t pay much attention to where. Something in your brain tells you to ask questions when you walk through Larissa’s office, and also when you go through another door into her private quarters, but the words die in your throat. They don’t even make it to your tongue.

Larissa sits you on her bed before fetching a tshirt for you. You watch her every move, desperately trying to connect to a more cognitive part of your brain but it takes too much strength, strength you don’t have.

“Here, put this on,” she hands the T-shirt to you before leaving once again to grab makeup wipes from her vanity.

When she approaches the bed again you’re standing there with your shoes kicked off and your clothes bundled on the floor. You look adorable clad in her shirt. It reaches your knees and the sleeves drown your arms.

Larissa stretches over you to pull back the duvet and you’re quick to scramble under them. Savouring the smoothness of the crisp cotton against your skin.

“One more thing Atikah,” Larissa cups your face, gently wiping the mess of your makeup off of your face.

Your eyes are shut as you lean into her touch. The blonde’s heart soars and she realises she was absolutely insane for having denied herself this.

She lays you down and pulls the sheets over your body before climbing into bed herself. Sticking to her side. You roll over to face her, but you can’t see much in the darkness.

“Are you… are you staying?” You mumble. Sleep has you in its clutches but you make a valiant effort in fending it off.

“I’m just over here… if you need me,”

“I do! I’m sorry!” You suddenly realise how burdensome this must be for Larissa and you're overcome with guilt. “I know you don’t like me, you don’t need to I can go- ”

“Shhh, I do like you- ”

“But the other day you said you didn’t,” little cries punctuate your words as you begin to ramble. What you say makes sense in your head but as you speak you don’t say half the words. Leaving Larissa with broken sentences.

“I do like you…” Larissa’s steady voice brings an end to your nonsensical rant, “but you need to sleep,” she coos, shimmying over to you and pulling you into her arms.

You melt into her instantly. Your arms finding their way around her and roping her into a vice-like hold. Burrowing your head into the crook of her neck.

“Then why did you say you didn’t?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning,”

Larissa can feel your tears wet her neck as you cry, she holds you closer as you sob silently. She hates to realise the pain she caused you, and in that moment she knew she couldn’t say or do anything to stop your tears. All she could do was hold you and let you cry until you fell asleep.

“My sweet girl, I am so sorry…” she utters into the night before letting herself fall asleep.

Tomorrow she would fix this. She vowed to you and herself.

~

AN - hope you guys liked it <3

Taglist - @weemssapphic @h-doodles @blessmysouljessisonaroll @eveymay @lvinhs @enchantressb @a-queen-and-her-throne @vmpnano @opheliauniverse

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader

[shakespeareallanpoe]

Talks With Father

Word count: Idk

Warnings: none, unless you're terrified of Bruce being a good dad 😕

Dedication: @purp1e-ph0enix & @bradshawsbaddie

_____________________

"You mention her often."

Damian turned to look at the vigilante beside him, his finely tuned senses and years of knowing his father filling in everything Batman didn't say. There was no prompt, no segway into this conversation. They were sitting in the Batmobile while the computer program inside was rebooting and nothing but comfortable silence between them only a few seconds previously. It was offered as conversation starter and Damian knew Batman wouldn't push. In his own bat-way he was telling his son he was aware- the greatest detective in Gotham City was always aware.

Damian didn't put much stock into his father's experience with relationships, and they both knew Batman wasn't offering advice. Damian could leave it there. Batman wouldn't tell anyone and his son knew he would likely never mention it again. Damian almost took it, and if it was a couple years ago he would've. But since he had joined and left the Titans, Damian had seen the effects of allowing relationships to deepen beyond the surface level his league training always taught him to maintain. Being back with the league as their leader, he saw just how inhuman they had expected him to be. Damian rarely got the genuine moments his younger self always scoffed at, and he knew his mental and emotional health wasn't benefitting from it.

It's how he found himself occasionally visiting Gotham. At it's worst it was a filthy city that reeked of crime, and never failed to have some crisis or another. Damian was a hero here. He knew he was violent and brash but that's what the city needed when the police failed. Gotham always needed him for who he was, and Damian remembered telling his father these things go both ways. He needed Gotham as well. To take a break from the league, when that world got so toxic it became hard for him to breathe. Hard to see the man in his mirror.

Only Alfred and his father knew. Of course they knew. But Batman put a great deal of effort for the sake of his son, and allowed Damian to come and go as he pleased. It was hard for the man with trust issues and severe paranoia, but a week before he passed Dick had spoken to Batman about letting Damian go. That he would fly true if he was given the chance to spread his wings. And everyone knew the bat was trying to live by his first son's final wishes.

It didn't weigh on Damian's mind for long. His relationship with his father had greatly improved, to the point that they now worked together during Damian's visits. His father already knew. And self growth could only make a person stronger for it, so why not?

"I want to know how she is. She has yet to leave my... heart."

Batman exhaled, a sign that he'd heard his son's even response. Damian never reached out to his old teammates, but he did occasionally inquire as to how they were after the spilt. Batman kept tabs on them for these moments, and while he knew little about Raven, what he did know he always shared. Despite it hardly ever being good news.

"Raven is strong. She is with Kent at the moment and doing all she can." Batman's dark voice offered.

Damian didn't hesitate. "Just because the burden is carried well does not mean it is deserved. She is innocent, suffering, and still trying to save those who are the same. Magic is the only difference between the people and their hero."

Batman knew he and his son's tendencies towards philosophical pessimism would only darken their conversation. This world was a mess and those who fought for justice rarely got justice of their own. His first son was dead. His biological son existed because someone he cared for took advantage of him without remorse. But Batman, in his heart, desperately wanted the best for the youth of his city. All the children who could have lives he never could if only he sacrificed himself in every way for his city.

Looking across the Batmobile which had 4.33 seconds left in it's update, seeing the face that looked so much like his own at the age when he was lost in his determination to become the hero his life never had, Batman smiled softly at his son. "That doesn't mean she isn't cared for."

Damian, halfway lost in his own mind, truly a mirror of his father, had no response. Raven deserved so much more. She worked so hard and never gave a sign of the pain and pressure she had to endure. This world was a mess and those who fought for justice rarely got justice of their own. Damian's oldest brother was dead. His father hated him in the beginning because he was the physical reminder of how cruel the world could be. But Damian, in his heart, desperately wanted the best for Raven. He wished he could rewrite her fate, which seemed to be carved with blood in the stars, and give her the peace she sacrificed herself for in every way for her world.

Damian eventually found his own voice breaking himself from his musings, spilling from his mouth as if it took no thought. "Please help them. Save her."

Batman nodded, his finely tuned observation filling in everything Damian didn't say. The older man silently handed his son the keys to the Batmobile and moved to get out of the driver's seat. "Damian. The things that mean the most to us are the things we sacrifice everything for. You both care for the world and one day, you have to believe that the world will give it back to you."

"Tt. That sounds like a Hallmark marathon in the Wayne Manor was finished recently." Damian shot back lightly, grabbing the keys with a grin.

"It might have been." Batman replied evenly, holding the driver's door open while his young superhero climbed in. "I expect the car in perfect shape when it inevitably returns past your curfew."

"High expectations. We'll see what the criminal underbelly of Gotham has to say about that. Could be a rough night."

Batman stood back from his car in anticipation for his youngest's depart. "Shouldn't be a problem then. But if you want your first date to be a seaside picnic on the Wayne Beach with Alfred's cookies, I look forward to seeing the Batmobile in good shape tomorrow morning."

Damian blushed- only faintly- as only a teenager talking to his father about his crush would. "Perhaps your Hallmark movies do provide a potential benefit, however miniscule and insignificant."

Batman smiled almost teasingly. "There's no need to suffer through the cinema you don't enjoy. I've already collected quite the list of romantic outing ideas I think the two of you would like."

"Father! Do not meddle with my life!" Came Damian's indignant and completely flustered response from the interior of the giant black vehicle. He didn't want to know how long his father had been collecting romantic ideas for a potential future he may have with his Raven.

Batman snorted. "Alfred's idea. Told me to put my time in the theater room to good use. Kate is the one who went out of her way to buy Raven a series of date night dresses. I believe she called them 'adorable' in her description to me. Do you think Raven would look suitable in them?"

Damian in that moment was busy thanking every god he didn't believe in that the blackout window was up to hide his scarlet face as he violently shifted the car into gear and raced out of the batcave.

Do NOT think about Raven in an adorable purple dress

Do NOT think about Raven in an adorable purple dress

#Follow up to a post that inspired me #Damian getting those fluffy moments under the embarrassment of dad #bruce is a good dad #Little embarrassing tho #But so are all dads #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damirae #damian x raven #demonbirds #dc raven #teen titans #rachel roth #apokolips war #dc comics #damian wayne al ghul

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

apologies if you’ve already answered this/made something about it canon already but i was wondering if angel can like use her powers on demonrry to calm him down/make him feel better when he’s upset? if that makes any sense at all, i just always thought that would be so sweet if when he’s having a particularly stressful day that couldn’t be helped by just talking it out if she could just like *mwah* his forehead and oop- all better!

omg I’ve actually never thought of this before hello???

but now that you’ve mentioned it, I feel like she’d absolutely do it!! She can use her powers to heal physical pain/wounds, so she’d get curious to see if it could work on a deeper level, as well.

And you know when it would come up?? Whenever he has one of his nightmares 🥲 can you imagine??

She’d lay her palm against the scars on his heaving chest while talking to him in a gentle, hushed tone, reassuring him that it was just a dream and that he’s safe and nothing is going to hurt him.

He’s looking at her with large, wild eyes, like a cornered animal desperately trying to find an escape route. His gaze is fractured and scared; he can’t discern reality from what isn’t, and he's fighting the primal urge to run away— to cower and hide, craving solitude in order to lick his wounds on his own terms. He hates letting her see him in this state— so weak and vulnerable, so vastly different from his usual confident, strong, nonchalant demeanor.

This isn't the person she fell in love; it's a broken shell of someone he used to be, and he'd always promised himself no one would ever witness it but him. It's a part of his life he worked so hard to lock away, and the fact that something as simple as a flashback can revert him back to such a fragile, feeble condition is beyond humiliating.

Harry survived decades of torture, years of rigorous training, and centuries of isolation, yet a mere memory has the ability to incapacitate him completely. It's degrading, and it makes him a sorry excuse for a demon.

Y/N manages to yank him out of his dark thoughts, as she typically does. Her hand suddenly starts glowing against his stuttering chest, the tips of her fingers dancing with golden rays of light. He flinches away on impulse, the brightness overwhelming his dilated pupils and cloudy sight.

“It's okay.” She murmurs, her voice soothing and delicate, yet firm. “You're alright, H. Just relax.”

The buttery light from her palm begins to spread through the veins under his skin, pulsing within his blood as it webs up his neck and across his taut shoulders. The magic untangles the tension from his muscles, causing his rigid spine to soften like clay. His breathing levels out and the shadows in his brain start to thin. His entire body gradually fills with a sense of comfort and tranquility, steeling his frayed nerves and calming his frenzied instincts.

Harry can tell ​she’s lending him some of her celestial strength, similar to how she does whenever she heals a cut or mends a broken bone. It's the same sensation of peace and compassion— a certain mellow heat in his limbs that radiates down to the marrow in his bones, evaporating any pain in its wake until it’s all gone.

Any corporeal afflictions Harry endures usually subside fast enough on their own— enhanced healing is part of his own powers, as well, though sometimes she’ll help speed it along for her own peace of mind. It’s easy, since he’s already mending himself, so supplying some extra care takes hardly any effort at all.

But when it comes to his dreams, it’s a very different story. This form of restoration is something much deeper; it takes more out of her, considering the damage runs through his soul, and it demands a heavier toll on the person providing the aid.

Regardless, Y/N always insists on helping because she knows this type of wound is one he can’t fix on his own. Harry’s healing only cures surface-level problems, whereas his girlfriend’s extends further and has the aptitude to ease emotional and mental distress. But by doing so, she takes on that distress herself— she absorbs it into her body and exchanges her vitality in return.

This means that during the process, she feels whatever he’s feeling— his bitterness, his fear, his agony, all of it. It’s one of the fundamental laws of the universe, human, demon, and angel alike: energy doesn’t just disappear, it has to be traded off. It can only be transferred, not destroyed. Therefore, she bargains her fortitude and takes his pain as a result.

Y/N claims it doesn’t hurt as much as he assumes; that it only lasts for a minute, until he manages to get his bearings, and then it fades away as everything balances out. Nevertheless, that doesn’t excuse the fact that whenever she does it, Harry is essentially allowing her to shoulder all of his baggage until he gets his mind under control. And no matter what she says, she doesn’t hide it as well as she thinks she does; he can see her grinding her teeth through a clenched jaw, fighting off an anguished grimace as she blinks back tears from her glowing eyes.

It only adds another layer of loathing towards his nightmares, because it means his girlfriend has to deal with his issues just because he can’t deal with them himself. He’s allowing her to hurt herself for his sake.

But despite Harry’s countless protests, Y/N never hesitates when the moment comes, and he’s always too indisposed to stop her. She's stubborn that way, and though it worries him to death to let her carry his burdens, he can't deny how much he appreciates the relief that comes with the gesture. It feels like being released from a lead strait jacket, to where he can finally move and breathe and actually think again, instead of being frozen in some horrible loop.

So instead of resenting it or drowning in guilt, he’s tried to learn to accept it for what it is— a gift. A token of their relationship. No one has ever forfeited their strength in his interest, much less an angel, and even less an angel who happens to be in love with him.

“It is what it is.” She’ll reason after it’s all over, giving him a tender smile as they lay in bed with his head cradled against her chest, arms and legs intertwined. “It’s an angel thing; I was raised to sacrifice myself for the greater good. To me, the ‘greater good’ is helping you with your nightmares. I’m never going to just sit by and watch you suffer, whether you like it or not. Not when I can stop it.”

“I just don’t want you to put yourself through that.” He mumbles lowly, toying distractedly with the ends of her fingers, eventually letting his own sift between them. “You shouldn’t have to take my pain; I should be able to handle it myself.”

Y/N’s digits curl around his, squeezing his hand affectionately. Her voice comes out as a pleading whisper, her breath warm against the cold sweat that’s long dried across his forehead.

“When are you going to understand that you don’t have to anymore?”

#CAN YOU IMAGINE…. #demonrry!ask #demon!harry

[priincekin]

My All-In Interpretation in regards to Hyuluka and Hyun-woo

Summary : Hyuna, the extrovert, adopted Luka, the introvert, as her friend, and did her best to include him. However, Luka became jealous, and decided that the best thing to do was to kiss Hyuna. Hyun-woo, being a protective younger brother, approaches Luka about it and it ends in a fight; Luka, in the chaos and trying to defend himself with no arm strength, accidentally pushes Hyun-woo onto a rock and killing him before ultimately falling down due to injuries.

The Hyuluka dynamic pre-death isn’t too complex. In the Anakt Garden art book, Hyuna is shown as being popular, while Luka often watches the crowd from afar. She was an extrovert who probably felt bad for the supposed outcast and started to spend time with him out of pity.

While ultimately less than important to the chain of events, I think it’s likely that Luka’s kiss wasn’t necessarily borne of bad intentions. Instead, I think it was caused by a lack of social understanding.

In the MV, there’s a couple small moments with young Luka that point to some form of neurodivergency. These small details are also present in other forms, such as his interview. There’s a good chance he didn’t quite grasp the social cue of “hey, you can’t go and kiss her” and after a moment of jealousy, he figured it was a good time and just did it. I’m not trying to say he did nothing wrong, though, he absolutely did.

What exactly led to the fight is very much up for debate. There’s no way of knowing without dialogue. The most common interpretation I’ve seen is Luka confronting Hyun-woo about how much time Hyun-woo spends with his sister. That hardly makes sense. Instead, I propose that maybe Hyuna told Hyun-woo about the kiss, and he took it upon himself to confront Luka about it. Obviously, it went horribly wrong.

Logistics, in a case like this, are very important. The Hyun-woo killing is the most up for debate here. Running through a couple important factors:

Blood Splatter: In the case that Luka picked up the rock and bludgeoned him to death with it, the blood would be splattered across the whole surface instead of dripping down from where his head laid.

Physical Dynamics: Imagine trying to push someone taller than you in a way so that their head hits a very, very small rock. It would be difficult to not only get the person to stand in the right place, but also make sure they don’t move aside as they fall.

That’s what Luka would’ve had to do in order to kill Hyun-woo on purpose. In addition to that, Luka is likely to have very little arm strength, so pushing Hyun-woo over would’ve had to have been when he let his guard down; all in all, it would’ve been nearly impossible to plan the incident. As it stands, it’s fairly evident that it was just a freak accident.

Self-Defense: Throughout the coarse of Alien Stage, Luka has been shown to be extremely logical and aloof, not one to show emotions openly. Especially not those unbefitting to an Alien Stage victor. While there is a fair chance that he had less control over his emotions at that age, it’s still hard to believe that he would go to Hyun-woo looking for a fight, or that he would ever initiate one in the first place.

If Hyun-woo attacked first, it makes sense why Luka would’ve chosen to push him over; for someone with low upper-body strength, it would be easier to push Hyun-woo over rather than try to throw a solid punch. He’d be able to use his back and torso to put more weight behind it, and ultimately shove him over. If he was being hit, repeatedly, it’s all he really could do.

Assuming that everything above is correct, this smile could take on a new context. If he hasn’t seen Hyun-woo yet, he could very well be assuming that he had just succeeded in getting him off of him, or that he had ran away.

And here is where he sees the body. Yes, he could be looking at his purple fingers. But he could also be looking past that and realizing just what he’s done to Hyun-woo, and to me, that seems more likely.

#alien stage #alien stage hyuna #alien stage luka #alien stage hyuluka

[hcdragonwrites]

Rain (a Journey to the Au Drabble)

I wrote another thing! I was touched and inspired by @journey-to-the-au ! I wasn’t expecting to finish it in one sitting but my brain was afire, and I lost track of time so swiftly. I hope you like it and I hope I did your babies justice !

“Another day in paradise.” Earth Reaching Willow spoke the words aloud, soft and sad.

Then why did it feel like another day pressed between the pages of a book? The thought came like a tidal wave to the front of her mind, stirring and shaking Willows mask of serenity just a bit. No colors or sensations, just the barest touch of description was what the South Pole Palace had become to her.

Heaven was peace - but that peace was starting to chafe Earth Reaching Willow sharply. Here she stood, Eldest Daughter to the Jade Emperor along the railing of her favorite bridge in The Garden of Heaven, feeling the softest breeze curl against her cheek. The water beneath her did not stir with the breeze. The koi swimming beneath in their burning colors of gold and orange fire had the grace of clouds, hardly stirring the silt beneath them.

‘Why can’t I be content?’

She knew why. Earth Reaching Willow was able to eloquently pick apart her own thoughts just as she could with any noblemen or Celestial counselor that brought her gifts to bribe her hand.

Knowing peace all of her existence was beginning to feel as if she were repeating the same day over and over. Reading the same passage in a book, viewing the same painting upon her fathers study wall of bobbing cranes and water dragons. The frustration rose in her. But that’s all I can do. I view the things I hear of. Read of them but I, Daughter of Heaven, will never experience them.

She let that grace her father so prided her on slip off of her as she slumped to rest her arms upon the bridge. The same breeze teased her face again and also revealed she had, surprisingly, a loose thread upon her sleeve.

Earth Reaching Willow took the thread in hand and twisted it between her fingers.

The golden royal hues of her gown were pearled in the most intricate of stitches of willow leaves and falling blossoms, reaching downward from her arms to brush against the river that wove itself across the hem of her attire in a frothing and silent roar. Her handmaidens were so scrupulous in their fussing of her that she was surprised they had missed this little thread. She tugged and noticed the thread was connected to a stylized blossom on her wrist in free fall. It was forever stuck in its descent, never moving beyond where it was perched.

“Are you rebelling against the design of your Life, little thread?” Earth Reaching Willow gently asked.

She had been taught and schooled in being the epitome of serenity, in walking with a stillness and grace that other immortals and celestials envied. Willow and her sisters danced with grace, every motion balanced and calculated. That was the true flow of peace- to balance every motion to not disrupt the water around it. All the people of earth craved this peace, this very place that Earth Reaching Willow lived in.

She plucked at the thread. I am but a stitch in Heaven's grand tapestry. Just like this thread I’m bound up and frozen in a state of existing between.

It almost raised Willows emotions above that dam she had built within herself, almost swamping her in the feeling of stasis.

I cannot succumb to that feeling. She would not. Her finger came away from her sleeve with a snap that startled her silence. The thread she had been twisting and worrying at had come free. It waved in the breeze between her fingers.

Earth Reaching Willow let it go, watching as it floated down and shattered the mirror surface of the water. Ripples rolled from its wake, the most movement Willow had ever witnessed here. The carp swam close, investigating this intruder to their watery paradise.

“Be free Little thread. Be free for both of us…”

“Should I be concerned that my bride-to-be is talking to her clothing?” A warm buttery voice called from behind her.

Willow knew this voice.

“You should be more concerned you have yet to greet me this day, Husband-to-be.” Earth Reaching Willow responded, turning. Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven strode forward and took her hand to kiss it.

Of all the heavenly attendants and immortal beings in all the heavens of the worlds she knew, she was glad Wukong was hers. The Monkey King was dressed in his royal regalia, the armor shining bright in the perpetually perfect sunlight. He was dressed to impress. But it wasn’t to impress her.

Willow raised her sleeve to cover her face in mock flustered love, when really she was hiding her silent laughter. She whispered just loud enough for her dear friend to hear but too silent for any eavesdroppers to catch.

“How many are watching?”

Wukong looked up from her hand, hiding his own smile against her wrist.

“Two from beyond the wall and one from a bench beneath the pear blossom tree. I think if you entwine your hand with mine and if we make moon eyes at each other we may satisfy their curiosity.” He had a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Done.” Earth Reaching Willow dipping her hand to clasp Wukongs fingers, laying her own kiss upon his skin.They pressed their faces close, cheek to cheek.

Playing at being head over heels in love was the most fun Willow had ever had. When Wukong and her and thought up the scheme, she had had her concerns- mainly with the retaliation from the simpering suitors that would be furious that a mere immortal had caught the Princesses attention. There had been protests of course. Then Wukong had declared his intentions, regaling the court with his great deeds and how, if he had to, he would champion himself and outdo all his previous accomplishments in the name of proving he was worthy of the hand of Earth Reaching Willow.

Well that had set the court to a flummoxed and outraged chaos. When Wukong and Willow had gotten away from the courts eyes and ears they had bent over and laughed, tears welling in their eyes. Yes Earth Reaching Willow had had her misgivings. But months down the line Willow loved the game they played. It was the most alive she had felt in all her life. She began to look forward to her days and meetings with Wukong, this handsome monkey who brought life to her she so craved.

After a time of whispering in each others ears (mostly jokes or riddles that would set the other to smiling) Wukong flicked his tail, their silent signal that they were alone.

They stayed close but relaxed truly now, smiles becoming wide and friendly instead of the flirty facade they played for court.

“We should start our own acting troop.” Wukong said, resting his arms over the bridge to gaze out on the garden.

“Oh?” Earth Reaching Willow raised a perfect brow.

“We are both actors of stunning caliber!” He said, tapping his chest with pride. “You keep pace with every act I bring to the table and have even come up with your own! Remember the Banquet of Snow?”

How could she forget? “We danced together so long that my own Father had to interrupt us! Then I fed you from my own plate and you me- I am pretty sure we left them all sick with how in love we had been.”

Wukong laughed. Willow laughed with him. He had that effect with his laughter, so warm and uncontained. The sound broke Heaven's peace in such a way it swept one up with it in a tide of warmth.

An edge of melancholy overcame Earth Reaching Willow then. I want to feel this all the time- this laughter. This light.

“Oh Wukong, I wish you would never leave.” She told him then, staring off into the water. Her thread was gone, either taken by the invisible current or plucked out of the water by some invisible attendant.

The Monkey King turned his head, ears curved forward.

“Now Willow, what has made you so sad?”

She shook her head, eyes cast to the water below.

“Don’t try and hide it from me- I know you too well now. You may be an actor but you can’t fool me. I’m your partner in crime, after all. I’ve seen all your tricks.” He jested, smile playing along his lips

“Oh have you?” Willow asked but her voice lacked the usual playful banter. Her mind had returned to the heavy thoughts of grace and perpetual serenity, of the mantle of sameness and here, with him, she couldn’t hide.

“Willow…” Wukong gently tapped her arm with his hand. “What has dampened your light ? My friend, tell me. There is no one in the Garden. It’s safe here.”

It was the softness with which he spoke that almost broke Willow. He had always been kind to her. She took just a half shuffle to the side, reaching for recomposure. If she stayed in his kindness she would have unleashed that tidal wave battering within her.

It wanted to get out.

She had to keep it in.

She took a breath.

Then another.

“Heaven is … Paradise.” The words came from Earth Reaching Willow softly. Only a bit- only a trickle of that emotion I will let forth. If I let it flow free I’ll loose that peace and I don’t want my Father to catch wind I cried in the Garden. Or to thing it was Wukong who caused it.

“Maybe a little rain or something.” Or anything her heart sang. A bird within a gilded cage.

Now that it was out- now that she had said it, her body felt lighter. A stone cast from her soul. If it had just been her, Willow was concerned she wouldn’t be able to cast off this pallor of sorrow with ease. With Wukong however, his vibrancy drew from her heart the deepest of her well locked up sorrows.

Wukongs hands were suddenly over hers, tugging Willow off and away from the bridge.

“W-Wukong what -“ Earth Reaching Willows voice faltered. Her friends face was brighter than any sunbeam she and her sisters had ever woven, some unknown emotions twinkling in his eyes.

“Come with me Willow-I have something to show you!” He pulled her off the bridge and out the garden, tail tapping in tandem to his bright smile and little laughs. “Come come- out of that stuffy garden with you!”

“Wukong what has taken over you?”

“An idea. A brilliant and stupendous idea! But it is a surprise so you must close your eyes!” He peered right into her face, mockingly stern. “No peeking! It will ruin the effect!”

Willow snorted, being swept up again in his golden glow of emotion. He is quite adorable.

“Alright alright ! I will cover my eyes!” Willow lifted her hands, covering her eyes from view. The smile dancing on her lips couldn’t be washed away by the tide of sorrow within her. Not when this burning bright flame of a person was with her.

“Wukong…”

“Not yet!”

“Wukong how much longer?”

“Not much farther! Just — oop watch your step here!”

It had been a short flight to this mysterious place Wukong had taken Willow and she couldn’t help the electrical feel of excitement ripple up her spine. Any other being covering her eyes would give Earth Reaching Willow pause. Wukong however ? This was her sweet monkey, the kind soul that had seen her trapped between unhappy marriage options and had come in to give her an escape.

She trusted him just as he had trusted her with his past, with who he was.

Wukong stopped.

“Alright Willow- let me cover your eyes now that I have you on a safe spot.”

“Don’t want me to wander off a cliff dear husband-to-be ?”

“I would be a terrible husband if I let my wife-to-be walk her way off a cliff. The Emperor would have a new monkey rug to enjoy.”

She laughed, smiling against his palms.

“You could never be turned into a rug my dear.”

“You are right- however my own mothers would make me one in his stead.” The laughter slowly faded and Willow felt Wukong lean forward from behind. He was warm against her back, the breath against the shell of her ear making her ticklish.

“Are you ready?” He asked. She couldn’t help the spark that set off in her limbs. Surprises in Heaven were always of the placibile kind. A new set of moon needles to sew with, a gown woven from the beard of a water dragon, a parasol that changed decorations by the phases of the sun- all orderly gifts expected to be given to a princess.

Wukong however was not of the Heavenly court. His gifts had never been of the ‘appropriate’ kind that those stiff backed men had presented to Willow.

“Yes.” Her breath came quickly now.

“Alright…” the Monkey King removed his hands from her face. “Open them.”

Earth Reaching Willow did.

And lost her breath.

She and Wukong were standing upon the edge of a mountain cliff, facing out to something Willow had only seen once before. The ocean sparkled and flashed beneath the warm amber sun that was beginning to set in its sea. Like scales upon a dragons skin, the ocean moved as if breathing, basking in the buttery glow of the sun. Colors came alive in the twist of the mountains beside them- upon the leaves of the trees as they refracted the sunlight. Something was rising from within her, a rush of feeling. What could it be? It was as if she had drunk too much heavenly wine, a headrush so clear and bright and so unlike the muddling effects of wine. Willow opened her mouth, to speak to gasp to thank, she didn’t know. She didn’t get a chance.

A great cloud of gray swept over one of the mountains, close enough to see its plumes of ink dark but not in the way of its storm path. Great sheets of water streamed down beneath its mass, diamond drops of water glowing like honey in the sunset. The sound! Her ears, if they could move, would have swiveled to catch it. A great Crescendo of sound, sweeter than chimes and deeper than flutes, fell with the rain. It made sound out of the colors and things before her, falling on that great oceans back, painting the mountain dark, and scenting the air with such a perfume as to be heady and intoxicating. It made her heart race, her blood feel afire. Willow took a half step forward.

“Careful love.” Wukong caught her arm, gently stopping her from getting too close to the edge. Willow turned to him and Wukong gasped. Her monkey reached up and wiped away something that was spilling from her face. A tear. She had been crying?

“Wukong …” she heard the emotion in her voice, that swelling water within her threatening to come up and drown her words.

“We call it a sun shower.” Sun Wukong replied, gesturing to the magnificence before them. “Do you like it ?”

The dam within Willow broke then. Her smile became as wide and bright as to rival the sunset before Wukong. She laughed, throwing back her head in a way he had never seen before.

“Like ? Like ? Like does not even begin to brush upon the - this - this feeling. It’s-“ How to describe this thunder within her body? Willow was eloquent and well versed in poetry. But all the poetry of the broad heavens and the words in all the languages known and unknown failed to compare what this gave to her. She could only laugh, only cry and only smile. “I Love this…”

Suddenly Earth Reaching Willow was vibrating with a radiance The Sage had only caught in glimpses when he had disarmed her within the court with his charm or wits. Wukong felt a glow of pride and love wash over him, seeing her in a way no one else had.

Earth Reaching Willow was finally alive in a way she had never been in all her eternity within Heaven's own Garden. Rain and sun, sea and sky had freed her and, if Wukong had anything to say about it, he would give her this every day for the rest of their existence together.

Earth Reaching Willow was for the earth after all. She was finally Home.

#hcwrites #writing stuff #for journey to the au #I got carried away I think lol #but Willows expression had me falling in love #you ever step outside into a sunset so painted with color that you momentarily forget life ? #Willow would be the kind of person who would enjoy the colors of life and never get tired of them #and Wukong is the most charming ! #did I tear up writing about the sunset ? yes. #I wanted to be there with her seeing it #Wukong you better give her all the beauty of the earth #journey to the west #jttw tag #sun wukong #Earth Reaching Willow #ERW #journey to the Au #I blasted my fave music by Ellet Duhé writing this #I have been listening to her a lot to write - I think it’s the instruments she uses and the lyrics that make my mind explod #I pass out now I lost track of time and I work today pftttt #but when I don’t write and have the itch like this it keeps me up #brain fire exists #thank you for giving me permission to write your babies! #hcfanfics

[georgiapeach30513]

Sweet Silver Linings, Part 3

Summary:  you and Curtis are struggling

Pairings:  Curtis Everett X Reader

Rating:  mature

Warnings:  mentions of D/s dynamics, mentions of bondage, mentions of biting, mentions of spanking, toy play, butt plug, nipple clamps, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  3.2K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

“Ugh!” Doll looks down the couch at her husband who was peacefully rubbing her exhausted feet when Curtis’ groans of distress ring through their house. “No! You piece of,” he takes a deep breath, throwing the piece of paper he was working into the floor with the other discarded ones, and starting to draw again.

Doodle pokes his nose on his mama’s belly, and gives his tail a wag, looking upstairs. “Yes, Doodle, I think you need to go check on Uncle Curtis. He seems a bit…”

“Oh my god!”

“Distressed. And if he’s distressed then I’m distressed, and if I’m distressed this sweet girl is, and…”

“Doodle, buddy boy, sissy can not be distressed, tell Curtis to come here instead of,” another growl has Doodle’s face looking up at the stairs instead of wanting to nuzzle Doll. “Go, buddy, tell him he needs to come down here and explain himself.”

Doodle wanders up the stairs, and nudges the door open with his nose. His sweet demeanor gives Curtis puppy dog eyes. “They told you to come up here, didn’t they? I’m fine!” He shouts down at his brother and sister in law.

“Curtis Howard Everett, you come down here this instant!”

“Ooh! She full named you,” Curtis groans again, grabbing his sketch pad as he trudges downstairs. “She’s getting practice, but Cozy girl will never need to be full named. She’s going to be the sweetest, cuddliest…”

“Curtis, what cha got?” Doll says, reaching a hand out to the notebook. “Come here, show me what you got.”

“It’s nothing,” he hands over the scribbled on paper, sighing. “I just can’t get it right.”

“Coco,” she smiles, looking up from the paper. “This…this is for her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. For the shop.”

“You can’t get it right because you want it to be perfect for her?” He nods his head, and she gets the biggest tears in her eyes.

“No! Why are you crying?” Hayden gets excited, sitting up and moving to her side. “You’re smiling. Why is she smiling?”

“This is the sweetest thing ever.”

“I’m sweet,” Hayden was clearly the baby of his family. Always needing to be center of attention.

“You really like her, huh?” Doll sweetly asks, placing a hand on his cheek. “Like really really like her?”

Curtis takes a moment, but nods his head. He liked you a lot. Hardly knew you, but he was falling. There was something under the surface that he just couldn’t quite get to, but he was falling so hard, and it was frustrating. There was no reason for him to be falling. None whatsoever. But here he was trying to make you something perfect and it just didn’t work.

“Yeah, I really like her. I have so many questions, but I want her to let me in. I’m right there. She talks to me unprompted. Her dog loves me. I can tell. Teeny loves me. Teeny? This girl is so precious she named a giant St. Bernard, Teeny. He’s her emotional support dog, isn’t he?”

“Curtis, Bubs is one of the most precious people I’ve ever met. She’s had a lot happen in her life. She wants to love so hard. I think that’s why she’s standoffish. She’s scared. And if you knew…you would get it, but that's not my story. What I will say, if she’s letting you in, that’s a good thing. She doesn’t take that lightly. She keeps new people at a distance. Thinks she’s bad luck. But this…you’re wanting to simplify her life, and I don’t think anyone has ever done that. She complicates her life, and her brain is always going in different directions. But….this…this is perfect. She’ll love this.”

“It’s not perfect,” Curtis reaches over, grabbing the notebook from his sister in law. This had gotten complicated for no reason. He didn’t want things to be like this. But he would do whatever it took for you to be comfortable with him. “She’s perfect, and I can't compete with that.”

“Then don’t,” Hayden shrugs his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his wife. “Take it from a man that found someone who was perfect. You can’t duplicate them. You can’t give them the perfect scenarios all the time. You can’t do everything. This is what you can do,” he gives a point to his brother’s early drafts of the cabinet. “Instead of trying to make something perfect, make it functional. Let it capture what you know her personality to be. Make her life easier at her store. But you can’t recreate perfection. You’re wasting time on doing that, instead of spending time with her. That’s the point of this to keep you more around her. Then there ya go. This is what you do.”

“I’m not perfect, Haydes.”

“That’s all you got from that, seriously, woman?”

“Haydes is right,” Hayden gives a proud smile at his brother, making sure Curtis heard Doll say that Hayden was right. “You’re thinking too hard. Let things flow, and happen. Spend time with her. If she agreed to this, she wants you there. It’s okay to be a bit nervous. You do have a school boy crush.”

“So you think this draft is okay?” Both Hayden and Doll smile, nodding that it was. “Okay. Okay. I’m just going to let things happen then.”

“Exactly. Let them happen!”

“So, Curtis, tell me why you still think it’s necessary for you to come here?” Doc puts her pen and paper down. Laying her hands in her lap as she stares at the man across from her.

“Well, before it was trying to work through my feelings of losing Jessie, and believing it was my fault. Then it was the fear of doing what I always wanted to do. I want to help people. Not in the way that my dad and brother do, but a more approachable way. Therapy is great, but not everyone has the means for it, you know?”

“Your book is completed, is it not?”

“Uh,” he rubs the back of his neck. Technically it was. And it was picked up by a publishing company. But was anything ever really completed? He had a life’s mission. “Yeah, I guess. But…Doc, I think something is wrong with me.”

“How so?”

“Have you ever had a fear of something?”

“Do we not all fear something?”

“But I mean something that is good and fun, and so fucking satisfying.”

“What do you mean?” She fidgets her fingers a bit, thinking about reaching over for her notebook, but Curtis did better without it. He liked eye contact, and it was almost eerie how much he liked it.

“Sex.”

“Oh, I did not see that answer coming. How long has it been since you last had sex?” It was a shame that Curtis didn’t have to actually think about how long it had been. He knew exactly how long it had been. Exactly how each and every day and drug by that he had felt a woman to hold and protect.

“Well over a year.”

“Good looking guy, sweet, confident.”

“I don’t need you to tell me my positive attributes. I have women that hit on me constantly. I lack the response to want to interact with them,” because there was only one, and you weren’t one to pick up on any flirting. He wanted you. No one else. Just you.

“Why?” Curtis was a fascinating patient. He just needed an outside person to talk to, but for the most part he could talk himself to an answer. He just needed someone to listen to him. Especially after dealing with his guilt over Jessie.

“Seeing my sister in law in that place,” he breaks his eye contact to look out into the distance. Remembering the unease he felt about her being at the club. “It was these two men constantly bickering about whose dick was going to get wet by her. They knew without knowing what they were doing. She just needed physical touch. They were passing her around like she was nothing but a fleshlight, just wet skin. Neither one acknowledged how hurt she was and she was using sex to think people loved her.”

“This is all about your sister in law. How do you fit in?”

“I’m getting there. I saw it. Saw her walk out of the chapel, walking funny, and this dead look in her eyes. Only to have some other man needing to use her, and she always left with him. She was this ball of depression, and I took too long to intervene. I saw the older one constantly walking behind her, and grabbing her over her clothes, whispering how her cunt was his. She was just property to him. The other one cared, but didn’t see how she was being used by him either.”

Curtis holds his hand up to Doc, stopping her from asking a question. He was about to make his point. “The one would whisper in her ear, ‘You know who your daddy is, and you know who you belong to.’ And every time I saw a piece of her die. I didn’t know that type of relationship could harm someone.”

“That type of relationship?”

“You know,” she shakes her head no, needing Curtis to elaborate. “A Dom and sub relationship.”

“Oh. Why would you think it harmed her?”

“It clearly did.”

“Maybe I should ask, why do you care if that type of relationship harmed her?”

“Umm…I don’t know. I guess…I guess it’s because that’s how I like things. And I see Doll and my brother, and they don’t have that, and they’re so happy. She calls him daddy, and while I know it’s more than him becoming a father, it’s not in this ownership type of way.”

“Hmm,” she smiles at him, realizing how confused he was in understanding that lifestyle. “What you were witnessing was a very unhealthy D/s relationship. Doll went along with that relationship because as you said, she needed to feel loved. Needed the attention. And she found negative attention. A man that used her vulnerable state and need for a daddy. In a healthy Dominate and sub relationship there are boundaries. Even ownership is fine if both parties agree to that. If they have their rules and their boundaries. You always have to have consent to these things.”

“But what if…I haven’t. But I enjoy a certain type of porn.”

“You mean the type of porn you watch is something you want to act out?” He nods his head, and looks away from her. Completely out of character for him. Curtis had a calming effect around him. But also kept up that eye contact.

“Okay, and what’s wrong with the type of porn you prefer?”

“It’s abusive.”

“How so?”

“Tying someone up. Smacking them. Punishment.”

“With boundaries that include a safe word, knowing your partner, and watching for physical cues, and even their verbal cues on when to stop is a safe way to enjoy extreme sex. It is best to have this type of relationship with someone you trust, and that trusts you. These types of relationships are about being vulnerable with someone. The ultimate trust is given to another person. Someone that will push their limits, but listen, watch, feel, and then in the end will take care of them. You can’t have one extreme without the other. Aftercare is a must in these relationships. They’re for both parties; the dominant and the submissive. Which is why you need an open conversation on what you want in this relationship. That doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you. This is normal, and more common than you realize.”

“How do you mean that?” The eye contact was back. No longer ashamed to look her in the eye. “So this is common? Like, having visions of tying someone up, and…punishing them is normal?”

“It’s a scene. It’s a controlled environment. Would you tie up anyone or punish them unwillingly?”

“No! No. No, I would never take complete control over someone.”

“So you’re saying with boundaries such as them agreeing to it, and giving you a way to know when they’ve had enough that is the only way you would punish someone?”

“Yes,” One syllable, and complete conviction. Curtis wouldn’t hurt anyone. “Why do you think I’m like that?”

Doc takes a deep breath. Both she and Curtis both know that time was nearing an end. “Sometimes it’s a lack of control in your own life. When there’s things we can’t control, you then want to find something that you can. Sometimes it’s because you have no outlet for your frustrations, and while you want to take them out on something or someone, you still want parameters and rules. The bigger question is why do you think that? Was it always there? Was there a break? Was it the porn you liked? A friend or girlfriend? Or was it the options I mentioned earlier? One thing I will say is there’s nothing wrong with you. You acknowledge you don’t want to hurt anyone, but there is an allure to the lifestyle. Make that be your homework. But I believe you want to get out of here early so you can set up to open the door. Do some self reflecting Mr. Everett. And I’ll see you next week.”

Curtis stands, leaning towards Doc to shake her hand, and heads towards the lobby. Waiting patiently for you. Just in case you needed help with the door, and if you didn’t, he was still going to help you. It was who he was, and you deserved to be treated like a princess. Most definitely you needed to be taken care of. Worshiped. And held until you weren’t afraid of your demons anymore. He wanted to do that for you because it’s what you deserved.

Seeing your little SUV pull in, and the big head of Teeny pop up made him even happier. You brought the puppy. And then you get out of your car. Coffee in tow, but also the bag he gifted you on your arm. And a leashed Teeny, so you were still in need of help.

He opens the door, and you don’t break contact with him. Even a small sliver of a smile, “Hi,” he nervously says, his eyes casting down your body for just a split second before ending on Teeny, “Hi to you, too.”

“Hey, Curtis,” you smile, pulling a bit on Teeny’s leash to head into Doc’s office.

The receptionist looks at Curtis with her mouth agape, and he nods his head with a smile. He got a hey and his name. You said his name. You said hey, but you said his name. You had said his name in public, and someone else heard it. She heard it, and she was still shocked.

“I’ll see you next week. Have a delightful rest of your day,” you had said his name. You said it and it was beautiful.

“I like Jacobean,” you almost shout at Curtis when he walks into the store. Armed with a notebook and a bag of things. “What is that?”

“I brought some wood samples with stain,” sitting down his things, you just know you’re going to feel like a complete idiot, but you didn’t care. It had to be said.

“I like cherry wood. It sounds cute, too. Jacobean stained cherry wood, no?”

“It sounds adorable,” he was beautiful. Gone was the jacket, when you first met him, and now short sleeves were exposing his thick sinewed arms. And every inch of his arms and most of his hands were covered in black ink, and you have to take a deep breath to not whimper.

Visions of him wrapping rope around your body, his bicep choking you while he thrusts into your abused cunt, “I’m sorry,” you pant. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” he smirks. Why did he look that damn hot with a crooked smile? Did he know what you were thinking? Did he know that you had fantasies of him biting on your shoulder right before he came? Could he have any idea the vile and depraved thoughts you had running through your head about him?

Could almost feel his hand spank your backside, and curse about how you were taking his cock like a filthy little slut. How he had you screaming out his name and begging him to let you come. “You like cream and sugar?”

“Nope, just black,” his smile. His smile was perfection. You can feel the indentions of his teeth on your skin. Can feel his teeth nibbling on your clit. “You, okay?”

“I’m fine. Just tired,” lying seemed like the obvious thing to do. Curtis would think you were a freak, and you liked having him here.

“Uhh…why don’t you close down for the day? I can start down here, if you don’t mind. At least it would get some preliminary work done, and I won’t be a burden. Since you know what you want, it won’t take me long to get the lumber. And just have it closed for renovations.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m going to do that. Here’s the key to the shop. Just remember to lock up when you’re done,” it was stifling the thoughts that were annoyingly racing through your head. How were you supposed to function like this? This was insanity. You needed to let it all out. Denying yourself the urge to get off wasn’t healthy.

Waiting at the top of the stairs for Curtis to lock up, you leave Teeny on the couch, and go into your bedroom. Into the walk in closet, and open up a drawer and grab out a dildo, and stick it into the middle of your bedroom floor. Staring at it as you grab a few more things. You would let yourself get some frustrations out. Curtis was not going to have this much power over your mind or your pussy.

It would be absurd to mention this to Curtis. You add nipple clamps to your tits, seething when the rush of pleasurable pain rushes through you, and you lube up a butt plug. Curtis did not control you. He was too nice. He didn’t need your baggage. He didn’t want your baggage. He deserved the world. He deserved to be worshiped. To be treated like a king, and you his…queen didn’t sound right.

You slink to your knees, letting the dildo split you open. “Princess,” you whine, starting to bounce on the toy. It didn’t feel the same. There weren't thick, tatted arms groping you. Forcing you on how to move.

You liked the sound of Princess. King Curtis. You were beneath him. And you wanted him to show you how he owned every part of you. Wanted him to use you like you were his property. Like you were nothing more than wet warm flesh. And even that aftercare that Doc had mentioned didn’t sound too bad if it was with Curtis. Waking up to him kissing over your tender muscles. If only. For now, you would torture yourself because you could never have a man like Curtis.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @softsatnin @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings

#sweet silver linings #curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #cutris everett x fem!reader #curtis everett x y/n #curtis everett x #curtis everett fanfiction #curtis everett fics #curtis everett fic #Chris Evans fandom #snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfiction

[dantedeservedbetter]

I don’t think anyone understands just how much I want origin stories of everyone else in Mystreet like they all have really interesting backgrounds that are just tossed to the side of the main plot points (lol abt to be a really long threat again sorry)

Aaron- Didn’t actually get character lore OR a personality until S3 but like I want MORE because tbh I feel like his parents gave him a lot more trauma than what’s shown in the series, and even the stuff IN the actual seasons (the emotional neglect, his military schooling, the tense relationship w/Melissa etc;) are fixed and shoved off like no he might ACTUALLY need therapy bruh PLEASE

Katelyn- I think she was (?) in therapy in the beginning for her anger issues and the loss of her mother but like it was kind of forgotten about tbh. I think she needs more positive moments in the series honestly bc in the later seasons we’re shown she’s partially abusive towards Travis the first time they went out, and ends up being written off as prejudice towards werewolves bc of past experiences??? Naw the Katelyn I know would never do that. AND HER DREAMS OF WORKING IN THEATRE TOO HELLO??? Also, her mom quite literally used her in the Forever Potion experiments as a child?? I feel like that’s important to her character too :/

The Ro’meave Brothers- I don’t actually know where to start tbh because I feel like ALL THREE of them could use some kind of character depth aside from Dumb Blonde, Emo One, and the Forgotten One. Especially Vylad, probably having to witness this entire Lycan situation grow from an outsiders perspective with no contact from his family in forever. It’s shown that Zane is immensely interested in the family business too like hello??? Garroth himself is kind of just written off as a comedic effect most of the time, but he quite literally has no other goals (possibly because he KNOWS he’s going to inherit the business one day whether he cares to or not).

Laurance- He’s not really a character anymore, but from what we’ve actually SEEN in Mystreet he had enough development to become something outside of a potential love interest for Aphmau. He has a fondness for cooking and was seen to be EXCEPTIONAL at it, and I think he still carried an interest in baseball (or idk it was SOME sport asdfghjk the point is he was good). And he was also shown to still help out his family here and there (babysitting Caleb, his baby brother, in numerous episodes). Idk, I feel like there were so many pieces of Laurance that could’ve been explored and touched upon and we hardly got anything. Also… Garrance. Quite literally hate to be that person but it was literally the biggest piece of queerbaiting I’ve ever seen fr I wish it was explored as much as Aarmau was :( (willing to bet the popularity had something to do with what I call the ‘Heartstopper’ treatment but that’s just me tho)

Nana (KC)- The most under appreciated character in-universe I actually had to go and make a separate post about this LOLOL expect it in like five minutes from now bc I just save everything in my drafts.

Travis- Lol no surprise here but him too dude honestly I have no idea where to start with him atm, his entire family’s lore needs a full in depth analysis on themselves because Aphmau’s series just BARELY touches the surface of Travis’s character

Dante/Gene- Honestly BOTH of them were done so dirty I find it funny how no one ever talks abt it because they’re so beautiful to me. Gene already had his redemption arc so I can kind of see why they just tossed him aside but Dante literally had nothing tbh. He had a messy relationship with KC in PDH and then made that same mistake in LLP. Okay, cool, give us more of that. Let him learn from his mistakes and be self aware now. Or better yet let him grow without tossing love interests into the formula in order for it to happen!! Seems like his family life is pretty good though, worst thing abt him was the peanut allergy.

Lucinda- Queen actually has very little to no background that actually centers around her. We know she had a really bad relationship with Ivan but like I’m pretty sure that’s it.

[noodleblade]

Birds of a Feather, Part 3/?

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Starscream should not have been surprised to find Laserbeak waiting outside his habsuite the following cycle. Before returning to his hab the night prior, he had directed her to do the same. The one-off instance of berth sharing was not one he was eager to repeat. While Laserbeak had seemed disappointed in this, she had not pressed and left. Starscream hoped she went back to the hab she shared with Soundwave but didn’t want to check the security camera to see if he had been proven wrong.

Whatever the case may be, he awoke to no alerts of sneaking drones in the medbay and an empty habsuite. Empty in more ways than just uninvited guests. 

Starscream sneered at his lack of furnishings. In the past, the hab had been cluttered. Skywarp had a horrible knack for collecting random bits and baubles and Thundercracker left half read datapads all about. Not to mention Starscream’s own projects had taken up any available surface. In their passing, the influx of items had stopped and within a couple of vorns, the clutter had dwindled away to the bare and empty room it now was. He had never really thought to pay attention to the current state of his hab but now that he had, his optics couldn’t help but mark all the ways it had lost any sort of life. 

It’s just a room , Starscream reminded himself bitterly as he left the hab and nearly ran into Laserbeak. 

If she sensed his bitter mood, she didn’t show it, greeting him with a chirp and bob of her helm. 

::Recharge well?::

No, he hadn’t. Like the cycle before, it had been fraught with restlessness and nightmares. His processor was eager to dig through old memory files, linking them to the ever-present grief that hung in Laserbeak’s field. 

‘That’s just sympathy, Star,’ Thundercracker’s voice echoed in his audials, followed by Skywarp’s teasing laughter, ‘ As if he knows what that is .’

Starscream scrubbed his faceplates, agitation pinching at his transformation seams. 

“I’m fine,” he spat out. 

Laserbeak whistled unbelieving but let the remark slide all the same. ::We have time to refuel and visit Soundwave before shift start.::

“Is this going to become a habit?”

Laserbeak hovered closer, optics piercing in what Starscream could only imagine as a glare. ::Until Soundwave is back.::

Starscream glared back. “I don’t have time to check on Soundwave every cycle.”

::Actually, you do.::

Following the comm, an attachment was sent showing a timetable, Starscream shift block highlighted and bookended with a refuel and a medbay check in. Starscream raised his optic ridge at this. 

“You know there aren’t going to be updates if we keep pestering Knock Out.”

Laserbeak let out an agitated burst of static. ::We need to make sure the medic stays on track.::

Starscream laughed hauntingly. Normally he would agree but, “Knock Out may exhibit bouts of lethargy and boredom but Megatron has marked Soundwave’s recovery efforts as the highest priority. Knock Out can be distracted easily but he’s hardly an idiot. He knows better than to anger our dear leader.”

Laserbeak considered this, rocking slightly in the air as she mulled it over. ::Can we still check on him?::  

There’s that ‘we’ again. The line between having Laserbeak’s loyalty and being chained to the drone was a tricky one to navigate with her turbulent emotions. He needed to remain in control, needed to keep firm just as much as he needed to concede to the cassette to get her unconditional trust. 

“Fine,” he finally muttered. “But I’m telling you, Knock Out’s not going to have any new information.”

Laserbeak didn’t seem to care, her field bursting with unrestrained gratitude. 

--

Starscream’s shift had gone without incident, mostly putting out fires and working on strategies to make sure their next run-in with the Autobots was a success. Playing clean up for the disaster that had been their last mission only allowed Starscream to analyze where everything went wrong to prevent fatal error from happening again. They couldn’t afford a repeat incident. 

His typical meeting with Megatron had been as unproductive and frustrating as ever, however, a new horrible realization had hit about halfway through the meeting as another smashed data pad was thrown, courtesy of the warlord. Without Soundwave’s subtle, quiet presence, there was no barrier between himself and Megatron and no one to put them back on track. What had been a simple issue of mining equipment repairs had derailed them into a screaming match and a sea of broken data pads and overturned chairs. 

Starscream was just happy to come out of the meeting unscathed. Even in the midst of his fury, Megatron was more than aware that having two of his High Command out of commission was a death sentence. A silver lining, he supposed, in the dark cloud that was Soundwave’s grave injury.

Agitation still rattled his frame as he stalked out of the main deck, leaving Megatron’s snarling words and his war room far behind. He paid the vehicons no mind as he marched through the wide doors. In his blinded rage, he hadn’t seen the minicon, nearly crashing into the hovering cassette for a second time that day. Thankfully, Laserbeak, much like her host, was far more observant.

The cassette dodged Starscream and hovered over his helm as the seeker glared. Starscream’s optics flared a menacing red that reflected on the mini’s smooth, slick plating. 

“What?” he snapped, unable to keep his frustrations of Megatron out of his tone.

Laserbeak made a lazy circle around him. Quiet and evaluating, another fun imitation of Soundwave. 

::You seem agitated. Perhaps a flight exercise is in order.::

Starscream stared at the minicon, optic ridges raised. He wouldn’t call it a secret that when stressed and overworked, Starscream liked to vent his frustrations with a quick fly, even if this miserable planet’s atmosphere was grating on his plating at too high an altitude. However, he didn’t think anyone had noticed, much less Laserbeak .

As if sensing his surprise, the cassette landed nimbly on his shoulder pauldron and comm’d, ::It's in your notes.::

“My what ?”

The cassette gave a nervous beep as she realized her error. She extended her wings to fly away but Starscream rested a heavy servo on Laserbeak’s back strut to keep the cassette firmly in place. 

“What notes?” Laserbeak was hesitant to respond but after an impatient tap of Starscream’s claws on her frame, she elaborated, ::Soundwave has notes on all mechs, included Starscream.::

It wasn’t surprising nor out of character for Soundwave. Starscream almost wanted to laugh at how Soundwave the action was. It was almost comforting that Soundwave’s presence still lingered on the ship despite his current inoperable status.

However, the very notion that Laserbeak was privy to this information was a little uncomfortable. Soundwave had his own thoughts and Starscream could guess they never quite framed him in the best light if their history had anything to say by it. He couldn’t imagine that as objective as Soundwave wanted to appear that his own opinions didn’t marr the notes he made of each and every mech. Even if the cassette was connected to Soundwave in a bond Starscream only vaguely understood, it unnerved him to know the biased information had seeped into the minicon’s processor. 

“Well,” Starscream drawled, “what do my notes say?”

Laserbeak gave another nervous series of beeps. ::Records indicate Commander Starscream’s mood and productivity increase with leisure flights.::

Starscream released Laserbeak and she wasted no time in taking flight to hover just out of reach from Starscream. 

“Did you take that directly?”

Laserbeak bobbed her helm in a stiff, nervous nod. 

Starscream couldn’t help the smirk that came to his faceplates. Nevermind that Soundwave had recorded him and probably had seen each and every time Starscream had snuck to the flight deck unauthorized. In truth, that was not so much a revelation but a reminder that the Third in Command watched everything and everyone. However, the very confirmation that Soundwave referred to him with his title in his notes was almost enough to dispel any lingering anger towards him. Even in the privacy of his own personal thoughts, Soundwave still was forced to acknowledge Starscream’s superiority. 

Oh, how that must grind his gears.

With a little pep in his pede, Starscream headed towards the flightdeck. Laserbeak hesitantly followed behind. Her confusion nudged against Starscream’s smug field, silently asking for a question Starscream thought left better unanswered. 

Instead, he redirected. “Following me?”

The confusion drifted off Laserbeak’s field and was replaced with a quieter, subtle admission of honesty. ::I miss flying with Soundwave. You will have to do.::

Starscream, in all his years of knowing Soundwave, had never known the mech to do anything leisurely. Then again, Starscream was beginning to realize there was quite a bit he didn’t know about Megatron’s silent shadow. In the scant few cycles since Soundwave’s fall, Starscream had learned more about the mech than he had in the last millennia they had served together. 

“Fine, whatever.” Starscream hardly cared if the minicon wanted to tag along. He wouldn’t admit the idea of not flying alone for a change was almost nice…even if he was only serving as a temporary replacement.

As they reached the flight deck, no one paid them mind. If anything, most of the crew kept their optics glued to their tasks, avoiding even looking in their direction. It suited Starscream all the same as he reached the opening of the deck, the swirl of clouds obscuring the horrid waste of a planet that lay below. 

Laserbeak was still hovering beside him, fully intent on following Starscream on this flight. Starscream let his optics drag over the little cassette’s drone form. Not exactly built for speed but if she wanted to try, so be it.

“Keep up,” was all the warning Starscream gave as he let himself fall from the platform, reveling in the rush of air that surrounded him as he dropped. Distantly, he could feel Laserbeak’s distress over the maneuver but it quickly abated as Starscream shifted into his alt and soared upward, past the flight deck and above the Nemesis. At that, the minicon took her cue to follow.

::Fancy flying.:: came Laserbeak’s comm. The attached subglyths were sarcastic in nature but Starscream could feel awe in the edges of her field as Laserbeak caught up.

::Just because your creator does everything minimally and practically, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to subject ourselves to such a dull existence.::

Starscream was surprised to receive laughter back, the minicon in agreement. 

::He is too uptight.:: she admitted, the subglyphs both fond and sorrowful. ::He needs a vacation.::

Starscream snorted derisively. ::To suggest such a thing might offline him for real.::

Laserbeak’s laugh echoed as Starscream took a sharp dive down, reveling in the wind streaming off his wings. He hadn’t been able to stretch his wings like this in a while and took the chance greedily; twisting, rolling and spinning in the air as his frustrations melted away.

::Show off.::

Starscream sneered playfully, his mood already lightening, ::Don’t be jealous. It’s unbecoming. Whatever will Soundwave think when he comes back.::

Laserbeak squawked in a loud affronted beep, but it was mostly eaten up by the wind as Starscream turned towards the sky and climbed, thrusters kicking to propel himself up, up, up. 

He continued to climb, the Nemesis and Laserbeak falling behind as he passed layer after layer of cloud cover until there was nothing left and Starscream was alone to the universe above him. The atmosphere was thin here, biting and brittle against his frame but Starscream pushed on a few nanokliks more before he cut his thrusters and forced stalled his engine. 

For one glorious moment, the universe and all of existence came still, Starscream frozen in place and time as his momentum came to a halt and gravity hadn’t quite kicked in yet. No Megatron, no war, no bitlet biting at his thrusters, no empty holes in ally’s chassis: nothing beyond the floating between flying and falling. It was so rare to find such stillness, such peace. Having it, even for a modicum of time quelled the flurry of stress in his spark.

But as quickly as it came, it was gone; time never truly stopped and pressed forward with unerring persistence. Starscream began to free-fall, the biting atmosphere rushing past him as he gained momentum and speed. He lazily engaged his engine as he turned his nose to the ground, letting gravity do the majority of work for him until the Nemesis came back in his slights. He pulled out of the dive, letting himself glide lazily around the ship. The minicon was quick to come back to his side, field awash in unrestricted delight. 

::Very reckless:: though there were no subglyphs of reprimand, rather absolutely wonder. 

::Very fun, unfortunately, not very suitable for your frame type.::  

If Laserbeak was dejected by this at all, she didn’t show it, simply content to remain close; floating on the updraft from Starscream’s wings and feeding off the unbound ease and tranquility in their intermingled fields. 

They made four lazy circles around the Nemesis before Starscream’s HUD notified him his fuel had dipped below 50%. With rations as low as they were, it would be truly a fool’s errand to deplete his levels anymore with no hope of his ration being able to compensate, not when he could be out on the field at a moment’s notice. Laserbeak must have picked up on the subtle shift in the energy and pushed their flight pattern back towards the Nemesis. 

In unison, both mechs returned to the flight deck. Starscream shifted to his root form to land on the deck elegantly. Laserbeak hovered beside him, unable to mask her admiration at the display. She circled Starscream in a buzzing sort of excitement that Starscream basked in. It had been a long time since he’d had such an… avid supporter .

:Refuel?:: Laserbeak inquired, probably noting her own lowered fuel levels. 

It was about time for their second ration so wordlessly, Starscream led the way to the refuel station.

In what had become routine, Starscream was quick to grab the two rations for himself and Laserbeak and did not linger in the mess hall. He went mostly ignored by the vehicons huddled at the various tables, but conversation once again quieted as he walked by, only to pick up when he was out of hearing range. This time, instead of ignoring it, Laserbeak inquired about it.

::Do you refuel alone every time?::

Whether the minicon intended the sting that came with the question, Starscream didn’t know. He still gritted his denta.

“I have no desire to waste my free time with scrap like them.”

::Not even the grounders.:: The subglyph of disdain was a clear indication of which grounders Laserbeak was referring to. Starscream felt the tension in his frame lighten in amusement at the cassette’s obvious dislike. 

“I don’t care much for the brute,” Starscream sneered as he reached his habsuite, keying in the entry to let them in. Laserbeak was barely able to conceal her delight in being granted entry. “But Knock Out has proven to be entertaining at the very least, if not a fine intellectual sparring partner.”

Laserbeak let out a long, drawn out beep which Starscream took as her sarcastic retort. 

“One does wonder how you fill so much hatred in such a small frame. Mass displacer? Does Soundwave know he’s fostering such an angry, grudging drone?”

Laserbeak let out the trilling, beeping laugh of hers as Starscream set one of the energon cubes on his desk for Laserbeak. He kept the one for himself in servo, sipping it as the cassette landed softly on the desk. 

::Soundwave likes my wit.::

Starscream let out a snort. Every little factoid Laserbeak slipped contradicted the emotionless, stationary mech Starscream had come to associate Soundwave with. Even his own experience could contradict this notion but it was much easier to view Soundwave as a passive bystander to the usual chaos on the Nemesis. If anything, Starscream was already aware of the hints of sass and sarcasm Soundwave exhibited every now and then. To know it went much deeper was like seeing through the cracks of his armored plating. Soundwave prided himself on being unreadable, that much was obvious. To know a few words from his precious cassette could reveal so much was gratifying. To know Starscream was now in the small number of mechs that knew this was even better. 

::Are they your friends?::

Starscream blinked, looking down to where Laserbeak was sipping her cube. It took him a moment to realize exactly whom she was referring to, the sudden shift in conversation unexpected. However, Laserbeak’s optics were bright and alert, watching curiously. 

Starscream raised an optic ridge at the minicon. It was an innocent, naive question, but Starscream could only picture Soundwave’s little notes and wondered how much value their spymaster could glean from a question like that. As much as he wanted to think of Laserbeak as a pathetic, sniveling whelp, there was no denying she was far more capable than Starscream had previously given credit for and she took after her carrier perhaps a tad too much. 

“How many Decepticons do you know that have friends?” he countered coolly. 

Laserbeak gave Starscream a long appraising look, clearly not impressed with his deflection of the topic. There was a silent point being made in the cassette’s gaze but Starscream ignored it, turning away to down the rest of his ration in one quick gulp. He barely tasted it as he emptied the cube and tossed it into the nearby receptacle. 

With no further comms coming from Laserbeak, the cassette’s attention turned to her own energon. Eager to let the conversation be forgotten, Starscream busied himself. Beside his berth were a stack of datapads he’d been pushing off reading. He probably would have continued to do so but the notion of having to face any more of Laserbeak’s pointed questions soured his tanks. He much rather diligently work than have any more spark to spark conversations for the cycle. 

He grabbed the first data pad in the stack: a mining report for Mine Beta. It was a dull read, but Starscream suspected it wouldn’t be long before he hit recharge. Between the long day, the flight, and the general mental exhaustion of having a small shadow, he suspected he’d only get through a few lines, if even.

“See yourself out. We’ll meet tomorrow,” Starscream waved off as he climbed into his berth, optics on the datapad. He trailed over the words, processor barely absorbing them. 

His request received no answer but he did hear the hab doors open and close with a soundly click.

--

There was energon everywhere, soaked into the ground beneath him and coating his plating, seeping into his transformation seams. Warm and sticky and so, so much of it. 

A pile of crumpled plating was before him, purple and blue amour in tattered, broken pieces. Dull, cracked red optics staring at nothing and everything. One helm was completely crushed, blue plating cracked down the middle to expose what little remained of a core processor. 

Ash rained down from the sky, a maelstrom of fire and destruction swirling around them like the eye of a hurricane. Burnt metal and electric fire sting his olfactory senses, optics slitting to keep themselves clear of the spinning debris. Bodies littered the battlefield, both familiar and not, but his optics were locked on the two pressed together in the center of the crater, sitting in a pool of crumbled earth and energon. 

Starscream reached for them. Square blue digits brushing against a shattered glass cockpit-

A nudge against his chin made Starscream’s optic online in an instant. 

The dark, stale air of the Nemesis greeted him. His spark had jumped up his intake as his optics darted across the ceiling of his hab. Slowly, his senses came to him in rolling waves.

There was no wasted battlefield. No bodies. No broken mechs. Slowly he raised his servos up, sharp clawed digits trembling before him. Chrome, not blue. 

::Oh good, you’re awake.::

Immediately Laserbeak’s helm filled his vision, the cassette firmly planted on his chassis. Tiny red optics stared him down.

“What are you doing here?” Starscream croaked. His vocalizer hissed, as if it had been strained. 

::You were experiencing a nightmare. I could feel your EM field outside the doors. You were crying-::

“ How- ” Starscream interrupted with a snarling hiss “-did you get in here?”

::Security override.::

Laserbeak did not remove herself from atop his chassis, rather settling in. Her tiny engine vibrated against him in a move Starscream assumed was supposed to be comforting. He wasn’t sure it achieved that, but it was disarming. At enough to stall his action in sending the cassette flying across the room. 

“Soundwave does not outrank me.”

Laserbeak was nonplussed by this. ::Megatron does.::

“ You have Megatron’s access codes?”

::Soundwave has them stored for emergencies.::

Starscream snapped his mouth shut, sinking further into his berth. 

In no way did this constitute an emergency. Even if he was in distress, there is no reason for the minicon to go so far for him. Any indignation Starscream had about Laserbeak entering his hab was conflicted by a puzzling feeling coiling around his spark. He couldn’t identify it, the emotion too foreign. He felt… exposed and there was little he could do to build his walls back up. He felt cornered, trapped. The weight of the minicon suddenly felt as if he had a tank pressing him down rather than the tiny drone.

It had just been a nightmare, a glitch in his recharge defrag sequences. It wasn’t a memory nor was it referential to an actual event. He had not been present when Skywarp and Thundercracker offlined. He had been stationed on the bridge, only able to watch their spark indications vanish from radar, their comms go silent. Whatever his processor was trying to work through, Starscream was tired of it using his dead trine as a method to do so. He’d mourned enough. 

::You are in distress.:: Laserbeak gently nudged his chin again with her helm. ::Shall I deploy relaxation protocols?::

The line of question swirled around his processor for a solid klik before he croaked out a, “What?”

In lieu of a response, Laserbeak sat up tall on his chassis. Her wings folded in, half transformed between her drone form and the stored cassette mode when she was docked in Soundwave. Faint purple biolights lit up across her frame as soft music echoed in his hab.

Starscream stared, unsure what was even happening. Laserbeak’s field was calm, pressing against Starscream’s like a blanket. The music was foreign to him. He could detect it as Cybertronian in nature but he had never found himself fond of the art. Sensing his curiosity, Laserbeak was all too happy to inform.

::A folk song from Tarn. The beats were later used in the revolution chants, though the lyrics were changed. The roots are ingrained in the working class, the rhythms free flowing and without the standardized formula that was used in the High Theaters of Iacon. The composition changed from player to player, as it was never formally recorded, but all followed roughly the same notes.::

“Why?”

::A lack of formalized education. Music was passed on from mech to mech through audial receptors rather than taught in institutions that specialized in functionality-::

“No,” Starscream interrupted again, but softer, less abrasive. “Why are you playing it?”

::Soundwave often finds comfort in music. I had hoped it would have the same effects for you. I selected a favorite of his. I have a large repertoire to select from if it is not to your taste.::

Starscream let the information sink in, offlining his optics in the process. Soundwave had always favored media based forms. Starscream could briefly remember when he had adapted to that of a music player. It should be no surprise those were rooted in a personal preference for the art form, just as Starscream’s own alt reflected his Vosian roots. 

It was another glimpse into Soundwave, perhaps one too personal to dig into further. 

::Would you like me to continue playing it?::

It was not…terrible. Actually, Starscream felt the dredge of panic melt away as his processor mapped out the notes into identifiable patterns. 

“You can keep playing it.”

Laserbeak chirped in delight, happiness blooming across her field.

::I’ll play my favorite next. It’s from Vos. You may know it.::

Starscream hummed in agreement. Thundercracker had enjoyed music, often playing it when he was working on projects in close proximity to Starscream’s own. 

Before he knew it, one melody drifted off and another one quickly took its place. The pattern repeated for several kliks, Laserbeak silently queuing up one after another. Some Starscream felt were familiar, some were completely foreign. There were some in the mix that Starscream suspected might even be Earth based, the instruments completely different than anything he’d heard before. 

He kept his optics offline as he felt himself drift off. His processor churned sluggishly, lazy. It brought up the image of Soundwave, stationed stiffly at the central console. Starscream wondered how many times the TIC had been absorbed in his secretive collection of melodies. An absurd thought flickered across his mind of Soundwave dancing , spindle arms and tentacles moving to the beat in strangely fluid motions. The vision dispelled as the next song drifted in, just as slow and soft as the first had been. 

Above him, Laserbeak settled against him, still in her half-transformed mode, but her field sleepy, melding in his own. He fell into recharge to the quiet, swaying rhythms, chassis warm and processor empty of any terrors. 

#soundstar #starscream #laserbeak #tfp #maccadam #transformers #my fics #birds of a feather

[shouchiku]

dahlia's persona is very intriguing to me. i feel like i could wonder when she began adopting it, but as an autistic person who masks heavily i also know the obfuscation of identity can tend to be gradual and even unintentional once you learn the world isn't fond of your native traits. i don't think she just snapped one day and decided to act like that, there was a period of development, of her in her brain figuring out what to say and how to act to please the people around her. that's especially saddening given her circumstances as an abuse survivor, but not surprising, especially when you see how she hardly ever drops the persona. it makes one feel like perhaps she's so accustomed to abuse that she's always on guard. we know she acted this way before committing any serious crimes, so even outside of maintaining an air of innocence by remaining sweet and palatable, it's also likely a defense mechanism against other people in multiple ways. other people, as in "if i perform these behaviors, i will not get in trouble" but also "if my identity is a performance and i never let anyone seriously see me for me, i never let anyone get close, then no one can hurt or reject me." what i find the most curious though is that the personality that she was drawn to replicate was that of her sister's. of course their parents were abusive to both of them, but i feel maybe there was an era in very early youth where dahlia was punished for misbehaving more, as that's more in line with her nature. maybe she saw iris as not having it as bad as she did from their parents (although of course she did- just differently) and she slowly adopted her interpretation of iris' traits, before getting rid of iris so she wouldn't have any more competition in regards to being loved. that could be the case, or it couldn't be. it's also possible that it comes from how maybe dahlia and iris were treated more or less the same, lumped in with each other as one person, but dahlia, spending so much time with her sister, couldn't fully understand her consistently docile and kind attitude in the face of whatever. she thought it made her seem weak. weak, but sympathetic. perhaps deep down dahlia did feel bad for her sister in a way that couldn't rise to the surface for her to express. iris' quiet acceptance was found more appealing than her own bitter rage, so dahlia adopted her traits in an effort to draw sympathy from those around her, not fully processing that it wasn't really getting iris anywhere either. that it was causing iris pain of her own. thinking about their sisterhood, i remember dahlia can't have always been like this. "dahlia is strong," says iris, and i wonder if at any point before their separation, there were times when iris cried and dahlia was there for her. whether it be a scraped knee, or something more serious (like an abusive parent.) could dahlia have helped tend to her wounds, or hugged her while she cried, stroking her hair the way their mother would when she wasn't furious with them? if so, it could mean dahlia's persona in and of itself is a conflict. she wants that comfort for the pain that has been burning in her soul for her whole life, but she can't get it by being herself, so she has to pretend to be someone else. someone she perceives as deserving sympathy. but by doing so, she closes herself off from any true emotional catharsis that could come from opening herself up. deep down, she wants someone to tend to her wounds, but she refuses to show them to anyone.

#ace attorney #dahlia hawthorne #sister iris #sometimes i am simply forced to think about them. a switch flips in my brain and i get absorbed

[restrainedhungr]

The Hunger was insatiable. Ever more did it demand and scream for more to feast upon that Briar could hardly dull the screeches that echoed within her inhuman mind. No matter what she ate, how much, or how frequently, it would always demand more and more from her. The words that it spoke were hard to distinguish, but the emotion that slammed into her at every bang against its mental prison she kept it under. Some days were easier to ignore than others but this one in particular it broke free not unlike how she had when she escaped that prison.

Unleashed in its entirety, it's awakening would be marked by the sound of horrid shrieks that would dissolve into a bubbling gurgling plead as their throats boiled over with their blood. Fangs would rip through the oh-so-tender and succulent flesh of whatever mortal thing dared to lock eyes with her. A rush of adrenalin flooded her system as her body exerted energy like any other source. Sparking against her own grey flesh the magic that coursed through her shot out with every quick sprint, with every bite, and every fast action she took, it held with it the power of a muted God.

Death followed wherever it was she had unleashed. Briar, despite how she didn't particularly enjoy being like this all the time, could still revel in the pure euphoric joy that satisfied every part of her being. It was a pleasure that was unlike any other and she was never more sure of herself and what her purpose was in these moments.

The snap and crack of bone was another hit, the intoxicating smell of blood staining the streets beneath her, and the taste. Such taste was purer than any god-ordained gift, an ambrosia that could match nothing else and just as addicting as any. Nothing could stop The Hunger, nothing could stop Briar from feasting upon the little pathetic civilians and guards who tried to stop her. An unstoppable force that only grew in power the more people they tried to put in her way to end the rampage. Yet she crashed through brick and stone as if it was nothing, swinging her weapons to pop open buildings and armor that her foolish prey thought to protect themselves with. In some way it was amusing, to Briar and The Hunger, that they would think such little things could protect them when she could smell it. The fear, the terror, and it only pushed her forward more to find it. Chase down more of her addiction, more of what she needed to survive.

Or so she was convinced as such.

Soaked head to toe in blood, she bathed herself in the gore she had created. Swiping her long tongue across every bloody surface, she would lap up more of that drug that fueled her body so perfectly. Never enough, never would it be enough but she was far too lost to care to stop. Drowning in not only the amount of sheer blood that was spilled but in the feeling of letting go, unleashing the full extent of what she is. A weapon, a monster, and in some ways the manifestation of Hunger itself that would feast on rich and poor alike.

It mattered not who stood before her, woman, man, child, elderly, she would take them all in an unforgivable and unbiased slaughter. The Hunger had come to reap the seeds it had sown into the land, coming to claim the souls and bodies of those that it resides within. Whether it be hunger in the physical sense of starvation or a hunger for power, every living thing had a Hunger within them. Akin similarly to an aspect of every mortal, it was something overseen by the world, an unspoken entity that resided within all. Manifesting within this host, and exerted upon those who dared to challenge it's power and influence.

It was that, that The Hunger would revel in taking, in showing them how Hunger takes and takes and nothing is above it.

And Briar enjoyed every second of it.

#you can choose // ic #cw gore #;; tagging just in case

[talesofthedm]

Bite Night

I wrote the bite night scene for Halloween and then didn't finish it for 2 days.

Is it horror? Not sure. Is it smut? Not really but it's also real border line.

Synopsis: Astarion reveals he's a vampire and also accidentally tries to rip out Freya's throat.

Word count: 3k

CW: Borderline dubcon (vampire), biting (vampire), blood (vampire), Astarion (vampire), Cazador references (vampire), vampire (vampire)

Excerpt:

But then her mind muddled. She understood heat of the fire, the colors of the sky, but it all seemed to blur into one giant blob of sensation. It was so hard to think, every emotion spilling over and cascading through her at once. If every muscle hadn't froze she would be screaming, dancing, trembling, kissing, laughing, clawing, sobbing. Enough to leave her empty, an exhausted husk dying on the ground.

There was something to be said about that place between sleep and wake, when your mind was too preoccupied with thoughts and worries to truly rest yet your eyes close and you wake to have suddenly found hours passed.

That's where Freya was now, a flitting kind of rest that wasn't quite sleep and wasn't quite trance.

She had to be insane--going insane. He walked in the sun. He waded through rivers. She watched him eat alongside all of them at morning and dusk.

But he also had red eyes and flinched at the oddest things. He came to a halt at the first river crossing, dancing around surfaced rocks as if it might burn. He took wide births around Lae'zel when she held her silvered blade. He turned and walked back into the forest the moment he saw Shadowheart praying.

And those scars? The need for constant bloodshed and manipulation?

Then again, it could all be easily explained away. It wasn't unheard of for elves to have strange eyes, nor a nobleman who hardly left the city not wanting his boots wet. A Gith with a giant sword was a normal concern. Perhaps he wanted to give Shadowheart privacy, or disliked Sharrans, or maybe just had a complicated relationships with gods. That last one was reasonable; her father’s relationship with gods could only be described as complicated.

And he was a magistrate--assuming he told the truth. A politician who probably hadn't seen squalor in his life, let alone experienced it. And she had scars all over her body, why would he be any different?

She answered her own question: he was a nobleman.

A nobleman with red eyes who refused to bathe after days, even if it was in a river....

Freya opened her eyes to find the stars twinkling back at her. Little pinpricks of light she only ever really saw in the parks but never had the time to study. She rolled over, face to the fire. The warmth prickled her skin uncomfortably, the scar across her face suddenly feeling taught. She closed her eyes again, fighting for a sleep that wouldn't come.

And then there were the comments. Those little quips to himself when no one was around to hear. The little sounds of releasing a held breath, almost in relief. The looks of confusion, almost as if expecting pain but receiving none. He laughed after taking the full force of Kahga's moonbeam, almost out of relief....

The light of the fire flickered through her eyelids. A soft, warm glow that consumed her vision and painted her memories in similar tones. Not rose colored, but something that made the hair on the back of her neck standup and had her palms sweating.

And the Gur. Astarion turned his nose at the stench even more violently than she had. He had talked about a history, and she understood that, too, but she knew that stance. The predatory look and a hand itching to pull a weapon. The tunnel vision that drove her to inflict nothing but pain and death and make sure they never made a sound again....

Whispering how he could just walk into people's homes now....

Her companions shifted around her as she did. Perhaps going to the bathroom, perhaps to fetch a waterskin, perhaps just to stretch their legs.

How long had she been fighting sleep? One hour? Four? Ten? It was still dark, the moon still high and the stars still as clear as a fresh dream. The Grove provided protection enough, especially with Kahga gone, so there was no point beyond paranoia to do shifts. Still, Freya felt like she was being watched. Hunted, in a way.

Her hand inched under her pillow.

It was an action that looked no different to Astarion as finding the relief of the cooler side. She was asleep, curled up on her side like a babe protecting themselves from a nightmare. Her breathing steady and even while her hands fidgeted in that way they always did.

Elves were dangerous to approach, he knew. Not that he had experience-- but he understood trance. The awareness of his surroundings, though muffled as if he was wearing ear plugs and blindfolded. If she was half as observant in trance as she was waking, she'd have heard the soft crunch of gravel and dry grass underfoot.

But this one? Strange elf. She slept, not tranced. First to bed, last to rise. Always snippy if woken too soon. It didn't matter why; it just made her as easy prey as any of his other companions in the moment.

Freya was acutely aware of the soft footsteps behind her. Leather boots, soft and muted from careful placement but made deafening from the stillness of the night. They were close, only a few feet from her turned back. Her hand curled around the hilt of a paring knife she had swiped away from Gale's prep space at dinner.

She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing as hard as she could on the shift of the air, how the crackling noise of the fire bounced around her. How tall was the person approaching? What stance did they take? Could she tell if they had a weapon--did their stance even require a weapon to be lethal?

And every time an image floated in on a thread of concentration, it was the same, pale face. Still, she held still. Not out of fear, but curiosity. She had to be wrong--right--something. A million reasons for the elf to be stalking towards her.

Murder, for one.

Freya turned herself over just in time to see Astarion bent over her, a mixture of fear, apprehension, and excitement across his face. More important, his mouth was open, fangs bared.

"Shit," he whispered. The vampire backpedaled, yet didn't run.

"I fucking knew--"

He raised his hands in defense, eyes locking on the tiny blade in Freya's hands. "It's not what it looks like!" He was in damage control now.

Her eyes flicked to the fangs peeking out. They glinted a dull yellow in the light of the fire, like crystalized honey.

"Okay, it's kind of what it looks like... But I wasn't going to hurt you!"

"Says the blood suc--!"

Astarion jumped forward, pressing both his hands over her mouth. "Shh! Please...." His eyes darted around the camp, lingering on Wyll and Lae'zel in particular. "Please. I'm not some monster. I've never killed anyone!"

Liar, she thought. Freya debated how bad it would be if she bit one of his fingers off.

Perhaps she had thought too loudly and it echoed across that tiny thread of a connection between the companions. "Well, by feeding... I feed on animals. Deer, kobalds--"

Boar. Gods, she really was stupid, wasn't she? Or perhaps denial was a more apt term. After all, mindflayers and goblin scourges and violent cults were a lot to handle on their own.

He continued. "Pigeons, occasionally a cat." He counted the options off, tapping a finger against her cheek to keep track. "One time a poison dart frog. That one was dumb, do not recommend. Woke up a few days later in some random town in the bathroom of a tavern with some slovenly barkeep. Bad wine, decent mead-- but that's beside the point.

"I'm too slow, right now. Too weak..." His voice cracked just the slightest bit, leaving Freya to wonder if she had imagined it. She had expected a cornered animal, one that would pounce the moment she made a wrong move. Yet, she just found a scared child.... "I can hunt and I can fight, but I cannot keep up. Not now. Not like this... If I just had a little blood--"

Just like that, the pity she held evaporated and she suddenly realized he was probably all too aware of the knife pressing against his ribcage. Freya pried him off. "How long since you fed, huh? Days? Hours? I should have known when you were so interested in that hunter. I should have stabbed you when I saw the damn reflection!" She seethed, voice low.

Astarion was acutely aware of the small life pressed between his fourth and fifth ribs. “And then we would all be dead!” He bit back. “How many tubs do you think those redcaps could have filled with Karlach alone? Do you think Ethel would have turned Gale’s bones into bread, or a nice, comfy chair? And the blights and Kagha. Do you seriously not realize how badly you pushed everyone today?!”

He stopped, closed his eyes, and simply breathed. “If I just had a taste—just a taste—I could keep up. Move faster, fight better. Please.”

If Freya had been thinking loudly before, Astarion was screaming from the rooftops. A single thread, frayed and delicate yet just strong enough to inch across and sneak her way in and see everything he had been hiding. That is, if she had bothered to sneak her way in.

Thudding. Beating. Deafening noise that consumed his thoughts and seized his body. It took all Astarion could not to keel over. The shard of ice stabbed its way into his mind, sending his tadpole screeching out. Terror, true terror as the little stowaway pumped itself—and him—full of adrenaline and tore at his brain while his psyche caved. His heart hadn’t beat normally in two hundred years, and now it was all he could hear and all he could feel. Even free of Cazador, he wasn’t in control of his own body.

Freya felt herself in a body that was both familiar yet not. Pristine skin, perfectly smooth and almost glowing in the contrast of the night’s shadows. Nails she meticulously cleaned, buffed, and polished every night. Hair that she learned from trial and error how to blindly style and wash. Small things, vain rituals that became more important to them than prayer and allies and people because they could control it—so long as they were good. Pretty men, handsome women, everything in between and beyond that caught the attention of their master. He just had to be good. Then the tiny rituals wouldn’t be stripped away along with the rest of him. He just had to crawl on hands and knees to the feet of his master and thank him for the meal he so graciously granted—

Freya ripped her mind away just as violently. Her jaw was sore from the memory of fighting the desperately twisting form of a rat. It wasn’t even fat or in any way healthy. It tasted of bile, twisted her insides into knots and left them convulsing. But the hunger—the blinding hunger that tore its way through him and swallowed her whole until they were nothing but a desperate slave groveling at the feet of a master….

She lost something in that. A shard of humanity, a piece of a soul, hope for the world—something.

“You only ate animals because you were forced to. Not because you wanted to….”

“I— yes. Yes. I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked.” Astarion looked to the blade in her hand. “So, you can see why I’ve been slow to trust you.”

“And how do I trust you won’t kill me?”

Because I haven’t yet, he thought to himself. Though that didn’t particularly matter in the moment. If it did, she wouldn’t be holding the knife like a deadly promise. It didn’t matter the honeyed words and delicate gestures; she wouldn’t believe a word he said.

Astarion gripped that wrist and held it a bit closer. Blood dribbled out and down his chest in a fine line, almost black in the firelight. Like an impossibly colored trail of ink—and the consistency of it, too. “I only need a taste. I swear. Can you trust me just a little further?”

Gods, she must be as insane or stupid as he believed her to be. It wasn’t pity she felt, she would never pity what he was. He also had to be thinking that she was stupid or insane or desperate because she thought she was stupid or insane or desperate.

She actually cared…. About combat, of course. Nothing else. Nothing that would be considered compassion.

Astarion watched in rapt silence as the woman in front of him debated. Her lip twitched, preparing to upturn into a snarl that promised violence and death. He couldn’t even blame it on a failed plan. There were no honeyed words or practiced touches. He didn’t trail his hand along the curve of her shoulder or send shivers down her spine in a way that clouded her judgement. He didn’t leave feathered kisses along her jaw and throat that wrapped her in bliss while he pressed a knee beneath her thighs.

No, he was an insolent child who ran from nightmares thinking it was possible. Now he was going to die… he didn’t want to die. Not again. Not forever.

Freya pulled out of his grip and pointed the tip of the knife to his chin. “Not one drop more.”

He— What?

“Of course,” his mouth moved without permission. “Not one drop more.” He took a step closer to her. Fire to her back, starving vampire to her front. Freya suddenly felt very small in the moment. Half a head shorter meant she was at a disadvantage already, and she wasn’t particularly strong to begin with. And she doubted headbutting him would work a second time…

Astarion trailed a single finger across her exposed collar, the well-manicured nail scratching lightly. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” He pressed an open palm to her shoulder, pushing her down onto her knees. Another wanton slut willing to degrade themselves for a good cock a chiseled chest—it made him sick. But his master did this, intermingled blood and sex and power.

He pushed her onto his back with his knee before taking his place above her. One knee at either side of her hips, so devilishly close to resting atop her. She swallowed the lump in her throat as the vampire leaned over her. One hand on either side of her head his lips—and teeth—a hair’s breadth from hers. He was gentle in his motions, but Freya suddenly felt like the dead pigeons she’d kick into the gutters.

She pressed the blade into his throat, reminding him that she would keep that promise better than he had that first moment they met. Any further and it would be pressed between both of them, the slightest movement drawing his blood but not hers. “This is rather uncomfortable, darling. Could you at least move it to someplace less… obstructive?” Freya stared him down, challenging the request before succeeding. She pulled away, allowing him free access.

He hovered above her, careful not to get too close, to keep that half-inch distance between their bodies like a protective barrier. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he froze. It was too close, too intimate. Her arms ran across his shoulders before resting along the column of his spine and the soft of his shoulder. As if she expected lips and not teeth….

And then the tip of the blade pressed just above where he knew his dead heart was. “Insurance,” she persisted.

There was no regaining control, but he would be damned if he lost it. Astarion shifted a knee between her legs, spreading them just a but further and placing her in an all more compromising position.

Freya was suddenly very aware of the knee just below her core. It wasn’t pleasant, but also not uncomfortable. Besides, she preferred him like this. Above her, legs spread himself. He would degrade himself just as much in the action as her tolerating it.

Her hair was already parted as it always was, baring the sprawling tattoo across her neck. Her right, his left. She could hide the scars there, among the flowers and leaves and pretend they were always there. Nothing but a few stray strands of hair and the thinnest layer of skin separating him from the pulse of her heart.

He tore into her throat with an open-mouthed kiss. A lover’s bite turned painful. Her veins turned to ice as her blood carried the venom directly to her heart.

Freya grit her teeth against the sensation. Her heart seized, as if it could retch and not spread it further across her body. It was as if it was becoming wrapped in frost. The tips of her fingers and toes were the first to go numb, that fuzzy sensation of it falling asleep. Next were her arms, her legs. It crawled along her skin like a cold snap, leaving her scared and shivering.

But then her mind muddled. She understood heat of the fire, the colors of the sky, but it all seemed to blur into one giant blob of sensation. It was so hard to think, every emotion spilling over and cascading through her at once. If every muscle hadn't froze she would be screaming, dancing, trembling, kissing, laughing, clawing, sobbing. Enough to leave her empty, an exhausted husk dying on the ground.

The vampire pressed into her, grip tightening, and lost himself in the sweetness and ecstasy of her blood. She was only vaguely aware of the growing pressure atop her as the vampire broke that invisible barrier between them, pressing his body to hers. As if he could consume her entirely.

What was she so scared over? The sky was beautiful, filled with little twinkling fairies dancing around the dark. She was warm, a heavy blanket draped shielding her from the night air. The tension in her body released with a soft sigh.

Her arm dropped, one hanging across his shoulders while the other collided with the ground. The knife fell, tumbling to the ashy edge of the fire.

"'starion," she slurred. "Stop. Please...."

He didn't listen. Or didn't care. The vampire pressed deeper into her, reveling in the feeling her muscles constricting and fighting his very presence. She squirmed so wonderfully under him, the skin under his hands flushing into hypnotic shade of purple and blue. He pressed his knee to her core in an effort to get closer, to feel more. Her body was so warm. His mind raced with every sensation and emotion she was capable of. A blinding, white bliss as his own heart spiked and hers dropped. He was warm and safe and loved and alive.

And then she suddenly felt warm. Unbearably hot, like she was back in the Hells and swimming within the Styx itself. She needed to strip down, to get cold. To feel that driving, numbing pain once more.

It was wrong. It was all wrong and so so dangerous with the position she was in, mentally and physically. He only bit down harder, the panic and pain finally breaking through the haze of her mind. She beat a limp arm against his back, weakly tore at his shirt with blunted nails. He might as well have been made of stone. Even if she had the strength to make a noise, plead with whatever was left of him, or call to Wyll or Lae’zel or Karlach, but there was no guarantee any of them would listen. She felt him shift above her again, his knee pressing harder into her core, and a strangely distant memory floated in on a piece of dandelion fluff.

Freya went limp, her vision darkening at the edges as she focused the last of her strength. She bent her leg as suddenly as she could—which, admittedly, was rather clumsy and slow—and kicked upwards.

Astarion tore himself away as if she had bit him. The pain shot along his entire body more acutely than his newly beating heart and it was a miracle that he hadn’t torn the flesh from her throat in the process.

Freya wasn’t even aware that she was bleeding out onto the sleeping mat. “To ‘uch….”

Shit, he thought. “Yes—yes, of course.” He pressed a hand to the side of her neck in an effort to staunch the bleeding. With the other he began to root through her nearby pack, loaded down with herbs and balms and oils and potions.

Except none of it was organized. Filled with empty vials, useless plants he didn’t know the names or meanings of—

If she died from him it would make his fate all the worse. There were too many monster hunters around for Astarion to believe otherwise.

“’lsam…” she pleaded, some part of her understanding his plight. “Front….”

Front pocket.

But when he reached in all he found were little vials of ash, labels scratched into the glass surfaces as legibly as a stroke victim with a dagger could manage. “Pack… pack th—wound…” she directed before he could even ask. Her head lolled to the side, undoing what little staunching he had done.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #balders gate 3 #astarion #bg3 spoilers #astarion x tav #baldurs gate three fanfic #astarion fanfic #halloween writing #my writing #fanfic #vampire

[yurironin]

Okay okay for despaircest, wb a super jealous Junko over Mukuro getting bitches (yay for mukuro ig) in an Non-Despair Au, like Junkos still a bit fucked up and crazy smart, and Mukuro is still like an OP Solider but there's no despair

junko was unhappy. no, that wasn't true. she was absolutely seething. the emotion was boiling up inside of her, a torrent of rage and anxiety mixed together; growing more and more potent with each passing second. junko could hear their voices from her room. they were mostly chatting happily, occasionally giggling over some stupid joke. it made her grind her teeth, her jaw tight. stupid mukuro. stupid ugly mukuro and that bitch of a girl she brought home with her. that whore should just fucking die. they both should.

every once in a while, the conversation would stop; dissolving into hushed whispers. junko wasn't an idiot. she could feel the sexual tension even from here. mukuro was planning on getting laid. that disgusting pig of a sister was going to get some while junko sat there and listened. she couldn't stand the idea. she wanted to punch the wall, to scream and shout, cockblocking them and...

despite her intellect, junko could not understand why she felt this way. she told herself mukuro was worthless, that she didn't deserve such pleasure; especially when a girl as hot as junko wasn't getting any. junko knew there were deeper reasons, hidden below the surface. she chose to ignore them.

based on the sounds she was making, junko was able to deduce that that bitch was unbuttoning her sister's shirt, softly dragging her fingertips across mukuro's chest. she had eavesdropped on her sister before. junko knew what a horny mukuro sounded like. she could hardly stand it, her instinct telling her to leave and never come back. instead, junko was given an opportunity. a window through which she could solve her problem for good.

"i'm... going to go get the strap on," mukuro explained. "and the lube. stay right there. obey me like a good girl and i'll reward you."

once junko the door open and shut, she knew it was time. moving with the speed of a cheeta, junko bolted out of her room and into mukuro's where her sister's date was waiting.

"um... hello." the girl responded, unable to hide her confusion. "you're mukuro's sister, right. we're... kind of in the middle of something.

"i know."

junko had that hungry depth to her eyes, staring daggers directly into the eyes of mukuro's date. the girl shifted uncomfortably, not very fond of junko's intense gaze.

the two of them were silent. a potent tension hung in the air, one of fear and hatred.

"get out."

"wh.. what?"

"get the fuck out of my house." junko had lost all restraint, her words dripping with blood and malice; making it very clear she intended to hurt mukuro's date.

"why? did i do something wrong?"

"mukuro deserves better than some cheap, dollar store whore who smells like shit and looks even worse. get out. before i beat the ever-loving shit out of you."

the girl stood up. she was obviously scared, almost trembling. junko had her exactly where she wanted her; a helpless bug caught in the blonde's elaborate web.

"i'll... i'll tell mukuro. she'll know what you're trying to do. she won't let this stand. she'll... she'll... she'll protect me. from whatever you throw at me."

junko snickered, exaggerating her amusement in an attempt to serve her dominance. "who's she gonna believe? some random bitch... or her beloved sister?"

mukuro's date was speechless, unable to reply with any kind of remark. she stood still as junko approached her, regarding the blonde as if she were a wild animal trying to stake her claim over mukuro; possibly even willing to take a life to ensure that this came to pass.

junko wrapped her fingers around her neck, the red nails digging into the girl's flesh, moments away from rending it asunder.

"one more thing."

mukuro's date could only reply with a strained gasp, desperate for air.

"don't fucking talk to her ever again." junko threatened, absolutely deadpan; her eyes moved beyond hunger and now displaying her latent sadism. it struck fear into the heart of mukuro date, and she started to accept that there was no way in hell she was going to outlast junko.

"okay" she managed to squeak out in a futile attempt to appease junko.

the blonde slammed mukuro's date against the wall, her grip tightening, warm blood dripping down her neck.

"PROMISE."

"i promise, i promise!" the girl's voice was hoarse and strained. she was almost on the verge of tears, despite to get out of this situation.

junko dropped her down, releasing her grip on the girl's neck and letting her fall to the floor.

"good. i'm glad we could see eye to eye."

the blonde stormed out of the room, quickly making her way back into the comfort and darkness of her own roo. the burning feeling in her chest had died down, and for the first time in a long time, she felt a sense of satisfaction. it felt good. right. peaceful.

moments later, mukuro returned to her room. junko pressed her ear against the wall once she heard the door close, eager to see if that stupid bitch was smart enough to get out while she still could.

"sorry i took so long, i had a hard time fi--"

"i.. i have to go." mukuro's date blurted out.

the black-haired soldier's smile dropped, her voice wavering. "...what?"

the girl stood up, trying to push past mukuro and leave as quickly as possible. "i can't do this, i'm... i'm sorry."

before mukuro had any time to respond, junko could hear the door to her sister's room slammed shut; followed by frantic steps down the wooden staircase.

good. smart girl. junko didn't have to worry about that ugly whore bothering her sister anymore. mukuro had better things to focus on, to give her attempt to. at least, that's what junko told herself. like she acted cared about that worthless sister of hers. there was no way. she absolutely would not consider it.

it wasn't long before mukuro knocked on junko's door, sheepishly letting herself in.

"i uh... i just got stood up." mukuro explained, hand behind her head; her eyes refusing to make contact with her sister's hypnotic eyes. it was clear she was disappointed, hoping junko would serve as a point of comfort... however unhelpful she actually was.

"don't be such a crybaby. she was hideous anyways. you're better off never speaking to her ever again."

there were a few moments of silence. junko's words hung heavy in the air, filling the room with a thick tension that made the blonde nervous.

eventually, mukuro spoke. "how did you know what she looked like?"

junko averted her gaze. "oh you know."

"i... don't."

"i saw her around somewhere before." junko replied, waving away the thought. "does it really matter?" she was annoyed. was mukuro really asking about sack of shit while she was in the presence of a smokin' hot goddess?

the black-haired soldier's expressed did not change. her stoicism hid her thought well, and junko wasn't sure if her sister was completely convinced.

"i guess it doesn't. just thought it was weird."

silence, again. this time much longer than the one that had preceded it. each girl was waiting for the other to make a move; with junko deeply focused on all possible strategies she could employ to fool mukuro.

mukuro spoke up again, breaking the silence. "we were about to... you know..." the soldier blushed. "and i'm... still feeling pretty horny..."

it was as if a spark had flashed behind the blonde's eyes, a moment of recognition, an air of immediate confidence. junko swiftly stood up, walking towards mukuro with an intensity that made her take a few steps back. the feeling of watching mukuro cower was euphoric, and soon enough, junko had her corned.

junko brushed the tips of her fingernails underneath mukuro's chin, dragging them down the length of her neck and finding their way to her shirt collar. slowly, she started unbuttoned it, exposing the soldier's perfect chest. lowering her voice to a whisper, junko leaned in for a kiss.

"i thought. you would never ask."

#despaircest #asks #junko x mukuro #proship #shipcest #dspcst: jun.ko hcs #dspcst: mu.kuro hcs #danganronpa #junko enoshima #mukuro ikusaba #anon 95

[xp1ssratx]

23/3

When you finally visit, you have to remind her of two things: that she is your mother, and that as of today, you are fifty.

You go in expecting her to be just as much of a stranger as you might be to her, so before you study her face, you study the room—the story told through its enclosing surfaces: walls a spilled-coffee beige, patterns on the wallpaper fading and spiralling into oblivion. Carpet floor stiff like her joints, old as her bones. Ceiling—you look up. Cracked plaster, sterile white light.

Then you look back down and finally look at her—really look at her. She sits on a sagging armchair by a cracked open window, pouring in daylight glow like molten gold. There’s a hint of accusation in her eyes so faint you think you may be imagining it, but you know that look—and that is what convinces you otherwise. (where have you been?) The air is as stale as a disdainful stare.

You also know her too well to let it bother you, but there are sharp glances from nurses, the lady at the reception, that are hard to ignore. Condemnation found in dried-up cups of earl-grey, in the musty scent that has somehow travelled from the old house to here. (it’s just like you to dump your mother in some nursing home.) Condemnation in the sound of old songs crackling on the radio in the corner of the room, sharp and tinny with its decade-old speakers. It sounds like familiar records of your childhood, fading in and out of twittering birds outside, just as it played through speakers in a house—years, decades, a lifetime ago.

Neither of you speak. Then again, even before, your conversations were hardly ever spoken.

Here, she hums.

(you were twenty-four when you left her on the floor, leaning against cabinets underneath the kitchen sink. She hums a song—on the radio last night—under her breath, and your feet are pierced with shards. The floor—slippery. Littered with wine-stained glass like droplets of blood, and you are numb (don’t you dare leave me here). But not numb enough to be nonfunctional. Her eyes, too glassy to burn into your back, waver in the light as you walk gingerly out of the kitchen. As your vision turns to her from the door, you think it might be the last time you see her. In a way, you were right.)

Her face has hardly changed in the eight years since you last saw her. Eight years, but it doesn’t even look like a day, and here you think, should be a waterfall of feeling overflowing into the tear ducts of your eyes, or bright sparks of emotion dancing, burning the calloused pads of your fingertips.

Instead, there is nothing. As if this were thirty years ago and you had just come back from the grocery store, back home where she lay half asleep on the couch in front of a muttering tv.

Eight years, and it doesn’t feel like a day either. What do you see in her eyes washed away with the tide—gentle and meandering in the coolness of a soft breeze, warmth of a setting sun? Companion or fighter? But now neither fighter nor teacher. If not teacher then mother or mother or stranger? Not yet a stranger, you think (or hope; nonetheless, you believe). Not a stranger, though perhaps only for a few more years. Her glassy, unfocused eyes like wet marbles (hey. hey, why are your eyes a million years away?) capture your distorted image, reflecting her likeness in you, in her. You watch your image grow magnified, like a goldfish in a glass bowl, scales twinkling and shape-shifting with refracted light as you draw nearer. The resemblance is uncanny. You have the same nose, same chin, same teeth—though teeth are not genetic.

(you were forty-two when the hospital called. A cold day—raining. Eggs for breakfast, disbelief for lunch, tears for dinner. Alzheimer’s, they had said, and a broken leg. Ok, you had replied, then yesterday’s coat, yesterday’s hair, signed papers, taped brown cardboard boxes, and it was as if she never existed. Part of you is relieved, but when you sell her mother’s father’s house to pay for the treatment, the other part of you wishes she was there to hate you for it.)

You are fifty now.

(you are fifty and not a day more when you stand an awkward metre from her, tracing the faded patterns of the wallpaper with your eyes, filling in the gaps, and realise that hardly anything has changed. You are fifty when you realise you still know her. You are sixty and you still do. You are seventy, seventy-two, seventy-three when you realise that fact will never change. Seventy-five, eighty, and now you no longer trace patterns of wallpaper, but patterns of grass growing in tufts around a dusty headstone, trace the name carefully engraved in gold.)

But you know her—and you know you always will.

#writing #prose #i actually don’t have mommy issues #2023

[lesbianwriter]

Gardener and Villain Part 11

All parts are on my master list.

Civilian couldn’t see anything. She could hardly grasp the sounds she heard or any sensation other than the dull pain pulsating throughout her entire body. Was this death? Her eyes wouldn’t open, though she wasn’t sure if she was trying or not. Her head, her body; it hurt. Everything hurt. It couldn’t be death.

She felt a painful biting sensation in her arm and managed a whimper. 

Civilian wasn’t dead. Not yet.

“I know it hurts.” Somebody comforted. “You’ll heal…” whoever it was paused, as if they were about to promise, or they were going to say ‘it’s okay,’ but instead they deliberated on what to say. The speaker couldn’t promise anything or tell her that it’d be okay. Not without it being a lie. 

—

—

Gradually, moment by moment, Civilian’s eyes twitched open. Her heart pounded and she flailed, and she gasped for air as if she’d been yanked from underwater. When she nearly fell out of bed, her legs tangled in the blankets, that’s when she realized she was handcuffed to the bedpost. She blinked slowly.

Where was she?

Where is Villain?

Her eyes focused sluggishly. The room was small, but it had a cozy fireplace and bed. There was a closet and a nightstand with a first aid kit and a book with a ribbon bookmark. Outside the window was a snowy pine forest and the outline of charcoal colored mountains on the horizon.

“Careful.” Villain said tenderly, as if handling fragile porcelain.

“Oh, Villain!” Civilian choked on a sob. “Are you okay?”

The broken glass, the thorns, the strewn pots and pans. It all came flooding back too fast, threatening to drown Civilian and carry her off in the roaring waves.

“Am I okay?” Villain moved to sit on the bed, careful not to sit on Civilian’s legs. “You were near death twice in one week.”

She smoothed the blanket around Civilian’s waist with her palm. Hazily, she kept her eyes on the blanket. Villain’s expression was as stoic as ever. To anybody else, she’d look perfect. She would look like a stone-faced portrait without a single wrong brushstroke. She was beautiful. She was like a masterpiece in that people couldn’t take one look, they had to keep ogling, but she had faint tells. The one thing Civilian noticed that gave away Villain’s inner turmoil was the when her fingers drifted towards the small chain around her neck. The repaired locket.

The center was still fractured, but the clasp had been replaced. 

Villain touched it and held it between her fingers, contemplatively looking into its surface with impassive eyes. 

“Are you upset?”

“Of course I am.” Villain replied. Her tone was cold, but it wasn’t meant to be cruel or aimed at Civilian. She didn’t say anymore about it. Her lips were sealed shut and her emotions locked away in a bulletproof safe. “Is anything hurting?” 

“Everything is. The handcuffs aren’t helping.” Admitting it was embarrassing. She bit down on her lip until it bled, yet another injury to add to her list. 

“Last time you got gravely injured you then ran around and got stabbed. They’re a precaution.”

“About…it—“

“Did you mean what you said? About loving me? About me being more than my family?” Villain asked. For the faintest moment, her bottom lip trembled, a faint crack in her nearly unbreakable mask. Civilian slumped into her pillow. If it could suck her in, she’d let it.

In her panic, Civilian had admitted all of the feelings that she didn’t even allow herself to think about. She said that she loved Villain.

“I-I…” she hesitated. What if Villain didn’t feel the same? What if she accepted the kids just to be polite and it meant nothing more than that? Or worse—what if it was all a trick and her dad and Cook were right that Villain was messing with her heart for an evil ploy? 

Hadn’t she meant it, though? Civilian meant it. She knew she did but she wasn’t capable of saying the words. Villain was so powerful. She came from a rich family, she had a whole company in her control, she was a villain, wasn’t it wrong to love somebody like that? 

But she loved Villain. A seed was planted that night in the garden, and since then it had grown; it had been cultivated and it bloomed.

Civilian breathed in. She wanted to reach forwards and hug Villain, but the handcuffs impeded her ability to move. “I meant it, Villain…I love you.”

Villain stared silently for some time. “I love you, too. I love you so much, Civilian. If things were different then I would give you my entire heart.” But it’s not different…she didn’t need to finish.

“We can make it different…we can stay here. Can’t we do that together?”

“The feud my family started with your’s isn’t over yet. My parents will want my help. They’re my parents, Civilian. If I don’t then they’ll—“

“They’ll what?” 

“I can’t abandon my family.”

“To them, you’re a pawn. Not a daughter, nor family, but a pawn. You don’t owe them anything.” Civilian whispered. “I told you that I love you and now you want to leave me?”

Villain had been there after everything that had happened. Weeks ago, Civilian could hardly dream that anything like this would happen. Saying Villain’s name without stammering, kissing her boss, confessing her love while staring down her knife-wielding dad. Now, Civilian still felt stunned by the whiplash of everything. Without Villain…the only constant in her life would be gone—it’d be like a support beam that suddenly snapped in half.

And the other pressing matter; her own dad tried to kill her, perfectly fine with living with the weight of it on his shoulders like Atlas…forever. Evidently, Civilian’s life didn’t weigh much. Not to him. It wasn’t a load to bear. Stabbing her in the back was ridding himself of a liability—something Villain should’ve done sooner. Maybe Civilian had overestimated how much she mattered. 

Villain treated her like she mattered and was valuable and worthwhile and deserving.

“You’re enough for me. I don’t care about your family, I don’t care about the villainy! I want you. I want you so bad and I’m finally brave enough to admit it, so stay! Please stay, Villain! We can be happy…here.” Civilian continued, finally realizing she didn’t have the faintest clue where she was. The blankets ruffled around her as she tried to wiggle free from them. Villain looked exhausted.

She dropped onto her back, dark hair splayed atop the blanket. “Your father killed my brother.” Her tone was blunt, it left no room for argument nor sugarcoating. “And not only that, but he tried to kill you.”

Civilian stuttered. “If you go after him, then he’ll k-kill you.”

“Civilian.” Villain said coldly. “I fully intend on killing your father. I wish that I could stay here and give you the love and care that you deserve, but he ruined my life, and I’ve spent years trying to find him; I refuse to give up now.”

“Villain—“

She stood up. “Are you hungry? I’ll go get you food.”

When she left, Civilian let herself cry into the pillow. The door opened again and she didn’t look up from the damp spots on the pillow. She didn’t have the energy nor the motivation.

“I hope you know that I won’t let her ruin this.” A familiar voice said.

Civilian knew that voice.

Sister.

@paula-donas

#writing snippet #villain x civilian #civilian x villain #wlw #heroes and villains #hero x villain community #continuation #my writing