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ghoulsgraveyard · 10 months ago
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Animal Instincts
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a/n: this gets freaky y'all. I wrote this when I was higher than a mf. so if it's written weird, that's why. content warnings: PISS KINK (it's the basis of this fic. it is unavoidable), daddy kink, claiming/marking, possessive dialogue, kind of ownership kink. no y/n because I don't like it. Reader has a vagina but is completely gender neutral. word count: 2k
“Animal instincts are so weird” It was a lazy Saturday morning, neither of you had work that day “Yeah I would imagine that, getting pissed when i'm eating and someone walks in or hating anyone who goes near my, like, mate? Or whatever?” You look him up and down “then again I don't have to imagine that one” Logan smiled and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Yeah the territorial one is absolutely real. Drives ya to some pretty wild ideas about that person” he winks “oh yeah? Like what?” you egg him on “like right now i'm thinking about how I need to ‘secure the nest’ and how I should piss on you to stake my claim, and how I should remain on lookout in case of predators” 
“Hold on, what did you just say?” you turn to face him “I should remain on lookout in case of predators” he replies “no, before that” Logan’s mouth cocks into a smirk “I need to secure the nest” you roll your eyes “after that”  he grins at his ability to irritate you “what about it?” you huff out an annoyed sigh “Logan, what did you say?” a short pause hangs in the air, “my current instinct is to piss on you.” he starts to move off the bed towards the bathroom, presumably to relieve himself “Why, you looking for some new ideas?” his voice lilts up playfully.
  You do not feel playful. You feel aroused? Your eyes dilate at the thought. On your knees, body bare to him as he stands towering over you, his impressive frame practically eclipsing your view marks you in such a- you cut off your own line of thought. It was disgusting, it was degrading, it was so. Fucking. Hot. 
“Hey, you spaced out for a second, you good?” you regained focus onto him, your face flushed with heat. You nod feeling breathless “yeah, yeah I’m fine” voice a little shaky. It was suddenly a lot harder to ignore the consequences of sleeping naked. Skin to skin contact was something you both craved, but subsequently often made it hard to get out of bed.
Logan raises his eyebrow at this, he caught a scent in the air at the same time he noticed your widened eyes, the conclusion he draws is one that shocks, pleases, and excites him; you are. His brow cocks as his mouth splits into a grin. “Something you’re thinking about” he pulls you closer to him you now feel his hardened cock rubbing onto you, he leans into your ear and whispers “something you’re wanting?” he rolls his hips against you. You stifle a moan at the feeling. “It doesn't seem like a horrible idea” you murmur, gaze averted in embarrassment. Logan growls upon hearing your confession, he wanted to push you a little more he decided. “What was that you said? Speak up honey I can’t hear you” he coos with condescension. “I just. I dunno, maybe it’s not such a bad idea” you pause, finally able to regain eye contact, but Logan looks at you expectantly, beckoning your expansion “you know, you doing that to-” he cuts you off “Doing what?” his eyes have darkened, he needs you to say the words. You flounder at the intensity, feeling shame at your desire.
 Logan cocks an eyebrow, you drop your gaze, and surprisingly he doesn't ask you to lift it, he allows you this reprieve in such a depraved request. “The, you and um you” you sputter trying to force the words out of your mouth “you peeing on me, marking your territory, it doesn’t uh, it doesn’t sound like a bad thing to try- to do, I mean.” you catch yourself “it doesn’t seem like a bad thing to do at all.” Logan's chest rumbles as he speaks “doesn’t seem too bad to me either” you both look at each other, eyes expecting and bodies awaiting. 
Logan grinds harder against your hip “I can't do that for you right now sweetheart, I’m too hard” he rocks his hips and chuckles at the pout that had formed on your face. “That’s okay though I’m sure we can think of some ways to fix that” he bites your lip and drags it out. You groan both at the feel of the liquid that was beginning to trickle down his tip and at his poor attempt at a joke. “Lo- Logan” you breathe out, he pinches your skin lightly “Daddy” you correct “you could fuck me” you suggest shyly “Logan smirks “that what you want?” you nod “you want daddy to fuck you till he cums, just so he can piss on you?” you mewl at his words, and tremble beneath him as you raise you slowly raise one knee up to his thigh. He grabs roughly at it and your other knee, moving to position your legs spread and presented for him. He pulls back to lean down and spit on your clit rubbing it in, the depraved action and animalistic intent flooded you with desire. 
He taps the uncut head of his cock against your clit, pulling back the skin to reveal a flushed deep red tip shiny with pre. He positioned himself and applied pressure to your hole, not enough force to give way to being filled with him. “You’re a filthy little slut” you practically sob from the teasing, your cunt clenches as if to pull him in. “But you’re my little slut” he pushed into you, you gasp sharply at the stretch, the burn stung. He pouted down at you with a light mock “what’s the matter baby?” you feel him slowly start to drag out “there’s, so much” he preened as he slowly inched back in, now a bit further “I know baby I know. Y’get stuffed too full.” he drags back once more “but you can take it right baby?” he forces another inch and rubs a tear from your face you hadn't noticed forming. You nodded slowly, drunk on touch you dropped into a whole new space. “Yeah. you can take it all” he buries his hips into you, bullying your insides into submission.you practically felt him in the back of your throat. He swirls his hips, wiry hairs rubbing on your clit. “Feels so good,” you moan. He grabs at your knees, pulling them up, he rubs right into the spot that makes your eyes cross. “So, what made you want this?” you breathe out “i’m not the only filthy slut here, you’re the one who started it” you teased,scratching his arms  he- ever the masochist- twitches at the pain “y’really wanna know?” you nod breathlessly 
“I want this because I want to own you” his hips snap “any other animal can smell it, can smell and know you’re mine” he lowers his head to lick and bite at your neck “I defile you like this and I own you, I spoil you for everyone else” he continues to pound into you, “everyone’ll know this is my chew toy, claimed’ em and everything” he mumbles working himself into a fit as he folds you into a mating press, one hand holding himself up while the other grips your chest. The wet clapping noise of his hips meeting yours filled the room. Your eyes roll back and you moan loudly “ya like that? You like daddy ruining you? Pissing all over you so no one else will take you? Treating you like an animal, like - fuck - like an object? I own you so I can do whatever I want, right?” you nod along “right?” his hips pick up speed “right! Yes! Please, feels so good. N I want it daddy, want it so bad. Need you to fuck me so hard, need you to fill me up claim my cunt for your own, then-” you’re cut off by the moan that rips through you “need you to piss on me. Treat me like a human object, your slut, your tool to pleasure. Corrupt me, ruin me, vandalize me with your claim” 
The repeated thumping of his wild hair at your clit leave you tightening around him “m’close daddy m’close” “I know, me too” “can we cum together” the plap of his balls meeting your ass gained intensity “y’want me to cum in you huh?” his hand moves to hold your neck “pissin on you aint enough you want some of me in ya too.” You keen and writhe around him “I can’t stop it” Logan licks a long wide stripe on your neck “Then don’t.” he digs his teeth into the spot where your shoulder met your neck. The pain caused the fireworks in your belly to go off, legs shaking and tears welling in your eyes. Your cunt clamps down on the wolverine’s cock he saws in three long hard thrusts and buries himself as deep into you as he can and releases rope after rope of  hot, thick, cum that floods your cunt. He gives a few slow thrusts, pushing himself in as far as he can. 
A few moments later he slides out of you, and rises to stand in front of you. Usually you’d whine about the loss of him inside you, but now you were humming with excitement.  He was a sight to behold; 6’2, broad shouldered, and about 300 pounds of pure muscle and metal, standing before your prone form. He lazily palms at his cock “y’sure you want this” “please” you whisper. Logan closes his eyes, and thanks god for finally getting that reward for all the shit he’s put up with for all these years, and he releases. The hot golden liquid lands across your chest, and you gasp at the sensation of it. “Y’like that baby?” he aims higher at your hairline “you like being showered in daddy’s piss? Fuck you’ll take anything I give you. So good.” he smiles, then aims to spray your cunt with his piss “two claims on that cute little pussy in one day, what a reward for you” he sighs, his stream dribbling off the a close. You were panting, exhausted and thoroughly satisfied. 
“That was. So good.” you pant out.  Logan smiles down at you, sweaty, disheveled, covered in pee and still the most beautiful creature he could even imagine. “glad it was good for you too bub, c’mon, lets go get cleaned up” You take Logan's hand and he guides you to the bathroom. you start the water in the shower, allowing it to heat up while Logan stripped the bed. 
When Logan joins you in the shower you have just finished rinsing out your hair. He drapes himself over your back, arms meeting each other in front of you, he kisses your neck. “How do you feel” you smile at how Logan always checks in on you as soon as he can “I feel like I just had the nastiest fuck this building has ever seen.” you say as you switch places so he is under the water “but for real, I feel great, a few aches, but regular aches.” You pause, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.  “You make me feel good Logan” you place a hand to his face, which he immediately presses into. His whole life he’s had to be rough, tender is a trait that will get you killed, he has only ever been a tool used to hurt and kill. He is learning how to be soft, he is practicing how to be gentle, sometimes he needs to hear that his hands have done good.
You wash him reverently, massaging soap into the wide expanse of his chest, following the hair down to groin. There was no sexual undertone to how you cleaned him, only a tender domestic intimacy.
After you had both dressed, you assessed the damage to the -frankly already sweat stained- mattress. Logan looks at you with faux solemnity “I think I just heard it wish for death.” You laugh at his joke, helping him move the bulky shape. 
You manage to bring in down to the ground where Logan then lifts the thing into the dumpster with ease. You smile as he returns to you “Do you know what this means?” he kisses you before telling you no, “it means we spend the whole day mattress shopping.” You kiss him with a smile. Logan groans in a false display of displeasure at the idea of a day with you building your home together. 
“Damm” tags: @mistyorchid @meiwes-eat-flesh
part 2
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moonlightandromache · 2 months ago
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okay jumping on the buddieravi trapped under rubble together bandwagon. consider this, there’s no big love confession, but eddie hasn’t moved back to la yet, the earthquake happens not long after the funeral and hes still there and its an all hands on deck sort of situation, and thus buddieravi ends up trapped, they’re sitting there under the rubble and eddie confesses ‘if we survive this, chris and I are moving home’ and buck whips his head around to stare at Eddie with wide eyes and it’s quite for a moment, and ravi to break the awkwardness and also mistaking buck’s bewilderment as panic says ‘well, buck if you need a place to stay Ihave a pretty decent guest room’ and before buck can even turn to look at ravi eddie’s like ‘don’t be ridiculous, i’m not kicking buck out, we can share’ and buck, still staring bewildered at eddie goes ‘ha ha yeah of course’ and ravi decides to just drop it because he’s so tired of being stuck in Their Bullshit.
(unfortunately for ravi, this is Not the last of this particular bullshit)
cut to the night of eddie and chris moving home, they spent most of the afternoon into the evening unpacking the uhaul, chris has gone to bed and buck and eddie are sitting on the couch together sharing a beer, both utterly exhausted but neither wanting to break from their peaceful little bubble, until eddie yawns big and loud and buck goes ‘you should take the bed tonight—you’ve been driving all day and your back doesn’t need to be more fucked up than it already is’ and eddie looks at him like hes grown two heads and goes ‘don’t be silly, we’ll share the bed. it’s not like we haven’t done it before’ and buck obviously can’t say ‘well that was before i realized i was bisexual. and also maybe am in love with you’ so instead he goes ‘haha, yeah, of course’ and when they get in bed buck ends up lying so stiff that eddie rolls his eyes (which buck doesn’t see because he’s pointedly staring at the ceiling) and goes ‘buck, hey, relax. it’s just me—it’s not like i don’t know about how you snore like a grandpa’ which does get buck to relax a little because he turns to glare at eddie insisting ‘i don’t snore like a grandpa’ and eddie gives him a toothy smile, reaches out to pat him on the cheek (which buck totally doesn’t tense up again because of) and says ‘sure bud, just get some sleep, i’m not gonna kick you out of bed in the middle of the night’ and then rolls over and goes to sleep. the next night when they are once again sitting on the couch together nursing beers, eddie stands up, smacking his thighs and declares that it’s time for bed and before buck can even suggest any kind of sleeping arrangement eddie holds out his hand for buck to use to haul himself off the couch with a ‘c’mon bud’ and eddie, instead of letting go once buck’s on his feet, turns and tugs buck along with him to the bedroom, leaving no room for buck to protest as he declares he’s taking the bathroom first and buck can just get changed in the bedroom while he waits.
cue a montage of the next couple of nights where buck, trying to be normal about it, ends up getting some of the worst sleep of his life because he forces himself to stay awake as long as possible to make sure eddie’s actually fallen asleep and then subsequently makes sure he wakes up in the morning before eddie, nights spent at the firehouse are actually a reprieve for him, at least the ones where they can actually lie down in the bunk room for a little while. which works for a little while until they end up having a particularly grueling shift with back to back calls allowing for little to no rest, buck finds ravi after their shift is done while eddie is still in the showers washing off sewer (he drew the short straw) and asks if he could crash in his guest room that night. ravi raises his eyebrows and responds with a teasing smirk ‘what did eddie finally kick you out?’ and buck, slightly offended on eddies behalf replies ‘no of course not’ to which ravi’s eyebrows manage to raise slightly higher and buck, slightly panicking blurts ‘eddie and chris are having a father-son bonding night and i don’t want to intrude’ and ravi just kinda stares at him for a moment and buck hastily adds on ‘i’ll make dinner?’ and ravi, not one to argue with the offer of free food shrugs and says ‘sure’ and they agree that buck will come by around 6 and its set.
except eddie and chris don’t have any kind of father-son bonding night planned, and buck has to come up with an excuse for why he’s heading out for the evening and, again panicking slightly, tells eddie that he had a date. to which eddie raises his eyebrows and goes ‘you’re dating again?’ and buck, already set in the lie, responds ‘just, uh, just casually. i’m not—not looking for anything serious right now, just trying to, y’know, get back on that horse?’ and eddie is quiet for a moment just looking at buck and then says ‘right, sure.’ and buck turns to leave but pauses again, ‘uh, don’t wait up? i don’t know how late i’ll be’ and eddie, voice going slightly funny replies ‘right, uh, i guess—have fun?’ and buck nods, pleased with himself for his on the spot improvisational skills, and heads out the front door.
the night spent at ravi’s rejuvenates buck and he is able to fall back into the routine he crafted for himself to be able to share the bed with eddie for about another week until the lack of sleep catches up with him again and he finds himself reaching out to ravi again, this time claiming ‘chris is having a sleepover and it’d be kinda hard to crash on the couch when theres a whole bunch of teenagers camped out in the living room determined to stay awake as long as possible’ and offers to bring ravi some of his latest batch of baked goods and ravi once again is like. sure man. because who turns down buck’s blueberry surprise muffins? and anyway everything is once again set. except for the fact that there isn’t any actual sleepover happening at the diaz house that night, so buck once again makes up a date, and once again tells eddie ‘not to wait up’ and eddie doesn’t ask how the date went the next morning when he wakes up to buck making breakfast.
and it continues on like that for a few weeks, buck making up some kind of reason he needs to be out of the diaz house for a night to ravi and then telling eddie he’s got another date and not to wait up and buck foolishly thinks he’s hacked the system.
until the fifth time it happens, buck comes home from ravi’s place to find eddie already awake, sitting on the couch, waiting for him. eddie doesn’t meet buck’s eyes when he says ‘this is your fifth date this month’ and buck, confused replies ‘uh, yeah, guess so’ ‘same person? seems like it could be getting a little bit serious’ and buck rubs at the back of his neck ‘oh, no, uh, different—different people’ and eddie, still not looking at buck goes ‘really? i mean—you haven’t felt a spark with any of them?’ and buck chuckles nervously, entirely unprepared for this conversation and replies ‘uh, no, guess not’ and eddie finally, finally looks at buck and goes ‘why are you lying to me?’ he holds up his own phone like a piece of evidence ‘we have location sharing on, remember? i know you’ve been going to ravi’s’ and buck, deer in the headlights, completely panics and blurts out ‘i’m sleeping with him’ and eddie, looking suddenly very confused, eyes squinting slightly says ‘what?’ and buck, already climbing into the hole he’s dug for himself goes, ‘we’re having sex. me and ravi' and eddie is once again staring at him like he's grown a second head and buck decides to make a stealthy retreat (read: goes to the kitchen and makes a bit of an extravagant breakfast) and then chris is awake and the conversation doesn’t get brought back up.
except, they have a shift that same day, and while buck initially is grateful for this, about 4 hours into their 24, ravi comes up to buck while he’s doing inventory in the supply closet and goes ‘hey, uh, did—did i do something to make eddie mad at me? because i feel like he’s mad at me.’ and buck replies ‘what? no. eddie isn’t mad at you’ and ravi goes ‘are you sure? because he’s been acting…a little weird? but like, specifically to me?’ and buck is like ‘pshh, what? no he isnt. hes just being—regular eddie.’ and then in comedic timing eddie appears, does a slight double take at buck and ravi standing together in the supply closet, makes a weird face ‘sorry, didn’t mean to, uh, interrupt anything.’ and he says it like the words are sour in his mouth, still looking between buck and ravi, and then he seemingly remembers why he came looking for them in the first place and says ‘food’s ready’ and then promptly spins on his heel and leaves before buck or ravi can say anything.
and ravi just, fixes buck with a Look and buck goes all sheepish and says ‘uh, so maybe eddie’s acting a little weird.’
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a-small-safe-place · 2 years ago
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His Haven Pt. 2
Homelander x Psychiatrist!Reader
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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
As the weeks passed, Homelander continued to integrate himself into your life, blurring the lines between patient and "friend." One evening, after a particularly intense session, Homelander broached the subject of spending more time together outside of the therapy room. "I was thinking," he began, his blue eyes searching yours, "maybe we could grab a bite sometime. You know, outside of this place." Your heart sank, torn between the genuine connection you felt with Homelander and the professional boundaries you knew you needed to maintain. With all your other patients, you had discussed boundaries, but not with the members of The Seven. The Deep, A-Train, and Queen Maeve viewed these sessions as a waste of time. Starlight and Black Noir had kept a very professional relationship. You weren't totally sure why Black Noir still came to the sessions since his sessions were spent in silence, usually with him drawing pictures of Buster Beaver and his little buddies. Starlight was the only one that used the sessions for what they were meant for.
You had not thought you needed to set boundaries with them, and that, since these were America's greatest heroes, the boundaries were obvious and unspoken. Oh, how that had bitten you in the ass now, having to turn down the offer. You let those boundaries slip by allowing Homelander to come to your house, but in that situation, there was not a lot you could do to stop him.
"I appreciate the offer, Homelander, but it's important to keep our relationship within the confines of our sessions," you replied carefully, trying to hide the conflict in your eyes, unaware that he could hear your heartbeat and smell your nervousness. Homelander's expression shifted from hopeful anticipation to a subtle disappointment that cut through you. "Right, professional boundaries," he said, a forced smile tugging at his lips. It is the kind of smile that does not reach his eyes. "I get it." You could not let his dangerous expression get to you.
The following sessions became strained. Homelander seemed distant, his usually confident demeanor replaced by an air of vulnerability and irritation. You should be thanking him that he is interested in you. He attended sessions less frequently, and when he did, the conversations were stilted. It was clear that your rejection had affected him more than either of you anticipated. Homelander was not willing to give up. You just needed a chance to come around.
One day, after a difficult session, Homelander lingered in your office. "Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked, his tone a mixture of frustration and hurt. Homelander knew you did not have a partner in your life. He had stopped by to do a thorough search of your home while you were out, and there was no evidence of you dating someone, not even the smell of a casual hookup still lingering on your skin. You sighed, maintaining the professionalism that defined your role. "It's not that I don't value our sessions, Homelander. But crossing the boundaries of a therapeutic relationship can be detrimental for both of us," you explained, your words hanging heavily in the air. "I want what's best for you, and sometimes that means maintaining a professional distance."
Homelander's jaw tensed, and he stood abruptly. "So, I'm just another patient to you, is that it?" His eyes bore into yours, searching for a hint of vulnerability that matched his own. "No, Homelander, you're not just another patient," you replied softly, your heart aching at the pain evident in his eyes. "But I have a responsibility to ensure that our interactions remain focused on your well-being." He stormed out of your office without another word, leaving you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Homelander is a dangerous and unpredictable man. The once-promising therapeutic alliance had crumbled, replaced by an unspoken tension that hung in the air during each subsequent session.
Days turned into weeks, and the divide between you and Homelander deepened. He attended sessions less frequently, and when he did, the conversations were strained and unproductive. Of course, for Homelander, he still had his time with you even if you were oblivious to it. Though, he would much rather be in your arms than jacking off on the building next to yours while you participated in a similar activity in the warmth of your bed. 
One evening, after a silent session, Homelander was particularly grumpy in this session. He had expressed that he had a bad day. Homelander lingered at the door. "You should be fucking thanking me,” He pauses. “I am giving you the opportunity of a lifetime, and you're fucking throwing it away. Do you know how many people would leave their whole families just for one glance from me?”
The weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders as he walked away, leaving you alone in the empty office. It made you wonder how dangerous Homelander really was and how desperate he would become if you continued to deny him. The once-promising connection had fractured irreparably, and the professional boundaries you fought so hard to maintain had come at the cost of a genuine connection with Homelander.
The weeks passed with a lingering tension between you and Homelander. The once-promising therapeutic alliance had crumbled, leaving behind an unspoken rift that seemed insurmountable. Homelander attended sessions less frequently, and when he did, the conversations were strained, devoid of the genuine connection that had defined your earlier interactions. It became evident that your rejection had affected him more deeply than either of you anticipated. Homelander, usually the embodiment of confidence, now wore an air of vulnerability and loneliness that tugged at your conscience. The sessions were marked by long pauses, resentful glances, and a palpable discomfort that neither of you could ignore. You couldn't shake the feeling of regret that lingered each time you saw him. The haunting realization that you had sacrificed something meaningful for the sake of professional decorum weighed heavily on your conscience. Late one evening, a knock echoed through your home. Homelander stood at the doorway, his usual confidence replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored the man you had glimpsed in the early days of your sessions. "I need someone to talk to," he admitted, his voice a whisper.
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kitkat13001 · 9 months ago
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⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚘
i’ll take care of you. it’s rotten work. not to me. not if it’s you.
>> sanemi shinazugawa x pillar!reader
>> reader is afab (no pronouns used), reader is on their period, sanemi and reader are married, mentions of blood, female anatomy etc, sacchan curses a lot, titled after hozier’s song “like real people do”
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sanemi has half a mind to be alarmed when he comes into the house and smells blood.
you’re home. your sandals are in the hall, and your haori is hanging by the door. his skin prickles and he reaches for his sword, instinctively calling out to you with ice in his heart and dread in his voice.
but when he sees the bloodstained bedsheets, his heart rate slows and he releases a breath. in truth, he should’ve anticipated this. he’s usually got your cycle down to the day, but the time’s been blurring between missions as of late.
you call back faintly, the sound of your voice instantly calming his nerves. the tension bleeds slowly from his shoulders as he kicks off his sandals, sheathing his sword and tossing it aside.
he doesn’t even bother hanging up his haori, instead leaving it discarded on the floor as he trudges to your bedroom.
you’re curled up on your futon, buried up to your face in the covers. he can’t see them, but sanemi would bet his life’s inheritance that your arms are wrapped around your abdomen in pain. 
“i’m sorry about the sheets,” you peep, voice heavy with fatigue. “i was gonna wash ‘em, but i went to lie down for a bit and i just couldn’t get up and i…” you trail off, cheeks flushed and eyes shiny. 
“i’ll wash them,” he’s quick to reply. “don’t worry about it.”
“but they’re—”
he scoffs. “tch. like i’ve never seen a little blood. we’re demon slayers, for fuck’s sake. i said don’t worry about it, alright?”
with that, he strips off his uniform and changes into his comfortable clothing before sitting down next to you with a huff. 
“i sent the tsugukos home,” you tell him in a small voice after a long moment. “figured we could all use the break.”
“hmph. you’re soft with them,” sanemi grumbles. “they’ll never survive in the field if you baby them.”
“mm. well, i made them run up and down the mountain before i let them go, if that makes you feel better.”
“good,” he huffs, and you give a soft laugh. the sound brings a hint of a smile to his face as he glances over at you. 
his calloused hands are gentle as they brush your hair away from your feverish forehead.
“you look like shit,” he murmurs, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his brows. 
“thanks, sacchan.”
he clicks his tongue, frowning. “you know what i mean. guessing it hit you like a damn ten-ton wagon?”
“mhmm,” you nod, keening into his touch as your eyes flutter closed. “y’ don’t have to stay, though, sacchan. i can—”
you double over as another cramp wracks your body, subsequently cutting you off. 
sanemi’s hand finds yours, grip steady and strong as you squeeze it. 
“you need anything? want me to get you somethin’?”
you bury your face in the pillow and groan loudly. 
“i want to not be feeling like this right now,” you grumble, mortified to feel tears building in your eyes. 
sanemi moved to hold you and you’re quick to bury your face in his side, not wanting him to see you like this. 
he clicks his tongue like he can read your mind, pulling you into his lap as he wraps his arms around you. “you better not be thinkin’ any dumb shit about being a burden to me right now.”
“‘m not,” you lie, voice muffled into his shirt. you know it’s futile and that he doesn’t believe you, but his stubbornness has rubbed off on you over the years. 
“yeah, right,” he scoffs. “like we haven’t been married a couple years now and i don’t know your every thought.”
“you don’t know my every thought,” you protest, emerging from his side to frown at him.
he pinches your nose gently. “i do too. right now, you’re thinking—first of all, you’re kinda pissed that i pinched your nose. but you’re probably thinking that you’re weak ‘n don’t want me to see you like this, and that you don’t deserve me—and it’s bullshit. it’s all bullshit, baby. i’d be a pretty shitty husband if i didn’t take proper care of my spouse, wouldn’t i?”
“but i—”
he huffs out a sigh. “i’ll do this every damn month if i have to. if i was gonna leave you over some dumb shit like this, i would’ve done it already. i can’t even count how many times you’ve dragged my bleeding ass back from the butterfly mansion to patch me up yourself, or the days you’ve sat and watched over me while i slept on a mission and all kind of other shit. i said ‘for better or worse’ and i fuckin’ meant it, so shut up and let me take care of you, goddammit!”
you feel tears well up in your eyes at his proclamations, and you curse your damn hormones for acting up so much.
“i’m a blood demonnnn!” you wail, falling back in his lap dramatically as the tears begin to fall.
“you’re my fucking blood demon. i’ll carry you around in a damn box like that idiot kamado boy and his stupid demon sister,” sanemi tells you, a resounding sense of finality in his words. “i love you, and your stupid, shitty uterus. and there’s nothing you can say or do to change it.”
you wouldn’t dare even if you wanted to.
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dividers by @agsthv and @anitalenia
this was a BATTLE to finish omg and i have no idea why. been feeling kinda ugh lately and my period hit me like a TRUCK and so naturally i decided that sacchan could fix me <3 anyways love,
- 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 !
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siriuslystyle1989 · 10 months ago
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The Only Exception
Lucien Vanserra x Fem!reader
Summary: When Your husband, Lucien finds out Elain is his mate, you decide to give him an ultimatum.
Warnings: Angst, fluff, Lucien being the best
masterlist
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In a slight daze, Y/n lounged on the couch, her left hand grasping a mug of tea and her right hand clutching her latest read.
Lucien was in the night court helping their mutual friend, Feyre. Leaving Y/n alone with only her book as company.
But she was bored now. She wanted Lucien. She wanted him to walk into their shared home, scoop her up, let her nuzzle herself into his neck, kiss him.
Letting out an almost exasperated sigh, she looked at the clock and subsequently realised her husband was due home any moment.
Still, she remained reading hoping that time would somehow speed up if she was occupied.
"Y/n?" Lucien's voice travelled through the air causing the girl to jump and move to the entrance of their home.
'Luc!" She smiled, moving to hug the man who kissed her hair as he wrapped his arms around her smaller frame.
"What's wrong?" Y/n spoke suddenly, sensing something was amis with her lover.
"Nothings wrong baby, let's move to the living room." Lucien reassured her, guiding her back inside the house.
Y/n sat down, looking up at Lucien who ran a hand through his long auburn hair.
Her brows furrowed as she spoke "Luc, what's happened?" hesitance lacing her tone.
"I need to tell you something." He replied, getting on his knees in front of her, placing a hand on each of her legs.
Y/n nodded, anxiety bubbling up in her stomach.
Lucien sucked in a deep breath of air.
"Y/n."
A pause.
"I've found my mate."
Y/n shook her head slightly in disbelief, she could feel tears welling up in her eyes as her world came crashing down.
'But-" Lucien tried to speak as she cut him off.
"Wh- who?" Y/n asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Elain. Elain Archeron."
"Feyre's sister?"
Lucien nodded, looking into his wife's eyes.
"But Y/n-"
"If you want to be with her I understand, but tell me now. I don't want to be told in a few years if you suddenly decide that she's all you want-
"Y/n that's the thing-"
" -and I promise I won't be mad at you, we can still be friends. It's completely fine-" Y/n rambled, half for Lucien half for herself.
Tears now freely spilling down her cheeks, Y/n continued speaking.
"-But really if you want to be with Elain I understand, she's beautiful and really-"
"Y/n!" Lucien shouted louder, attempting to calm the girls incessant chatter.
"Sweetheart. What I was trying to tell you was that I've already rejected the bond.
"You- what?" Y/n uttered looking into her husband's eyes.
"Of course I did you silly girl." He smiled, moving a hand to her face to wipe away her tears.
"You're all I want my love. Cauldron be damned."
At this, Y/n flung her arms around Lucien, holding him as tight as possible, still sniffling.
"I love you." she mumbled into his neck.
Lucien ran his fingers through her hair as he forced her to look at him. He began gently kissing away her tears.
"I love you more than you'll ever know, my sweet girl."
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A/N: I'm back!!!
Can you guys tell that i'm obsessed with Lucien?
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sanjisleggy · 7 months ago
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no more hiding (smoker x reader)
req: Hi!!! Could you maybe do a Smoker x pirate reader. Like trying to hide the relationship and stuff from the other Marines and her pirate crew. (Whichever crew you want) idk I just want cute pirate x Marine stuff maybe little angsty if you want but need cute things
a/n: omg i’ve been thinking about this request for the past three (3) days and i might have gotten very carried away with the angst at the start, istg i couldn’t help myself ajskdhjakshja i hope the subsequent fluff in the flashbacks and ending was enough to make up for it!! ;;0;; i legit had a lot more angst planned but i cut it out bc the request asked for more fluffy stuff :’D
contents: suggestive themes (nothing explicit though, idk why i wrote Smoker and reader so h0rny for each other but alas it is what is), angst to fluff, mentions of wounds and stitching of said wounds
wc. 2.3k
i.
Smoker can’t help the tinge of bitterness that gathers at the back of his throat, the taste so strong that not even his usual nightly cigars can chase away the smell. it’s a rather rare occurrence, only really happening when he gets anxious and it’s been a long time since anxiety overrode every other emotion in his body in such a way.
though the experience is slightly uncomfortable, he supposes it can’t really be helped since it involves you; his childhood friend (the only one, in fact), his closest companion and the love of his life. 
the Vice Admiral wonders what’s taking you so long. you always show up at his doorstep roughly half an hour after he’s sent out a trail of smoke to go look for you—the signal you’ve used since you were kids. back then it was for innocent hangouts beyond curfew and now it’s for late night meetings that often end with either one of you on top of the other, tangled in his bedsheets.
as much as Smoker would like to think about your latest escapade, his nerves are starting to get the better of him and his mind begins to race. 
ii. 
“you joined Tomohana’s crew?! what’s the matter with you?” his voice cracked slightly near the end of his sentence. you normally would’ve made fun of him for it but the air between him and you was a bit too tense for jokes like that. 
“ i know you know they’re not like normal pirates,” you replied as calmly as you could considering your best friend was yelling at you. “everyone in Loguetown loves him and his crew, they’re always fighting off rowdy pirates to protect the neighbouring islands.”
”that should be the Marines’ job.”
”exactly! but they don’t really do that a lot, do they?” you could tell you’d made a point so good even Smoker couldn’t rebut. “with Vice Admiral Gokiburi around, all they do is make our lives miserable.”
”it won’t be that way for long and you know that.” 
“oh please, you just got promoted a month ago and you’ve been with the Marines for how many years now?” he glared down at you but even his deep scowl wasn’t enough to hide the redness in his cheeks. “we’ll be in our mid-thirties before you take his place.”
”so?” Smoker snapped, fists clenched at his sides as hints of white smoke trailed out of the corners of his mouth. “at least i’ll be makin’ an actual difference! unlike you.” the tone of his voice dropped to an eerily calm albeit deep one. 
“what about me?” you challenged before you could help it. you knew from experience that adding fuel to the fire was not gonna end pretty but in that moment, you needed to know what he meant.
iii. 
why now? why am i remembering this now?
Smoker finds himself outside your door at midnight. the radio silence from you had been too much to bear and he just needs to know if you’re okay; and yet there he stands, fist halfway to making contact with your door when the bitter memory of your most painful fight decides it’s time to claw its way into the forefront of his mind.
after that incident,
after i called you all those awful things
you stopped talking to him for five years.
iv. 
it had been Tomohana of all people who’d told you about Smoker that day. he didn’t provide many details but it was enough for you to show up at his front door after years of no contact. after knocking, you could hear the sound of furniture being toppled over and heavy, unstable footsteps before the door swung open.
Smoker’s eyes widened upon seeing your face and he became so still that one of his cigars slipped out from between his teeth, hitting the ground unceremoniously between your feet and his. without saying a word, he stepped aside to let you in.
amidst the countless empty bottles of varying types of alcohol and a handful of presents you presumed were from his subordinates, the two of you sat in silence. 
“i heard you got promoted,” you said suddenly, after almost ten minutes of nothing. “congrats.” as though surprised at hearing your voice, Smoker cleared his throat before responding.
”thanks.” he paused for a few seconds. “i’m Vice Admiral now.”
”i know.” you offered him a small smile. “you don’t seem very happy about achieving your childhood dream though.”
”i…” he clenched his teeth, his already flushed face turning even redder from something other than alcohol. “i wish i could’ve celebrated with you, is all.” his eyes turned down to stare at his feet. for a man so huge, he looked awfully small. “i miss you. i’m sorry i said those things all those years ago. i didn’t mean any of it.”
hot tears began to stream down your face before you could even fully process what he was saying. 
“why’d it take you so long then?” you replied with a sniffle—the sound seemingly triggering something in the man as his head snapped back up to look at you. “all this time—” you had to pause to take in a deep, shaky breath “—i thought you hated me.”
upon your admission, the one and only Smoker, a Vice Admiral of the mighty Marines, slid off his seat to kneel before you. although he was drunk, at that moment he was the most sober he’d ever been in his life.
”i could never hate you, doll.” he grabbed your hands in an uncharacteristically soft manner before bringing them up to his lips. your heart pounded so violently within the confines of your chest, you wondered if he could hear it. “i’ve loved you ever since we were kids.” 
speechless, all you could really do was stare at him with your mouth parted.
”please let me make it up to you, (Y/N),” Smoker pleaded with a pitiful look in his usually hardened eyes. you briefly wondered what his subordinates would think if they saw him like that, especially the girl with the spectacles who seemed to admire him so much. he looked so little like the aggressive, no-nonsense Marine the locals now knew him as and so much like the Smoker from when you were just children. 
you realised, in that moment, how much you’d missed him, too.
v.
it’s taking all he’s got not to show his anger and fear as the Vice Admiral watches you stitch yourself back together in quite the literal sense. he’s clenching his fists so hard he can feel his nails dig into the meat of his palms, he won’t be surprised if he draws blood.
the white-haired man isn’t quite sure what exactly he’s angry at: you? your crew and Tomohana for letting you go home wounded to patch yourself up? even maybe himself?
before Smoker can make his decision, he’s torn away from his own thoughts by the sound of a pained whine being forced through your gritted teeth. wordlessly, he closes the gap between him and you and kneels by your feet. carefully, he finishes up the final stitches as your hand grips his shoulder tightly to cope with the pain. 
unknowingly, his Devil Fruit power kicks in, causing a whisp of white smoke to curl itself around your face and body. the familiar cooling sensation of his smoke caressing your skin soothes the stinging pain of your open wounds and the aches in your tired joints. 
you already know he’s mad, not just at you for getting hurt once again but at everything else, as well. it’s just the kind of guy Smoker is: always angry or uptight over something. and yet, he ties off the final stitch so carefully and when he’s done, he simply sighs before resting his cheek atop your thigh as he tenderly runs his palm up and down your bare leg, as if trying to remind himself that you’re still there.
from the way he exhales his following breath, you can tell he wants to say something.
vi.
“leave the crew,” he said suddenly, breaking through the comfortable silence that had befallen the two of you after an evening of post-dinner cuddling. his hand reaching up to rub the back of your neck as you rested your head on his bare chest. the night was hot and humid but neither of you cared how sticky your skin felt pressed against his, you’d both grown up in this weather after all. “i make more than enough berry for us to live comfortably.”
”you know that’s not what i’m worried about, love,” you replied with a chuckle as you adjusted your position by Smoker’s side to bury your face into the crook of his neck. the Vice Admiral’s chest rumbled in a way not unlike a cat’s purring as he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “the crew helps to protect a lot of the locals from the neighbouring islands and i wanna make sure there’s enough manpower before i consider quitting.” 
“can’t believe i’m sayin’ this but i hope a hundred of new recruits show up at that bastard Tomohana’s doorstop first thing tomorrow,” the man beside you sighed, only half-joking, before he rolled his body over yours without warning.
”hey!” you protested, wiggling under his weight. he chuckled as he trapped you beneath him, pressing kisses all over your face.
”tell him to hurry up and gather more crewmates already, doll,” Smoker murmured against your skin, “it’s not like they’re doin’ anything illegal anyway so why the secrecy, hmm? tryin’ to keep my girl away from me?”
”it’s not like that and you know it.” you hugged his head to your chest with both arms, smile growing even wider when you felt his muscles relax from your touch. “besides, they’d have to know about us to begin with.” 
“i’m tired of sneakin’ around,” he mumbled into your chest, muffling his words ever so slightly. “the cadets can get so nosy sometimes, it pisses me off.” Smoker admitted whilst rubbing your sides tenderly. “‘sides, all this hiding makes it feel like you’re some dirty secret.”
vii.
before he can say anything, you speak your mind first.
”i’m done hiding. i quit the crew earlier today.” Smoker’s head snaps up from your lap for his widened eyes to meet yours. staring back down at him with a small smile on your face, you cup his face with your right hand, feeling the stubble on his skin when he nuzzles into your touch. “some cocky new recruit challenged me for my position afterward. he was a pretty good fighter but i beat the shit out of him.”
”that’s my girl.” Smoker says with a chuckle, his hand giving your calf a light squeeze as he stares at you for a good few seconds. “so you’re finally free?” he asks with a glimmer in his eye. 
”you say that as if i was held hostage or something.”
”can’t help it, doll. that’s pretty much what it felt like for the past three years.” he presses yet another kiss to your bare thigh. “so… move in with me?”
”tomorrow,” you reply simply but definitively, much to his pleasure. “but first,” you gesture for him to stand up before holding out your arms in his direction, “carry me to bed.”
Smoker raises an eyebrow at your request though he can’t help the smile on his face. he wonders how ridiculous he must look, like some lovesick fool.
”please?” you pout and within seconds, you’re swept into his arms bridal style. you let out a soft yelp of surprise despite how carefully he’d picked you up. “i’m okay, you didn’t hurt me.” you’re quick to reassure him when a look of worry washed over his face from the sound you just made. you can feel his shoulders relax in response.
“bath first, then bed.” he states simply, already walking towards your bathroom.
”together?” you grin up at him, tracing a finger down his chest. a redness blooms across Smoker’s rugged face as he shoots you a frown that looks more silly than intimidating. he doesn’t even grace you with a verbal answer, deeming it too ridiculous to even acknowledge fully.
of course he’s going to join you. the day he says no to such a request is the day hell freezes over.
viii.
the night air feels more cooling than usual, you realise as you snuggle closer to your beloved, trying to steal as much of his body heat as you possibly can. using his bicep as a pillow with your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck, you hug him like a koala to a tree: your arms around his middle and your legs locked around his right thigh. admittedly it’s not the most comfortable position for Smoker but he’ll die before he complains about it. 
for the first time he’ll be able to sleep the night at your place and wake up by your side under the morning sun. no longer will either of you have to rise before dawn breaks to sneak back home, pretend the other has nothing to do with you until the moon takes the sun’s place and his smoke trail guides you back to him. 
Smoker is careful not to touch your stitches as he turns towards you slightly to pull you closer. he runs his hands over all the bare skin of yours he can reach, leaving goose bumps in his fingers’ wake, his heart fluttering when you giggle and wriggle your body in response.
i can’t wait to come home to you every night and see you every morning.
although it’s been a long day, neither of you get much sleep that night. 
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andromellax · 8 days ago
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pt. 2 to the free use service post. Haven't proofread it yet.
After signing up to be free use for other sapphics and subsequently being late from works thanks to being freely used, I'm feeling frustrated. But as I make my way to the elevator of the company's office building there's a twitch of satisfaction in me. "Other want to use me" I'm giggling to myself inside my mind.
When the elevator door opens to the correct floor I instantly know there's no sneaking to my desk without anyone noticing my tardiness. The messiness of my hair and the stains on my back and knees don't spare me from attention and I can feel everyone's curious eyes on me. I make my way straight to my boss' office in hopes that taking accountability will give me enough time to come up with an explanation.
"Come in", I hear from the other side of her door right after knocking on it. I open the door and slip in, closing it behind me. I don't want any nosey coworkers hearing me stumble through this conversation. "Good morning, miss Smith!" I start instinctively. "More like good day at this hour." she replies as she turns her gaze from her monitor to look at me. When we make eye contact, an expression flashes on her face before quickly shifting to a question. "Would you like to try to explain, why your over an hour late?"
I open my mouth to say something, but she starts speaking again. "Or should I spare you the trouble of coming up with something and tell you that I know exactly why?" The realization must be visible on my face because she continues. "Yes, I can see it too, free use slut. Please don't tell me you thought people at the office couldn't tell. Though, one doesn't need to qualify to see the mark to be able to tell someone has sat on your face." she chuckles lightly. "If after today you choose to still stay in the program, I suggest you start to leave the house a bit earlier in the future." Her face is cold again.
"I will. I didn't realize so many- I'm sorry." I'm stumbling through the words, thoroughly embarrassed. I start to turn to the door to leave, but she gets up from her desk. "I didn't dismiss you yet." Her tone is demanding. "since you're already here, I'm gonna use the service. I'm due for a quick break anyway."
She walks towards me, around her desk until we're standing face to face. "Finally you can make yourself useful around here." She staring me down. I watch as her eyes move lower down my body, from my cleavage, visible from the low cut of my blouse, to the curve of my hips. "Your reports always have to be double checked and fixed for errors, but I knew I was keeping you around for a reason." The mixture of degradation and flattery in her words sends a confusing mixture of feelings through my body. It causes me to suddenly be soaked again.
Miss Smith leads me to her desk and with on simple hand movement bends me over it. "I like to go a bit slower usually, but as I said I only have a quick break, so we need to get to it a bit quicker." I feel her silicone strap poking at my entrance and wonder when she had time to put the harness on. Was she wearing it already? I don't have much time to wonder before she starts pushing into me. A moan escapes my mouth. "you're this wet for me already?" she asks with a mocking tone when she starts moving the strap, pumping in and out. When all I can reply with is breathy mumbles she chuckles again.
"All those obstacles this morning and no one finished you off? Well lucky for you, I don't like to leave even free use sluts hanging." She grabs both my wrists from where I was holding the table for support and gathers the in one hand, pressing them down on my back. She keeps up her rhythm, but her thrusts get more aggressive. "Finally we have an office free use slut, it's been years since the last one." She mumbles more to herself than me. Suddenly I'm imagining getting fucked by all the different women of the office. Even some of who's orientation I'm not certain off, and it only increases my arousal.
"Oh, you like being called that? The office free use slut?" miss Smith comments. The new soak coating her strap must have given my thoughts away. "Hmm, that's it, take it, slut" she encourages me. There must be something in the harness stimulating her, or maybe she's just grinding against where the strap attaches, but something is bringing her closer to orgasm too.
Whatever it is doesn't work fast enough because my orgasm crashes into me as her words further degrade me. She keeps pushing into me through the pleasure and soon the overstimulation kicks in. I start thrashing, my hands trying to get free from her grip, but she manages to keep me still. "Shhh slut, just a little longer" -she takes quick, heavy breaths between her words- "until I can get off, the it'll be over and -hmhh- you can go service someone else. But if you want to struggle, that's okay. -ahh- Good even. Give's m' more friction." It's not like I have a choice. The intensity of the overstimulation makes me want to bag her to stop. As I start to open my mouth I feel her push in very strongly and then just hold the strap in, grinding against it. Against me.
After a moment she pulls out and tells me to leave. I quickly readjust my panties under my skirt before leaving the room.
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marzipanandminutiae · 11 months ago
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god I need to stop reading the notes on that "you don't owe anybody your downtime post that goes downhill in the notes
I got a bit hyperbolic in the tags but I still feel like my point was valid: you cannot just shoot down good-faith attempts at compromise between conflicting mental illness with "sorry I don't have the energy to do that :) :) :)" and then keep telling the person on the other side that they need to work on their issues. it cannot be all give on one side and all take on the other
for clarity, the original post said "people can't always respond right away and that's okay!" (which I agree with!). but then someone in the notes was like "could you maybe tell me if you don't feel up to talking when I reach out to you?" and OP and a few other people were like "so, no, because if I had the energy to do that, I'd have the energy to conduct a conversation. sorry! anyway work more on your own stuff thanks!"
and this pissed me off because like. people with mental issues that can make us annoying/clingy/insecure about people's love or friendship? we never seem to get grace. we are ALWAYS the ones being told that we need to be better- which we definitely do! I'm not arguing that! -amidst all the posts telling you that you don't owe your friends anything ever and if someone ever gets annoyed or concerned by a lack of a response, that's on them. nobody EVER seems to get told "well, maybe work on being able to say 'hey, not feeling up to it; talk later!'"
and obviously there are degrees of this. getting worried and spam texting after two hours with no reply to a non-time-sensitive message is an issue; getting annoyed when someone ignores you for months is understandable. not texting someone back immediately is fine; not texting them back ever and then expecting them to still be there for you is not. but I feel like both extremes are issues to be worked on, and only one gets negative attention here on Tumblr
seriously you don't want to know where I started with all this. it was Bad. passive-aggressive, "manipulating people without realizing I was doing anything wrong" Bad. I have worked on it and continue to work on it. I used to tie myself in knots when I saw that little green dot and they didn't message back right away, or if they hadn't messaged first in a while. and subsequently take that out on my loved ones, intentionally or not. it wasn't fun for me, it certainly wasn't fun for them, and I've struggled to get out of that place and not go back there
but. I and people with similar abandonment/insecurity issues can't do it all. it's not meeting halfway when only one side is expected to move
and to see a post being like "well some people are just never going to listen to reason and I have to ~let myself accept that~ UwU" when all I said was "we can't be the only ones trying, and it's not fair that we're often expected to be" is just. hnnnng
I need to go aggressively cut plastic bits off gold braid trim
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darklydeliciousdesires · 3 months ago
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Sanctuary - Chapter Two.
Guys, when I tell you I was elated at your response to this story! Thank you so much to everyone who read and offered such kind feedback. ILY <3
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Summary - It was a crime that shook the metal community and beyond to its core, the Solna Satanic murder case blowing apart the lives of many. With Lucas and Nils - frontman and drummer of popular metal band The Hanged - trialed, found guilty and subsequently sentenced, few were inclined to believe either deserved any offerings of a second chance. Lucas, in particular, did not consider himself worthy until salvation came in the form of a letter.
Words - 3,271
Previous Chapters - One
Warnings - 18+ content, mentions of violence. Of course, it'll be smutty too, eventually! Minors DNI!
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That voice. She’d once heard someone liken Lucas’s voice to a ripsaw shredding through a led pipe, that guttural, gravelled roar sending an illicit shiver down her spine every time she heard it. Listening to Warfare, the highly acclaimed debut album by The Hanged, Erika still couldn’t quite believe that he was just fourteen and fifteen years old when he wrote it, sixteen when he’d recorded it and seventeen when he’d toured with it.  
They’d been babies, still, just kids up there on the stage. She remembered well from going to see them live, just a kid herself of thirteen at the time after pleading with her parents to allow her to attend the gig. There he’d been up on stage, this tall, fresh-faced boy, but with a roar like something hell had spat out for being too hostile.  
Oh, how she’d wanted to try and get backstage to meet them, but couldn’t on account of her father looming like an albatross, Lasse parked up in his Land Rover to the side of the venue, waiting to take her and her friend's home. Now here she was seventeen years later, driving out to Södertälje in order to meet the man himself for the first time.  
To say she was nervous was an understatement.  
It was a typically cold February morning, yet to prevent her anxious sweats, Erika had the air conditioning on full pelt, her coat slung into the back seat of her car. She was tired, finishing late at work the previous evening, going home to sit at her laptop, eating her favourite girl dinner of various cheeses and sliced meats while indulging herself in a little time with Lucas. 
What that meant to her was watching old interviews with him and parts of the DVD from their last tour prior to his and Nils’s incarceration. God, he’d been so funny, such a live wire of a guy. One of her favourites was a scene she found herself backtracking a few times, him and their lead guitarist Alex meeting a female fan backstage who’d been quite overcome in their presence. 
“Oh, I think I’m going to faint! Hi!” 
“Breeze!” Lucas had shouted, looking around. “The woman needs breeze!” He’d then looked to Alex. “Pass me that. Here, I got you. Breeze via Terroriser magazine, there you go, we’ve got a draft going now!” he’d chirped, fanning the by then giggling woman with a rapid flourish of the publication in his hands. “You good now? Don’t faint on me, girl!” 
She’d told him how much the entire thing had made her cry laugh in a letter, Lucas revealing in his reply that he remembered that night well. Perhaps, though, his penned recollection wasn’t quite so humorous. To him, at least.  
So yeah, I ended up taking her to the tour bus and having sex with her. It was going great, until she suddenly got a wave of drunken nausea and threw up all over my chest while she was riding me. Thank fuck the venue had a shower, but shit, my bunk wasn’t salvageable at all! Had to sleep in the seats at the front until our management could get some mobile valet guys to come and deep clean it!! 
The second part of the video offerings that never failed to have her in fits was the scene cut from an interview, again of Lucas and Alex – a renowned double act if ever there was one – speaking to a journalist in Düsseldorf. 
“I like it here in Germany,” the latter had spoken enthusiastically, “you have great beer and even better women!” A small rumble of laughter had sounded from various people in the space, Alex continuing. “Not that any of them want my wiry ass, they all go for this motherfucking pretty boy right here!” 
The camera had then panned over to Lucas, who’d puckered his lips and pulled up his t shirt with a lascivious smirk. “Look at him! If he wore enough lipstick, I’d probably fuck him, too!” Alex had then exclaimed, everyone in hysterics as he’d grabbed Lucas’s head and promptly licked his cheek.  
“Give me enough of this good German beer, and man, I might let you.” He’d chimed, both of them in utter fits of booming laughter. 
Erika had sighed hard then, thinking that perhaps if he’d remained as close to Alex as he’d been at that point, he might have escaped the dark path he and Nils were fated to tread upon. How different things might have been for him, had he not fell headlong into Nils's ominous orbit.  
Alex was a good guy, she could tell that just from watching him on video, and of course from Lucas’s stories. Nils, she tended to agree with others over. There was something inherently dark about the man, but she could only hope that as Alex had revealed while visiting Lucas, the seeds of change had been firmly planted within the once deeply disturbed young man. 
Putting the thoughts of her viewing a time gone by to rest, she focused on the drive, moving from the highway to the narrower roads leading up to Anstalten prison. It was mind boggling to her, that she was just over half an hour away from meeting Lucas for the very first time, her heart beginning to race rapidly in her chest. 
Pulling up in the seemingly endless concrete of the car park, she cut the engine and climbed out, taking a few deep breaths before walking over to the visitor's entrance of the prison.  
“Oh my fuck, oh my fuck I’m actually here!” she whispered, reaching the door and being granted entrance after buzzing in. Upon her arrival inside, she had to check in with the warden on the desk, show her ID and stand aside, ready to be searched before being allowed further into the facility.  
Standing with her legs and arms spread, she was patted down, a second warden thoroughly examining the contents of her bag. It was a thorough search, her boots removed to check within, Erika also having to open her mouth wide and show beneath her tongue, too, her hair lifted and searched through as well.  
God, the numerous ways contraband could be smuggled in. She’d never even think to hide something in her hair, should she had been that way inclined.  
“Buttons.” 
She gaped a little at the warden’s statement. “Excuse me?” 
Nodding downwards, he didn’t miss a beat. “Your buttons. You’re about to walk into a room full of sex-starved inmates. Do them up.”  
Oh. Immediately, her cheeks flushed, hands moving quickly to fasten the buttons of her dress. She felt naive and out of place, having a few other visitors titter with laughter at her expense. The shame of it. There wasn’t much time for that shame to manifest itself further, though, she and the rest of the visitors called for, all filing through the heavily reinforced doors of the prison and into a long, white painted corridor. 
It looked very sterile within, and it was much quieter than she had been expecting, the warden gesturing to the wide double doors that lead to the visiting room. Her heart began to jackrabbit strongly then, walking in and immediately glancing around the room for him.  
Lucas was distinct enough to spot, being close to two metres tall, heavily tattooed and with a mane of waist length, dark blonde hair. With every man whose visage she scanned, though, she failed to match them to the mental picture of him.  
He would have changed, of course, being that he was just twenty-two when he was incarcerated and almost thirty-four now, but still, where on earth was he? Had she gotten the wrong day? No, she couldn’t have. They’d have told her when she checked in. Panic rapidly began to set in before suddenly... 
“Erika.”  
Stopping in her tracks, she turned to her right to see the form of a huge, shaven headed man with a neat, dark blonde beard rise to his feet. Good fucking lord. That was Lucas? 
Looking at him and trying hard not to begin salivating, she wagered he’d likely spent most of his sentence sequestered in the prison gym. To say he was stacked would be an understatement; the formerly rail thin young man had gained about thirty kilograms in thick, hulking muscle.  
“Hiya! Shit, I um, I didn’t... shit, you look different!” she floundered, his wide smile and rumbling chuckle somewhat setting her at ease, but doing little to slow down the accelerated thundering of her heart. He’d been stunningly handsome in his early twenties, but now? God alive. “Can I give you a hug? Am I allowed to?” 
He nodded, opening his arms. “You are. Only a little one, though.”  
Did little hugs truly exist with that much man?! 
Before she could feel her insides whittle themselves away into further nervous chaos, she was embraced, those two powerful arms wrapping her in a hug. As a tall girl, she rarely felt small, but there in Lucas’s strong, yet gentle embrace she felt truly tiny. To touch him, smell him, oh. It felt better than she was expecting. 
“How fucking dare you come here looking so hot, and I can’t even give you more than this.” His lips met her cheek in a briefly pressed kiss, Erika feeling herself spark. “Seriously, you’re even more of a knockout than your pictures showed. Why the hell are you here to see me?” 
He put her at ease instantly with his charming humour, yet she still found herself the victim to her own nervous floundering. Placing her bag down on the chair, she then sat on it, shooting back up to move it, making him snort with laughter.  
“Don’t be so nervous, I might be a fucking murderer but I’m not that scary anymore.” 
Oh, but it wasn’t because of that. 
“I’m not, it isn’t that,” she began, winding her hands around before lacing her fingers together to stop herself. God, she’d turned into Nina! “It’s just... meeting you for the first time. I know you’re my friend and I feel like I know you...” 
“Right, and you do know me, so calm down,” he kindly interjected with. 
“But you’re still one of my favourite musicians, and I confess, I had a bit of a fangirl moment!”  
From the way she was looking at him, he knew that wasn’t strictly all it was, but he was too nice to mention it. Besides, he had his own reaction to seeing her in the flesh for the first time to placate. He would be taking one hell of a cold shower, come the end of the visit. Wow.  
He could tell that her nerves were still jumping within, wishing he could reach for her hand in an effort to steady them. It might have the opposite effect, for both of them, though. Instead, he chose to steady her through his words. 
“Tell me about the tattoo convention, then. How’d it all go?” Engaging her in something she knew she exuded confidence over would surely do the trick, and it did, Lucas watching as her shoulders loosened a little. 
“It was so good!” she enthused, her eyes lighting up. “I felt like my hand was going to fall off after three full days of tattooing back-to-back. My feet hurt like hell with all the walking around and networking in the time between that, but it was great!” It was so surreal to her, Lucas Borgström in the flesh, sitting right across from her. Asking about her life!  
His smile widened, and she felt like sunshine was gilding her tummy. Oh, the man was knockout handsome. “I’m pleased for you! Did you get any good contacts? I know you told me in your last letter you wanted to maybe travel, so a few guest spots here and there?” he asked. “Oh, and how’s Nina’s foot now? She okay?” 
That touched her, that he’d remembered her mentioning Nina and her broken foot fiasco. “She’s in less pain, but pissed off about the big boot she has to wear. And yeah, I did. I managed to organise a three-week spot in Essex in the U.K two months from now, with an artist named Jason Butcher, who I love.” 
Ahhh, the common ground they had there, Lucas rolling up his t shirt sleeve and pointing to the large tattoo beneath. “Jason did my Odin for me, managed to get in with him towards the end of our first U.K tour. I wish he’d done a whole lot more, because look at all of this embarrassing crap I have on me.” He began to shake his head, pointing at various etchings on his two full sleeves. “Like that, and that! Oh, fuck, you have to cover that for me eventually, please!” 
What he pointed to was the large, black, inverted pentagram on his inner elbow, a sigil she knew well he no longer aligned himself with. While he had no issue with the branch of Satanism he’d once favoured, after what had happened, it was something he wanted to leave behind in its entirety. He was happy to commit to agnosticism nowadays. 
She couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him at all for such a stance. “Yeah, yeah I can cover that, no issue. Maybe completely black it out and then once healed, I can go over it with something in white ink?” 
He clicked his fingers, pointing at her. “That, yeah! Let’s do that, I trust you, just draw me something you think I’d like. You have roughly four months, so get on it.” He winked then, Erika’s eyes widening. “Remember how I said there was talk of me getting out earlier? They’re putting me up for early release come June, since I will have served two thirds of my original sentence. Apparently, I’ve been a model inmate, so fingers crossed I might be a free man come summer.” 
Clapping her hands together with joy, all she wanted in that moment was to reach across the table and hug him again. With the ever-watchful eye of the prison wardens, though, and only minimal physical contact allowed, she lamentably had to rein it in. “Lucas! This is huge, I’m so fucking happy for you!” 
He nodded, smiling, yet the smile didn’t reach his eyes fully. “Yeah, yeah I am, too. I just... fuck. Do I even deserve it? Twelve years doesn’t feel like enough time for taking a life, y’know?” 
She sighed, cocking her head. “Look how much you’ve changed in the time between,” she began, the light earnestness in her voice making his heart flutter for a moment. To be seen as anything but a murdering monster was something he’d worked very, very hard to accomplish.  
The fact that the woman he knew he was developing truly real feelings for saw it honestly elated him. Erika really was just as sweet as she’d seemed in her letters and on the telephone. “You did something horrific a very long time ago, but the man sitting in front of me now, he isn’t that guy, and he doesn’t want to be that guy ever again. I see that, I really do, and I think anyone truly important to you will see it, too.” 
He shrugged, the cold, spiny prickle of guilt coiling through him. “Pieter’s family will think very much otherwise. I wouldn’t blame them for a second either, regardless of what his dear father eventually said about us.” 
Indeed, the courage and grace of Anders Arneson had been surprising, when five years previously he had stated in an interview that in order to move on from the pain of losing his son, he forgave Pieter’s murderers. “They were still kids themselves, not much older than my son. Just like my Pieter, so wrapped up in the drug culture as well, and in this extreme darkness. I believe they lost their way, as youngsters often do. For that, I forgive them.” 
Lucas had confided in her that he’d cried, after reading those words, not convinced at all he deserved to ever be forgiven for his part in it at all.  
“Listen,” she began softly, looking around for warden eyes before reaching to gently and quickly cup his cheek. It was an action that acted like an immediate balm to him, her words even more so. “If Anders Arneson can forgive you, and legions of your fans still stand behind you, then trust me, you deserve forgiveness. You’ve atoned, you’ve taken full responsibility, and you’ve lost twelve years of your life paying that debt. You deserve your freedom.” 
He smiled, winking. “Having you especially tell me that means so much, really. Your letters and phone calls have kept me going. I don’t think you truly realise how important to me you’ve become, Erika. You see past the monster I used to be.” 
He appreciated her words more than she could ever realise, feeling the warmth and tenderness that he’d ached for, but had eluded him for so long. The world outside the prison walls seemed less daunting with Erika there to receive him as a free man, a beacon of hope in his otherwise darkened existence.  
She saw the good in him, the potential for redemption that he struggled to believe himself worthy of. As they sat together in the harshly lit visitation room, the future seemed less like a distant dream and more like an attainable reality.  
Her unwavering support and belief in his transformation filled the void that guilt and regret had carved into his soul. He could never thank her enough for that. Lamentably, though, the hour visit he had with her ticked by much too quickly, rising to his feet to give her another hug, one he struggled to part from.  
“Thank you so much for coming to see me,” he spoke, wishing he could meld himself to her, leave the prison with her. Four months; it wasn’t long, but at the same time it felt like an eternity. “I’d say come back next week, but Alex is visiting. I should cancel it, really, tell him he’s been replaced by a really sweet, pretty girl I’d much rather be in the company of.”  
She threw her head back, laughing softly. “I can visit the week after?”  
His thumbs skimmed the sides of her waist as he reluctantly pulled from their hug, nodding. “I’ll look forward to it.” He then glanced around, noticing a few warden’s eyes roving over him. “Ahh, fuck it.” Leaning to her, he pressed his lips to hers, beaming in the aftermath. 
“Lucas, dial it back.” one of them called. Erika was glad that he hadn’t, feeling her insides fizz.  
“Worth it,” he spoke, winking. “See you in two weeks, beautiful.”  
She walked out of that prison on a happy little cloud, although it did have somewhat of a grey lining to it. How she wished he was leaving it with her. With some inmates incarcerated in the prison system of their country, home release prior to their actual freedom was permitted, the prisoners allowed to return home for a few weekends in the run up to their release in order to integrate back into their lives.  
With Lucas, he’d been told that such was not permissible. Sixteen weeks until his freedom, though? Truly, it was little time at all. After such a long period of growing close to him via letters and phone calls, she would gladly take that.  
Whether her excitement would reach critical mass or not in the time between was entirely another story, though! 
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p-artsypants · 2 months ago
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The Pale Rider (22) Delving
Ao3
Astrid hurried back up the sloped passage, a myriad of thoughts in her mind. She needed a game plan, now. With Finn’s help, there was definitely a chance for success, but she had to be smart about it. 
But was it too late? Would the door be able to be opened when she got up there? She had a dreadful thought that it wouldn’t. 
As she arrived at the entrance, she found the door shut with no handle to open it. She felt along the canvas surface, looking for a latch or anything, but there was nothing. She was trapped. 
Or was she?
The door was just made of fabric after all. She punched at it, only for the canvas to hold tight. Whatever it was made of was thick. She’d need to cut through. If only she’d been smart enough to bring her axe! Maybe there was a sharp rock? Anything to puncture the canvas. 
Something sharp.
It would possibly be Viggo’s own spell that foiled his plan. She braced her hands on either side of the frame and then bashed her head into it. Her horns ripped a hole in the surface. There was a loud crack as one snapped off at the root, but she didn’t care. 
She dug her fingers in the hole and tore through, ripping the painting right down the middle. 
She was free! 
She flung her body out into the foyer and heaved the clean air. 
When she looked back at Viggo, the painting was blank. There was no indication that he’d ever been there. 
It was almost more terrifying. Where had he gone? 
She didn’t want to find out. Instead, she hurried down to the armory and collected an axe, a pair of daggers, and two swords. She armed herself to the teeth, not knowing what she needed, but not having the time to decide. 
Then she grabbed a rucksack and placed the journal in it, concealing it from wherever Viggo’s watchful gaze lurked. Then she hurried out of the castle and called for Stormfly. 
She ran into Snotlout in the air. 
“Out for a mid-afternoon flight?” He called a friendly greeting. Then he noticed her broken horn and numerous accessories. “Or training?” 
“Not quite. Are you busy?” 
“A little, what’s up?” 
“Big development. I’m going to call a meeting at the cafe.” 
“Oh…do you want me to get the twins?”
She nodded. “And tell them to keep it quiet. I can’t tell the Rider what’s going on.”  
“Why not?” 
“...I don’t think he’ll take it well.” 
“You’re not putting yourself in imminent danger, are you?” 
She didn’t answer. Instead asked, “is Fishlegs at the bookstore?”
“He might still be at the cafe. He was there not that long ago.”
“Okay. Finish what you’re doing, and I’ll meet you there.” 
“Aye aye, Captain.” He saluted, solemnly. 
She circled around and landed at Heather’s. “Alright girl, give me a squawk if you see the Rider, okay?” 
The dragon crooned and nudged her. 
As Astrid entered, she spied Heather behind the counter, Fishlegs sitting on the other side…and Dagur sweeping the floor. 
“Astrid!” Dagur greeted enthusiastically. “Welcome! Can I get you anything?” 
“Dagur,” Heather chided. “You’re not wait staff yet, that’s not your job.” 
“Oh, right! Sorry! I’m just excited!” 
Astrid looked skeptically at Dagur, then at Heather. 
“So…” Heather tapped her fingers on the counter. “After Dagur’s little…incident, he’s had a change of heart. He doesn’t want to run the family business—“ 
“That’s over simplifying it!” Dagur cheerfully corrected. “I simply don’t have the mental fortitude to complete those tasks anymore! Too much pressure and I crack!” He laughed, though it sounded weak. The broom creaked in his iron grip. “Such is the result of seeing your soul being torn into itty bitty pieces by a hellish being beyond comprehension! And subsequently seeing it in your nightmares for days after!” 
Astrid opened her mouth to reply, but really had no words. What did you say to that? 
Heather continued, “So dad’s teaching me and Fishlegs, and Dagur’s going to be helping. He wanted to do something menial for a little while, so I’m teaching him basic shopkeeping.” 
“It’s like a whole new world is at my fingertips!” He sang. “When you’re not thinking about money or debts, just living life one day at a time, the simple things bring so much satisfaction!” 
“…uh, glad you’re able to look on the bright side?” 
“Am I ever!” 
“Can I get you something, Astrid?” Heather asked. 
“Actually, there’s been a development, and I think I need some help.” She glanced over to Dagur again. He had a vapid, dopey smile on his face, so she elected to not take him as a threat. 
“What happened to your horn?” Fishlegs asked, his face heavy with concern. 
“I’ll get to it.” She took her normal seat. “I think I know how to break the curse, but it’s not going to be easy.”
“Well, we’re always willing to help,” Heather assured, placing a cup of tea in front of her anyway. 
“Thank you. I’m just waiting on Snotlout and the Twins and I’ll explain everything.” She took the journal out and laid it on the table.  
At the sight of a very old book, Fishlegs perked up. “Oh, what’s that?”
Astrid swallowed thickly as she caressed the cover. “It’s the Rider’s journal…from before the curse.” She opened it up as he sat beside her. Heather sat on her otherside, while Dagur tried to peer over her shoulder. She excitedly showed them the drawings of each of their dragons. 
While they ‘ohh’d and ‘aww’d over the artwork, a very dark and daunting thought came over her mind. 
If she entered that dungeon, this could very well be the last time she sat in the cafe. The last time she talked to her friends.
“We came as soon as we could!” Tuffnut declared, bursting into the room. 
“And it's not because we were desperate to get out of work either,” Ruffnut added. 
“So what’s up?” Asked Snotlout. “Why’d you break your antler off?” 
Astrid turned the journal to the final letter that the Rider left for Finn, and read it aloud. She then recounted everything that came after. The conversation with Viggo, the delve into the dungeon, and the conversation with Finn himself. 
“—And to escape, I had to break through the canvas. That’s what broke my antler off.” 
The group was silent, casting glances between each other. 
“Don’t tell us you plan on going back down there.” 
“I’m giving Finn until tomorrow morning, and then I’m going to help.” 
“Then we’ll all go!” Dagur cried, enthusiastically. Apparently he was a part of this now. “More hands make light work, right?” 
“While I appreciate it, Viggo said any mortals that enter the dungeon will die.” 
“And you believe him?” Asked Snotlout. 
“Do you want to volunteer to find out?” 
“Point taken.” 
“And you,” she pointed at Dagur, “Aren’t even able to enter the castle.” 
“Oh. Right. I forgot about that.” 
“So what are we doing?” Heather asked. 
“I need you to be my fail safes. I’m going to leave the journal out here with you guys. Tomorrow, when I go in, I need some of you to stand guard at the door. If anything comes out, the town will need to be protected. And if I die and Viggo possesses my body, one of you will have to kill me.” 
Stormfly let out a loud squawk from outside, but it went unheard. 
“I hate this plan,” said Snotlout. “This is a stupid plan.” 
“If you have a better idea, the floor is yours.” 
“Well just give me a minute and maybe I will!” He scratched his head. “Anything has to be better than you going down there and risking your life. You’ve done so much already, Astrid.” 
“That’s just it,” Astrid argued, “I’ve already done this much. I have to see it through.” 
“See what through?” The Rider asked, appearing as silently as ever. 
Astrid clammed up tight and avoided eye contact. 
“What happened to you?” He asked, pointing at the broken antler. 
“She broke it escaping from the dungeon,” said Tuffnut. 
“Tuff!” She scolded irately. 
“The dungeon?” The Rider breathed. “I told you not to go looking for it! Why would you do that?!” 
Shooting one last glare at Tuff, she explained. “The key to solving the curse is down there. Viggo let me in.” 
“…why would he do that?” 
Tuffnut answered again, oblivious to Astrid’s wrath. “He wants to possess her body, so he put her in danger.” 
Astrid groaned, knowing this was going to be a mess, but didn’t argue. 
“Viggo…no, he wouldn’t do that. He’s not like that.” 
Astrid glanced down to the journal that was still open to his letter. The Rider had trusted Finn so explicitly, so thoroughly, it was no wonder that Viggo switched their places in the Rider’s memories. 
Why bother winning someone’s trust when you can just take their best friend’s place? 
So trying to convince the Rider would be rather futile, at least until he got his memories back. And at that point, the guilt of all of this would swallow him alive. 
“Listen,” Astrid said, trying to speak calmly, but in vain. “We’ve had this argument before.” 
“We have?” He asked, heartbroken.
“Yes. Your memories are wrong and you’re not allowed to remember what’s correct. So would you just trust me?” 
“Oh Astrid,” he took several steps closer so he could reach her hands. “Of course I trust you. But I also love you and treasure you. I don’t want you going into the dungeon.” 
She stood, running her fingers through hair in frustration. “I have to! Your name is down there! Don’t you want your name?” 
“Not if it costs your life. I don’t want to live in a world without you in it.” 
She frowned. “You have for 300 years.” 
“And I was lost all that time!” He croaked. “You’ve given me back so much, Astrid. I can’t…I can’t bear to lose you.” 
“I’m not going in there alone. Finn will be there.” 
He scoffed. “But Finn is—“ 
“—my family, my blood. And he’s become my friend. His ghost is in the castle and I’ve talked to him.” 
“Oh? And what does he want out of this?” 
“He wants to break the curse, plain and simple. He said he’s doing it for you, because you’re his brother.” She paused for a moment, remembering a detail from the journal. Finn and Viggo had switched places in the Rider’s memories, but they weren’t similar people. Some things would always set them apart. “Do you remember Eyvind?” 
The Rider’s shoulders relaxed. “Of course,” he said softly. “I loved that little boy.” 
“Who was his father?” 
“I…I don’t know.” 
“It wasn’t Viggo.” 
“No. Viggo didn’t have any family besides his brother.” 
Astrid said gently, fully prepared for a blackout, “Eyvind Hofferson.” 
He tilted his head. “How do you know all this?” 
She patted his journal. “From you. This is your journal. I promise you’ll black out if you read it, though.” 
He stared at it, tilting his head side to side. “Gods, that does look familiar.” 
“This journal confirmed everything that Finn told me. Will you believe your past self?” 
He wrung his hands, clearly distraught and anxious. “I don’t know…I just—“ 
“He has the same reservations as the rest of us,” said Snotlout. “We’re worried about your safety. Is there really no other way?” 
“Any of you go in, you’ll die. The Rider goes in, he’ll likely blackout and forget what we’re doing. It has to be me.” 
The Rider tapped his knuckles on the table, thinking. “I don’t like it. I’m going to come up with something else.” 
Astrid scoffed. 
“Astrid, honey, you have to understand—” 
“I do understand!” She yelled. “I understand that you, all of you, are certain I’ll die if I go through with this.” 
“I didn’t say that,” he argued. 
“But you’re thinking it! If you thought I had a good chance, you wouldn’t be so against it!”
“That’s not fair–!” 
“No, what’s not fair is being so close to breaking this curse but being surrounded by a bunch of cowards!” 
“Cowards?!” Snotlout barked. “For not wanting you to risk your life, we’re cowards?!”
“Astrid, we love you,” said Heather. “None of us want to lose you. Yes, you’re brave and strong and a capable fighter, but this is magic. Do you know how to fight against it?” 
She didn’t answer. Instead, she grit her teeth, then said, “I’m going back in tomorrow morning. You all have until then to come up with a better plan.” 
She left the journal on the table, but shouldered the rucksack and headed for the door. 
“Astrid?” Ruff asked. 
“I need some air,” she snapped, and left. 
The snow was softly falling outside. Big, slow, lazy flakes. The same kind that fell during Heather and Fishlegs’ wedding. It wasn’t that long ago, but it felt like a year had passed. 
Cutting your heart out will do that to a person. 
She walked the streets of Berk, her breath coming out in short huffs. It wasn’t warm enough to make a cloud, though. 
As she walked, a weight in the rucksack kept swinging and bumping into her side. Once irritated enough, she finally looked at the offending object. 
It was another book. One much smaller this time. Another journal, perhaps? It looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. 
As she opened it, she found that it was a handwritten field guide to plants and flowers. It was even illustrated with watercolor paintings. 
“Where in the world…?” She flipped through the well loved pages. As she stared, she was filled with Deja vu, but completely unable to pinpoint it. 
Why did she have this? She didn’t even like flowers. 
It wasn’t the Rider’s, that much she knew. The style was different, as was the handwriting. But whoever it was, they were just as dedicated to their trade as the Rider was. 
On the page labeled ‘Foxglove’ a pink and purple spear-like flower, the phrase ‘poisonous to humans and animals’ was written and underlined. 
Oh yeah! Toothless had eaten some Foxgloves! He liked them! 
She suddenly had an idea. While she didn’t remember the names of these plants, she certainly remembered where patches of them grew. 
She made her way to the flower field outside of town. Most of it would be covered in snow, but if she was lucky, she’d find what she was looking for. 
—-
At dawn, Astrid and her friends made their way up to the castle. She had slept at the Twin’s house, not feeling safe enough to even sleep in the castle when she didn’t know where Viggo was. 
She hadn’t seen her husband since the argument. 
The Rider exited the castle as they approached. He hunched his shoulders and hung his head. 
“Astrid?” He begged softly. “I stayed up all night thinking, but…I don’t have a better plan. Please just, don’t go down there. Please.” 
As awful as it was, she lied. She lied because if something did happen, she didn’t want their last conversation to be an argument. “I’m not going.” 
He sighed in relief. “Really?” 
“Yeah. We’re all going to search the rest of the castle, and see if there’s anything we missed. Maybe your name isn’t in the dungeon.” 
He laid a hand over her eyes, hiding her vision, before an intense and adoring kiss pressed to her lips. He just pulled away enough to whisper, “Thank you.” 
It cut deep. What she was doing was betrayal, and if she did die…he may never recover. 
“Of course,” she said back. “I love you.” 
“I love you too.” He removed his hand, allowing her to see his mask-covered face again.
“Going into town?” 
“For a little while. It’s a short day. Hopefully meetings will be wrapping up soon here.” 
“That’s good. I’ve missed you during the day. Have a good day!” 
“You too! I hope you find something!” 
She smiled at him and waved as he mounted Toothless. 
Her smile fell as he took off towards town. 
The rest of the group gathered, waiting for instructions. 
“Well, there’s still time to change your mind,” Snotlout offered. 
Astrid shook her head. “Finn’s waiting for me. He put his soul on the line for me. I have to see this through.” She took a calming breath. “Ruff, Tuff, Heather, and Dagur. You are on outside patrol. Ryker is up and about, and there’s a chance he could try to follow me into town, you’re to stop him at the amphitheater.” 
“Aye-aye, Captain!” Tuff saluted. 
“Fishlegs and Snotlout, you’re inside. You’ll wait outside the painting. If anything inhuman comes out, kill it. If I come out, you are to ask what Snotlout’s tea order is. If I get it wrong, cut my head off.” 
“You’re asking a lot there, Astrid,” Fishlegs whimpered. 
“Then you better hope I get the order right.” She passed out the swords she’d taken the night before, thankful that Snotlout and Dagur had brought their own. “Let’s go.” 
The two pairs of siblings took off on dragon back, finding perches nearby to watch and wait. 
The last three entered the castle. 
The lights seemed dimmer. A cold, acrid fog clung to the floor, leaking out of the torn, still blank canvas. 
“Don’t like that,” said Snotlout. 
“I don’t like it either,” said Astrid. “But I don’t think I can turn back now.” 
“Where’s Viggo?” Fishlegs asked. 
“No idea.” Astrid went to the nearest candelabra and took a candle. “Not sure where he could even go. He’s probably a ghost.” 
Fishlegs whimpered again. 
Snotlout punched his shoulder. “No flaking out on me, got it? We’re here to back up Astrid.” 
“Right!” Fishlegs snapped to attention. “And we’ll be here when you get back.” 
“And I will come back,” she promised. “As myself, with the Rider’s name.” 
With that, she pushed through the hole in the canvas and started her descent. 
It was very similar to the first time she went down. Her footsteps were muffled, and the stone walls were naked. But with the candle, she could see a bit more. 
The deeper she went, the louder it became. There was a din, a clamour of voices shouting, laughing, singing, screaming! It just got louder and louder the farther she travelled. Hundreds of voices, if not thousands, all chattering and conglomerating into one deafening wall of sound. It was worse than when everyone was drunk in the Great Hall. She didn’t think she’d ever heard anything so loud! Then, every once in a while, there’d be a rumble of thunder that shook the walls, just a little. 
By the time she’d made it to that top landing, her head was pounding with the noise. She had one ear plugged, but unfortunately had to hold the candle in the other. She made her way to the room she’d spoken to Finn in the day before and closed the door. It muted things a little, to the point where she could think and unplug her ear. 
A skeleton was in the room, inhabited and puppeted by a woman. 
“Umm…?” Astrid began. 
“Astrid!” The ghostly woman sang. “You’re early! I’m Hildagard.” She held out a bony hand. 
“Oh, um…” Astrid shook it, the bone cold and hard in her grasp. “Nice to meet you…oh! You’re Finn’s wife!” 
“That’s right. He’s out with Eyvind, Gunnar, and Axel, looking. You stay here, I’ll let him know you’re back.” 
Astrid nodded and came away from the door.
There was nothing to do but wait and worry. The room was mostly empty. It had a table and a broken chair. This was likely not a cell, but a guard’s room. She set the candle on the table. 
The noise didn’t relent. Every once in a while, she thought she could pick out a word. Someone shouting something over the noise. 
Yesterday it had been so eerily silent. Where was all this noise coming from? 
The dead. The dead of Berk. The spirits of the descendents trapped in the castle were crying out. For her? Because of her? Because of Viggo? 
Another thundering boom rocked the mountain, and Astrid recoiled a step away from the door. 
Just then, the door opened and several ghosts hurried in. She recognized Finn, and now Hildegard. The three other men were unfamiliar though. And one of them was just a ghost, no skeleton. What was even more particular, was that Finn’s skeleton was red and bloody, but the other ones were dry and white. 
“Glad you could make it,” Finn smiled at her. “I wondered if you would be too frightened to come back. This is my son, Eyvind. My grandson, Gunnar, and of course, you know Axel.”
She did? The name wasn’t familiar, so she just offered a shy ‘hi’ to the group. 
Gunnar and Eyvind smiled back, but Axel looked profoundly sad.  
Astrid just continued, “The others tried to stop me, but I had to come.” 
“Others?” 
“Oh! Yes. Snotlout Jorgenson, Fishlegs Ingerman, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, and Dagur and Heather Berserker.” 
“Aye, those are strong, proud families. They’re all helping us now!” 
“They are?” 
Another man spoke. “Who did you think was making all that racket out there?” 
“I honestly wasn’t sure. It was all so loud…”
“Ryker still hasn’t regenerated his eyes yet, so he’s relying on hearing. We spread the word about what we’re looking for, and everyone is just making noise while we look.” 
“Have you had any luck?” 
“Behold!” He held his hand out. Balancing in the palm were several shards of a teal stone. They had little markings on them, pieces of runes, though they were illegible in this state. 
“Oh wow!” She reached for them. 
“Ah,” Finn pulled back a little. “Just…just know that each of these pieces has a strong memory associated with it. Once you touch them, you’ll see it as if you experienced it. It’ll only be a second in real life but…going one by one might be the best way to do it. I don’t want you overwhelmed.” 
“I see. Well,” she held her hand out. “Give me whichever you think I should see first.” 
He shifted the pieces. “Let’s see…this one I think is the earliest.” 
He dropped it in her hand, and her vision went black. 
The scene was a nighttime view of the ocean. Sea stacks dotted along in the dark waves. The stars were out, shining innocently. Behind her, there were sounds of war. Men screaming in rage and pain, roars and growls, and plumes of fire, clangs of swords and snaps of jaws. Smoke lazily bellowed about, but didn’t obscure her vision. 
She was looking down the barrel of some sort of weapon. It had a sight, like a crossbow, but more sophisticated. And it was pointed up towards the sky. 
“Come on, give me something to shoot at. Give me something to shoot at.” The Rider whispered. 
It happened so suddenly. There was a shadow that obscured the stars, and the Rider tracked it, and pulled the trigger. A bola launched out into the night, but she definitely heard it strike the shadow. She watched as the target fell out of the sky and landed on the island. 
“Yes!” The Rider cried, his voice strong and young. “Oh did anyone see that?! Tell me someone saw!” He waltzed around, giddy and elated. Once he turned back to his weapon, a huge, flaming dragon stood in its place, its yellow eyes pinning him. 
“Except for you,” he had the gall to joke. 
The dragon huffed, and the Rider booked it into the village, running like a maniac and screaming like a little girl. He’d turn to look, and that monster continued to chase, anger in its eyes. The Rider would take refuge behind pillars or walls, only for the dragon to destory them a second later. 
“Oh come on! I didn’t hit you!” He shrieked, skittering and sliding over wet grass. Just as the beast was upon him, Stoick the Vast, larger than life and in the flesh burst into the scene, smacking the lizard in the face with a hammer.  
The Rider laid on the ground, watching with awe as Stoick beat the dragon back and ran it off from the village. It flew off, along with a crowd of other dragons. Sheep and chickens cried out from where they were carried off. 
The village was on fire, and a lot of it was from that dragon that chased him. 
Stoick whirled around, advancing on him. 
“Oh, hey…dad.” 
Stoick grabbed him by the back of the shirt and lifted him up as the survivors gathered. “Why are you outside?” Then to the crowd, “who let him outside!?” Like he was a pet cat that had to be watched. 
“Oh come on!” The Rider reached back and tried to grab his father’s wrist. “There was a raid, there were dragons! I-I-I I had to fight! I’m a viking, dad! I see a dragon, and I just have to…kill it!” He emphasized this by punching his hand. 
Stoick set him on the ground, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re a lot of things, Hiccup. But a dragon killer is not one of them.” 
The Rider awkwardly patted his sides. “Okay but I shot down a Nightfury,” he pointed in the direction it landed. 
Stoick glared at him. “Stop! Stop with all your childish fantasies! Can you not see I have bigger problems?! Winter is coming, and I have a village to feed.” 
“If you ask me, the village could do with a little less feeding.” 
Stoick poked him in the chest. “This isn’t funny, Hiccup. These are your people! People that we have to care for and protect! But instead, you want to play pretend warrior! You want to embarrass your family!” 
“I don’t want to embarrass anyone!” 
“Could have fooled me,” he started to turn. 
“B-but I’m not making this up this time! I really hit it! I really did! It went down just by Raven’s Point! We can go together! I’ll show you!” 
Stoick turned and glared at him, real fire in his eyes. “Not another word.” 
“But–”
Stoick looked behind him. “Make sure he gets home. And that he stays there.” 
A warm hand rested on his shoulder. “Come on, baby,” Valka’s voice urged. 
The Rider shrugged away from her and started heading up the hill. He passed dozens of people who were all long dead at this point. They hurled insults at him. 
“Way to go, Muttonhead!” 
“Thanks, I was trying,” the Rider drawled. 
“A Nightfury? Really? Couldn’t make it more believable?” 
“Like they say, aim high!” He snarked. 
A younger Finn passed him, buckets in hand. He gave him a look. “Stop trying to cheat your way into approval. Work hard like the rest of us.” 
The Rider sneered back, “yeah, like in the apprenticeship you stole from me?”
Finn dropped the buckets and poked the Rider in the chest. “I didn’t steal anything. You got kicked out because you’re such a problem!” 
“Nuh uh!”
“Yuh huh!” 
“Boys!” Valka shouted. “Enough. You should be friends. There’s no reason to fight!” 
Finn ducked his head. “I was just trying to help.” 
“I know, Finn. Hiccup, he’s got a point.” 
The Rider scoffed and continued up the hill, but Finn and Valka followed. “It’s not that simple,” the Rider protested. “I can’t swing a sword, I can’t throw a bola…I’m never going to meet expectations the traditional way. I have to outsmart them.” He reached the door and looked at both of them. “Just for once, I wish dad would listen to me.” 
“You don’t exactly make it easy,” Finn shrugged. “This is the third raid you’ve pulled this on.” 
“Thanks for the reminder…” 
“My son, there’s still time to grow. Stop with all this,” she waved her hands at him. 
“You just gestured to all of me.” 
“Yes, stop—being all of you…?” She winced, knowing that it came out wrong. 
“Thank you for summing that up.” 
“Dragon training starts soon,” Finn offered. “Maybe the Chief will let you join. But…all things considered, he might not.” 
“It doesn’t matter,” Valka cut in. “You need to stop trying to be something you’re not. You and I know you’re not a Dragon Killer. Your heart is too soft. Its not wrong to be your own kind of viking.”
The Rider swallowed thickly. He placed a hand on the door, but before going inside, he softly said, “I just want to be one of you guys.” 
The vision ended, and Astrid was still in that room. The ghosts still surrounded her, and the candle hadn’t shrunk at all. There was a lot to take in. A lot of sorrow and heartbreak to work through. 
“Kinda strange, huh?” Asked Finn. 
A few tears ran down her face, hot with mixed emotions. But the thing that stood out among it all made her heart spin in excitement. She cradled the stone in her hand, savoring the precious knowledge. 
“Hiccup. His name is Hiccup.” 
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vickyvicarious · 2 months ago
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I don't have a lot more context than that, to be honest! Basically, some of Stoker's notes/early drafts contain various bits of info that are cut or were drastically planned. Most complete to my knowledge would be the cut prologue adventure with a proto-Harker (fairly different characterization in my opinion, and so I for one don't consider it really part of the same story even if some elements could incorporate well) on his way to the castle, published as a short story under the title 'Dracula's Guest'. Then of course there is the original draft of Lucy's first letter to Mina, which I tend to prefer for some more character-relevant details especially regarding her relationship with her mother.
I'm sure there are plenty of other draft documents that are more complete, but I've never sought out most of them. What I am operating from is an essay in the back of my copy that summarizes some of Stoker's process with drafting the novel. There are a lot of changes over the course of various planning, a bunch of which I listed off in this post.
The visit to Mina's school seems like it was part of the final outline, though, so most of the cast and relationship are the pretty much the same as what we know (aside from Kate Reed, Mina's friend at school, still being there). This is what I've got on it:
The outline begins on 16 March with Count Dracula's letter to Peter Hawkins (dated, Stoker adds, 4 March old style), then continues on 21 March with Sir Robert Parton's letter to Hawkins - the President of the Law Society to a senior solicitor. Hawkins's letter to the Count is written on Thursday, 23 March and the reply a week later (18 March old style). Jonathan Harker visits Purfleet on 12 April and starts his house-deeds search on Thursday, 13 April - the same day as Count Dracula writes to the maitre d'hotel of the Quatre Saisons in Munich. Two days later, Harker writes to Hawkins, and on Sunday, 16 April, he visits Mina at the school where she teaches. [Either Stoker wasn't concentrating, or Mina taught at a boarding-school. Otherwise, why should she be visited at school on a Sunday?] The following day Katie writes to Lucy, and on Wednesday, 19 April, Hawkins writes to Dracula.
There's a little more after this - a telegram to Dracula and then Jonathan leaving and having the adventure which became 'Dracula's Guest'. All of this is cut and we begin with Jonathan only briefly reviewing some information while he is already midway on his journey to the castle. I think this was overall a good decision, as we can jump into things fairly quickly with Dracula still being as much of a mystery to us as he is to Jonathan initially. Also, avoiding a lot of back and forth works doubly well because most of the information is conveyed elsewhere in the text or would have been unnecessary, and this way we avoid having too many documents written from Dracula. (Vampires not writing documents much if at all ties in to a lot of the themes regarding their monstrous and lying/mysterious nature vs. humanity being shown in writing/sharing documents with one another.)
There are only two bits here that I'm torn about not seeing. First, the fact that it only takes a week for a letter from Dracula to reach Hawkins puts a distinctly short timeline on those communications and makes the long gaps full of silence from Jonathan extra suspicious/alarming in a way that would be more explicit to readers. Then again, we know what's going on with him anyway and I believe I was able to figure out something like that anyway just from looking at timing of other letters, so I guess that's not super needed anyway.
The visit to Mina, and subsequent letter sent to Lucy, is way more interesting character-wise, though I do think it would be hard to work in well once all the other early London stuff was cut. I strongly suspect that this was meant to be the scene where Jonathan proposes to Mina. Not that we would necessarily see it outright. Probably something from him about his plan to go see her, and then the letter from Kate sharing the goss. with Lucy that Mr. Harker came to see Mina and proposed to her. (Mina could have written this letter herself even after Kate was cut, of course, if we kept these scenes.) We know Jonathan was a clerk until very recently, so I think he was coming to share the news of his successful passing and news of a good gig right off the bat, and then finally propose to Mina now that he can expect to have the right kind of finances to support them both moving forward. I imagine they knew they wanted to marry for some time but waited until they were in a good spot to take action on it. This would fit their plan-driven nature and also a short engagement seems the norm at least for the novel (not sure about the time), and I would say for Mina's character as well.
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amywritesthings · 1 year ago
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SILVER UNDERGROUND / deleted scene 04.
levi's pov #2. :: a deleted scene from flashback two. this is levi's pov of recruiting james to the gang.
happy silver underground friday! thank you for your patience as i write up ch20. i know many of you requested more levi pov content, so i give to you the initial recruitment (levi's version). this is unedited. 3.5k words / mentions of violence, angst, language, pining. :: please remember: this is additional deleted content, not tied to the current canon of the story.
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Three years pass and she still won’t leave his goddamn brain.
The girl with the stale bread.
The girl with the kindness that’ll get her killed down here.
Maybe you're not even that kind — he’s seen how ferociously you take down kids double your size when he’s passing by with Furlan, keeping tabs that you’re still breathing week to week.
Not long after the one and only fight he’s had with you, Kenny disappeared. The son of bitch gave some shitty excuse — something about teaching him all he could — leaving Levi Ackerman in a deathly quiet room for the second time in his life.
Just happened to be alone this time, that’s all.
He almost came to you then, but thought better of it. Getting mixed up in that bitch’s affairs, the one you call Mother, wouldn’t do him any favors.
Maybe she’d up and ditch you the way Kenny ditched him.
Maybe fate would have it—
No.
Dreaming’s a waste of time.
He should keep his distance.
He should never try to speak to you—
“Hello?” 
Furlan waves a hand in front of his face, waking Levi from a dissociative state. His steel gray eyes flicker up to the other boy, expressionless.
“I’m listening,” he curtly replies.
“No you weren’t,” Furlan mumbles, before flopping down into a rickety wooden chair.
This house isn’t much, but it’s home. Better than living on the streets, that’s for damn sure. Somehow him and this kid made enough money to get by and then some — but that’s probably because they’ve found the literal Underground City jackpot.
Two idiot MPs from the surface.
Two sets of Omni-directional Mobility Gear.
(The steal would be much easier than others think. Making the story sound impossible meant other thugs in the area wouldn’t ever try their hand at it.)
Crime’s a hell of a lot easier when you can fly.
Only problem now is that the jobs — and subsequently the money — are harder to come by. Furlan’s insistent on expanding. Levi has no interest in banking on trust beyond Furlan.
Until that idea hit him like a static shock—
All when he realized you were still fighting.
Still, after all these years.
“If you’re still trying to convince me,” Levi boredly starts, “then I might have a name to throw in the ring.”
Furlan perks in his chair, scooting closer. “Well, damn, you coulda said it earlier.”
“I just think you won’t like who I suggest.”
“Huh? Why? One of our guys—”
“No,” Levi cuts off. “Not one of the shitheads we split scraps with. I’m talking about a third.”
“A third… in command?” Furlan slowly inquires. Levi nods once. “So who is it?”
“A girl I knew once,” the dark-haired boy suggests, arms crossed over her chest. When Furlan squints, he continues. “She’s in the fighting rings. Goes by James.”
“She’s a kid?”
“No. Knew her when she was, but now she’s in the adult circuits.”
“So how old is she?”
“Maybe fifteen? Fourteen?” Levi supplies. “Our age.”
“Huh.” Furlan pauses. “And you… think she’d be good? Like how good?’
“Probably the best option we have.”
“Levi Ackerman talking highly about someone else… now that doesn’t happen every day.”
Levi squints in annoyance. 
“Are you cool with me asking her, or not?”
Furlan makes a face. “Well— here’s the thing. If we just add her, chances are the guys we kinda fumble the numbers with will get jealous. We’d probably need to initiate her.”
Levi doesn’t mean to, but he glares right back. Furlan must realize right away that his partner is a fan of the idea — a reaction he’s never offered.
“Five people aren’t jumping her, Furlan,” Levi insists in a bite.
“I— three?”
Three.
He’s seen you take down people double your size and weight. He’s watched you put popular contenders on their backs in seconds. The kids they hire are just that — kids. 
As much as he doesn’t want to agree to it, there has to be a compromise.
You can handle five.
You can certainly handle three.
“Fine,” Levi murmurs. “Three. She has a fight tomorrow.”
“Damn, you’ve been scouting this one?”
Something like that.
.
.
.
.
.
And just as he suspected, you knock them square on their asses.
Truth be told, it’s an unfair fight.
Levi stakes his claim at the corner, in the shadows, and watches the beat down in real time. All goons looking to show off like they know what the hell they’re up against.
They don’t.
Levi does.
When you scramble down the alleyway to get to safety, he takes off into a casual stroll. Taps an unconscious moron or two in the head to make sure they’re seriously out.
(They’re out, alright. Like a snuffed light.)
And when Levi finally catches up to you, you’re swallowed whole by shadow. Your hands are assessing each part of your torso — smart — while your breath exits in a controlled wheeze.
He’s sorry.
He really is, for once.
“You look like shit,” he comments, watching you rip your gaze from your scratched hands towards his voice.
Like a feral, scared animal you watch him.
Blinking once. 
Blinking twice, three times, as if you’re trying to figure out who the hell he is.
Levi knows it’s not from the injuries. You were smart and protected your head as much as possible. He was banking on quick precision from your technique.
“Mind your fucking business,” you snap back at him, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from smiling ear to ear.
(So that’s what you sound like.)
“How bad did they get you?” he casually asks, stepping forward with a boot.
You blink several times once again.
Yeah, you recognize him.
Just like he recognizes you.
“Why do you care?” you hiss, pushing away from the brick wall.
Levi stops moving to give you space. “I don’t.”
(But, fuck, he does. He really does.)
Breathe through the pain all you want, he catches the way you wrap your arm around your abdomen as if he’s going to try and take you on at your weakest.
Maybe those bastards did get a good hit or two in.
“I guess the answer is bad enough.”
“Fuck off.”
“Sure.”
Except he doesn’t want to.
If you let him, then he’ll stay.
“You can leave, you know,” you tell him, and he draws in a slow inhale. “I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, you’ll be fine so long as those shitheads don’t get up.”
Your head whips behind you to see the alley as if Levi’s spotted anyone. 
No, they’re not actually coming. 
In fact, you knocked them out so thoroughly that it’s a little bit funny.
Then you turn, and his stomach clenches. “I can’t believe you’re still alive.”
“I get that a—”
“Whoa.”
His heart seizes when you stumble. Immediately he shoots to the other end of the wall, ignoring the hand that shoots out to stop him.
“Hold on. What the hell are you doing?” Your nostrils flare. “I said I’m fine.”
Damn it, James. Don’t be proud right now.
“Yeah, and I”m six-foot fucking three.”
And he steps closer.
Closer.
Until the expanse of his chest hovers right at your palm.
Well — you aren’t trying to beat the shit out of him. That’s a plus.
You really do remember me, that sad sack of shit you were nice to.
“Roxy’s is close,” Levi slowly states, hoping you’ll connect what he’s thinking about. That you’ll get to where he’s trying to go with this before he has to spell it out.
“I know.”
“They have back rooms with supplies.”
“I know.”
“So why not go?” he grunts, very much over the bravado he’s very much guilty of himself. “C’mon, dumbass.”
You squeak, but it’s too late — Levi breaks that illusion of distance with a smack of your outstretched hand so he can get to the part he’s been agonizing over all day.
Helping you.
Because he sure as hell isn’t going to let you go through this alone.
(Not when he’s practiced this pitch for a week straight.)
You don’t push him away when he touches you. Hell, you just stare — Levi’s worried he has something in his goddamn teeth.
Then you ask. “Why?”
Surely you know.
Surely by now, you must know the why of this.
Because I owe you.
Because you have left my fucking brain since the day you asked my name.
Levi answers. “Because.”
Cautious with every step, Levi lets you call the pace. You’re surprisingly mobile all things considered, and he just acts as your anchor as you make your way through the winding rounds of the Underground City.
“You have a key?”
He has to force himself not to snort. “No.”
The staff at Roxy’s will forgive him.
Or not — he doesn’t give a shit.
Gingerly placing you against the wall, he musters up the energy to use the strength of his short but mighty legs. Levi kicks the wooden door with gusto, waiting a moment for the noise to dissipate, before grabbing you again to continue on.
Eventually he places you on a nearby chair and brushes off his hands, coated with sweat.
What the hell, Ackerman? Get your shit together. Now’s not the time to get nervous.
Especially over you.
God, not when he’s almost got you.
You’re too busy staring at the disjointed door to notice his expression soften when he’s staring at your face.
It’s so… pretty.
Why is it—
Wait.
“Oi.”
He snaps, and you blink and turn your chin back to him. All the air whooshes clear from his lungs. 
You’re worried. He can tell. 
“Eyes on me. They aren’t coming.”
“What makes you so sure?”
(God, he’s such an asshole.)
Choosing to ignore the question, Levi keeps himself busy by searching the cabinets in the room for the med packs he knows they keep here. Way too many wayward souls pass through. They always got some—
Ah.
There.
Turning on a heel, he eagerly brings the med kit and unfurls it, holding it to you.
You stare back, not moving.
(You don’t have a concussion, do you?!)
“What do you want me to—”
“Hold it, idiot,” he snips in his own minor panic. “I can’t do everything.”
Please let me fix my own mistakes, James.
Your hands uncurl like a clam, waiting for the med kit. Levi carefully places it in your hands and takes what he needs.
“I don’t understand,” you murmur. “Why are you doing this?”
Taking a cloth, he douses it with antiseptic and presses it ever so gently on your skin. 
You don’t even flinch.
“Levi.”
Time freezes.
His gray eyes meet yours, and suddenly he forgets to breathe.
You remember.
He never told you, but —
He’s pretty sure Kenny may have said it back at this godforsaken fucking bar.
Should he tell you he remembers you, too?
(You never told him your name. He’ll show all of his cards in one fell swoop.)
“Does it matter?” he gruffly responds, pressing the cloth to your cheek.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s harder to help than to ignore.”
“Kind of like giving bread to a strange kid, right?” 
Shit.
Levi blurts before he can take it back.
This wasn’t how he thought this would go.
Banter here and there, maybe, but—
“I don’t know,” you finally answer. “I’m not a saint for giving you food.”
Of course you’re not.
Saint James, the patron deity that hasn’t left his mind since.
Levi’s nostrils flare as he dips lower, too afraid to touch your torso. “I could have killed you — broken?”
“Bruised,” you reply. “I’ve felt broken before.”
“Positive?” 
“Yes. And I was trying to kill you back then, too. It wasn’t our fault.”
Were you?
Trying to kill him?
Makes sense, with how hard you went at him. It was the only match he felt nervous in.
“I wasn’t trying to,” Levi woefully answers.
“But you could have.”
His fingers pause for a fraction of a second. “Yeah,” he laments. “I could have.”
Just like tonight.
And just like every night after this, if you tell him yes to his bullshit plans.
“I thought maybe something happened to you,” you begin. “I never saw you on the circuit again, so I thought—”
“That was the first and only time I fought in that nasty shit.”
He pushes back his own fears and tips your chin upward. You easily obey.
“...so you weren't sold into it?”
Shit, was she? Too preoccupied by the feeling of how soft your skin is, Levi shakes his head.
“I was your only fight?”
“Technically,” he says.
“So then why were you—”
“Practice, in case I ever met someone who needed to kill me for quick cash.”
“That's a morbid reason. You were just a kid.”
“So were you, but for some reason you’re still in it.”
Gritting his teeth, he knows his temper is getting the best of him. It’s better to stay neutral in these types of talks but you… you’re so nonchalant about something so dire.
You could die.
Hell, he’s spent week after week hoping to hear your name so he’d hear you’re still alive.
Choosing to let that go, he drops his hands away from your face and flexes his fingers.
“Good news: you look like shit, but you’re not in deep shit. I can’t do anything about your ribs, but your face should be fine. You have a bad habit of leaning into your hits.”
It’s true. It’s like she likes getting hurt, as if it fuels her own rage.
A strategy, sure, but a shit one at that.
“Excuse me?” you growl. “What do you mean, I have a bad habit?”
Levi can’t help but give you a look. “Did those shitheads make you hard of hearing, too?”
“No, shithead," you mock right back and it’s actually… impressive. You keep up. It does something weird and unenjoyable to his stomach. “I don't lean into them."
“Yes, you do.”
“What, so you’ve watched my fights?”
Ah, shit.
Found out, yet again.
(Great job, Ackerman.)
“I watch fights. Not just yours,” Levi quickly retorts. “You're not special, so get your head out of your ass.”
“Oh fuck you, man.”
Damn, you really do speak his language.
Don’t smile, don’t smile, don’t—
And you don’t give up, either. “Leaning into them makes an opponent feel like they have the upper hand. Let them hit, then you strike.”
“It’s a shit strategy.”
“I’m smaller than a lot of my opponents.”
“So?"
“So? Coming out to a fight like you own the place puts a target on your back.”
Right.
Self-preservation, a tactic often used by the pimps who bring these poor kids to the rings. It’s a loophole to make sure your fighters don’t know their own worth so they can’t wail on you.
Kenny told him that.
Levi wishes he could have told her, too.
“Did your Mom teach you that?” he flatly responds.
Your nostrils flare. “Maybe she did, but your Dad sure as hell forgot to teach you manners.”
He snaps faster than he means to. “He wasn’t my father.” 
A beat passes, and his shoulders slump. 
“And you’re a better fighter than that,” he softens, exasperated. “Making yourself look weak is a shitty strategy for someone who can't land a punch, let alone someone who can. You take the punches because you damn well know you're better than every opponent they match you with. If you didn’t play the theatrics, then those idiots would all be dead in minutes.”
When you don’t spit in his face, he gently takes a step forward. Then another.
“I met you three years ago. I thought by now you would've found a way out." 
But you need help. 
This is his return payment. This is all he can offer in this shitstain of a city.
“Do you want out?” Your eyes widen, like he’s told you he’s secretly the king of the Walls. His tongue gently darts between his dried lips. “...if I had a way to get you out, would you take it?”
“...I don’t have a way out.”
“You do.”
“I don’t,” you croak, and it breaks his heart. “I’ve tried. You know people in the circuits—”
“You have a way out."
“Levi—”
“James.”
In defeat, he calls to you — your name, that name everyone else calls you.
All of his cards are on the table.
He can’t take this back. 
“This isn’t a charity hand out. We need a fighter.”
“Who the hell is we?”
“Furlan Church and myself.”
“Furlan fucking Church? That’s where you ended up after all this time, with that idiot?”
Levi blinks.
(Wait, what’s wrong with Furlan?)
Nevermind — he’ll ask later. He has a mission here.
“If you stay in the circuits, then you will die,” Levi finally states. “That bitch has been trying to put you in the ground for years. Do you really want her to win?”
Please say no.
Please listen to me.
Except you stagger backwards, and he’s terrified that somehow he’s botched this pitch. That somehow you wouldn’t be interested in a team—
“Wait — did you send those guys after me?”
Oh.
Shit.
“The three in the alleyway,” you continue. “They attacked me after the fight. It was really convenient of you to find me in the nick of time. So was that one of his initiation stunts?”
He wants to swear he was going to tell you, but that would sound like a cheap lie.
He wants to promise this wasn’t what he wanted, but that would sound like a patronizing lie.
“Dirty trick,” you growl and turn away, and worries seizes his heart.
“We need muscle for our next heist,” he quickly states, firming up his voice. “You would get a cut. You would have a permanent place to sleep. You would have routine meals, day and night."
You don’t turn to him. “I’d be selling myself for one contract to another.”
Levi shakes his head wildly, but you don’t see it. “You're free to leave whenever you want. If this doesn't work out in a week? Fine, then you can go. But if you do this, then you would never have to see that woman’s face again.”
“She’d find me.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he swears.
No, he wants to say. I’ll burn this city to the ground if she so much as tries it. I owe you.
“You would be protected with me.” 
But it isn’t just him.
You had a visceral reaction about Furlan. He has to be honest.
"With us."
Finally you turn back to him, and he’s woefully hopeful once more.
“Levi…”
The way you say his name…
Shit, he could hear you say his name like that every hour of every goddamn day if you’d just say yes to this deal he’s offering.
"You'll be paid,” he adds.
"I don't give a shit about pay,” you retort. “I have no money to my name as it is. Your... proposition just sounds too good to be true, that's all."
He needs more incentive.
He needs you to say yes.
"What do you need to be convinced?” he pleads, but it comes out monotone. “We sent our three best brawn and you cleared them in minutes. You can see why we'd want you."
"And if I say no?"
Fear seizes every cell of his body. You stare at him like he’s the enemy.
“Are you two going to keep sending people after me?”
(Would he finally stop searching for you?)
Swallowing, Levi knows he cannot keep you.
He barely knows you.
He just has a feeling he needs to.
“No,” he promises. “I'd let you live your life. This isn't an intimidation tactic. You would never hear from me again.”
And he means it.
He’ll give you anything for nothing.
It’s some kind of sickness he hasn’t quite recovered from since he was small.
Something about you has just infected his veins faster than the plague.
You turn your gaze to the door, and his face falls.
What can he do?
How can he convince you?
Your name exits his mouth in a fractured plea. “James—”
“I’m in.” 
Wait.
Did he hear that right?
You turn back to him with determination, chin lifted and shoulders squared. 
He can’t help but stare at you with a mixture of relief and admiration. 
Levi wonders if you notice. If you know, just how much you’ve been on his mind.
“I’m in,” you repeat. “I’ll go where you go.”
(And we'll never look back.)
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sashaisready · 1 year ago
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This Must Be The Place: Chapter 4 - Pick me up
Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader
Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.
Series Masterlist
Warnings: Brief mention to reader’s (small) injury, references to past motorcycle accident and life changing injury.
Thanks so much for the response to this story so far, I'm aiming to update at least once a week - hopefully more some weeks - but life is quite busy at the moment. All your reblogs and comments are so appreciated, thank-you!
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You sat awkwardly on a rickety old desk in the backroom as Bucky carefully pulled the tiny shards of glass from your arm with a tweezer. He’d already checked out your head injury, which was barely an injury at all really, a mere scratch and small bump. After a few tests he seemed satisfied you weren’t concussed, so he’d moved on to the glass wound.
He still seemed mad, so you kept quiet, trying not to concentrate on his proximity. His fingers moved agilely and delicately despite his hefty frame, but you supposed it made sense that someone who worked on cars and motorcycles most of the day would be good with their hands.
Your mouth pulled into a grimace as he pulled another shard out and then quickly cleaned the area with antiseptic, causing you to hiss.
“Almost done…” he said monotonously.
“Thanks” you replied.
Your tone was sheepish, you felt a little embarrassed that he was now patching you up after you’d clapped back at him. Your mouth sometimes got ahead of you like that. But it was hard not to feel aggrieved when he was also making you feel like a kid who’d been sent to the principal’s office.
“Hold still…” he scolded.
Yeah…just like that.
“I am still”.
“No…you’re moving. Cut it out”.
“You cut it out!”
He sighed heavily. “Whatever…”
The two of you stewed in silence for a few more minutes until he pulled the final piece out and cleaned and bandaged the wound, then meticulously packed everything back into his medical kit. You thanked him and kept your head down, running your fingers across the bandage as you wondered what to say. You didn’t normally feel shy around Bucky, but the incident with the customer and your subsequent squabbling had thrown you off. Your general feelings towards him seemed to oscillate between sheer lust and intense annoyance.
“So…I guess you’ll be quitting then” he said glumly as he turned around and put the kit back into a desk drawer.
You looked up, surprised. “Huh?”
“After this, I mean” he cleared his throat. “I guess you’ll be quitting the job”.
“Why?”
He turned towards you; confusion and annoyance evident on his face. “…Because you got assaulted by a customer and I didn’t stop it?”
You tilted your head in sudden understanding. “That’s why you’re being so pissy? You think I’m going to quit?”
He frowned; his tone clipped. “Why wouldn’t you? You don’t need this shit on top of all your house stuff”.
Well…he was sort of right. You didn’t really need the money (although it helped), and you really didn’t need to be dealing with drunk guys trying to bottle you…but…in all honesty? You’d dealt with worse over the years. A drunk guy with bad aim wasn’t pleasant, but you liked this job – you liked the MC, you liked the regulars, you liked that it gave you something to do in the evenings rather than aimlessly wander Granny’s house, you liked…Bucky.
“I’m not quitting, Bucky” you told him defiantly.
He looked genuinely surprised, his blue eyes narrowing. “What? Look…I’d understand, we fucked up – we should’ve been there to protect you and we were fuckin’ around playing pool”.
You frowned. “Look…don’t feel guilty. I should’ve called you over and not tried to manage him by myself when he started getting rowdy…I guess I just, didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it…” you told him quietly.
He chuckled fondly. “Sugar…I know full well you can handle it. I’ve seen the way you can handle yourself. But drunks can be unpredictable. You need to tell one of us if things get ugly, okay? That’s why we’re here”.
You nodded. “Alright”.
“Promise me you’ll call me or one of the others over if someone so much as raises their voice to you”. His tone was stern, he was clearly very serious about this.
“Scout’s honour” you replied sunnily as you held up your fingers in a mock salute, trying to ease some of the strange tension that was in the air.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with your answer, but the stern look on his face was still there.
“And you’re really staying? Because if you wanted to quit..”
“No…Bucky, I’m staying”.
The silence hung awkwardly between you until you cleared your throat, looking over at the cabinet where he’d put away the kit.
“So uh…I didn’t think you’d have First Aid training”.
“You learn a few things after you come off your bike a couple of times” he sighed gruffly.
You nodded silently in response, but he caught your eyes briefly darting to look over at his metal arm.
“Yes…” he wiggled his metal fingers. “That was one of those times…can’t fix that with our First Aid box though” he muttered.
“Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“It’s fine,” he softened. “I don’t mind talking about it. Really. Long time ago now. Got knocked off my bike by a truck and got pretty badly mangled. They couldn’t save it…”
“Jesus, Bucky, I’m SO sorry. I had no idea…”
“It’s fine,” he said pragmatically. “Accidents happen. Life goes on. Besides, got an upgrade out of it…” he smiled grimly and flexed the robotic arm.
“And you still get on your bike every day, even after all that?” you asked with disbelief.
He nodded, a smile lighting up his face. “It’s what I love. Nothing could stop me doing what I love. Yeah, I was a bit shaky at first. But you adapt. That’s what life is about, isn’t it?”
You smiled back at him. He was like regular Bucky again. You admired the way his face lit up when he spoke about his passion, quietly impressed by his determination to get back in the saddle. You wished you could be more like him in that way, rather than cowering in your indecision when things went south. You looked back over at his metal arm.
“I mean…it’s amazing. So intricate. I’ve never seen a prosthetic like it. How do you even go about getting a robot arm?”
“Friends in high places,” he tittered. “Tony Stark threw it in as part of a deal…”
Your eyes widened. “Tony Stark…the weapons magnate?”
Bucky just winked in response.
“Why would you and Tony Sta- No…you know what? I don’t need to know…”
“Yeah…probably for the best,” he laughed.
You rolled your eyes, but you were secretly relieved that the tension between you both had eased. Back to dumb jokes and sassing each other.
He smiled back at you for a second, but it faded so quickly that it made your stomach flip. He looked over at you forcefully, his eyes dark. It was a look you hadn’t seen before.
“Bucky…what is it-”
“I’m sorry again…that you got hurt,” he said gravely. “I would never…if I’d known…” he sighed. “I just mean…the last thing I’d ever want is for you to be in harm’s way…”
You paused, struck by the sincerity in his voice. You stared back at him, nodding sluggishly as he moved closer to you, unable to tear your eyes away from him. Time seemed to slow as he leaned towards you. Your eyes widened as he tilted his head, his expression intense. He leaned in closer and closer, and you found yourself moving too, like a moth to a flame. As his lips met yours it was like a lightning bolt, your breath caught in your chest as you suppressed a gasp and let yourself melt into him. His tongue was in your mouth before you knew what was happening, and you reciprocated greedily. Suddenly his hands were on your thighs, moving up your hips, your waist. The heat of his touch searing. Your own fingers grabbed at his kutte, pulling him closer and closer but still never close enough as his mouth moved to your throat. You practically mewled as his lips met the flesh of your neck, you tilted your head back to allow him full access. Your eyes closed as you bit your lip, his mouth ghosted over your skin and-
The heavy knocking sent you crashing back down to earth with a cruel bump, a tiny gasp escaping you as he pushed you back down against the wood.
“Buck…” came the muffled voice from behind the door. “We need to go. Sorry. Does your best employee need a ride home?”
“What is it, Sam?” Bucky snarled as he stood and moved towards the door.
“Rumlow…he’s apparently making a move…”
Bucky exhaled, he turned to look at you for a second, opening his mouth to speak before shaking his head in silent apology. His eyes said more than his lips ever could. You nodded in return.
He swung the door open and Sam stood there. He didn’t seem to be embarrassed or awkward to interrupt, so he was either being polite enough not to mention it, or simply hadn’t picked up on the slight heaviness in your breathing, or the way you were somewhat splayed across the desk.
“Goddamn. Alright. Let’s go,” Bucky instructed. “Sugar…you need a ride?”
“N-no. I drove. All good” you stuttered as you regained your composure.
“Sam…have someone ride back with her. Just in case”.
“Bucky I’m fine I-”
He looked at you warningly, raising an eyebrow.
“Alright…” you sighed. “Give me the motorcycle escort”.
His hard expression softened for a split second; a hint of a smile sent your way. The beginnings of a sparkle in his baby blues.
And then he was gone.
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bloodyinkandquill · 10 months ago
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Rocket x reporter Reader
i am working on this multiple hours after i meant to because i accidentally took an afternoon nap, so apologies for it being late!
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- I imagine you met Rocket while doing your job, maybe some sort of event like a crime or an accident happened by Da Shop so you went to speak to the owner of Da Shop and subsequently his son, Rocket
- Before doing the report you talk to him a little longer than you probably should have, after you finish filming the segment to be sent off to the station you figure that was the last job of the day and to back to chatting with him, eventually you have to part ways but he lingers in your mind
- Next time you do a report in that area you go and chat with him again, and the next time, and the next time till you two begin hanging out outside of when you’re nearby Zuka’s shop, finally you both realize you caught feelings and get together
- Zuka was the first to know Rocket liked you, before Rocket even knew himself he could tell his son had fallen for you, Rocket might not have even realized if Zuka didn’t point it out for him, he can be a bit obvious
- Zuka also definitely approves of you guys, especially since you don’t phight, he hopes you might rub off on his son because deities know he does not like his son participating in phights
- As a joke you guys mock interview each other with random nearly objects that could be used as a fake microphone, leading to some very funny situations and shenanigans, a few objects used include; Rocket’s bionic arm, a sandwich, Sword’s sword, just to name a few of the most memorable ones
- If you ever need to do an interview with him for your job and you start with ‘How are you doing today?’ He will reply something to the affect of ‘Well, still got my remaining limbs!’ and you have to stop yourself from breaking while on air, he knows it too, he’s purposefully trying to get you to crack up
- If you’re a more well known reporter in Crossroads he’d for sure do something along the lines of if he ends up in the background of one of your reports or maybe you’re conducting short quick interviews with people who participated in a phight he’d jokingly mime the ‘call me’ thing making you have to take a moment to make sure you don’t say anything before continuing with your job, which definitely goes noticed by the masses
- You join Rocket in hanging out with Sword sometimes, usually when they aren’t going to train since you aren’t cut out for combat, your gear is not built for fighting or phighting, but they both understand that and respect that you don’t want to phight anyways, it’s not for everyone
- If he gets injured in a phight you fully mother hen him, it’s never a serious injury but it does make you worried, maybe you can understand where Zuka is coming from when he doesn’t want Rocket going to phights
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apologies if these aren’t good, i tried but sometimes my brain goes ‘heeeeeeh pffttttt’ and i blank on any ideas, again like states with previous ones, let me know if you want general rocket dating hcs and if i think of anything else ill add it!
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crisis-starter · 10 months ago
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Hello
I did not expect to write Odile’s moment in less than half a day.
Stars, its twice as long as Mirabelle’s and that took me 2 or 3 days to do.
Well, anyways, I hope you enjoy!
)•{+}•<>+<>•{+}•(
Odile was by the staircase in the final room, waiting to talk with Siffrin. The entire trek through the house was filled to the brim with suspicious activity. Facial expressions, behaviors… it was all strange. And with the knowledge of Wish Craft and Time Craft… she had an idea of what was happening. Bonnie was seemingly thinking about something. She had never seen the child be so quiet before. And Isabeau was looking right at her. Siffrin was chatting with Mirabelle, so she awaited them. Soon they will have to talk to her, she could feel it.
Then she felt the slight twinge of Craft. Isabeau wasn’t looking at her anymore, instead performing an odd kind of craft, if his hand was any indication. And then she heard his voice in her head:
‘M’dame Odile. Please. Whatever you are planning to do right now? At least be gentle.’
Odile copied the hand signal she saw Isabeau making before replying, “He’s trapped himself, and subsequently the entirety of Vaugarde in time! Perhaps even worse than the King! And you don’t want me to say my piece?”
‘I am not saying that you shouldn’t say something. I’m saying that, if you are, please don’t push him. He is already that close to the edge.’
Odile was silent. Skeptical. She had an idea of Isabeau’s stance, but this really couldn’t go unsaid. Siffrin was hiding something that clearly felt like common knowledge to everyone except her. And Isabeau had this… worry in his voice. Like he knew something she didn’t.
‘M’dame. I… I can’t tell you right now. Because we’re on a time limit. But I will tell you what I remember seeing once we get back. Here’s to hoping you remember what happens next.’
Isabeau cut the connection there. Odile looked at Siffrin, and realized why. The rogue had finished talking with Mirabelle. She put her hand down and returned to reading through the notes of her investigation. Siffrin approached her, a seemingly disinterested expression on his face. The two glanced at each other before Odile started talking, “Ah. Woop woop, we did it, we won, etc.”
She wanted to start soft, somewhat. So why not comment on how she feels after the fight with the King? She continued, “Urgh. Whatever. This was… quite a workout. My entire body is screaming.” Odile rolled her shoulders a little. She did feel somewhat sore, “Savior of Vaugarde, huh? That’s something to add to my list of accomplishments.”
Maybe mulling over any future plans may help a smoother transition? She didn’t know. She never said she was… good at this, “But now, I can finally go back to traveling. I’d be curious to visit more Vaugardian cities and hear what they have to say about an event like this. It’ll be weird to travel alone now, but I’ll get used to it again. Or I could just go home to Ka Bue… Hm…” Maybe she could convince the others to travel with her? Not right now, that would be too… embarrassing. Everyone here has their own life. She didn’t want them to put it aside so easily over a grown woman not wanting to leave without a proper goodbye and happy, stress-free memories to take with her.
Siffrin hid in their collar as they spoke, “To do your fake research?” There it was. Another suspicious detail. How they knew her research was fake was a bit of a mystery but she needed to say something, “…Yes. My fake research…” She probably looked a bit… frustrated there. She quickly fixed her expression, “Don’t tell anyone. I’d like to see Isabeau try to figure it out for a little longer. Very excited to hear what he comes up with next. Spoonology? Bananalogy?” Siffrin’s expression changed to that of an odd smile. A fabricated one. Concern began to blossom in her heart.
Maybe Isabeau was right.
Siffrin joked, “Bananalogy would be quite aPEELing.” Odile didn’t find it funny. But… at least fake something, “Hah… Yes.” Her face softened, “Ha… I’ll miss you, Siffrin. You’re a little strange, but you’re a good kid. Maybe try letting down your walls every once in a while, huh?” The researcher felt a smile sneak onto her face, “And come to Ka Bue anytime. Maybe we’ll meet again during your travels.” Odile really hoped so. Siffrin forced himself to smile. Wait.
Odile looked at Siffrin, concern fueling her entire being, “…Siffrin, is everything-“ Siffrin’s expression flashed into something akin to confusion for a second. Odile looked around. Bonnie, Mirabelle, and Isabeau were looking at her, worried. Great. She had spectators now. But… was she the main act? She sighed, hoping to brush off the added tension. She hoped that this would go smoothly. Odile asked, softly, “But really, is everything okay?” Siffrin is back to that fabricated smile, “What do you mean?”
Oh… Oh this is how things will have to go, huh. She continued, “I don’t know, Siffrin. You’ve felt off since yesterday. More withdrawn, mostly. Tell me what’s wrong.” Siffrin continued avoiding the question, “Nothing’s wrong!” This defiance… it was messing with Odile’s patience. But she was trying, “…it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, you know. I’ll find out eventually.” She probably already did. Maybe everyone did, and she doesn’t remember. Siffrin replied, hiding in their collar again, “But I’m not hiding anything.” And that was the final straw. All attention was on them both. She was starting to get a headache. Time to lay it all out, no matter how harsh it felt.
Odile looked at Siffrin, abandoning any kind of calm or leniency, “Is that so.” She made her frustration known, “Is that so? So Time Craft has nothing to do with you?” Siffrin dropped the facade and grew shocked, “No that’s-“ Odile will not let him deny it. She continued, noticing Isabeau trying to approach. No. She needed to say her piece, “And the fact that you knew how to read that book about Wish Craft… Knew how to wish correctly, when no one else did… It doesn’t mean anything, either?”
Siffrin gave that fake smile, only more shaky, “It’s not like that, I-“ She was cornering them. No more excuses, just continue, “And the way you’re acting, doing that stupid smile like nothing’s wrong… It doesn’t mean anything, either?!?” The smile was dropped. Siffrin was looking at Odile, shaken. Silent. There’s more evidence.
She looked away slightly, still stern, “I’m not stupid, Siffrin. If I find something strange, I can do nothing except give it my full attention.” She turned her attention back to Siffrin, “And you are acting strange.” Siffrin looked stressed. Staring at her with this need to run away, but being unable to. Her headache was getting worse. She’ll deal with it later.
It was at this point she made her anger known, “There were so many signs… I did not understand them, but now I do! You’ve been acting strange since you woke up from your nap, yesterday!” She started to ramble on about more evidence that came to mind, “When we talk to you, you act out of it, almost bored… And the way you reacted to the rocks falling… We all jumped, but you just looked at them fall, calmly.” Odile rose her voice again, “And there’s so many other things, the way you reacted to so many things throughout our entire journey through the House!” The researcher faltered a little, “And, and… How every time you found the keys we needed to proceed, you didn’t seem surprised, like you knew exactly where they were. Even that key in the classroom. Almost like…” Odile looked at Siffrin for answers, “…Like you had found them before, maybe?”
Siffrin started to grow panicked, “B-but that’d be impossible, though!” Isabeau was looking at the two of them, nervous yet willing to step in. Siffrin attempted to reason. To save themselves, “How could I have known where the keys were when it’s my first time here?!?” Odile, frustrated, asked, “I don’t know, Siffrin, why don’t you enlighten me?!” Siffrin’s breathing was escalating. Odile continued, “Don’t think I believed that whole ‘I wished croissants would disappear~’ thing, too. So, if you lied about your wish… What did you wish for, then? That’s it, isn’t it?” The researcher looked at her hands, “Did something happen? To you, to us? Did we die against the King, maybe?” Odile looked up, spotting Siffrin pulling at his hair. Oh no. She only had one thing left to say, then she could try to start calming Siffrin down. It’ll be okay. She finished by asking, “Is that why you’re repeating the same events, Siffrin?” She was about to maybe ask Siffrin to calm down and relax before it happened.
Siffrin snapped back, “SHUT UP!!!”
Everyone was startled by the outburst. Odile herself was shaken. Isabeau was right. She couldn’t be a bit softer, huh? And now, Siffrin was on the edge of a breakdown. The traveler continued, breath ragged and irregular, “Even if you figure it out, Odile… It’s too late! It’s too late! It’s always too late!!!” Siffrin looked right into Odile’s eyes as they spoke, a combination of panic and rage in his eyes, “Did you have to figure it all out now, when it’s all about to end? You can’t help me, Odile!!! No one can!!!”
Isabeau was stunned, muttering a quiet, “Sif, Odile…?” Bonnie was hidden behind Mirabelle, asking, “What’s happening? Why are you yelling?” …When did they get so close? Odile’s headache was getting worse. The air started to feel strange. Her heart was pounding in her ears.
Siffrin continued, erratic, “It’s too late!!! YOU CAN’T HELP ME!!!” Odile tried to get a word in, but couldn’t. So she continued to listen to Siffrin’s pleas, “And I think, weirdly, I don’t even want you to help me?” Siffrin gave a panicked smile, “Why don’t I want you to help me?”
Odile felt her hands shaking. What… was this her fault? Was she the final straw? All she could really do was try to ask them to calm down, “Siffrin-“ But she couldn’t even do that without being cut off, “Maybe because I know that if you help me, you’ll start hating me!!!”
What?
“Because I don’t know why this is all happening, but-“
Wait.
“It must be because of me, that we’re repeating the same events!!!”
Siffrin stop. Please, you’ll hurt-
“And if you knew that, you’d hate me-“
Mirabelle cried out, “Siffrin?!” Maybe to snap him out of it. The air tasted like sugar. A taste so strong, it was horrible. A terrible omen. Siffrin continued, “And I don’t want you to hate me. So, so, so-“
And everything stopped before everyone was sent back to their places. Odile was silent. She decided… to say something, “Siffrin, please. You don’t… have to talk to me. But I will find out somehow. What’s causing you… harm.” She already knew. But maybe it was more comforting to claim ignorance. Siffrin quickly fabricated a smile before cheerfully saying, “Maybe, teehee!”
That… that felt unsettling.
Bonnie, Mirabelle, and Isabeau looked at Odile, worried. Odile herself? She wanted to sit down. She felt faint. That was so much information to take in at once.
Just how… how deep has Siffrin buried himself?
Siffrin faced her, the same chilling smile on their face. Odile stated, “Alright, well, if that was all…” Siffrin took this as his cue to leave as Isabeau straightened his act up.
Once Siffrin was gone, Odile sat down on the stairs. Her headache was gone, but she felt guilty. She just sat there silently, internalizing information.
It seemed that her spacing out helped pass by sooner, because she soon found Isabeau by her side, trying to check if she was doing okay. She could barely hear him.
Her eyes were on Siffrin. They hesitated a little before trying to talk to the Head Housemaiden. Then they approached her. They happily told Euphrasie about something. She responded happily.
Then the pressure in the air grew. Something was wrong. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. The Head Housemaiden was dismayed. Siffrin pleaded with her.
She crouched down to Siffrin’s level, cupping the rogue’s cheeks with her hands. She made sure she was close to Siffrin as tears streamed down her face. Siffrin was stunned. He couldn’t move. The world grew darker. Something was happening. Something was oh so horribly wrong.
A lightless shade almost appeared to engulf everything. For a split second, Odile saw something. Hundreds of silhouettes. They all looked just like Siffrin. All looking at Euphrasie. And then…
She awoke and stumbled back, nearly crashing into the shelf behind her. Her heart was pounding. So she attempted to calm down. Then she heard someone enter the shop.
Isabeau was trying to catch his breath at the entrance. He looked at Odile, worried, “Are you alright, M’dame?” Odile just looked at him, shocked. Her hands were shaking again. Isabeau sighed, “So… you remember, hm?”
)•{+}•<>+<>•{+}•(
This was VERY fun to write.
So… those are the 4 “loop awakenings”.
I’ll compile them all in chronological order and post it to AO3 (which was the original plan but I felt like you folks would like it).
I hope you have a good day/night! Until next time!
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cryscendo · 1 year ago
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Hi, how about an abrupt,  heated kiss during the middle of a fight for Klaine?
i bet you didn’t think i would ever respond to this!! well i will say that i kinda ran away with this plot a bit. does it fit the prompt? only vaguely. BUT it’s another thrilling installment to my angel/demon au with a bit more lore thrown in. dedicating it to you as well as @porcelainvino for their various art pieces for this au <3 hope you love it and sorry for the wait!!
Paring: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson
Word Count: 2030
Rating: T
AU: Angel/Demon AU
fic can be read under the cut <3
There were a lot of things that turned out to be just as unpleasant about falling, not including the actual falling part.
For one, he was weaker than he used to be. He did suspect that would happen, but it still hurt his ego a bit. He used to have so much power that he often didn’t even know what all to do with it. Not that he really could do much with it anyway; the big men upstairs never allowed much fun to be had. More time was spent existing as a militant entity than was spent actually basking in the alleged splendor that was heaven.
If given the option between going back to that or experiencing the pain of falling all over again, Kurt would choose to fall every damn day.
Besides, angels don’t get to play with humans like they’re Barbie dolls. And that’s way more fun.
The man before him, unsuspecting and ignorant, saw Kurt at a bar and thought he’d be an easy target. Kurt knew he perfectly looked the part of a young man getting his first drink at a bar as a twenty-one year old. Aging was such an earthly concept and Kurt was not burdened with it. But to an older man, the illusion of wide-eyed innocence was all too compelling.
Kurt claimed he ‘knew a spot’, which was just as cliché as it sounded, but it was effective nonetheless. Apparently intelligence didn’t always come with age.
It wasn’t long after he got the man to the abandoned storage facility that he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. Not soon enough, though, for Kurt had already made quick work of knocking the man out and handcuffing him to a chair. When he came to once more, it was in a fit of panic.
“Look, I didn’t sign up for this kind of crazy! So just let me go, okay?” The man pleaded with Kurt and it was charming if nothing else. Kurt leaned over him, one knee braced against the chair in a way that could be seen as provocative in any other circumstance.
“What, am I too old for you?” Kurt asked in a mocking whine. “I swear, I’m only twenty, maybe thirty centuries old!”
“Whatever game you’re playing here, kid, I’m not interested so just let me-”
“Let him go, Kurt,” a voice spoke up behind him. Kurt grinned as he straightened up. Of course he would show up. It was impossible for him to stay away. He made a bit of a show of turning around to face the new arrival — his favorite little angel.
He turned towards the voice, maintaining his flirty tone. “Just can’t stay away from me, can you?”
“You could say that,” Blaine replied and that’s when Kurt saw it — the glint of a blade held discreetly in his palm. He recognized the weapon, as it was a piece from Heaven’s arsenal. See, a regular knife couldn’t kill Kurt.
But that one could.
Kurt’s grin dropped as he backed away from the man strapped to the chair, and subsequently also away from Blaine. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”
“You attract too much attention to yourself.”
“Well, I can’t help but pull focus,” Kurt responded in a rather clipped manner. The man in the chair began to panic even more upon being approached by Blaine.
“Listen, man,” the guy began quickly, “you don’t need to kill him or anything! Just let me go and I’ll be on my way!”
Blaine’s eyes flickered down to the stranger, eerily calm. “You don’t need to see this,” he said simply and before the man could even begin to reply, Blaine rested his palm to his forehead, immediately knocking him out. Putting a human to sleep rather than killing them; that was so painfully just like Blaine to do.
“Why do you have that thing?” Kurt interrogated the second that the man was unconscious.
Blaine turned the knife a bit in his hand as if observing it. “Come on, Kurt, you know exactly what this is.”
Kurt maintained a semi-safe distance. “Why do you need that thing to kill me? You’ve never needed that for a demon before.” It was true. Blaine could take down a demon easily. It made them cruelly unmatched. Blaine had never threatened to kill him before, but it would be undoubtedly easy for him to do so should he want to. For Blaine, a demon is an easy target. He was an easy target.
Unless…
Kurt’s grin returned. “You can’t kill me, can you?” He asked coyly.
Blaine remained serious, but Kurt could see a crack in his expression letting on that he was nervous. Kurt seemed to always have that effect on him. “Not at my rank, no,” he said simply, but Kurt knew what he meant. He wasn’t strong enough to take out Kurt. An ordinary demon, he’d have no problem. But as luck would have it, Kurt wasn’t an ordinary demon.
Kurt took a risk. He moved a few steps towards Blaine and the weapon he possessed. “You’re not going to kill me.”
“I could.”
A few more steps. “But you won’t.”
“I might.”
“But you won’t.” Kurt was directly in front of him now. He knew it was a dangerous game, but he had a point to prove. “Because if you were going to, you would’ve done it already. So tell me angel, was this a direct order from one of your bossmen, or are you just simply that obsessed with me?”
“Don’t push your luck, Kurt,” Blaine spoke, gravely serious.
“Or what?” Kurt challenged. He could feel Blaine’s steady breaths from just how close they were. Blaine’s gaze met his evenly. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it. I’m wide open.” Kurt tilted his head a fraction, his eyes alight with the rush that comes with toying with Blaine. His tone shifted into something devilishly flirtatious as he spoke again. “So, y’know, take me, I’m yours and all that.”
It was then that Blaine sprung into action. With quick work, he managed to securely grip onto the collar of Kurt’s shirt, using his strength over the other to force Kurt backwards. There was a time where Kurt may have been stronger than him. But Kurt gave all that up, and he still refused to regret it.
That didn’t mean he loved Blaine constantly using that fact against him.
Blaine got him against a wall with one particularly rough push. Kurt felt the brittle wall crack slightly behind him. Fuck, Blaine was strong.
Blaine was strong.
Once Blaine has Kurt pinned defenseless against the wall, he brings the blade down. Kurt doesn’t know whether it was thanks to adrenaline, or his own sense of speed in the face of self-preservation, but he reached up and circled his fingers around Blaine’s wrist before he could manage to connect the weapon.
The blade stilled, suspended in the air between them. Kurt imagined the scene was almost picturesque in a way — him pressed between Blaine’s firm body and the unforgiving wall, his long fingers locked around Blaine’s wrist. Angel and demon. Lovers. Enemies.
Blaine really was going to kill him.
Their shared breathing revealed the exhaustion that their overexertion had caused. Kurt knew, given his current position, he was fully at Blaine’s mercy. The mercy of an angel who just tried to kill him.
That gave Kurt little other choice. Slowly, he tugged at Blaine’s wrist until the blade was sitting just above his throat. He leveled Blaine with a steely look, deathly serious. “Well, go ahead, angel. Do what you gotta do.”
“I don’t want to kill you, Kurt,” Blaine clarified, but didn’t pull the blade away.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he bit out before he could even think to check his tone. This was, in large part, his own doing. He opened the door for Blaine to corner him, he really had no right to be upset about it actually occurring. Even in his current position, Kurt couldn’t refrain from looking down his nose at Blaine, hoping to properly demonstrate his distaste from his present circumstances. “I’m guessing you got assigned a job from one of the big men upstairs?”
“You’re lucky that it’s me and not someone else.”
“Oh yeah, I sure feel lucky.” Kurt’s fingers twitched around Blaine’s wrist as he continued to hold the blade close to Kurt’s throat. But hasn’t pressed in yet, and Kurt cannot fathom why. He has the perfect opportunity. Kurt is basically giving him a free pass, so why isn’t he going for it? “Well?”
Blaine’s grip on the weapon slacked just a bit. “Nothing is ever easy with you.”
“So why don’t you take care of the problem?”
Blaine said nothing, did nothing. He only stood and continued to watch Kurt in silence, and Kurt could practically see the flurry of thoughts swirl around in Blaine’s head. Kurt almost felt bad for the guy; he knew that he didn’t make Blaine’s job simple, and admittedly, does very little to combat that fact.
Eventually, though, Blaine shakes his head. “You’re right. I won’t do it.”
The sound of the metal blade clattering to the ground reverberated discordantly off the walls of the warehouse.
Kurt took no time to ponder Blaine’s decision to spare him. Instead, he kicked the weapon away from the two of them and then, in quick succession, flipped their two positions. Blaine didn’t put up any fight with being pushed up against the wall himself. He could break free if he really wanted to. He chose not to.
“Do you still love me, Blaine?” Kurt asked, not ready for the words to fall from his mouth before they did.
“Are demons even capable of love?”
Kurt wasn’t sure. Maybe demons who never experienced love aren’t. Love is formed from soul, grace, and humanity, of which demons have none.
But Kurt wasn’t always a demon, and he still didn’t really fit the mold of one. Fallen angels are different from regular demons. They still possess morality, at least to some extent. It was just like Kurt to never really fit in anywhere.
“Do you? Still love me?”
Honey colored eyes gazed at Kurt with something akin to sympathy, which would burn his blood if it weren’t for the fact that he so desperately needed a response.
Blaine nodded.
Kurt kissed him. He didn’t even hesitate. With Blaine pinned up against the wall, it was easy for him to leverage a searing, bruising kiss against soft lips. Blaine always tasted the same, like coffee, — such an earthly pleasure that he achieved no benefit from and only chose to indulge for its luxury — and something else a touch more divine. Kurt couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but it tasted vaguely familiar from the holy kingdom that he was no longer welcome to.
Kurt pulled away with a sigh. Blaine panted quietly, a faintly pink blush forming under tanned skin. Kurt was right about one thing, Blaine was an angel — in every sense of the word.
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to disappear for your own safety?” Blaine eventually asked.
Kurt smiled. “Not a chance in hell.”
Blaine nodded in understanding, as if he already anticipated Kurt’s response. “You always were stubborn to a fault.”
Blaine wasn’t wrong. And as much as he would love to stand here with Blaine forever, it wasn’t wise to hang around angels for too long — even if the angel in question was Blaine.
He finally stepped away from Blaine, allowing the man some space. Kurt glanced over to the man tied to the chair. He had forgotten that guy was here. He was simply a means to an end, afterall.
“You may want to wipe that guy’s mind, angel. Or else he’s going to be a real problem when he wakes up.”
Kurt headed towards the exit of the building, but not before Blaine called out to him. “Suddenly not so keen on sticking around?”
Kurt grinned, if not mostly to himself. “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll find me again. And who knows? Maybe you’ll actually have it in you to kill me next time.”
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