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cosmic-has-moved · 3 years ago

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Calming The Beast

Link to Ao3 version: [HERE]

Being the adopted child of the villagers Priestess would be viewed as a blessing, but it would be quite the confusing life to the child.

Being adopted after losing her family in a house fire since she was a child. Donna Beneviento was no stranger to Mother Miranda’s personal life, knowing well what she does under the village residents’ noses.

She didn’t admit it, but it fascinated yet terrified her. Even being gifted with a doll infested with what her mother has called “cadou” to make it living, didn’t ease the unnerving feeling she got from it. She only got more comfortable or at least use to it the more older she got.

Donna wasn’t given the parasite and Miranda still has yet to give a reason why, but she didn’t mind not having it. She saw how it worked.

Mother Miranda’s recent patient was a sickly woman in her 40s, Alcina Dimitrescu was her name, suffering from a blood disease that was killing her each day. Donna had only seen the woman a few times, first time being in the horrible state, second being in her bed recovering from the cadou injection, and the third being months later visiting her saviour.

The effects were very obvious given how tall she had gotten and less human like she gave off.

The fourth visit however, was one where her adoptive mother needed her assistance with something serious. The brunette agreed, happy to help her mother and followed her down to the basement, the blonde woman holding a leather bag.

Only to question her decision upon seeing what she was going to help with.

There in Miranda’s newly built basement, chained to the ground struggling to escape and blindfolded. Was a naked Mistress Dimitrescu, only this time she looked more monstrous. Dragon like wings with small tendrils sprung out wide out of her back, along with a tail of similar details thrashing about. Her hands were black along with her claw like nails, even her feet were black.

The air in the room felt dense, hot and smelled like burning wood, but no fire in sight.

The tall lady tugged at the restraints and let out a roar, saliva flying out of her mouth and dripping down her lips. She looked desperate yet so angry.

Donna feeling uncomfortable, wanted to stay at the doorway, but was pulled from the wrist by Mother Miranda closer to the creature. Her heartbeat got quicker as they got close and she looked at the blonde woman, showing that she was afraid.

“Fear not, Donna.” Her mother said, her voice cold as her stare. “Lady Dimitrescu here is just in a bit of a situation that’s been causing her to lash out, which is why you’re here.”

Miranda gently placed her clawed hand on Alcina’s face, causing her to jolt but calm down at the touch. “She’s usually calm by my touch, but only for a limited time.” She moved her hand away, backing a bit as Alcina went to bite her. “At the moment I am extremely busy with paperwork, so I can’t afford to fix her at the moment.”

Miss Beneviento’s heart sank. “You want me to fix her?!” She stammered “Bu-But how would I even do that, Mother? I don’t even know why she’s like this.”

The Priestess smirked at the young woman before going over to the Mistress, shoving her to her back and kneeling down. “Well the main source of the problem, is this.” Donna stared in wide eyed horror as she spread Alcina’s legs, exposing her slick wet womanhood.

The sight made Donna panic and blush, “I can’t do that!” She gripped onto her white shirt and looked away. “I’m sure a guy can help her with it.”

“Alcina here isn’t a big fan of males.” Miranda let go of the pale woman and walked over to Donna, holding her shoulders. “And fear not, I got the tools to help you.” She went behind her and placed her hands over her daughter’s eyes. “Just close your eyes and I’ll guide you to the right path.” Her voice was so sickeningly reassuring.

But Donna silently obeyed through instinct and kept her eyes closed, panic still present with her. She heard the woman walk around and open something, most likely the bag she brought. Before she returned and Beneviento gasped upon Miranda strapping something around her hips, a fair amount weight being around the pelvic area.

Before Donna could open her eyes to see what was put on her, her back knees were kicked causing her to fall on top of the Mistress. Her face burning more as it was inches away from her sex. She tried moving away but a firm hand grabbed the back of her hair, and shoved it into the wet pussy, the motion causing the Countess to gasp in pleasure.

While Donna struggled to break free, her mouth accidentally opening and getting juices in her mouth. Miranda laughed a bit as Alcina crossed her legs, trapping the poor girl. “Good girl, just like that.” She let go of her hair and stood up. “Alcina, be sure not to kill her or you’ll have to pay for it.” Was all she said before leaving and locking the door.

Finally pushing herself up off the giant and spurting out the thick liquid off her tongue, Donna found herself face to face with the blinded woman. Her hot heavy breathing brushed against the young woman’s skin, her face becoming redder.

She tried to get off of her but found her large legs wrapped around her, trapping her there. Donna’s heart beat faster in a panic at the situation she was in, and it didn’t help that she could hear the Countess moan Miranda’s name in a quiet manner. It both angered and disgusted her.

In a moment of defeat, Donna looked down to finally see what was strapped to her and gasped upon seeing a large strap-on against her legs, the tip resting against Alcina’s left inner thigh.

A tug of chains forced her to look back at Alcina in fright. Despite being blindfolded, she could tell how desperate and out of it she was. Her long tongue hung out as she panted heavily and her fangs tipped with her own blood from biting her bottom lip. It was almost sad to look at, and her small whimpers didn’t help.

So with great reluctance, Donna positioned herself more comfortably and shifted the dildo with her hand. As the tip rubbed against the entrance making Alcina moan softly, she gradually slipped it in.

“AH~!” The Mistress let out a disordered high pitched moan, which motivated Donna to proceed on slipping in and out of her. More moans escaping her red lips and filling the room.

She did her best to avoid looking at the woman as her moans turned into screams, only forcing her attention onto moving her hips at a rhythmic beat. But even she couldn’t help herself from moaning, the fluid from Alcina getting onto her jeans and shirt.

“More! More!” The winged beast demanded.

Donna was doing her best to go at a fast speed she could go, but it seemed to not be enough for her. Her tail smacked itself on the ground startling the young woman to a stop, which only angered her further.

The tugging of the chains got more frequent and strained as the lady beast snarled, her legs wrapped tight enough that Donna could continue.

She tried moving in order to calm the lady down, but could only grind against her, which seemed to do the trick as Alcina stopped snarling and continued softly groaning.

Through fear of not wanting to risk angering her again, Donna glanced down at her breast, gulping harshly before taking a nipple into her mouth. Nibbling and sucking on it pleased her greatly, her groans turned into low moans and her legs eased up.

Pleased with herself and the process, Miss Beneviento continued moving her hips and placed her thumb against the woman’s clitoris, circling it in the same motion her was tongue was on her nipple.

The movement of her hips gradually became harder and harder, increasing the frequency of the wet slaps and slurping sounds. It didn’t help that it also increased Donna’s horniness.

The moans escaping from Alcina’s mouth were quickly shifted to moaning out a name.

“Miranda! Don’t stop!” She begged, singling that she was close to orgasming.

The mentioning of her mother’s name bothered her greatly, her brows furrowed and she slowed down before her mouth let go of her breast.

“Beg.” She ordered quietly.

The Countess whimpered and growled at her, demanding her to continue and tug at the chains more. This didn’t disdain Donna however, she pinched her clit and tugged on it, a pained moan slipping out of Alcina’s mouth.

The young woman spoke again, her voice more calmer. “I said. Beg.”

Lady Dimitrescu tried biting at her but the collar around her neck stopped her, refusing to submit. Her pulling getting stronger and stronger.

“I said, be-

SNAP!

As the chains finally broke releasing the beast, Donna was tackled onto her back.

Alcina sat on top of her, a thirsty grin on her face. This terrified the small woman to a great extant, realizing how much she had messed up, cursing herself for being jealous in the moment.

Placing a claw on the cloth shielding her vision and tearing it off, Donna stared wide eyed at the glowing gold eyes that stared back at her in great hunger. She went to tried to push the giantess off but her hands were quickly restrained above her head, leaning her head down and giving Donna a good sniff. Taking in all of her scent and moaning out a shudder of pleasure.

Donna was too scared and ashamed of herself to move as Alcina used a singular claw to cut open her shirt, along with her bra, exposing her small breast. The sight seemed to please her as she let out a deep chuckle and gripped the dildo, tearing it off and shoving into Donna’s mouth.

Sitting up and placing the woman on her leg, using her free hand to rip her pants off and slid her panties down. Donna’s protest were of course muffled from the dildo which made her gag everytime she tried speaking.

This pleased the Countess and she cupped Donna’s crotch, shoving two of her fingers deep into her sex, she would’ve screamed if she wasn’t gagged.

Pumping her fingers into the squirming brunette at a quick pace, suckling and nibbling on her neck to the point of bleeding. “You’re already so wet for me~.” Her voice was disordered yet so erotic. “Cum for me~.”

Donna tried shaking her head to protest, but the waves of pleasures paralysed her from doing so. Her eyes rolled back as a large shock of pleasure pulsated through her body, a body twitching orgasm.

Slipping her fingers out of Miss Beneviento, blood was mixed into her fluid and she licked them clean, moaning in content from the taste of her prey.

“So much better than normal blood.” She muttered, inhaling Donna’s scent before sinking her teeth into her shoulder, sucking the blood out of the wound while ignoring the quiet screams.

Hot tears trickle down the maiden’s face as the sharp pain shot through her body, only easing up when the Countess finally stopped and licked the remaining plasma off her lips. Exhaling a moan from the taste before removing the gag, tossing it to the side as Donna finally gasped in full oxygen into her lungs.

Moving the small woman onto her lap, being certain she knows it’s not over yet. Her small wrist in her grip had now given up on moving, but the tall lady didn’t seem to care. Biting her bottom lip to stifle her low moans, Alcina used her free hand to knead Beneviento’s rump.

Donna herself was confused for a short while, until she felt small tendrils brush against her bare thighs. The sight of the thick pale flesh like tentacles emerging from the Mistress’s pelvis, set a fire inside her, a fire of desire that she didn’t want to embrace.

As the tentacles wrapped around each other to form a penile like form, Donna tried scooting away only to find herself getting pulled closer to it. The tip pressed itself against her stomach and slid up to the bottom of her breast, giving her an idea of the size of it that made her forcefully swallow the air in her throat.

“Th-That won’t fit!” the young maiden explained as she looked up at her, a plea in her eyes. But that didn’t sway the predator, she just grinned a sinister grin.

She was slow at first, but impatience changed her mind, she had torn something inside her. She repeatedly slammed Donna up and down on her makeshift cock, her screams and moans music to her ears. The heat that had put her into such an uncomfortable state earlier, began easing with each harsh thrust.

Donna’s screams of pain quickly went to scream of pleasure, eyes half lidded and mouth left a gap. It didn’t take too long for her to be lost into the feeling of ecstasy, not acknowledging the amount of blood flowing out of her womanhood mixing into her discharge.

Finally letting go of her now bruised wrist and wrapped an arm around her. The other hand gripping onto the woman’s ass, Alcina pounded more and more into her, the sounds of their flesh colliding with each other getting wetter and louder.

The confidence the Mistress had showed slipped off, showing how lost she was into the moment. Her pupils dilated to a large state, almost like a cat.

Alcina wrapped both of her arms around her, holding her close. Her sweet whispers of claiming her becoming more horse and erotic, causing her walls to tighten around her and increase the pleasure.

Grunts of strained pleasure replaced Donna’s moans, her mouth dry from how long she kept it open. She had lost how many times she had orgasmed, all she cared about enjoy the moment.

Shifting position by laying back on the ground and holding the woman up straight, Alcina guided her hips to continue the movement. The bulge on her stomach appearing and disappearing everytime she weakly moved.

It was clear that Donna barely had any strength left to continue on her own, but she still tried. Her mind becoming more hazy and blank, all she knew to do was pump her hips with the occasional thrust from Alcina.

A hand slid up on Donna’s face, caressing the scar on her eye, easing her a bit more.

This continued on for what felt like days, before Miss Beneviento felt her thick tail wrap around her torso to her neck, her hands instinctively grabbing it. Her worries of what the lady was doing quickly answered upon the tail moving her body, upping the speed to their limit.

Both their eyes rolled back as the immense shock waves of pure heaven electrified their bodies to a few twitches. Their vaginal fluids mixing together along with Donna’s virgin blood, they could stay like that forever.

After finally letting go of the small maiden letting her collapse on top of her, the Mistress grabbed her face and pressed their lips together. Her tongue wrapping around hers and exploring her mouth, nibbling on her bottom lip upon breaking it.

Donna let out a pathetic plea of more before she got it, the kiss more messy and hungry. Whelping weakly as Alcina bit down on her tongue to get more blood from her, it hurt but a good hurt.

They laid there for a while in a sweaty hot mess before Alcina wrapped her wings around them in a cuddle, her eyes slowly closing before they both fell into a slumber.

___

Donna woke from the sound of low throaty growls. She found her vision to be covered by cold pale skin, her body still being held tightly.

“Despite the trouble I went through, you’re still being a stubborn brat.”

A familiar voice, one that made her turn her head, only to see spiky flesh surrounding her. The growl she woke from becoming more threatening, the hold on her more tighter.

“Just because I told you not to kill her, doesn’t mean you can be possessive of her.”

She finally recognised the voice to be her guardian, Mother Miranda. Fear and shame suddenly filled the young woman’s being, as she curled up in a ball as a way to hide. Gasping loudly upon feeling the mess of tentacles still inside of her, the movement making a groan escape the lips of the Countess.

“… What did you do with her, Alcina?” Demanded the Priestess, no concern in her voice, only annoyance.

“She’s mine!” Alcina roared, the vibrations of the tone almost soothing to the brunette.

“I help you with your disgusting animal like rage, and you repay me by stealing one of my possessions?” Miranda’s tone was cold that it sent an uncomfortable chill down Donna’s spine.

All the tall woman responded with was resting her head on top of Donna’s, being clear of what she wants. This annoyed Miranda, but she just sighed and walked off.

“Fine, but you better not ask more out of me after this.” Miranda finished before opening the door and stepping out. Leaving the two alone again.

Donna went to speak but found that Alcina already asleep, low soothing rumblings heard from her chest. So she did was she thought was right at the moment, she rested her head against the woman’s large chest and closed her eyes.

#Cosmic FanFic #doncina #alcina x donna #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #lemon fic #mother miranda #re village #resident evil village #resident evil

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autismvampyre · 4 years ago

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Little Brother

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Summary: Peter Maximoff wakes up at the battle of Sokovia in another universe. Thankfully, he still has a family here.

Pairing: just some familial Maximoff fun

Warnings: guns, literal war, probably swearing idk i didnt check but i swear a lot, bad writing and thats it i think

A/N: I take no credit for this idea it was purely inspired by this post from @you-said-yes and they gave me permission to write it. I had a blast with this, I'm a sucker for the multiverse triplets. Oh and in this version I'm going with the story that Peter's Wanda is dead, cause thats just how i think of the story since shes never mentioned after DOFP.

Peter's POV

The first thing he remembered was running. He ran faster than he ever had before and he kept running for what felt like eternity until he woke up. In other circumstances, Peter would've brushed it off as just a bad dream, but that proved difficult considering he was laying on the ground covered in rubble. His head was pounding and he felt something warm and sticky near his eyebrow, pulsating from his forehead.

He tried to sit up and groaned, beginning to take in his surroundings. There were beaten up buildings lining the street in front of him, bricks laying scattered all around the ground. Peter had seen plenty of destruction like this; it came with the job of being in the X-Men. But this place was different. If not for the thin air and freezing cold, then for the fact that there were reminants of robots everywhere, some seemingly ripped in half. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it was just another dream.

"Wake up, Peter," he mumbled to himself

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of guns and screaming, alerting the young speedster. Without a second thought he got himself together and took off, trying to find the fight. He followed the sound of machine guns and picked up the pace when he felt the ground beneath him shake. It didn't take long until at the edge of the foreign city. He could barely believe his eyeswhrn he saw the fight. There was nothing weird about the fight per se, except for the fact that the city was flying.

Before the silver haired boy got the chance to question his sanity once again, a machine gun went off. He didn't fear the machines -- he could easily outrun them-- but there was a man holding a kid in the line of fire. They both looked utterly terrified and the man turned his back to the bullets, shielding the child with his body.

Peter went into super speed, and everything around him moved so slow, it looked like a still frame. The bullets were frozen in place and everything was deadly quiet, the sound being too slow to reach him. With the arrogance of a boy who'd outrun explosions, Peter casually walked up to the machine gun and poked the bullets out of the way, one by one. But not even halfway through his little charade, something moved in his peripheral. He tured to see a man, running to block the bullets with his body. His hair was so blonde it could be considered white, and his dark roots and facial hair revealed it was simply a dye job.

At the speed the silver haired speedster was going, everything should be practically still to him; yet this man was running. His steps were agonisingly slow, but still. Peter gawked as he realised what was happening. Another speedster. He had never met someone who shared his ability of super speed, and the excitement that bubbled in his veins was indescribable. Finally, there would be someone who understood him.

Peter turned to the bullets once again and removed them with ease. He didn't care to put on a show anymore, too excited to meet his equal.

Pietro's POV

He ran faster than he ever had before, faster than he ever could've imagined he could.

But he knew it wasn't fast enough.

Pietro Maximoff could outrun a lot of things, but a machine gun was not one of them. All he could hope was that his body would save Clint and the child in his arms. He was prepared to die, he had accepted it. At least he would die doing the right thing, though his heart broke at the thought of leaving Wanda.

His body tensed in anticipation for the bullets, but nothing came. The bullets were gone, and in their place was a young boy with goggles and silver hair. Pietro's confusion must've been painfully obvious cause the boy chuckled.

"You know, for a speedster, you sure are slow," he said, a grin spreading across his face. Pietro's confusion only grew at this statement.

"W-what?" His eyebrows furrowed at the silver haired fellow. "What happened- the bullets?"

"Oh the bullets? Yeah, I moved them. And I ripped apart the gun too while I was at it. Couldn't let you get filled with bullet holes," the boy said nonchalantly, as if it was the most normal thing on earth. He stretched his hand out to the older male. Pietro took it, at a loss for words.

"I'm Peter," the boy introduced. "Peter Maximoff." At those words, Pietro froze.

Maximoff.

"Pietro Maximoff," was all he could get out. Peters eyebrows furrowed at the name.

"How do you know my real name? No one calls me Pietro." Before he could explain however, Clint spoke up.

"Hey, you two. We gotta get to the helicarrier, Pietro you go get Wanda." At that, he took the child and brought him to the rest of them civilians. The two speedster were left staring at each other. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Pietro spoke up.

"Well, I have to go get my sister. You can go with Barton over there, then we can talk later, okay?" Peter only nodded, too deep in his own thoughts. That was all the confirmation he needed, so Pietro took off to get Wanda.

Wanda's POV

"Who is he?" She questioned her twin. A boy with silver hair had appeared mid battle and saved Pietro's life by stopped bullets. That wasn't the strangest thing about him however.

"I don't know," Pietro shrugged. "He says he's Peter Maximoff." Wanda gawked at him.

"Maximoff?" She asked in disbelief and her brother nodded. Her eyes turned to the mysterious Maximoff stood in a corner twiddling his thumbs so fast they looked like blur.

Wanda walked over to him and tapped his shoulder lightly, taking him out of his thoughts. He looked up with wide brown eyes. I know him from somewhere, she thought.

"Hi, I'm Wanda. You saved my brother today. I owe you everything, I don't know what I'd do if.." She didn't have to finish her sentence, he simply nodded.

"I'm happy to help, I lost my sister. I don't want anyone to go through that shit." His voice was low and broke slightly at the mention of his sister. Wanda's heart ached for him, and she wrapped her arms around the boy, surprising them both. He returned the hug as she mumbled how sorry she was for his loss.

Once they both let go, the boy started rubbing his neck anxiously. "I've been meaning to ask this but... where are we?" She eyed him to see if he was serious.

"We're at a safe place, outside Sokovia?"

"Sokovia?"

"Yes, Sokovia. You know, the city the flying city?" Wanda explained but the silver haired boy simply stared in utter confusion.

"I-I've never heard of Sokovia. Also, why was the city flying? How did I get here and who are you guys?" Peter's voice rose in panic, and he bit his lip as he awaited a response.

"I don't know how do answer you, but I'm Wanda Maximoff, the man you saved is my twin brother Pietro Maximoff. We're with the Avengers, who were fighting the evil robot Ultron who tried to wipe out humanity."

The boys eyes filled with tears at the mention of her name. And she realised from where she knew him.

Peter's POV

"Wanda?" He looked at the woman in front of him. She resembled his own twin, his Wanda, but she looked different. Something was off, but he couldn't quite place it. His wanda didn't have an accent, her hair was lighter; she was just different. Despite that, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Even if she wasn't the Wanda he knew, she was the closest to family he had right now.

"Wanda, is this real?" He asked, realizing the absurdity of the situation.

"Yes, it is. It's real, Peter." He squeezed her, not wanting to let go. Not when he finally got his sister back. Except it wasn't his sister, he reminded himself.

"I don't know whether to be sad or happy," he said, finally letting go. "Cause I'm finally seeing my sister again, but at the same time you not my sister. You're not my Wanda." He put his hands on his face. Wake up, Peter. To his surprise she didn't find him completely insane.

"You're not like my Pietro either, you're younger and..."-she paused, trying to find the words-"... just different. I can't explain it." He nodded in agreement. Something was off.

A blur of silver entered his vision and Pietro was beside them.

"What's going on?" He questioned upon seeing his siblings tear stained daces. Wanda smiled at him before looking to Peter again.

"I think we just got a new little brother."

the ending was a lil rushed sorry, hope it was still decent jdhdgdg

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kakitysax · 4 years ago

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Okay so I just watched the first Frozen movie with my youngest sister because we’re both home sick? And. We STAN this whole thing being a mental health allegory???

Like, this movie is deeply relatable and like, resonant? To me. Specifically. Both of my younger sisters can attest to how scary and mean I was before I got help, and the sister closest to me in age (actually, the sister who has the same age gap with me that Anna has with Elsa) DEEPLY relates to Anna’s struggle to reach her older sister.

But what I actually want to talk about is the symbolism. Below the cut. This will literally destroy your dash, be warned.

Elsa’s ice powers represent something about herself - about her MIND - she feels the need to repress. That could be any number of things. Neurodivergence, emotion in general, maybe a personality disorder. Elsa doesn’t necessarily HAVE any of these things. The point is that the viewers might, and whatever this unnamed thing is, it can be both beautiful and harmful.

Her parents don’t understand, and unwittingly teach Elsa to be afraid of herself.

As a result, Elsa starts to LOSE CONTROL OF HER POWERS. By teaching Elsa that this thing about her is something to be repressed, she becomes less and less able to ACTUALLY control them.

This increases her sense of isolation from other people, and she develops MAJOR anxiety and depression as a result. I mean, just look at the separation anxiety she felt when her parents had to leave.

“Do you have to go?”

Elsa is 18 here - terrified of herself and completely reliant on her parents to protect her and everyone around her from her powers.

ALRIGHT let’s skip the boring stuff

Blah blah blah, Anna’s lonely too, she needs love, falls in love too quickly, is desparate to marry Hans because she thinks this is the only day she’ll be able to form actual connections with other people...

All that stuff is really important, but what I want to talk about is the frozen kingdom that Elsa creates.

Overcome by feelings of freedom and joy, Elsa finally begins to regain control of the creative part of her powers, and one of the first things she creates is Olaf.

For everyone’s annoyance at Let It Go, it’s actually an amazing sequence and I relate to it a lot.

But what I find to be a BETTER reflection of the journey through Elsa’s psyche is Anna and Kristoff’s journey up the North Mountain.

I say “Journey,” but there’s really only three environments I want to talk about.

This is where Kristoff and Anna meet Olaf - a frozen wonderland of weeping willows. As they walk through it, Anna says “I never knew that Winter could be so beautiful.”

That line got me. Anna doesn’t actually know her sister. She likes a version of Elsa that exists in her head - a 13-year-old altered memory of a perfect older sister. But Elsa isn’t the warm fuzzy friend that Anna idealizes - she’s always been dignified, composed, and wonderfully creative - loving, yes, but in a cool kind of way. Anna expects Elsa to be a goofy playmate, and writes off the “wintery” parts of her as something bad, just like Elsa does. But walking through this wonderland, she sees a different aspect of the same Elsa - the good parts of the REAL Elsa. And THIS, fittingly, is where she meets Olaf.

Now something I noticed this time around is that during this scene, Olaf consistently looks towards Anna.

“I like warm hugs,” he says, turning to her, and he asks her for her name first.

He then relies on ANNA to tell him the names of Kristoff and Sven.

Elsa made Olaf for Anna. And because of this, Olaf is the EMBODIMENT of Elsa’s childhood love for her sister.

This is why he always goes back to Anna. This is why it didn’t count as an act of true love when Olaf was willing to melt for her, and why he is able to tell Anna what love is. Olaf’s love for Anna is Elsa’s love for Anna. Olaf IS love.

“Some people are worth melting for.”

Olaf loves summer. Thawing. Melting things. And it’s because, as we learn later in the movie, LOVE is the secret to melting Elsa’s ice, and breaking down her barriers.

Right okay back to environments.

The NEXT icy place they come across is THIS bitch

A hillside full of icy spikes that point towards whoever approaches. Another wall between Elsa and the people trying to reach her. Elsa consistently uses outward-pointing spikes to keep other people away.

Finally, they reach the CENTER of Elsa’s psyche: a palace made of ice.

Elsa’s ice palace is the culmination of Elsa’s creative powers, a reflection of her own mind.

But what’s really, REALLY interesting, is that like ice, it’s reflective. And after her conversation with Anna, the castle starts to change.

Immediately after hurting Anna, darkness spreads rapidly down the castle walls. The darkness is reminiscent of the fragile “dark ice” like the kind you would find on a fragile frozen pond. The ice is becoming less stable.

And later, when we see Elsa trying to regain control of herself, the color of the walls has changed completely to reflect her fear.

The spikes reappear, this time pointing inward - towards HERSELF.

Elsa’s mind is no longer a safe place for Elsa herself to be - and holy SHIT do I relate.

The last thing I want to talk about is the blizzard at the end of the movie.

Elsa is back in Arendelle, the very place she’s been trying to avoid the whole movie - the place she’s afraid of destroying with her powers. The whiteout is Elsa’s terror, furious and opaque. It’s BLINDING, not only to herself, but to everyone around her.

But the second Hans tells Elsa that Anna is dead

Everything Stops.

The wind stops, the storm receeds, snowflakes freeze in thin air. The world stops moving. Elsa stops feeling.

Hans drew his sword pretty loudly. But Elsa doesn’t care. She believes herself to be a monster, and no longer cares if she lives or dies.

This is basically the end of what I want to talk about, but I can’t exactly leave it here, so.

Anna saves Elsa, sacrificing herself in the truest form of love.

She does the Big Freezy thing and turns into an epic ice sculpture, which Elsa then wraps in what is likely the world’s most uncomfortable hug.

And then, starting from the heart first, Anna unfreezes.

The secret to Elsa’s powers is revealed to be love, not fear. And, sealing my love for Elsa with a fucking kiss, Elsa IMMEDIATELY latches on. She’s been searching for an answer for this for her entire life, and is able to apply the one she finds INSTANTLY. She lets her love for Arendelle and everyone around her reshape her mind into a place of safety and wonder.

Everyone lives happily ever after, my sister cries, I nod stoically because I’m almost incapable of genuine emotion, Elsa is the most relatable Disney Princess and I adore her forever.

I know that none of this is a hot take but I really wanted to ramble about it anyway. This is a really good movie. Friendly reminder that just because something is mainstream doesn’t mean that it sucks. One time I was talking about how much I related to Elsa and Dad said that I was “a demographic.” Like. Okay? What’s the fucking issue with that? So Disney created a story that can resonate with a wide group of people, what’s the shame in being one of the people it touches? The real issue here is that so many young people can relate to repression and mental illness, like, what the fuck?

Anyway, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Join me next time (never) while I talk about the equally relatable Frozen Two’s arc of delving deeper into the knowledge of what you’ve repressed, Elsa’s obvious aromanticism, and the fact that the Trolls are evil masterminds who have deeply wronged both of the first movie’s male protagonists.

#karkles stop #disney frozen #frozen #frozen elsa #elsa analysis #frozen analysis #just saying stuff that's been said before #don't mind me

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shelbyshoe · 4 years ago

Text

Divine Touch

One-Shot

Lucy is a renowned artist for the nobility longing for a man, well a muse, that she can't stop painting. Natsu is a god of creativity who craves freedom from Lucy's studio. Their desire for each other mount, but they fear the one golden rule. With just one touch their contract is dissolved, destroying everything they've built and keeping them apart forever.

(A nalu fic with some gruvia.)

Rated: Explicit (Sexual Content and Harsh Language)

Words: 8413

FF.net

AO3

“You made my nose crooked.” Lucy’s hand jerked, and her heart jumped to her throat. Natsu stood behind her, leaning against her worktable that stretched out in the center of the room. His long pale sleeves rolled up on his forearms. The fabric fell loose enough to hang slightly open at his muscular chest. Her countless hours of mixed media stained the wooden table. Lucy had warned him about staining his clothes, but he never listened. To be fair, he materialized in her studio each time without a spot on him. She checked the room in case anyone entered and heard her speaking to no one. Long windows perched on the walls just below the high ceiling. Only the clouds viewable from where they stood as though she worked in the sky. “Well, now you’ve just ruined it.” Natsu pointed to the lump of clay she worked on. His interruption had startled her enough to make the nose sit at an awkward angle. The life-sized mess of clay mocked her efforts. The rest of the body molded into a crude shape to suggest she sculpted a person.

“If you came to critique my work so early, Natsu, you can leave.” Lucy splayed her hands over the face to conceal it. Embarrassment crushed her chest as it did when he caught her working in her messy appearance. She cut her fingernails short, tied her hair up in a lopsided bun, and wore a gray smock covered in clay. Lucy put her tool down on the table beside him. “Shouldn’t muses be helpful?” He was. “And inspire their creative?” Oh, he did. The little tilt of his lips told her he already knew her true feelings.

“You’re my favorite creative,” Natsu said. If Lucy had ever felt swayed by his blunt declarations, she hadn’t let it show. She hung her smock on a hook behind her. His soft masculine laughter ran up her spine like fingertips. Objectively, a muse was a conduit for inspiration that she used daily. Subjectively, if Lucy remained in his presence for much longer, she’d break the one golden rule. No creative could touch their muse. One soft brush between them, and it was bye-bye inspiration. At the height of her career, she couldn’t risk losing the one thing that got her there.

“I’m your only creative.” She moved to the stone sink at the back of her studio. The water was cool against her skin and ran murky with the clay that caked her fingers.

“You don’t know that.” His warm breath brushed across her ear, but when she glanced over her shoulder, he stood in the same position far from the sink. A trick of the gods and Natsu was nothing if not a trickster.

“I told you not to do that.”

“Do what?” He held his hands up and leaned away from the table. She turned back to her sink as to not give him anymore fuel to his fire. His footsteps fell light against the hard floor. “The eyes are right.”

“What?” Lucy took the small towel on the serving tray and wiped her hands dry. Natsu stood in front of the unfinished clay version of himself. He leaned forward with a hand resting at his chin to stare his imitation in the eyes. At least she’d gotten the height correct.

“The eyes.” He pointed to the sculpture’s face. The crooked nose distracted her from the observation he made. “They’re perfect. Don’t change them.” Lucy stood beside him to see what he saw. When she made a sculpture, she worked on the face first. This was the first piece she’d ever done that clearly resembled Natsu. All the male figures she painted resembled him in one way or another, but she had concealed that fact well enough. When during the process of this project had she decided to sculpt Natsu completely? “Why did you stop?” He gestured to her freshly washed hands. They stood close enough that if she leaned, she could press her arm against his. The warmth of his skin sliding against her palms. Her fingertips tiptoeing across the valleys of his tanned muscles. His hands lazily navigating her body. Only a daydream.

“I don’t feel like having an audience.” She twisted away from him, keeping her focus on the material she used to wrap the sculpture, to prevent the clay from drying in her absence.

“That’s a shame.” His head tilted to the side and unabashedly examined her. Like a child observing an ant under glass. The casual way his long rosy hair fell to the side of his head made the youthful flush of his skin stand out. “I wanted to stick around longer.” He shrugged and shoved his hands into the pockets of his tan pants. “Guess I’ll see you around.” If those around them could see Natsu, they would surely know he wasn’t mortal. Power clung to his unblemished skin like embers on coal. The unfinished sculpture loomed over her. What a fool she was to believe that she made anything near the real thing. She threw the drape over the clay and tied it securely. The room still enough for her to know he’d disappeared. In Natsu’s absence, the room no longer felt vast like the sky— just another room in the long rows of studios. Her bag lay by the door where someone lightly knocked and peeked into the room.

“Oh, you’re already done?” Gray ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. An awkward habit, though not as awkward as his sporadic nudity.

“I feel uninspired.”

“The muse didn’t show up?” Gray chuckled and stepped into the hall. She closed the door behind her as if by seeing inside, he’d know Natsu had stood within. To everyone else, a muse was a mythical being. Speaking of divine assistance would put her job in danger.

“I wish,” Lucy said.

“I figured we could eat something.”

“I thought you had a class?”

“They canceled, so I picked up a job. I’ll have enough time to eat beforehand.” They fell into step together through the pristine hall. Each intricately carved door was a studio with an artist within. The royals collected them the way one would collect art itself. Lucy never complained—thankful she had a job and a place to stay, a small boarding room with all the other students at the adjacent university. Gray was in a similar boat, and while he didn’t like to talk about his past, she knew he’d come out of tough times. He pushed open the tall heavy doors to the gallery. The nobles displayed the artists’ works inside.

“Sometimes I wish your medium weren’t ice. Your work deserves to be here just as much as the rest of us,” she said. All her sculptures and paintings remained here, one-of-a-kind pieces. She eyed a painting she’d completed a month ago. A male back spread bare across the canvas. His tan muscles contorted while swathed in pink silk fabric. No one would know the subject was Natsu. Not even the muse himself knew. Lucy painted the torso alone in fear that his blossom hair would give her away.

“Why? So, the nobility can display my work and keep it from the rest of the world like pack rats?” His face scrunched in a scowl.

“I honestly don’t care what happens to my pieces.”

“I never understood that about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always felt attached to my pieces.” He squinted at another one of her paintings. The portrait was tall and shrouded in dark colors. The man in the piece wrapped his arms around himself, gardenias peeked out between his clenched fingers, and red carnations bloomed in place of his face. The darkness wrapped around his bare body like an intruding force. She named it Vulnerability. When she painted this one, she had suspected the nobility would hate it, and Natsu would know it was of him. Thankfully, neither of those things happened. In fact, this was Natsu’s favorite painting. She often caught him gravitating toward it when she left the studio late at night. Lucy only ever met him in the art building. When the crickets sang their lament and the world lay still, she’d lie in her cupboard-sized boarding room and question whether she had imagined the muse. Then, she’d find him there gazing at a portrait that she chose not to say was him.

“That’s the thing.” Lucy paused in front of the painting. As much as she wanted to have a strong connection to it, she didn’t. The work merely paints on fabric compared to the real thing. “I’m attached to the act of creating, not the creation.” He shook his head, and they moved to the door that led to the outside world.

“What kind of job did you take?” she asked. The summer heat whipped her in the face as soon as they left the building. The daylight kissed her skin like a familiar whisper at her ear.

“I’m posing for some art students at the university.”

“Nudes again?” She worked to keep the smile from showing on her face while Gray scoffed at her.

“I do more than nudes, Lucy.” His brows came together in a look of indignation.

“But they are nude poses, right?” She jabbed him playfully with her finger.

“Well, yes, but that’s beside the point.” The farther away they were from the palace, the more her mind cleared of her work, and of Natsu. She’d return as she always did.

________________________________________

If the daylight whispered to her, then the moonlight howled. Lucy’s feet brought her to the studio like an obsession that evening. The studio remained the way she had left it trapped in time, waiting for her return. She lit the room and pulled the cover off her work. While Natsu’s impromptu visit flustered her into destroying a part of the sculpture, she had a chance to see the real thing as a reference.

With a carving tool, she scraped the abomination from the sculpture, sat at the table to remake the nose, and attached the clay to the face. Of course, Natsu was right. The nose rested perfectly with the rest of his face now that she had redone it. Lucy stepped back from the clay figure and eyed her work. He’d told her not to touch the eyes as though he knew she’d thought of changing them. Why? This version of Natsu loomed dark and pensive. The real one radiated mischief and stood bright in her room, in the sky. Yet, he’d told her they were perfect. She would keep them, if only for his confirmation of his likeness. Lucy dipped a brush in water and smoothed the surface of his clay face, an intimate gesture as if to caress his skin. She had a tune stuck in her head and hummed it as she worked. Her body relaxed into the familiar rhythm of creation, and her fingers made light guiding markings for a mouth. Natsu wore a smile the way others wore clothes. His upturned lips in a guise of charm. Her sculpture told another story. The story of a man who peeled off his smile at the end of the day and gazed at a world in which he wished he belonged. With another wet brush, she worked to mold the lips in a way that she imagined. They came easiest to her. Once the eyes told the story, the rest of the face followed. She mixed more clay, sat at her workbench, and went about shaping the ears. Her body hunched forward in full concentration, so she hadn’t noticed another presence until she heard the tune she’d hummed earlier. Natsu sat across from her at the table. His forearms rested on the wooden surface, he hummed soft enough that she had barely heard it before, and his eyes fixed to her work. He didn’t appear playful like the afternoon, but his face lacked the pensive look her sculpture wore.

“When did you get here?” Lucy’s hand hovered over the clay ear with her detail brush. She sat up straighter and prayed she didn’t look a complete mess.

“The better question is, have I ever left?” The grin returned in full force, and he slouched into his arms to lay against the table. His eyes flicked up to the figure behind her. “Looks good so far.” A surprising sense of relief washed over her. He liked it. She took great interest in the half-formed ear in her palm as to avoid his gaze.

“I left the eyes.”

“I see that. I like the mouth.” She glanced behind her at the pensive mouth she’d made.

“Do you have to be present to give me inspiration?” she asked. He tilted his head and raised a brow.

“Yeah.” No explanation, no flowery language, and a look that told her she was ridiculous for asking.

“Then you really are always here?” Somehow, Natsu trailing behind her without her knowledge didn’t disturb her the way she knew it should.

“Yes and no.” His eyes flicked to the night sky out the high windows. “You know, this building doesn’t have a lot of windows.”

“Well, there’s one there.”

“The only skylight in the entire building is in this room.” A fleeting frown dashed across his face until a fixed grin took its place. “Sometimes I want to burst out that window and set the world on fire.” While an alarming confession from anyone else, from Natsu it felt free and harmless.

“You can’t leave?”

“None of us can.” Her hand froze amid a brushstroke down his clay ear.

“There are more muses here?”

“Yeah, you’d like them, Lucy.” He said her name with a cheerfulness that gave her a false sense of endearment as if she could believe he truly felt fond of her. She held the clay ear at arm’s length to see it next to the real thing. Just focus on work, Lucy. Other muses are none of your business.

“Move your hair back.” Lucy focused on the ear in scale and overall shape. Natsu propped himself on the table so that his face hovered next to the back of her hand. If he wanted to, he could lean in and press his cheek against her. Her heart perched at the base of her throat humming at the beat stuck in her head. He slid his fingers through his hair to expose the naked curve of his ear.

“This better?” he asked. The soft warm breeze of summer breathed through the room and brushed against the back of her neck. A shiver ran through her like static.

“I told you not to do that.” Her voice dropped lower than she expected it to. How bothered was she by this little game he played? His eyes traveled over her face and down her neck. He allowed his hair to fall forward and sat back in the chair. She expected the seat to creak under the adjusted weight, but the only sound in the room was her own breath. The absence of noise the reminder of what he was, what they were. When he stood from the table, the room chilled.

“I hope I helped you.” Natsu shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants and left through the door. Had she done something? The weight of his absence pressed against her chest. Her brush hovered over the clay cradled in her hand. Her inspiration had evaporated along with him, like a slap in the face that said they were different. A creative and their muse. Without Natsu, her progress slowed to a crawl. She agonized over her work, and her brain screamed for her to start a different task. She couldn’t work without him.

“This is ridiculous. One ear. I just need this one ear.” Her brush made all the wrong moves, all the most undesirable shapes, but she made progress. That was enough. “I’ve made art without him before. I can do it again.” How long had she relied on his inspiration for her own motivation? And like a muscle unused for years, she stretched.

________________________________________

“Lucy, wake up.” A warm hand shook her shoulder. Lucy pealed her cheek from the table. When had she fallen asleep? Her hands clutched the clay ear. She’d redone it a million times. The rim of the clay had lightened overnight from drying. Her stomach dropped sharply, and her body burst with adrenaline. Dry clay meant the end of her project, yet she found her work covered and tied. The spray bottle of water sat beside it. Relief washed over her body, her legs turned to mud, and she slouched back in her seat. “Whoa, are you okay? You weren’t here all night, were you?” Gray asked. He sat across from her and leaned against the table. The position reminded her of Natsu that evening. Everything reminded her of Natsu.

“If it makes you happy.” She set the clay aside and stood to retrieve more.

“You should take a break. What’s got you working all day and night?” His attention snapped to the draped figure, and he pointed to it. “This?” She brought the clay to the table and nodded.

“What do you think so far?” she asked. Gray’s brows shot up and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I didn’t see it. You really should get some sleep, Lucy.”

“You covered it for me. You must have seen.” Movement caught her attention. Natsu leaned against one of her shelves covered in art supplies. His interest remained on a tube of paint she’d left uncapped and planned to dispose of. Gray followed her gaze.

“I didn’t, I promise. You sure you don’t want to go home?” he asked. She shook her head. “You do look tired.” Of course, he didn’t see Natsu.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m okay, really.” She kneaded the clay between her fingers.

“Do you need help with anything? I can at least come to check on you from time to time.” Gray leaned over the table to brush some hair behind her ear. How long had it been since she’d felt the warmth of someone’s skin? If he hadn’t pulled his hand away, she feared she’d lean into it. He apologized softly, lifting one of his dark brows. Natsu’s attention pulled from the paint and he moved to stand beside Gray. He leaned toward Gray’s head.

“That won’t be necessary,” Lucy said. These were the moments where the lunacy of having a muse sank in. If no one else could see Natsu, was he real?

“At least come to my studio for a bit.” He eyed her kneading fingers with a grimace. “A break or something.” He placed his hands over hers and the clay. Her fingers relaxed from their task. She grappled with his offer, as the sculpture loomed behind her and called like a siren. With Natsu in the room, it felt like a dam had broken. The object of her strange obsession stood beside Gray with a mirrored frown. Natsu tilted his head to Lucy and grinned. Oh no. If she acted out now, Gray would think her crazy. Natsu pursed his lips and blew a silent stream of air at the side of Gray’s face. Gods made no small gestures, so the gust of wind from his lips blew strong enough that Gray toppled from the table and lay on the floor. The artist sat up and held his cheek. While Natsu filled the room with laughter, Gray’s eyes widened as he scanned the room. Lucy dropped the clay and ran around the table to help Gray up. “What was that? Lucy, did you feel that?”

“Look, I’ll come by your studio this afternoon. I appreciate the concern.” She held out her hand to help him to his feet. His hand remained on his cheek as he spoke.

“Did you not feel that just now?”

“Feel what?” Play dumb, kill Natsu later. His hand dropped and he squinted at her. Natsu sat in the seat Gray ejected from and leaned his chin against his palm, watching the show.

“I’ll see you then; I guess.” Gray gave her a polite nod and scanned the room before he left. Lucy turned on Natsu as soon as Gray’s footsteps disappeared.

“What is wrong with you?”

“What? You didn’t want him here either.” He stretched as though he also took a nap at her art table. She went back to her spot across from him. “You have to admit his reaction was hilarious.”

“He was terrified.” Lucy worked the clay with aggression.

“He’ll be fine.” He waved a dismissive hand at the door and nodded toward her hands. “Lucy, you’re going to destroy that clay.” She slapped the clay against her work surface with a loud smack.

“I don’t need you interfering with my life.”

“Okay, then next time, I’ll leave your sculpture out to dry.”

“Gray covered it.”

“He told you he didn’t,” Natsu said. Lucy shook her head, picked up her clay, and carefully molded it into a new ear. When she completed them, she removed the cover from the sculpture and fixed the ears to Natsu’s clay head. She smoothed the clay with water and added clean details of the first strands of his hair that snuggly fit next to his ear. The flow of work kept her mind busy enough to ignore Natsu’s presence.

________________________________________

The bright afternoon sun soon flooded into the room and bathed the studio in warm light. Natsu had moved below the window and gazed up at the cloudless sky. His stance tense with hands wrapped in fists. His mouth tightened to a line and his jaw visibly clenched.

“I’m going to take Gray’s advice and take a break.” Her voice cut through his thoughts enough for her to witness him visibly relax. His scowl replaced with a sharp smile.

“Taking that ice queen’s advice?” He gave a clipped laugh. “I can’t believe he fell over like that.”

“What do you have against him anyway?”

“Nothing.” Natsu tilted his head away from the window. “He’s fun is all.” While his face appeared genuine, Lucy hardly believed his words.

“Muses are strange.” She washed up and covered her work to keep it from drying out. Her fingers slid her apron over the hook by the door. Natsu moved back to his seat, his leg bounced below the table, and his head turned back to the window. “Thank you.” His leg stilled.

“For what?”

“For keeping my work safe,” she said. He turned around in the chair, so that he straddled it, and studied her.

“Where are you going?”

“I said I’d go visit Gray.” Lucy held up a finger to stop him as he stood. “You are not coming.” His eyes glinted the way they did when she challenged him. “Natsu, I mean it, you’re just going to upset him.”

“It’s not like he can see me, Lucy.”

“I won’t be long. I’m coming right back here anyway.”

“Why do I feel like a dog that you’re leaving home for the afternoon?”

“Maybe, that is what I’m doing.” She closed the door as his laughter filled her ears. The sound made her stomach flip, and the feeling lingered all the way to Gray’s studio.

In the hall’s silence, she wished she’d allowed Natsu to go with her. Anything to liven up the cold dead air as she descended toward Gray’s place of work. She stood before his tall studio door and rapped at the metal entrance with the heavy knocker. When no one answered, she allowed herself in. The room dim except for a set of professional lights in the back. The room filled with the sound of tools on ice. His studio, half the size of her own, remained at a low temperature with dim lighting and no windows to preserve the piece.

“Gray?” The sounds stopped, and a chair moved behind a partition.

“Lucy, you made it.” Gray came to greet her, glancing behind her toward the door.

“It’s just me,” She said. He held his hand out for her to sit on a stool beside him. “How are you always shirtless in here? It’s freezing.” Gray laughed as he pulled away the partition to reveal the massive slab of ice behind it.

“Well, what do you think so far?” Gray stood next to her, eyeing the sculpture from her point of view. His fingers cradled his chin as he glanced between Lucy and the ice woman before them. Lucy had never seen this woman before. She lay on the ice like a mermaid basking on a rock. Her legs curled beneath her, one arm lay on the ice beside her, while the other hand slid through her hair. The dress she wore flowed beneath her. A slit on the side revealed ample hip and slender legs.

“Gray, this is amazing.” Lucy stood from the stool and walked around the sculpture. Sure, the fabric was still rough, and the ice beneath her needed work, but the person atop was beautiful. “Who is she?”

“Don’t smirk at me like that.” Gray reverted his gaze to the tools across the table beside the sculpture, but not fast enough for Lucy to miss the flush of his cheeks. Did he know this woman outside of work?

“Well? How long have you been dating?”

“It’s complicated.” Even without explanation, Lucy understood the feeling. Gray’s smile fell into a scowl at something behind her.

“What?” The room remained empty except for his equipment and other sculptures he’d worked on, all abandoned for this piece. From the moment she entered the room, until now, she felt another’s unfamiliar presence. Could it be?

“Nothing. I’m glad you like it.” He picked up a detail pick and went to work on the fabric of her dress.

“Hey, Gray?” Lucy’s mind swam with questions, but only one rang out for an answer. He acknowledged her without looking up. “Do you believe in muses?” His hand lingered over the ice.

“Muses are myths.” Even as the words left his lips, his hand remained still.

“I believe in them.” She crossed her arms over her body and shook in the icy room.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Gray, is this your muse?” She pointed to the sculpture in front of him.

“What if I said yes?” Gray twisted the pick between his hands and pursed his lips in the way he did when he bit at the inside of his mouth. Lucy placed a hand on his shoulder and felt him relax beneath her palm.

“Then I’d say—”

“Calm down, Lucy is just visiting.” Natsu leaned against the door with arms crossed over his chest.

“She’s all over him!” The woman stood behind Gray and shouted to Natsu. Her long, wavy blue hair fell over her shoulder as she leaned forward to point in the direction of Lucy’s hand. Natsu rolled his eyes. The woman huffed with hands on her hips, glaring at her.

“You’re his muse,” Lucy said. Juvia’s eyes widened, and her arms fell.

“Now you’ve done it,” Natsu said.

“Who are you?” Gray asked, noticing Natsu for the first time. He pulled Lucy closer to him and ignored the protest from the woman behind him. Natsu’s eyes narrowed on Gray’s hand on her waist. “What are you doing in my studio?”

“Well, now that she’s seen Juvia, I better introduce myself.” Natsu bowed low and gave Gray a shark’s smile. “I’m Natsu, Lucy’s muse.”

“Why can I see her?” Lucy asked.

“Probably because you guys were discussing us.” Natsu shrugged casually but tightened his grip on his upper arm.

“What do you want with Gray?” Juvia asked. She stood tall in the same dress as the sculpture.

“Juvia.” Gray’s voice warned, but he let go of Lucy.

“Want? He’s my friend.” Was his muse jealous? “Are you guys together?” Gray sighed.

“No, we work together,” he said.

“Juvia will change your mind!” the muse cried and blinked out of the room.

“Sorry about that, she’s—”

“Passionate?” Lucy said.

“Clingy,” Natsu added. Gray glared at him from his seat.

“What about you?” he asked. Natsu raised a brow, his smile remained planted firmly on his face.

“What about me?”

“Are you together?” Gray said.

“Gray, don’t do this.”

“No, I want his answer, Lucy.” Gray placed his pick on the tray and stood. “What is she to you? Just an artist to play with?”

“Are you not doing that with Juvia? Playing?” Natsu’s feet firmly planted to the ground as Gray took a step forward.

“Whoa there.” Lucy held an arm out in front of his chest. “I’m going to leave now.” She didn’t want to have them fight with each other. She also didn’t want to hear the answer to the question that Natsu avoided. She and Natsu weren’t together, she knew that, yet she feared hearing this from him.

“See you in the studio.” With that, Natsu disappeared.

“How have you not told me about him?”

“What is with that tone? I could say the same about Juvia, but you already know the answer to that.” Her frustration simmered, and Gray eased off.

“You’re right. It just all came out at once.”

“I know.” Lucy gave his hand a squeeze and pulled away. “I’m going back to work.” She hesitated in the doorway and gazed inside. Now that her friend stood alone in the room, he appeared so small. “Hey, Gray?” He glanced back at her. “I love the piece. Please, finish it.” He smiled as she closed the door and paced back to her own studio.

Her door slammed behind her as she entered. As she thought, Natsu stood under the high windows, gazing up at the vast sky.

“I told you not to follow me.” The frustration she thought she’d extinguished lit up.

“You know me better than that.”

“Yes, always meddling in my life.” Lucy pulled the smock over her and secured her hair on her head with a tie.

“How was that meddling in your life? You were talking about art and us.”

“What do you mean us? You and Juvia?” she asked, convinced he didn’t mean him and her. She pulled the cover away from her sculpture. How could she work on this while she fought with the very person she sculpted? I don’t need a muse to make art. Could she believe that now? All her success was due to the man standing in her studio. Somehow, the thought only infuriated her more. “Did you pick me?”

“What?” Natsu leaned against her art table, as she worked on the clay hair that fell around the sculpture’s face.

“Did you pick me to be your creative?”

“No.” Blunt as always. No hesitation. A part of her always imagined that he had chosen her specifically, that she was special to him. “Lucy, look at me, please.” Had she ever heard his voice this soft before? She turned to find him leaned off the table and in front of her. Lucy stood sandwiched between the art and the imitation in clay behind her.

“What? Have something else to add?” Her lip quivered. He no longer hid behind the veil of a smile.

“You’re crying.” He reached out, as if to brush away a tear, paused just before her skin, and pulled away. His brows came together, and his mouth set in a frown. “I can’t help you the way he can.”

“Gray? How?”

“I can’t touch you.”

“How would that help me?” she asked, wiping away at her cheeks. She took a breath to calm herself. Don’t fall apart, or he’ll leave. “Why are you bringing him up?”

“He can comfort you, can leave this building with you.” Natsu rubbed at the back of his neck and stared back up at the afternoon sun. “Can kiss you if he wanted to.” A warm breeze brushed against her skin, across her cheek, and down her neck. Her heart raced, and she worried he’d hear.

“Do you want to?” she asked. Natsu leaned forward so their lips hovered next to each other. Lucy closed her eyes and relaxed her mouth. The warmth evaporated, and when she opened her eyes, Natsu was gone.

Lucy sat at her studio table and stared at the sculpture swathed in fabric. Her finger slid over her lips as she pictured Natsu kissing her. She slumped against her worktable and shifted to see out her window. The afternoon sun had dropped away, and the studio tinted in purple and pink. Lucy stood and stretched. I can’t sit around forever. She stood before the piece that had taken so much from her already, uncovered it, and began to work.

________________________________________

“No peeking!” Lucy guided Gray into her studio with his hand firmly over his eyes.

“Can I look now?”

“Just stand here.” She positioned him far enough away that he’d be able to see the sculpture fully. “Okay, open your eyes.” Gray dropped his arms, his brows rose, and he gave a low whistle. “Well?”

“Lucy, this is incredible.” He stepped closer to the finished work. The clay stood dry and varnished. “The level of detail is amazing. Lucy, the clothes alone are immaculate.”

“So, you like it?”

“Of course! I mean, I wish it weren’t of that asshat, but I like it.” Gray’s smile allowed her shoulders to relax.

“I’m glad. And he’s not an asshat.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Since our fight,” she said. He shook his head and let out a long breath.

“I mean, I’m one to talk. I haven’t seen Juvia.”

“Really? I thought she’d be all over you when I left.” Finding out about each other’s muses felt like so long ago.

“Not like we can really be all over each other,” Gray said.

“So, if you could, you would?” She nudged him with her elbow. His cheeks warmed and he nudged her back.

“I want her to see my piece once it’s finished, but I don’t know where she is.”

“Natsu told me once that he never really left. When I’m inspired, whether I see him or not, it is because he’s there.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I do. I never lost inspiration while I finished this piece. Something drove me that could only be described as supernatural.” Lucy had stared at the sculpture far longer than she’d like to admit, yet she still found her eyes gravitating toward Natsu’s face, his lips. “Did you ever resent her? Did it feel like you weren’t good enough without her?”

“Did I resent her for inspiring me? No.” Gray slumped into the seat beside them. “I have always been grateful to Juvia. I think of a muse as someone who boosts the talent we already have.” He shrugged and pointed to her piece. “Hard to resent them when they have us make things like this.” She couldn’t blame him for feeling that way.

“I miss him,” she admitted.

“I know.” Gray stood from the chair and made his way toward the door. “Let me know if you see them. If you need me, I’ll be finishing up downstairs.” Lucy nodded and sat down in her usual seat.

She stared at the door, out of focus, long after he’d closed it. Her thoughts swirl back to her own question. So, if you could, would you? She’d asked him that question without asking herself.

“They chose you for me.” Lucy nearly jumped out of her skin from Natsu’s voice. He leaned against the statue of his likeness and inspected his own face. Her heart twisted in his presence and her stomach lighter than air. When had she begun to feel this way for him?

“Who?”

“The fates. They told me you were important to me. I hadn’t even met you yet. Weird, huh?” He grinned and ran a hand through his rosy hair. “But I get it now.” Lucy still had to process the fates when he stepped forward and pressed his palms to the stained worktable. “Sorry that I haven’t been around to talk to.” His laughter bounced off her studio walls. Was he joking with her?

“What are you talking about, Natsu?” Lucy moved around the table and stood in front of him.

“I needed time to think about what I really wanted.” He eyed the statue of himself. “I realized that I need something from you first.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“It’s perfect, Lucy.” Her name on his tongue sounded sweet, and his eyes sparkled with excitement. “Looks just like me.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Are you? You’ve done it before.”

“I haven’t sculpted you before,” she said. Natsu felt different as he stepped closer. Desperate, maybe? She wasn’t going anywhere, so what was he doing? She shook her head. “Are you okay?”

“You’ve painted me perfectly. Every single time. Like you looked inside and pulled me out.” His eyes softened and his hand reached out to her. She sucked in a breath as his hand hovered over her cheek, her neck, and down her arm. While he never made contact, somehow, she still felt him against her skin.

“How did you know those paintings were of you?”

“I always knew. I assumed it was because I’m a muse, not because you cared. I still gave into that. I shouldn’t have.” He stared down at his open palm. “I keep thinking how selfish I am. A god with nothing to lose, and a woman who could have everything taken away.” This time, Lucy held out her palm. Her hand lingered just above his face, fingers traveled over his lips and hovered splayed over his chest. She could see his jaw work and his muscles tense, allowing her a moment to pretend. To have this power over a god. Intoxicating.

“Natsu, do you love me?” she asked. A warm feeling brushed over her hair and traveled along her jaw. His eyes softened, focused on her lips.

“Every day.” His eyes widened as he searched her face. “I made you cry again?” She shook her head.

“Damn the gods and the games they play.” She inhaled and willed herself not to break. “I want to be with you, to touch you.” She gladly took a gift from the divine, and this was the price she paid.

“Let me.” Natsu hadn’t wavered, as stone still as the statue that stood beside them. “Tell me and I will.” What was more important to Lucy? Could she live without the career she had worked tirelessly for? If she told him no, what would they be? Like a ghost, he’d linger. No amount of paint could give her what she really wanted. She’d forever wonder if she didn’t take the plunge.

“Please,” Lucy begged. Natsu pulled her to him like she was sand through his fingers. Quick enough and they’d never part. His lips pressed firmly to hers, softer and warmer than she ever expected. Her hands splayed against his chest. Then the world turned cold. Her hands grasped to nothing in the chilled air. Her eyes opened and she was alone. “Natsu?” Her blood turned icy in her veins, and her heartbeat pulsed in her ears. Just as he said, one touch and he disappeared. I can fix this. Her palm pressed against the worktable for balance. But how?

Lean tan arms wrapped around Lucy’s shoulders, a warm chest pressed to her back, and lips dusted a light kiss against her neck. She whirled around to face Natsu and the empty platform where her work once stood. “How?”

“I don’t know. I opened my eyes and stood in your art’s place.” Natsu’s gaze darkened and roamed across her body as if seeing her for the first time. She’d created a form for him, for a god. The relief welled up inside her chest. Lucy gripped the front of his loose shirt and pulled him to her. This time, she smashed her lips to his, hot and wanting. He wrapped his arms around her as she threaded her fingers through his silken hair. Natsu explored her mouth and pressed her back against the worktable. She nearly lost her breath when he pulled away, gazing down at her against the familiar wooden surface. The sun created a halo of light around his hair, and his lips flushed from their kiss. She reached up and finally pulled down his shirt. His tan skin chiseled like the god he was.

“Wanted a peak?” He grinned and pulled her hair down from her tie. Her blond hair fell around her head. He hovered over her and gave a long exhale.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trying to calm down.”

“Why?” Lucy tugged at the loose fabric at his waist, tossed the shirt to the side, and worked on his pants. Her sex clenched at the look he gave her.

“I want to savor this.” He trailed his fingertips against her cheek, a whisper of contact against her skin, and her body arched up into his divine touch. So starved for him, her body responded. Natsu took his time to lazily trace her curves with his fingertips. When he moved around her most sensitive places, she groaned. Her skin going up in flames from the lack of what she really wanted. Lucy slid her fingers against his growing erection. Natsu sucked in air sharply through his teeth and grabbed her hand. He pulled her arm over her head and pinned her there. He feathered kisses down the base of her throat to her awaiting chest. Her nipples hardened to sensitive peaks through the fabric of her top, and his eyes flicked up as his lips surrounded them in heat. She wiggled her hips beneath him and pushed her breast against his mouth. The corner of his lips raised, as he pulled her button top open with a pop. Instead of pulling off her bra, he slipped the fabric around her breasts, pushing them up toward his mouth. He groaned as he suckled her nipple, running a thumb against the other in a languid tease.

“God.” She groaned and clung to him as he feasted.

“You called?” he said with a mouth full of her and skimmed his teeth against the flushed bud.

“Fuck.” She groaned when he slipped his hand to the juncture between her legs.

“I will in a minute.” Natsu flicked his tongue against the other nipple. The one he left cold without the warmth of his mouth.

“Will you quit joking.” The whimper left Lucy without her consent, dragged out by the long stroke of his tongue and his fingers that worked her folds over her pants. Natsu leaned back and pulled her body further on the table so her legs straddled him. He worked her pants and underwear from her hips, dropping them to the ground. With one swipe, her bra pulled from her body and into the heap of her clothes on the floor. “Natsu, please.” She reached out for him, her voice husky and lost. He worked his own clothes from his body. Heat pooled to her core with the full view of him, hard shaft freed and eager, and the tip glistened with precum. Instead of plunging forward, the way she thought he would, he kneeled before her and spread her bare to him. She raised herself up on her elbows unaffected by the slight embarrassment in the position. When he pulled her legs over his shoulders, her heart raced. Natsu’s deep green eyes met hers as he spread her folds with his thumbs and lowered his tongue to her damp arousal. Lucy’s head lulled to the side, her eyes half closed, as the pleasure rippled through her body. His name left her lips in a rush, and his tongue plunged deep into her heat. One of his thumbs swirled around her clit, and her body ached for more. She felt herself building up as he pushed further, stroked her faster, and made her legs shake at the sides of his head. She shoved her fingers into his hair. His eyes still locked on her face like a jungle cat. The look alone sent her into a frenzy of lust. The euphoria of her climax made her cry out. As soon as she thought he’d stop, he dragged another from her. Her body dropped against the table when he slowed. He moved her legs from his shoulders and rose with his mouth glistening from where he devoured her. Natsu buried his fingers inside her and pulled them out to slide them over his cock. His hand making an erotic squelch sound as he lubed himself with her. The anticipation built with each jerk of his hand, and she wiggled beneath him. Natsu grinned at her movement and clutched her thigh to still her.

“You’re not going to let me last, are you?” Natsu asked. She shook her head and opened her legs wider for him. He placed the head of his cock against her drenched vulva, and slowly sheathed himself into her, filling her with the length of him. Her moan resonated inside the studio, and his eyes rolled back with delight as he fully sank into her. He sat there for a moment inside her, breathing long and steady before he pulled out to the tip. Lucy almost protested until he surged deep into her with a hot smack of their skin. This time, it was his moan that filled the room. “Fuck.”

“I thought that’s what you’re doing,” she said. His hips moved, keeping any other joke from leaving her lips. He positioned his hands on either side of her head and moved his hips in a delicious rhythm inside her. Her hands clutched him for dear life, and she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts in exquisite pleasure. He slid a hand beneath her and pulled her hips up higher in just the right position. Her cries louder, faster than before as he rocked against her sweetest places.

“Coming for me, Lucy?” The teasing tone replaced with the husky sound of his voice, and the absolute ecstasy that she saw in his face. He slammed into her, as she rode her climax, and leaned back with her thighs in each hand. His lip caught between his teeth as he positioned himself. His cock visibly impaled her tight core. The sensual sight of him forever engrained into her mind.

“Come for me, Natsu.” Her voice, husky and raw in her own ears, spurred him on.

“Lucy.” Her name rolled off his tongue as he came deep inside her. His thrusts slowed and his chest worked to catch his breath. Natsu dragged out one of the chairs, sat, and pulled her to his lap. She straddled him and wrapped around him with her lips pressed into the crook of his neck. Warmth surrounded her in his embrace. Lucy slid her fingers through his tousled hair as they breathed. Natsu’s hands caressed her back in an intimate gesture that reminded her this was real.

“Don’t leave me again,” she said. His warm breath at her shoulder as he spoke.

“Never.” He enfolded her in his arms. She glanced at the pedestal that once held her work.

“You stole my sculpture.” Lucy felt his laugh against her.

“Would you like it back?” Natsu asked.

“No, you can keep it.” She sat back and cupped his face in her hands. Her thumb skimmed his skin. “I want to thank the fates.” Natsu placed his broad hand against the back of her head and pulled her into a deep kiss.

“Holy shit.” A voice came from the door followed by a click as it shut. Natsu’s boisterous laugh shook her. Lucy felt the heat spread instantly to her cheeks and playfully smacked him.

“Stop laughing. Someone saw us.”

“It was Gray.” Natsu barely got the words out. Lucy stood up quickly and moved around the table toward the door. “Hey, don’t go out like that.” He tossed her his long button up shirt. She wrapped the fabric around her and allowed it to hang to her knees. She peaked out of her studio and found Gray with his back against the wall beside the door. His hands clasped over his eyes.

“Stupid, stupid,” he said. She moved into the hallway and hugged herself tighter.

“Gray?” The man jumped from the wall and took in her appearance. His blushing cheeks darkened with the sight of her.

“I’m sorry. I should have knocked. I only came to tell you that I found Juvia.”

“Oh, well, I, uh.” What could she say to make this any better?

“Damn, I’m sorry,” Gray said again.

“This is a weird question, especially now, but did Juvia become your ice sculpture?” she asked.

“I freaked out, couldn’t say anything. I told her to wait, so I could tell you.” He wiped a hand across his face. “But, apparently, you didn’t need me to tell you.” The guilt of not having thought of Gray sank like a stone, and the embarrassment rose again.

“Shouldn’t you be going back to your girl?” Natsu opened the door wider. He’d pulled on his pants and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Gray glared at him.

“I thought I’d tell my friend the good news, asshole.”

“Well, congrats. You better get to her. Hope everything works out for ya.” Natsu wrapped an arm around Lucy and pulled her into the studio. “Bye, ice boy.” He closed the door and pressed her back against it. “Thought he’d never leave.”

“Natsu! I was talking to him.”

“He’ll thank me later. I’m sure Juvia is losing her mind with jealousy since he came all the way over here for you.”

“You were helping him?” she asked. He shrugged and pulled her into another kiss. His hands snaked into his shirt, cupped the weight of her breasts, and slid his thumbs against her sensitive skin.

“I think we have a problem,” he said.

“What?”

“Now that I can touch you, I don’t want to stop.” Natsu pressed his forehead against hers and grinned.

“Then don’t,” Lucy said. He picked her up, her legs wrapped around his waist, and hoisted her to the worktable. She had to agree with him. She’d never get enough of this.

#nalu #fairy tail #nalu fan fiction #ft fan fiction #natsu x lucy #divine touch #my writing #muse au

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abortionado · 4 years ago

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Hi so I’ve done research/intel collection for an anti fascist group for years, and something I wanted to say about TERFism is that it’s (unfortunately) a fast-growing ideology, and the reason for this is that their content is designed to appeal to young cisgender girls and pull them into a downward spiral of hate and brainwashing.

This is why deplatforming is important.

If you’re familiar with the alt-right pipeline, wherein impressionable young white boys are gradually radicalized into neo-nazism by online creators who appeal to an adolescent sense of peer marginalization, wanting to belong to a group, wanting to feel powerful, etc. by creating an “other” in ethnic minorities, I would argue that the “radicalization” process of TERFs is similar.

(I’m not saying these groups are the same.)

Similar to how alt-right content is often designed to appeal to white boys who have faced social isolation and bullying, TERF content is often catered towards cis girls who have been victims of misogynistic violence. They prey on rape victims, especially.

They offer to create a “safe” community free of “men” for victims of misogynistic crimes. On the surface, this sounds unassuming enough, and if you’re a 14-year-old girl who is traumatized and not educated on their beliefs and the truths of their community, this could so easily offer comfort and a sense of belonging.

Of course, none of this is as it seems—they use this idea of “being safe from the men who hurt you” to mask their true agenda. The “men” they’re talking about are transgender women. They post about “men” and “males,” and all they’re ever talking about is transgender women. It’s a dog whistle, definitely, but it’s also an attempt at attracting and radicalizing young cisgender girls who have been traumatized by cisgender men and want to feel seen and heard.

They draw in young trauma victims, and within this so-called “safe community,” they feed them a combination of bioessentialism, less overt transmisogyny (like, stuff that wouldn’t be obvious to the untrained teenage eye), and posts about “men” and “male violence,” and then they ask them to put two and two together and ~naturally~ conclude that trans women are violent predators.

Once this initial “radicalization” has happened (they have a name for this—it’s their version of the “red pill”), they, just like alt-right creators, invite these girls down a deeper and increasingly hateful rabbit hole.

They use manipulative strawman tactics, telling these girls that they’re “the only ones talking” about things like rape, misogynistic abuse, and female genital mutilation, so that they’ll feel isolated within the community.

They tell them that no one else will take them seriously because they are women, they tell them that the wider LGBT community is out to get them, they tell them that transgender women want to hurt them just as the cis men in their lives did—it’s straight up cultish. They prey on the fear of traumatized young women in order to spread their hateful agenda.

This is why it’s important to not spread anything from their blogs—even if it looks innocent to you, they are constantly, intentionally creating content that scaremongers and manipulates vulnerable people, and giving them any kind of platform may just lead someone else down that rabbit hole.

I know from experience that if any of them see this, they’re going to talk about how I’m being Thought Police here, and how I, on behalf of the entire trans/nonbinary community, am discouraging you from reading and learning. I’m not. Read all the articles and studies about sex and gender that you can get your hands on. Learning is great.

What I’m telling you is that you should stay away from hateful, manipulative propaganda, which—make no mistake—is what they’re spreading. You’re not learning anything or getting any valuable information from reading TERF blogs. Find a legitimate source from which to learn about gender.

Last thing—in saying that TERF content is predatory, I’m not making excuses for anybody, but, just as we say “watch out for your boys” in re. alt-right content, I think we as TME folks should really be making an effort to watch out for our girls, especially those we know have suffered a trauma.

If you’re close to a young girl who has suffered at the hands of a man, please reach out to her if you can. Make sure she’s getting the help she needs. Make sure she has a space where she can talk openly about her experiences, and make sure she feels loved, heard, and accepted. Please do what you can to help her recover. Don’t let any scumbags take advantage of her suffering and turn it into more suffering. She doesn’t deserve that—she deserves a REAL community that will REALLY help her heal.

#oc

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years ago

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Could/Should/Did: Steve Rogers-Intro

Intro

Steve Rogers x reader

Word Count: 1180

Summary: Based off a oneshot I did a while back. Mash-up between Marvel and DC. Reader is Deathstroke’s daughter that works with him as a mercenary. A happenstance meeting in a coffee shop leads to a relationship with Steve Rogers of all people.

“Excuse me, miss?” a male voice called your attention away from what you were doing.

Casually minimizing the tab of information about your next target, you looked over at the man. Only to immediately feel your heart stutter when you recognized the one and only Steven Grant Rogers of all people standing next to you in the little coffee shop you’d decided to stop in. You almost reached for your phone to warn your father of your impending arrest, but the innocent look on the Captain’s face halted that idea before it even fully took hold.

“Can I help you?” you asked calmly. If he was here alone to cause you trouble, you were fairly sure you could take him. If the other Avengers were hidden around, you didn’t stand a chance anyway. No need to panic either way.

“Sorry to bother you, but is this seat taken?”

Your eyes skimmed around the room, stopping at each empty table pointedly. “I’m going to have to ask why before I agree to anything.”

In your pocket your phone buzzed. You ignored it for now.

Rogers chuckled awkwardly, redness rising up his neck--quite adorably if you were being honest. “Ah. Busted. See, my friend has been mildly stalking me on our days off to make sure I’m actually trying to get used to, well, everything. Is that weird?”

You smirked. “Just a little, though it would be even stranger if I didn’t already know who you are, Mr. Rogers.”

That cute little blush rose even higher. “Oh darn. I didn’t even introduce myself? My ma would be appalled.” He offered a little wave. “Steve Rogers.”

“Don’t worry; I won’t tell if you don’t,” you winked. “Pull up a seat, Steve. I’ll be your human contact for the day.” Now that I know I’m not gonna meet the business end of that shield of yours. “I’m Y/N Wilson.” A common enough last name, so you doubted it would ring any alarms in his head. Plus, you were the least known of your particular Wilson family; no one knew you existed (as far as you knew), let alone your name.

Little did you know that decision to let him join you would launch you into the best relationship of your life. One cup of coffee became two became dinner became sleeping over until one day you realized that he’d come straight to your apartment to change and shower after a mission. Somehow, your homes had blended to the point where you both called your (admittedly quite large) apartment home without you noticing.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” he asked as he joined you one the couch and kissed you on the temple.

“We basically live together,” you stated. “Why don’t we make it official?”

A grin spread across his face, seemingly making his blue eyes glow. “I’d love that.”

As with everything in this relationship, it was just that easy.

It wasn’t until he was moved in and putting things away (what few hadn’t already migrated over here, anyway) that Steve noticed anything that would make him question you. He bumped the bookshelf and somehow it slid to the side to reveal an alarming arsenal displayed in a hidden case. Guns, swords, knives, bombs, you name it; it was practically one of SHIELD’s armories.

Several people had questioned if he was, perhaps, moving too fast with you even though it’d been over a year. That he didn’t know you well enough.

Tony’s voice echoed in his head from when his friend heard about the move, “Hell, Steve, you don’t even know what she does for a living! I can’t even find any significant records of her! You haven’t met her family!”

Maybe they’d had a point, loathe as Steve was to even think that.

He reached for his phone. You’d said you were going on a trip for work, whatever that was, but still . . . the gun case was worrying enough that he hit the call button beside your name.

“Wilson!” you answered, sounding out of breath. A pop sounded, almost like a gunshot.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, worry and apprehension bleeding into his tone despite himself. “Bad time?”

“You could say that.” More pops. “What’s up?” That levity in your voice was forced, he could tell.

“I found something strange as I was putting my stuff up.”

“Oh?”

“The wall of guns behind your bookshelf?”

Even your breath on the other side of the call froze. “Steve--”

A loud, gruff-sounding male voice suddenly shouted, “Y/N, get down!” Then there were the telling sounds of someone being tackled to the ground right before an explosion.

“Y/N?” Nothing. “Y/N!” Steve shouted, heart racing with fear.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” the unknown voice demanded.

“Steve, I'm fine,” you sounded a little dazed, “but I have to go. Can we talk about this when I get back?”

“Yeah.” He’d rather her be safe and deal with the uncertainty for now than risk your safety. “Just promise me you’ll be careful wherever you are.”

“I promise.” You sounded sincere. “I love you, Steve.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Right before the call ended, Steve heard that strange voice say, “The target’s holed himself up behind about fifty--”

He hated to do it, but he needed to know more. That famous Meddling Captain America Curiosity™ was kicking in something fierce. Quickly, he was finding Natasha’s name to call next.

“Hey, Tasha,” he greeted, voice wavering a little. “I need a favor . . .”

~ONE WEEK LATER~

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him,” Slade was saying on the other end of a call as you dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment.

“And I appreciate that you’re willing to go that far, but even you couldn’t get away with offering literal Captain America.”

“If he breaks my daughter’s heart, I’ll find a way”

A half-hearted chuckle found its way out of you. “Thanks, Papa.” Your hands were shaking as you placed your key in the lock. “Well, it’s now or never,” you muttered mostly to yourself. “You turned the knob. And there was Steve, waiting for you on the couch, probably ever since you messaged him saying that you were almost home. “I’ve got to go.”

“Take care of yourself, sweetheart.” That was his version of ‘I love you’, and honestly it helped soothe your nerves a little.

“You too.” And with that, you hung up.

There was a moment of silence. A measure of time where it felt like the whole world froze in anticipation.

“So . . . I'm not the only one that calls you ‘sweetheart’, huh?” Steve offered to break the ice.

It worked well enough to startle a laugh out of you. “Yeah, though I can’t figure out why. There’s nothing sweet about me.”

“I seem to recall a few mornings of you begging to cuddle longer that would prove otherwise.”

You snorted.

Everything paused again.

“That was my dad, by the way.”

“I figured.”

“So . . .”

“I guess we should have that talk now, huh?”

“I guess so.”

#crossover au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #could/should/did #reader insert #marvel imagine #dc imagine #nyx au

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mythgirlimagines · 4 years ago

Photo

Well, now that Tuesday is here, it’s time for a brand new talentswap! Give a soft hello to Myth, the Former Ultimate Essayist!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Because of a combination of a weak body and her already existing scoliosis, this Myth spent most of her childhood bedridden and isolated from the world. With her frail body, Myth turned to reading and studying as her only two modes of entertainment. Myth was practically homeschooled, and from there Myth found her talent in writing. Although she is an expert in writing short stories, her true expertise lies in her essays that span a bunch of topics, ranging from science to history to even pop culture. Once her family raised enough money to get her scoliosis surgery, Myth was ready to attend Hope’s Peak and won’t let back pain stop her. When she graduated, Myth then was given the option to chaperone the Ultimates and Jr. Ultimates, and that is how our story begins!

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Romantic

A high-school celebrity thanks to their boyish charm and their lovable rogue personality, Wyre is well-known for being able to charm anyone, male or female, and Myth is most definitely is no exception to this rule. In fact, Myth has been Wyre‘s favorite flirting and teasing target ever since they first met in Hope‘s Peak, and Wyre has been Myth’s first-ever friend since. This hopeless bisexual just couldn’t handle the rugged muscles or the bad boy attitude of her tomboyish charmer of a BFF. Myth is currently working on an essay to confess her feelings for Wyre.

Outfit: Neatly-combed pixie cut, black blazer over a messily buttoned white shirt, tan pants, black loafers, glasses, necklace, and bracelet from original design.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Voice Actress

Famous for her wide range of voices and her typecasting into villainous or demonic characters, Anon Scar chose to embrace the archetype of her usual characters and put on her classic “Demon of Tounges” act that roped her tons of fans in the seiyuu fan community. When Myth first met Scar, she was scared off by the voice actress‘s deep voice and hammy performances. From there, Scar knew to tone down her theatrics around Myth and soon Myth saw Scar for who she truly is: a kindhearted and almost maternal teenager.

Outfit: Shoulder-length hair, a black ski cap with a skull on the front, black headphones with a microphone on the right ear, a black and white striped sweater, black fingerless gloves, scarf, skirt, stockings, and boots from original design.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Personal Assistant

In order to support both his parents and his little brother, Fusion had to take several odd jobs, ranging from a waiter to a cashier to even a court stenographer, resulting in him gathering an entire arsenal of skills and the title of Ultimate Personal Assistant. Despite his frightening height, Fusion’s kindhearted, reliable, and paternal nature made Myth warm up to him very easily. If Myth is ever in pain and needs her medication and comfort items, Fusion always has what she needs stashed somewhere on his body. Myth is still wondering to this day, where exactly does Fusion keep those things?

Outfit: Afro tied into a long and puffy ponytail with a red hair tie, blue and yellow vest over a red dress shirt and a yellow bow tie, white gloves, glasses, pants, and shoes from original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Procrastinator

Getting picked on at school for her bookish, nerdy personality and her natural genius, Fusion II reinvented herself with a flippant, bad-girl personality, who couldn’t care less about her studies. Despite not caring about academics, Fusion II’s grades are still the top of her school. While originally scared of Fusion II, due to her punk fashion and delinquent personality, Myth’s fear of Fusion II diminished when Myth caught her reading one of her essays in the library, proving that she is still a massive bookworm and a nerd, much to the procrastinator’s dismay.

Outfit: Blue streaks in her ruffled up hair, black spiked headband, dark blue denim jacket with golden spikes on the shoulder, black fingerless gloves, dark blue skirt with a tattered edge, tall spiky metal boots that add 4 inches onto her height, sunglasses, t-shirt and choker from original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Poet

Despite what his adorable pastel fashion sense, innocent talent, and his calming hypnotic poetry would suggest, in reality, Janon has a foul mouth and an equally foul attitude and wants nothing more than to lie in bed all day without people bothering him. Myth can relate to that big time, alongside having a talent relating to writing, which makes Myth one of the few people who Janon is able to open up to. Sometimes, Myth and Janon organise ”nap nests“ (aka. piles and piles of blankets and pillows) and exchange what they have written together.

Outfit: An oversized pink turtleneck sweater with a bunny on the front that covers his mouth and hands, formal wear from original design.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Speedreader

Despite Sparkle’s loud and dramatic personality being more suited towards a performance themed talent, Sparkle’s true expertise lies in reading at extremely high speeds. Sparkle and Myth’s shared interest in reading made them very close friends, despite their contrasting personalities. At some time in their friendship, Myth has been christened ”THE SPECTACULAR AND SPEEDY SPARKLE’S SIMULTANEOUSLY SPECTACULAR STOPWATCHKEEPER!”, for Myth regularly times Sparkle and gives Sparkle brand new material to read.

Outfit: A blue vest over a white dress shirt, a red and orange tarten skirt, glasses, paldrons, cape, stockings, and boots from original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Conspiracy Theorist, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Ornithologist

Two great, but cursed, scientific minds, this freakish duo have took the world by storm with their “Future Avian Overlords” conspiracy theories. No matter how improbable the theory, Egg manages to point out real life aspects about the world around us, thanks to their twin, that supports the theory. But ever since Egg spread the theory that birds were just drones to Wet Sock, their relationship hasn’t been the same since. The twins scare the ever-living stuffing out of Myth, every time one of them decides to open their mouth, and Wyre regularly has to discipline them with violence for scaring her friend.

Outfits: Dark brown sleeveless parkas over tan t-shirts, brown pants and brown boots, Egg has an alien pin and Wet Sock has a feather pin, glasses from original design.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Surgeon

Hailed by the medical world as a child prodigy, Curious’s steady and disciplined attitude made him a natural at surgery, despite their age and height. Having interacted with surgeons ever since she was little, Myth always felt at ease when around Curious. As a matter of fact, Myth met Curious before just before they attended Hope’s Peak Junior High, at one of the hospitals they volunteered at. Curious’s polite and charitable nature makes them a perfect companion for the timid Myth. In their off time, Myth likes to give Curious some of her short stories to read.

Outfit: Hair in a small ponytail, mint green surgery scrubs and facemask, black pants, blue and white loafers.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Ice Skater

Myth actually saw Nerd’s performances on TV a couple of times and he was absolutely graceful and stunning on the ice. She may have a bit of a celebrity crush on him. But when she attended the Kibo-Con along with him, Myth caught wind of Nerd’s true personality: vulgar, surly, and loud-mouthed. But ever since Nerd met this tiny and timid essayist, his protective instincts have just flared up. Wyre knows about Myth’s little celebrity crush and Nerd’s little thing for Myth and is constantly coming up with schemes to choose her over the rude ice skater.

Outfit: Hair combed over his right eye, a black, white, red and blue hoodie, black pants and red and white sneakers.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate VS Debater

Myth thought that she was the timidest person in the Kibo-Con roster. But ever since she met Eldritch, Myth may have some competition in the timidity category. Despite his confidence and boldness on the debate podium, when put in any other situation, Eldritch starts shaking in his boots and thinking up the worst possible scenario for every occasion. Despite Myth’s kindhearted and honest nature, Eldritch seems to think that Myth’s timidity is just a facade and that she will pull out a weapon from underneath her hoodie and assassinate him.

Outfit: Neatly combed shoulder-length hair, red suit with a maroon tie, orange pants and black boots.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Astronomer

Despite her athletic, energetic, and childish demeanor, Dream is regarded as a veritable scientific genius in the study of the vast vacuum of space, to the point of having a star cluster named after her volleyball team. Needless to say, someone like Dream wasn’t what Myth had in mind when she heard she was going to be chaperoning the Ultimate Astronomer. At first, Myth wasn’t able to keep up with Dream’s energetic and outgoing attitude. But as time went on, Myth now looks forward to her relaxing weekly stargazing with Dream.

Outfit: Star barettes, a galaxy-printed version of her original shirt, skirt, shorts and shoes from original design.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Paleontologist

Despite Iris’s klutziness and almost stupidly optimistic outlook on life, Iris is a verified genius when it comes to paleontology, often being cited in academic journals and discovering a couple of new paleontologic species. Iris claims that she studies paleontology because she wants to show people that the world is just awesome, no matter the time period. Myth admires Iris’s optimistic outlook on life, and wishes to learn all about Iris’s philosophy and way of life, and Iris is happy to teach Myth the ways of the Iris. Maybe Iris’s philosophy could be just the confidence boost that she needs.

Outfit: Cracked glasses, a green dinosaur hoodie over a brown dress with fossil designs all over, brown steel-toed boots, bandages all over her body from various freak accidents at digs.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Puzzle Solver

Ever since Purple solved a highly-difficult puzzle as a toddler, Purple managed to dominate every single puzzle that the high-tech research lab threw at her. With an unparalleled aptitude for solving all sorts of puzzles, Purple specializes in ciphers and word puzzles. Because of their intellectual yet timid natures, Purple and Myth get along very well. Because of Myth’s talent, she has no problem at all, when it comes to understanding Purple’s cryptic speech patterns and vocabulary. They regularly exchange mental stimulation with each other in the forms of scientific essays and puzzles.

Outfit: A white sweater with a cipher puzzle of her name on the front, a skirt colored like a Rubix cube, stockings and shoes from original design.

This series will be a bisexual harem series centering around five Anons fighting for the affections of the timid essayist who just wants them all to get along.

———————————————–

PERSONALITY

Because of her socially-isolated backstory, Essayist!Myth is supremely timid and often lets Wyre do the talking for her. Her time at Hope’s Peak raised her self-esteem and made her a bit more confident, but she is still painfully shy and socially-anxious. That being said, Essayist!Myth is really intelligent thanks to her hobby of reading and studying, and often finds solace with other intellectually minded Anons. Essayist!Myth isn’t at all skilled in the prospect of romance, which makes her a disaster bi, as opposed to the confident bi-ness of Romantic!Myth.

———————————————–

APPEARANCE

Essayist!Myth has long brown hair with two pink barettes that goes over her right eye and reading glasses. She wears a pink hoodie with a bisexual pride badge yellow zipper and flowers on each pocket. Myth wears the purple skirt, black stockings and pink Mary Janes from her original design.

———————————————–

Let me know what you think of this series and this talentswap! If any of you have any headcanons for this AU, feel free to let me know!

-Fusion Anon

---

I have been known to write an essay or two, especially one on Strawberry Shortcake lol

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amras-felagund · 4 years ago

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Cutie mark Tattoo Friendship Is Magic: The Next Generation begins thirty years after the birth of Princess Flurry Heart, and the story is... a bit darker and more complicated than My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic before it. It delves into the backstory around Alicorns, where they came from, why Discord is the only Draconequus, and who is the prisoner in the deepest darkest cell of the cosmic oubliette that is Tartarus... (And admittedly, FIM:TNG does take some liberties with the events of MLP:FIM, mostly in regards to Equestria Girls and all episodes after and including The Cutie Re-Mark. That will become more apparent when it comes to the character bios for Sunset Shimmer, Flash Sentry, Starlight Glimmer, and others.) Now, I have done this for years now online, but I think it deserves attention here: whenever I discuss a couple, I always use an ampersand "&" between their names, whereas with platonic pairs/groups, I use the word "and" instead. And also, I think we all take it for granted that same-sex couples in Friendship Is Magic headcanons can have kids. I mean, magic is a thing in this universe, and it's not ENTIRELY written off that sex-changes could happen with magic. Or just, you know, other options with the magic to allow two mares or two stallions to have children together. Anyway, moving on.

This is Octavio Slate Pie, Pinkie's brother. Yes, he is technically a character from Pony Life, but bear with me on this. It will make sense in a little bit. Because, you see, this interpretation of Octavio Pie appeared in the original show. You may also notice that his color scheme and cutie mark are extremely familiar...

Marble Pie always felt great discomfort in her own body. She hated to speak and so mostly relied on her twin Pinkamena to do the talking for them. And after Pinkie got her cutie mark and became so much more talkative, this became much more convenient. Marble let her mane grow out and hid her face with it. She stayed mostly in the farm, and with Maud off to earn her rocktorate and Pinkie off in Ponyville spreading her brand of cheer, Marble's oldest sister Limestone was left to run the farm with her more mellow parents tending to the gruntwork. (As Earth Ponies, they would retain their vigor for far longer than Unicorns or Pegasi.)

And then Marble met Big McIntosh. It was the greatest Hearth's Warming Eve gift that Marble could have ever received, though not in the way that an outsider could have reckoned. Marble herself thought that she loved him at first, and her heart ached that he could have his own special somepony when he came with Sugar Belle the next Hearth's Warming. But as she thought about it, and how she felt about herself, Marble realized that she didn't love Big McIntosh like that. Rather, she wanted to be like him. Marble Pie wanted to be a stallion.

It took more willpower than he could have thought to come out to his older twin. Pinkie was visiting for their birthday and exclaimed that she was so happy to have planned the surprise birthday party for herself and her baby twin sister. "...not your sister." It was the most he had said at once in a long time. He continued, "...your b-b-brother." Pinkie's confusion gave way to absolute joy. She had a baby twin brother now! She had to change her plans post-haste! This would also be an introduction of her brother to everypony!

As for his name, he always loved the name of his cellist cousin Octavia Melody. He wrote it down as the male version Octavio, and it just felt right. His middle name of Slate comes from the metamorphic rock.

In no time, Octavio was the scene of the party (which he interjected himself into the planning for). He spoke more in one minute than he had in several years. To many, it seemed like the backlog of words he'd held back as a mare and filly had come spilling out now that he was a stallion. He cut his mane and tail short, no longer hiding his face. Applying for transitional spells and potions, his features became more pronounced, his voice deepening. Though he wouldn't talk nearly as much as he had at his birthday/coming-out party, Octavio became a much more sociable and open pony than he had ever been as Marble. He finally felt like he fit in his own body. He was finally happy.

For a short period, Octavio took up the same sort of role as party-planner as his twin, to the point that many would have called his parties Pinkie Pie Parties by mistake. This led to several misunderstandings when Pinkie received rave reviews for parties she definitely didn't remember planning. They had all the hallmarks of her parties, though, so only one pony could have put them through: her brother. She confronted him, fearful that he was trying to outdo her, outshine her. Octavio insisted he would never; she was the first one who he'd confessed to of feeling like a stallion. After more discussion, Octavio decided to take a different path with his party plans. He wouldn't use Pinkie's ideas, but his own.

Having opened up finally, Octavio Pie is bursting with self-confidence, to the point of smugness. While this means that he will not hesitate to do something that is firmly in his wheelhouse, he can unfortunately put others off. When it comes to one specific situation, though, he can soften his behavior and project profound empathy: supporting foals struggling with dysphoria. He hates to imagine foals being in the same position he'd been in for years: hating his body, hating his voice, feeling like an alien in his own skin and bones. With his own brand of parties and penchant for providing pet rocks, he yearns to help these foals enter their new identities with the happiest moments yet in their lives.

Octavio no longer lives at the Pie Family Farm, but travels Equestria with his wife planning parties. He specializes in coming-out parties. Among the foals he has thrown such parties for were Piñata Apple and Pumpkin Sweet. At a certain point he got a tattoo on his right foreleg representing his "bolt from the blue" revelation of being a stallion, and it serves as more of a symbol of an Octavio-brand coming-out party than his own cutie mark. He also may or may not have a touch of "Pinkie being Pinkie" that was awakened after his own coming-out, but anypony who knows will neither confirm nor deny.

(also, I know that octavio's cutie mark in pony life is different from marble's and not a tattoo, but everypony's cutie mark is different in pony life, so if you take issue, kindly shut up)

MLP:FiM (c) Lauren Faust / Hasbro FIM:TNG (c) me

#octavio pie #marble pie #my little pony friendship is magic #my little pony #friendship is magic #my little pony pony life #pony life #Friendship Is Magic: The Next Generation #trans headcanon #i hope that i've been respectful and accurate to the trans community

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be-dazzled · 5 years ago

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Pairing: Mirajane Strauss and Laxus Dreyar Series: Fairytail Rated:18+ Warning: Explicit content

Part 1; 2

…

Hurried footsteps echoed throughout the empty streets of Magnolia. One golden-haired dragon slayer sped off like lightning, headed to the Fairy Tail guild hall. He hated running, hated breaking a sweat. But five days away from his woman, without touching her, without tasting her was driving Laxus crazy. There’s only one person who could bring his sanity back and she was in the guild hall doing inventory. The anticipation of holding her in his arms, feeling her skin and tasting her sweetness were killing Laxus and he needed to have her, and fast.

There was one light on, which meant she was still definitely inside the guild hall. Laxus didn’t even pause to catch his breath. His feet brought him inside without him even knowing. The moment his hungry eyes landed on the figure leaning over the counter, Laxus lost all reason and that primal need making his pants tight took over.

He practically flew to the loving arms of the woman with the long silver hair. He heard her call his name as she turned around to find the cause of the noise and Laxus was a lost cause.

Mirajane moved around the counter and moved across the floor to welcome Laxus from his five-day mission. She didn’t get too far as she soon found herself wrapped in her lover’s strong arms. Then their hands were all over every curve and every plane of skin; their clothes finding their own places on the floor.

Laxus’ kiss was hungry and insatiable. He was biting and sucking on her skin, and licking on the bruise that he left. He wasn’t the usual gentle lover Mira was accustomed to. But she had no complaints. He liked that other side of him, rough and demanding.

Laxus saved his coat and clumsily spread the soft cloth on top of the table before lowering Mirajane unto it. He didn’t want her to have those ugly splinters like last time. They skipped their usual preliminaries and dived immediately into the main course. Five days was too long but he wasn’t going to be disrespectful and drive into her before she was ready for him.

“Goodness, Mira. I thought I was about to go blind.” Laxus said under gritted teeth.

Mirajane held his face in her hands and pulled it down so he was looking at her, at that pure white lust brewing in her blue eyes and knotting her stomach. She claimed his lips, nibbling at the bottom while Laxus reached between them.

“You ready for me, baby?”

That ache between her legs answered for her. All she managed to say was a begging moan.

“Say something.” He demanded, cupping her wet folds. “I miss your voice.”

“Laxus-ahn.”

Mirajane was obedient. But Laxus didn’t let her finish. He was cruel that way. Without warning, the lightning dragon slayer parted her flesh and pushed two fingers into her opening in one swift move.

“That’s it, Strauss.”

Mira’s head fell back on the flat wood, hips bucking at the expert maneuver of Laxus’ fingers inside her. She suddenly felt little jolts of electricity on the parts that he touched.

“Laxus, don’t.” She breathlessly told him off. “You’ll electrocute me… like last time.”

Because the last time they played around with his lightning powers, Mira had to wear her hair up in the air for about a week. It wasn’t fun coming up for excuses for that hair-do.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got it mastered for your pleasure.”

“Aah! Laxus…”

And now she felt that hot current inside her core. Mira arched her back, pressing her bare chest against Laxus’. Pure liquid lust streaming into her nerve endings.

“Laxus, ple-ease.”

Her voice was sweet, hot and simply arousing.

“Since you said please.” But now Laxus couldn’t control the shaking of his voice. As much as he loved watching Mira squirm beneath him, he couldn’t wait any longer.

He guided the tip of his length into her extremely wet opening and shoved his full, hard length into her tight body, the sheer force of it pushed her up the edge of the table.

“Laxus!”

He answered with a groan before he pulled Mira back to the center before they both fall off the table like that other time.

“Open your eyes, Mira.” Laxus coaxed.

He didn’t move, holding Mira’s gaze while he savored that unexplainable sensation of having Mira’s walls clasp around him, expanding to take him in. He planted his palms on either side, a foot or two above Mira’s head. Laxus looked down at her, pressing a soft kiss on the bangs that clung on her forehead, preparing Mira for the storm that was about to come.

“I’m home, baby.”

The air in the deserted guild hall was heavy and it felt damp on her bare skin. But Mirajane wasn’t cold. On the contrary, Laxus Dreyar kept her warm. Hot. She tugged on his golden locks as Laxus continued to move above Mira. Despite her cries, he knew she didn’t want him to stop.

“Ghad, I missed you, Mira.”

Mira ran her bruised lips against his chest as her height reached only Laxus’ shoulders. His skin tightened at the contact, forcing him to lift Mira off the flat surface by the mere force of his thrusts. She dug her nails on the skin of his back, receiving the end of Laxus’ onslaught. They were going to leave a mark tomorrow but that’s the least of their problem. For now, at this moment, Mira just wanted him to know that it felt good. So good she was losing all thoughts.

“Aah, Laxuuus~”

She didn’t phone it in. There was no use trying to bite down her lips to keep her quiet. She wanted him to hear her say his name – scream it. To let him know he was hitting the right spot, the most sensitive spot. And the little growls he made assured her that he was on the verge too.

“Laxus, I-I-aah…”

Mirajane could feel it coming. That strong powerful force that ripped her body apart and made her lose the ability to think. That strong electric current that peeled her off the table as the man above her moved, plunged into her body for her satisfaction. That unexplainable force that made all the cells in her body, demon and human alike, scream his name. And with her sweet voice calling to him, pleading with him, Laxus’ thrusts became more urgent and unforgiving as she drove and forced Mira to her peak.

“Ha… ah…”

Mirajane threw her skinny arms around his neck, clutching to him as she felt that strong powerful force about to claim her.

“Laxus, I-ah-I I’m going to–”

“–It’s okay Mira. I’m here.”

Those words were all she needed to let go.

“LAXUS!”

Her embrace around his neck tightened, and so the walls that sheathed Laxus inside her, as the first wave of pleasure reaped off of Mira with a force that was more than she could bear. She felt the need to be close to him when she indulged in that otherworldly experience.

Laxus’ thrusts slowed down, letting Mira ride out the first wave of her orgasm. Gently, he guided her back on the table. Both panting, gasping for air, struggling to even the ragged breaths.

With her eyes closed, lips slightly parted, her naked chest heaving up and down, Laxus was astounded. Male pride swelled across his chest. He did that. He was the one who turned her into that.

“You are so beautiful, Mira.”

Mira slowly opened her eyes and met Laxus’ heavy gaze. She reached out to him, caressing his face hardened by the passion they both shared. Her eyes widened, realizing that Laxus hadn’t pulled out. She could still feel him inside her, hard and ready.

“You haven't–”

His fingers tangled in her hair. Then, his palm cupped the back of her head to cover her mouth with his, sharply cutting her off. He slowly moved inside her as he claimed Mira’s sweet kisses. He broke it off only to whisper a request.

“Can you let your Satan Soul out?” he asked.

Mira looked up at him dumbfounded. But she heeded his request and through her take over magic, she summoned a more subtle version of her Satan Soul.

Her already disheveled hair protruded upwards. That dark mark on her eyes matched Laxus’ lightning one. The wanton in her blue eyes left and Laxus almost didn’t recognize them. Her scales were gone and her tail and wings were nowhere to be found. But his heart pounded in his throat.

“So beautiful, my Demon.”

Laxus reveled on the sight. He pulled the ribbon tied around her neck and Mira’s clothing quickly fell apart. Laxus’ eyes, darkened by passion, feasted on her exposed breasts. He cupped one and watched Mira’s lips part in pleasure.

“You like that?”

He placed open mouth kisses on the side of her neck as he continued to knead her breast. It earned encouraging moans from the Satan Soul. Then, Laxus’ mouth found her other breast, lonely from the lack of attention. So, he drew the mound into his warm mouth and teased the hardened pink nipple with his slick tongue.

Mirajane moved, unintentionally brushing her walls against Laxus’ hard shaft inside her and both moaned from the searing sensation. Understanding her new found power, Mirajane coldy pushed the dragon slayer off her, initially groaning from the loss of contact, flipped him on his back and shoved him hard against the table. Mira straddled the startled Laxus between her legs, his hard length probing at her wet opening. Mirajane bit her lip to keep from moaning.

When Laxus tried to reach for her breasts again, she slammed him back on the wooden surface. An ugly thought crossed the Lightning Dragon Slayer’s mind. Sudden fear flashed in his eyes. There was no warmth in Mira’s blue orbs. No pleasure, no threat, nothing. Then, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Mira in charge. I like it.”

The same hot wantonness danced on her lips. And her once blank eyes were darkened by that equal desire Laxus had going on. Mira reached in between them and found his erection in her hands. She saw him twitched when she wrapped her slender fingers around his shaft. Then, her studying eyes watched Laxus breathing heavily, sighing her name as she moved her hand up and down. His hands fell on both her legs and his eyes shut close on their own. Mira copied what the Lightning Dragon Slayer did to her earlier, placing open mouthed kisses on the side of his neck, adding her own style by sliding the flat of her tongue on the thick chord on his neck down the tightened skin of his chest. She blew a cold breath against one nipple, taunting him, playing with him. And she was so highly encouraged by his response that she teased him back with her tongue drawing a circle on his nipple.

“You don’t wanna mess up this table, Mira.” He warned, finding her ministrations past bearing.

Satan Soul Mirajane got up from tasting Laxus and settled on looking down on him as she continued stroking his full length.

“That’s kind of the goal.”

She watched as Laxus fight off his own release.

“I kinda want that mess inside you.”

It proved to be successful when Mirajane stopped what she was doing and held his gaze momentarily before she guided him between her legs. Mira only released her hold when she had the tip break into the sheath once again. She placed her palms flatly on his torso as she slowly lowered herself.

Laxus, being impatient or maybe, just wanting to taunt the Satan Soul, shoved his hips upward for one forceful thrust that made her bounce on him and drew out the breath in her lungs in one swoosh. Hitting that spot they both knew all too well would end it quicker for her than him.

Mira’s glare was met with a challenging smirk.

“You haven’t given me that look in a while.” he said, a triumphant ‘heh’ coming out of his lips.

Mira slid her palms down his hips to hold him against the table as she rose and sank onto him over and over again, preventing Laxus from lifting his hips and shoving into her hard. She was in control until his hands slip up her waist and he found a way to relinquish Mira’s control over him. Laxus yanked her by the waist and slammed her against his waiting hip.

“Laxus!” She yelped, feeling the tip of his penis hit her cervix.

If he kept doing this to her then Mira would finish earlier than him, which wasn’t the plan. Mira picked up her pace, bouncing and riding Laxus without care, even if they broke the table, which would require a lot of explaining. But if he kept meeting her rides with his sharp thrusts, Mira wasn’t going to last.

“Laxus, slow down-ah!”

“You’re one to… talk.” he gritted his teeth as he matched her speed. He vaguely noticed the change in her demon voice.

Mirajane could already feel herself losing strength on her arms and entire body. That powerful force was calling her back and she was afraid she would find her release before Laxus did.

“Laxus” She started chanting, withdrawing her useless hands and cupped her breasts instead; them bouncing was becoming a pain. Which was lost on Laxus as he made it his mission to force her to her climax.

“LAXUS!”

Mira threw her head back, her silver locks cascading behind her shoulder, finally succumbing to that intense sensation which turned her fear into a reality.

Her second orgasm squeezed Laxus hard and felt Mira stiffen under his hold. But even so he didn’t stop.

“You feel so, so good. So… tight.”

Laxus drove into her faster, harder and deeper until he found his own release. He watched her eyes widen as he continued to pump into her. The veins of his penis convulsed until he was empty, spent. The frustration of all those nights of being away from her, without touching her, boiling down into this one intense pleasure exploding and ripping from his groin.

Mirajane lost all her strength and collapsed on top of Laxus. Once again, both of them tried to catch up with their breaths like they just ran a marathon. Mira pressed her head against Laxus’ heaving chest, listening to the frantic beat of his heart, oddly in rhythm with her own.

“We should get dressed.” She told him. “I’ll be opening the guild hall in a few hours.”

Laxus reached a hand to get a lock of her hair and play with it.

“Truth be told. I’ve always wondered how it felt to f*ck your Satan Soul. Now, I don’t have to wonder.”

Mira looked up to him, resting her chin on her folded arms.

“Do you like that side of me more?”

Laxus held her gaze. He knew the answer to this.

“I like all sides of you.” He said. “Front, back, left, right. I love all of 'em.” He winked at her as if he said something cool.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Mira pulled herself off of him, bit down the hiss at the loss of contact and started looking for her clothes, which Laxus apparently thrown all over the place.

“I know what you meant.”

Laxus got off the table and followed his annoyed girlfriend. He found her crouching down to pick up a red, lace underwear on the floor.

Laxus pulled her by the waist and gathered her gently in his arms. He cradled Mirajane’s still naked body against his own, her back pressed against his chest. But still withdrawn. Obviously, she wasn’t as fond of his joke as he was.

“Hey,” he whispered into her ears, highly aware of his penis resting perfectly against her bottom. That one they haven’t tried yet. “I like both sides of you. Nice girl Mirajane and well, demon Mirajane.” He kissed her on one cheek and tightened his arms around her.

Mirajane spun around and Laxus hands fell on her waist. She snaked her arms around Laxus’ broad shoulders and rose on her feet to give him a soft peck on the lips. The Lightning Dragon Slayer would have loved to turn that peck into a real kiss but his girlfriend was already pulling away.

“We really need to get changed.” She reminded, walking to the other side and away from him.

“Alright.”

Laxus found his pants lying on one of the chairs. He pulled it up but the tight pants wouldn’t push pass his thighs.

“That’s odd. My pants won’t fit anymore.”

“That’s because it isn’t yours, silly.” Mira handed him another set of pants which looked like it’d fit him. “Those are Gray’s.”

“What? He left his clothes here again?” Laxus threw the garment somewhere, one eye twitching in disgust.

“He probably doesn’t even know he left them here.”

Mira covered her mouth with her hand. It wasn’t probably the best time to let a giggle slip. But Laxus liked it. Just not the fact that she was already fully dressed. He threw her a wistful glance while he successfully pull up his pants. There was a clattering inside the pocket and that’s when he remembered. He put on his shirt before bridging the short distance between him and Mirajane.

“Hey, I finally put up an offer on that place. They accepted.” He pulled her hand and twisted it, placing a silver key on her open palm. “Here’s the key and…” Laxus fished a piece of paper on the other pocket. “here’s the address.”

She gave him a smile a little gentler than her usual. “Thanks.” Mira balled her hand into a fist and safely tucked both the key and paper in her dress pocket. “Now, you should go before people start to show up.” She shoved him a little to send his way.

“It’s still too early, Mira. Are you sure we can’t have another, you know? I had to go through five days without you and I only got to go off once.”

“No!” Mira giggled. She reached for his shoulder and turned him to face the door. “Go before anyone sees you.” Mira was already pushing his full grown secret boyfriend to the door.

“You got off twice. That’s so unfair!” Laxus mumbled, hoping the demon would be thankful enough to reconsider.

Nada. Mirajane just kept pushing him to the door.

He stretched his neck and tilted his head to face her. “Just one more. No?”

“No!”

He planted his feet on the threshold and shifted his weight to keep his balance. Mira struggled to push him out the door. All she could do was yelp at his sudden maneuver, finding herself cradled against his body with one arm around her waist, locking her in place.

“I’ll see you at the new apartment, alright?”

“Okay.”

Laxus didn’t cross the threshold until he fully satisfied himself of Mira’s long and slow kisses. But who was he kidding? Laxus was an insatiable monster. He was going to get another kiss and more.

The new apartment and the even newer bed needed breaking in.

Writer’s Corner: OMG you guys this is my first ever super explicit, NSFW SMUT! There’s a request for a Gruvia smut but I decided to practice on Miraxus first. Truth be told, I really can’t imagine or place Gruvia doing the deed. Maybe because I like them more in a fluff content. lol. But I’ll try. For now, enjoy the sexiest couple I find in FT. Seriously, guys. Laxus is sooooo sexy.

P.S. There’s gonna be a part 2 to wrap up what I had in mind for Miraxus

Drop some love!

#mira x laxus #miraxus #laxus x mira #be-dazzled #miraxus smut #mirajane strauss #laxus dreyar #miraxus drabble #miraxus fanfic

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whenputtingpentopaper · 4 years ago

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One Regret

A/N: This is my first request for this blog! It was so exciting to receive, so major thanks to @canyouevencauseicant for slipping this prompt into my inbox. It was quite inspiring, and therefore, the words flowed quite easily. However, I did not realize until I went back to read over the request after I had written it, that the requester probably wanted some build up to this, involving a backstory. I do apologize! If you would like, I would be more than happy to write a prequel to this, if you so wish. Let me know, @canyouevencauseicant! Also, I hope this was angsty enough for you!

Also, requests are currently open, so request here. I am currently accepting requests for headcanons, blurbs, drabbles & one-shots!

Pairing: Kili (Tolkien) x Reader

Words: 1505

Synopsis: Based on this request by @canyouevencauseicant.

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, Major Character Death, Possible Unrequited Love & War

Translations:

Âzyungel = “love of loves” in Khuzdul according to this site.

Men lananubukhs me = “I love you” in Khuzdul according to this site.

They say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes, and all you could think, in your last few moments, was how a truer statement had never been spoken. Your mind was filled with thoughts of him. Memories, both happy and sad, as well as your own visions for the future you had always wanted with him at your side. Of course, they would have never come true, even if you had survived this day, and knowing that gave a certain finality to it all. In the end, you had saved the love of your life, and knowing that he would be able to live on, probably with his beloved she-elf, but smiling and laughing and loved—oh so very loved—was enough for you to leave this world without any regrets.

Well, perhaps that was a bit of a lie.

“Y/N!”

It was your name that you heard amongst all the silence. You were on the ground now, eyes on the clear blue sky; it was a shame that, on such a beautiful day, the lot of you were all out fighting a pointless war, one with needless casualties. But he would not be amongst the corpses. No. You had ensured that by claiming your own space.

And for the first time since you felt the harsh slide of metal pierce your flesh, you felt pain. Searing, burning agony, and it brought tears to your eyes. You blinked them away, air being torn from your lungs as you felt yourself lifted. Not metaphorically. Actually, physically lifted from the ground, and your body, mostly limp without energy, groaned in protest, your face screwing into a wince.

Hurried, hushed apologies reached your ears as you were moved, something brushing your hair from your forehead. And again, your name was uttered, but this time, it was quieter, and it broke. A sniffle followed and finally, you were stilled, warmth encompassing you in the form of two arms and legs.

The dwarf held you close to him, tears streaming down his face, and it wasn’t until you had opened your eyes—your beautiful, soulful orbs that had ensnared him the first time you met and kept him ever since—that he spoke once more. “Y/N. Please.” He bowed his head, his nose touching yours. “Help is coming.”

His calloused fingers touched the side of your face, pushing your hair back as his tears touched the curve of your cheek. You had thought you passed on, this moment your own personal version of heaven. Bliss, to you, was an eternity in this male’s arms. But there, you weren’t supposed to feel pain, and your body still ached, wound festering like fire against your midsection. A groan left your lips, breathing becoming difficult, and seeing you like this, the young dwarf let out a sob, his grip on you tightening as if it would keep you tethered here, to him.

“Y/N. Stay with me.” The plea was a caress against your dirty skin, and it struck a fear within you that you had never known or considered. You had accepted death as the price for allowing the young prince to see the light of the next day, but you hadn’t realized that it meant you would be separated from him. Or that your absence from his world would affect him so greatly.

“Kili,” you managed his name, gasping afterwards. It required air in your lungs that you just didn’t have.

He hushed you again, chocolate eyes straying from your face to your chest. The sight of you struggling for breath—it was the stuff of his worst nightmares. “Don’t speak. You haven’t the strength…” He trailed off as you slowly shook your head, the movement slight but noticeable, and his heart broke in two when he saw the sorrow in your smile. He lifted a hand to swipe his thumb over a tear, your cheek still slightly warm but a touch colder than it had been a moment ago.

“Kili,” you repeated with a similar struggle as before. Every part of you ached to touch him, to wipe away the liquid evidence of his sorrow as he had done for you, but all you could manage was to lift your hand slightly.

In his periphery, Kili saw the slight movement and he reached for your hand, squeezing it gently with his own. It terrified him; your fingers were like ice. “Yes, Âzyungel?” His tone was soothing, as he had managed to establish a fake calm in his disposition, one that may have even fooled himself if he wasn’t so absorbed by you and your closeness.

I know you love Tauriel. That’s what you wished to say, a bit of a disclaimer to what you truly wanted to tell him so that you would have no regrets. But you were in no position to give him a speech, to tell him that you thought his stubble made him handsome or that you needed no campfire all those nights because you always found warmth in his friendly gaze. That the moment you started actually falling for him was when you ducked into the parlor of Bilbo Baggin’s home and he had run passed with his brother, tossing dishes and singing. There was a giddiness to him that was contagious, and your smile only widened until you laughed, the young prince having dropped the dish he was supposed to catch when his brown eyes landed on you. You figured he wasn’t expecting a human to show up.

He hadn’t expected a beautiful woman to show up.

Your lips moved, but hardly any sound came out. Frowning, Kili leaned in closer to you, the tips of his bangs tickling your temple as he told you to say it again. And at this point, you had no time to feel embarrassed or bashful. It became so easy to say what you had wanted to say long before the dungeons of Mirkwood, where you had to watch the dwarf you were quite sure you held a torch for flirt with someone else. Oh, that had been a cut most foul, worse than the one you sustained now.

“I love you, Kili.” The confession was just a whisper, but the shock evident on his face when he lifted it was enough to let you know that he heard it. His eyes were comically wide for a moment before he was giving you one of those toothy grins that set your heart a flutter. Bringing your hand up to his cheek, he turned towards it, pressing his chapped lips against the smoothness of your palm. Warmth spread through you, dulling the scorching ache in your side.

“Men lananubukhs me,” he sighed as if the weight of the world was no longer upon his shoulders. His lips moved from his hand to find your forehead then your nose. “Oh, Y/N, Âzyungel, you have no idea how much I love you.” He kissed your mouth gently but soundly, not at all minding your weak attempt at returning it; his tears wet your skin, and it was a sob—again his—that broke your lip-lock. “Why did you have to do what you did? Why?”

You managed to lift a brow at him, exhaustion beginning to overtake you as you finally felt yourself relax. It was bittersweet, knowing he felt the same now, of all times, but you did not regret what you did one bit. Killing Azog meant protecting someone that was irreplaceable to you. And that was worth more than your share of the gold. Either way, it was not meant to be; one of you had to die on this battlefield. Better it be you.

A laugh bubbled in his throat as he pecked your lips once more, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheek. And you found you could go to sleep with that last image. The sight of your lovely dwarf, haloed by the sun behind him, smiling down at you with such adoration...May that vision be burned in your soul forever. Then, you could spend eternity in bliss.

“Y/N?”

You had closed her eyes, your body becoming heavier, and it was then that Kíli realized...He croaked, fresh tears filling his eyes as he crushed your form to his own, his fingers embedded in your hair as he hugged you. Over and over, he spoke words of love, and all who had looked on bowed their heads. The young prince wasn’t the only one who had lost that day.

A funeral was held within the walls of Erebor a day later. You were ethereal, your hair framing your cleaned face with new clothes on you...If he didn’t know any better, Kili would have thought you to be in a peaceful slumber. But he did, and a lump formed in his throat as he fingered the bead at the end of one of your braids. It was silver; it had his ruins on it.

His one regret? Not giving it to you sooner.

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wickedgamesoyaoya · 5 years ago

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Amnesia - Hearts ~ Aug 4.

Malignant emptiness had secured reign over your heart. Slowly it spread throughout your system, beginning its quest to contaminate the liquid coursing through your veins. Not a single atom would be spared – each memory attached to your skin would be vanquished. The simplest touches to the warmth of your best friend, nothing would remain. Any efforts to combat the virus plaguing you was futile; you were no match for the craftsmanship of an ethereal being. As your final memory was seized by the excruciating cleanse, the person you once were ceased to exist. Born anew, y/n, welcome to your game.

The sound of foreign voices engaged in casual conversation had jolted awake your dormant senses. Due to your malfunctioning hippocampus, your face had naturally scrunched up as fragments of still-shots flickered inside of your head, resembling a filmstrip with numerous punctures. The only image that persisted long after the others incinerated was of a bed-headed male crouched on a staircase, with his face buried in his hands. It was the same male that regarded you with such concern the second your eyelids had fluttered open.

“She’s awake.” Within seconds, the droopy eyed stranger was at your side, his irises searched yours for any sign of injury, while yours struggled to retain any recognition. “Hey, y/n. How are you feeling?”

That was a valid question, one you were not prepared to answer, not because you did not want to. But because you did not know the answer yourself.

Groggily you pressed your hands on either side of the single mattress, as your elbows threatened to cave in, Kuroo slid an arm around you, stabilizing your movements. Behind him Makoto released a sigh, locating a hand to her forehead as she mumbled a comment about her blood-pressure.

Your heart skipped an involuntary beat the second his fingers connected with the fabric draped over your skin. The sensation, however, was prompted by fear, rather than fondness. Kuroo, who had felt your muscles tense, had removed his arm after confirming you were steady.

“Y/n, honey. Can you say something?” Makoto proceeded a cautious step closer, with a reassuring smile on her lips. “Are you in pain?”

Your y/e/c irises focused on the black-haired girl’s ensemble, searching for any indication of where you were or who you were with. A nametag had revealed her identity along with their location – Jack Rose. A small ache developed in your temples as you repeated the café’s name, striving to instigate any recollection. Using two fingers, you applied pressure to the throbbing location, with your gaze settling on your own uniform. Y/n – employee of Jack Rose was sewn into the right corner.

The reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on you. From what you could gather, something had occurred during your shift and now you were experiencing a form of amnesia. Miraculously, the realization had not thrown you into a state of distress. The memories would come back, they would have to... You just needed a trigger.

“I’m okay. Um…Where’s my phone?” The sound of your own voice had startled you – a fact that had chipped away at the little hope you were clinging to. How could you forget yourself? What had happened to you…?

If there was anything that would kick-start your mental processes, it would be past photos or videos. For now, it was vital to discover your relationship to the three people gawking at you.

“She’s asking for her phone, how typical. She’s fine.” Makoto clicked her tongue in distaste, while fetching the device from her apron pocket. “You dropped it when you fainted, silly bird.” She then lobbed the phone towards your lap.

“I don’t know…I still think we shoul’ take her to the hospital.” From the very moment he arrived, Atsumu’s attention had remained secured on you. The older male was tracking your every movement to form mental notes that he could relay if need be to a physician. “What do ya think, ‘surou?”

“If she won’t answer our questions, then we have no choice.” Kuroo’s response did not register as your attention was solely on the smart device held within your palm. The quest to discover your identity began with Twitter – your profile to be exact.

It was strange to say the least to read over your inner thoughts with no recollection. Twitter was in some forms the new generations version of a dairy. What had you meant about acting on your feelings? Feelings for what? Or feelings for who? The guessing game was brought to a pause as an incoming message demanded your attention.

It’s not safe…? The three simple words had punctured your lungs, the air within the confines of the lunchroom could no longer be accepted. Dread etched across your chest, yet the small voice in your head directed you to present yourself as collected.

“Y/n?” Suddenly the blonde male had a palm over your forehead to assess whether you had a fever. During your little exploration, Makoto had exited the room and only the two boys remained.

“I’m fine, guys. But I am a bit tired, do you think I could go home?” A weary smile was forced onto your lips to verify the truth of your words –but it failed to convince either of them.

“You already worked a shift today; I can help in the kitchen. It’s alrigh’. Take her home. But if she doesn’t feel any better, take her to the hospital.” Atsumu lifted his shoulders into a short shrug, the response was evidently directed at the black-haired male who agreed with a nod.

“Okay, let’s go.”

* * *

The journey home was laced with silence, outside of the occasional inquiries from the younger male on your health. He was insistent, you mentally noted, but also endearing. Before leaving Jack Rose, you skimmed through your contacts and following to ascertain the names of those closest to you. The one from earlier was Atsumu – the person you had tweeted about. The girl was Makoto, your co-worker and perhaps one of your best friends. The person who was currently staring at you questionably was Tetsurou. At one point a spark of longing had flashed in his irises, only increasing the guilt hovering over you for forgetting his existence.

Well, if it made him feel any better, you also forgot your own –

“Oi. Where are you going?” Kuroo’s fingers tangled with the fabric of your collar, tugging you a few steps back as you accidentally missed the entrance of your building. “Did you forget where you lived?” The latter part of the sentence was spoken through a slightly higher pitch, demonstrating his growing concern.

“Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought.” Artificial laughter bubbled in your throat, irritating your tonsils in the process.

“If something was wrong, you would tell me, right?” His hands found refuge in his jacket pockets, yet his gaze did not waver from yours. Your attempts to reassure him were once again dismissed instantly. Withholding the truth from him was beginning to become more difficult, and you were unsure whether you could – he was incredibly perceptive.

“Yes… I promise. After some sleep, I’ll be brand-new.” Or so you hoped.

“Okay. I’m going to hold you to that.” Truthfully, there was nothing you could say to ease his concerns. But a promise would suffice for now. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen whole minutes until you were able to determine what apartment number was yours. The task would have been much simpler if you checked your ubereats account rather than scrolling through your messages. A small sliver of hope had ignited within your heart when you twisted the key in the lock, perhaps seeing your apartment would trigger a memory or two. Anything would be helpful at this point; you were sincerely grasping at straws.

Instantly any hope that lingered deflated, only to be replaced with frustration. Answers – you needed answers. Retrieving your phone from your bag, you tapped on messages and alerted the one person who knew about your predicament that you were home.

No, this could not be happening. An elaborate joke, maybe, but not the truth. How could you digest this information – how could anyone? A sob clogged the back of your throat as fear washed over your system. Desperate to confirm you were simply stuck in a warped nightmare, you forced yourself to search the apartment for anything that would make sense. If you had to accept this reality, how could you arm yourself without your memories? Who was friend or foe?

It was only when you crumpled onto the ground in defeat when your eyes landed on a charm glimmering under your bedframe. Attached to the dazzling piece was… a dairy. Instinctively, your fingers brushed along the cover before tugging on the string to where the latest entry was written.

Aug 3rd.

One day will it be different…? Will he wake up and see me differently? Or am I destined to feel this way forever? Ah, unrequited love, the subject of many Shakespearian stories and the source of my latest dilemma. Could he come to love me? See me beyond a sister-figure? The question remains unanswered… and I doubt I shall ever know it. And so, I welcome this bittersweet misery.

Ew, this sounds like a cheesy poem, not a diary entry. I feel sorry for my future self, having to read this garbage. But my problem remains. To be or to not be? Just kidding, this isn’t Hamlet. To tell one of my childhood best friends that I love him or to not? I guess not.

Amnesia - Hearts ~ Aug 4.

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: I really hope the formatting on this didn’t fuck up. someone pls let me know if it did.

Tag-list: @kara-grayson04 @namyari , @cuddlesslut , @iloveanime691 @shakiraisawesome @idiot-juice-enthusiast@fangirling-25-8 @krynnza @yetchann @chxrry-wxne @tsukiak4ri

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu smau #haikyuu fanfiction #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x y/n #kuroo smau

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beyondthecosmicvoid · 4 years ago

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~Henry VII: The Red Dragon’s Unlikely Triumph~

Henry’s victory to success is simply amazing due to how far down he was in the line of succession -if he was at all! Of all the Tudors, and don’t get me wrong I love them all! He had the most adventurous life! His life is the stuff of movies and you’ll see why. Henry was born to Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond and Margaret Beaufort, heiress of Lancaster in Philippa Gregory’s words. But she was far removed from the line of succession! The Beauforts derived their name from a castle John of Gaunt had in his possession in English occupied French territory. John of Gaunt married three times, the last to his mistress Katherine Swybford. When they married their children were already grown up but by no means less ambitious. In an effort to ingratiate himself with the shifty king Richard II, John betrayed many of his comrades and persecuted anyone who stood against the king, his nephew. In return for his good services, Richard II legitimized all the Beauforts but that’s it. No say if they were inthe succession or not. Later after John died, his firstborn, Henry Bolingbroke ascended to the throne after he deposed Richard. He didn’t overturn Richard’s legislation but added a new restriction: The Beauforts were legitimate in the eyes of the law of men but due to their revious bastard status they were excluded from the line of succession. So bye-bye ambitions. By the time Henry IV’s grandson had issue, this changed altogether. Their descendants were still seen as progeny of a bastard branch (albeit legitimized) of the House of Lancaster but their status had changed overnight as support build around the Duke of York and his Neville relations (who also descended from the Beaufort line, but through the female line). Henry VI betrothed his young relation, Margaret Beaufort to his half brother Edmund Tudor. He was thirteen years her senior and while it was common for women to be married at a young age, people still found it disturbing because the groom didn’t wait for her to grow up. As soon as she was 12, he married her and the next year she was pregnant.Edmund and his brother Jasper had supported the Duke of York on various occasions but when the conflict escalated to war, the Tudor brothers sided with their kin. Edmund was captured during battle in late 1456 and died in attenpts to escape, possibly of sickness. Margaret , thirteen at a time, was already a young widow and expectant mother. She feared for her safety and the safety of her unborn child so she started a dangerous sojourn to Wales, to Pembroke castle where her brother in law resided. There, she gave birth to her only child, a boy she named Henry.Henry did not have a lonely childhood like some Ricardians and fiction writerss love to depict, nor was his mother a crazy fanatic. She was the same as the rest of the women. Religion was not separate, it was part of women’s lives, especially the adoration of female saints and the virgin Mary from whom women kept relics and images to pray to so they could be safely delivered or to protect their young. Of this latter cult, Henry became a firm follower, worshipping the image of the blessed mother with the same fervor as his mother. Likely, the little boy had childhood companions like David Owen, the illegitimate son of his grandfather by an unknown mistress. In spite of her second marriage, Margaret was allowed to visit her little boy and spend hours teaching him, but then her fortunes changed when Edward Earl of March forced the Lancastrians to flee and was declared king by popular acclaim in March 4 1461. Margaret and her new husband now had to curry favor with the new regime and to prove their loyalty, they had to let her son go. Edward saw Henry Tudor as a potential threat and to neutralize this threat he gave his custody to a loyal Yorkist, William Herbert and his wife Anne. They raised Henry as if he was one of their own, and he had the company of the new Earl’s other wards. But Henry knew that a prison made of gold was still a prison. One mistake from his mother, his guadians or worse, his runaway uncle and he would be dealt with.After the Lancastrian Readeption which only lasted a year, Jasper Tudor was forced to flee yet again. This time he took his nephew with him. The deaths of every Lancaster made Henry a potential threat. Every male Beaufort was also gone. Margaret had to let him go once more, this time she would not see him for another fourteen years.Bad weather brought them to the court of Francis II, Duke of Brittany. There he continued his education, by the time of Richard III’s accession, he enjoyed the company of many English exiles, among them the formidable and staunch Lancastrian loyalist -Earl of Oxford. It was in Brittanny, that December of 1483 after it was clear that the princes were gone for good, that he made a promise to marry Elizabeth of York and become King of England, thus uniting both bloodlines, the Houses of York and Lancaster into one.The next year and a half he spent his time planning, borrowing money and now in the court of France, currying favor with the French king. He had tried to invade England but failed. What made Henry think, the French king and others told him, he could succeed? But they didn’t know Henry. He was by now an educated, cosmopolitan young man who was also confident that god was on his side. On July 29 1485, Richard III gave the seal to Barrow, one of his officials to carry out his orders in the counties nearby and prepare for war.To be fair, Richard III was the most experienced soldier here. He had known the horrors of war since he was very little and his life parallels Henry’s but unlike the latter he had been participant in many military campaigns and had the entire North at his disposal. Henry had mercenaries, disatisfied English exiles, Edwardian Yorkists and most of Wales with him, but that was not enough to beat Richard’s armies. On August 7, Henry’s ships docked on Milford Haven. According to Fabyan when he disembarked he knelt and thanked god, reciting the Psalm 43: ‘Judica me deus & discern causam mean’. -Judge me, Oh god, and distinguish my cause. The following days he spent recruiting, some of Richard’s most staunch supporters defected to Henry, others refused to fight and just stood by as the two armies clashed on August 22. Others like his stepfather, chose to intervene in his favor only when the tide turned against him. After William Brandon, his standard bearer was struck down, Stanley and his brother with his armies charged down, and with their combined forced Richard’s was cut down. Richard, according to various sources screamed 'traitors’ and refused to go, instead seeking to confront Henry, but he never got to. The enemy got to him and he was forced down from his horse and minutes later, killed. It was a glorious day for Henry Tudor, now Henry VII. He had won against all odds, but the war was from over. Henry would face many pretenders and plots against him, his mother knew and she cried tears of fear, likely anticipating all her son would have to endure. He died in 1509 after twenty four years of reign.

In relation to Paul Atreides from DUNE MESSIAH onwards …

While DUNE, the first published novel of Frank Herbert set in the Dune universe is the book every reader should start with; DUNE MESSIAH is the most crucial one of ALL Dune novels because rather than reading like a science fiction novel or another inclusion into this space opera, it reads like a narrative tale that is chronicling events that already happened. For a history buff, this novel is the deciding book in the series that sets the tone for the rest of the saga. Additionally, aside from being a deconstruction of the hero mythos, it is also a critique of history. From the onset, the book starts with one of many historians being killed simply because he wanted to tell the truth. But obviously, Muad’Dib, the grand emperor Paul Atreides with his ongoing Jihad spread across the Known Universe can’t have that. So … what does he do? He starts rewriting the past, allowing only a few historians (who in reality are propagandists and religious zealots) to tell his version of history. Irulan is (thankfully) exempt from this. Despite being made fun of by the ‘I do not need to read books because thanks to the spice melange and the superior breeding program of the Bene-Gesserit I am a product of, I can access all the knowledge stored in my super evolved brain to keep feeding my ego’ crowd, she stays a true historian until the very end. She doesn’t agree with Paul Atreides or his other crazy fam, but slowly comes to realize that what they are doing (while terrible) needs to be done to free humanity of pre-destination and oblivion. And due to being understimated by the pretentious Lady Jessica, her husband’s concubine and true love, the Fremen Chani, and of course, Paul and his whole band of Jihadists, she gets to write down history as it truly transpires. But she does it in a way that makes him look less of a tyrant and more of a reluctant hero.

This historical treatment is the same kind of treatment that was given to the Tudor Dynasty starting from its very first monarch, HENRY VII.

I long for the day that Henry VII is correctly portrayed on screen because the way that the Tudors have gone down in history is how the Atreides clan did in the Dune universe. For every history buff that has enjoyed Dune, I urge that likewise, Dune readers do a deep dive into Tudor history to further appreciate both fandoms and see how the two can be studied together and dissected. Currently, revisionist historians who want to restore Richard III’s reputation have not ended up doing that. Instead, they have swung the pendulum the other way. As DUNE MESSIAH teaches us (through Irulan’s writings and Alia’s observations), the best way to understand saviors and deified leaders is not by extolling or vilifying them. Rather, see them as individuals trapped within their time period who feel as though they are ahead of it, and have to do what they must because otherwise darkness will reign.

Paul and Henry Tudor started off as exiles. Their foes never expected them to beat the odds but they did. But part of the reason why they did is because of the element of prophecy. And I am not just talking about the whole Henry Tudor claimed to be the long lost descendant of Arthur Pendragon and what not. Edward IV and Richard III did that too (though it worked less for Richard). I am talking about the issue with the whole Welsh prophecies that supposedly predicted the rise of Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond. Before he was born, a prophecy was sung that from his father’s line, the savior that the Welsh were hoping for would come. This prophecy in itself was a call back to a much older one which said that eventually one of the Welsh royal houses would rise to claim the English throne and unite all of the Isles. Well … Henry didn’t unite all of the British Isles but he did start the process when he married his eldest daughter Margaret to the King of Scots, James IV. Their descendants, from James VI of Scotland and I of England and Ireland, ruled all the British Isles.

In an interview, Frank Herbert said that he chose to take the direction of Paul Atreides and (especially) his son, Leto II’s stories in the way he did to caution about the danger of charismatic leaders who reach messiah or (in the case of Leto II) divine status. It’s not so much the power they possess or how evolved thy are that makes the Atreides so revered, it is their genius at how they present themselves and understand that the power of propaganda (be it religious, political or both) is the stronger force in the universe and what shapes human events. In studying the Tudors and Dune we learn that history is a collection of accepted events that are part factual, part propaganda, and part a reflection of the time period when they were written.

#Tudors #History #Relation to Dune #Dune Messiah #Science Fiction #propaganda is thy name of history #dailytudors

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perfectlymarilynmonroe · 5 years ago

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I just saw a tiktok talking about how Marilyn had relationships with women, they mentioned Joan Crawford and Elizabeth Taylor and her acting coach, and that her therapist revealed that to the public. They even said Joe confirmed it saying that that was the reason their marriage didnt work out. I have never heard or read that before but everyone just took it as facts in those comments, could you clear it up?

Nope. All of the rumors of her dating woman have never been proven, and Joe never confirmed it. I’m really not sure where the rumors originated from, but biographers and sites continue to spread the myth.

There definitely hasn’t been anything to prove an affair with Elizabeth Taylor, as for Joan Crawford, Biographer Fred Lawrence Guiles wrote that she invited Marilyn back to her home and made a pass at her:

“Marilyn was more than ready for an affair with someone she could also admire. Her emotional life was far more complex than the public could even imagine. No sooner had she extricated herself from her entanglement with Natasha than she became involved in a serious friendship with Joan Crawford. Although Crawford’s career was again in decline, she was still a social presence of considerable importance in Hollywood. She had initiated the relationship by phoning Marilyn at the studio and inviting her to her home for Sunday brunch. Marilyn was thrilled to be taken up by one of her early idols and began dropping by Crawford’s home frequently. They found that they had a mutual interest in Christian Science. The aging film queen began to give her advice on how to dress and even offered her part of her own wardrobe, but since Crawford was petite and Marilyn was five foot six, nothing would fit. Just before Marilyn’s first date with DiMaggio, at another brunch and with the hostess slightly drunk, Crawford made a sexual pass at Marilyn and the friendship abruptly ended. Marilyn, who saw nothing wrong with lesbianism, recoiled more from shock than offense. Marilyn had a strong self-protective instinct and she must have sensed that any intimate involvement with Crawford would lead to big trouble down the road. Although she turned Crawford down, she determined to be discreet about what had happened. Within the next year and a half, her loyalty to the woman would be severely tested.”

In “My Story” Marilyn’s ghosted autobiography here is the chapter entitled: “My Joan Crawford Feud”

I met Joan Crawford at Joe Schenck's house. She was an impressive woman. I admired her during dinner. I hoped that when I was her age I would keep my looks as well as she had. Some movie stars don't seem like stars when you meet them, and some seem more like stars off the screen than on. I don't know which is better, but Miss Crawford was definitely the latter type. She was as much the movie star at Mr. Schenck's dinner table as she could have been electrifying a courtroom in a movie drama-even a little more. I was pleased to see I had made an impression on Miss Crawford. She said to me after dinner, "I think I could help you a great deal if you would let me. For instance that white knitted dress you're wearing is utterly incorrect for a dinner of this kind." It was the only good dress I owned. I wore it evenings as well as daytimes when I was going any place important, and I cleaned it myself every day. I looked at Miss Crawford's beautiful evening gown and understood what she meant. "Taste," Miss Crawford went on, "is every bit as important as looks and figure." She smiled very kindly at me and asked, "Will you let me help you, my dear?" I said I was flattered to have her offer to. We made a date to meet Sunday morning in church. It turned out that Miss Crawford and I went to the same church. After the church service, Miss Crawford said as we met coming out, "I'm so glad to see you. But you mustn't come to church in flat heels and a gray suit with black trimming. If you wear gray you must wear different gray tones, but never black." It was my only suit, but there was no sense defending it on that ground. "Would you like to come to my house with me?" Miss Crawford asked. I said I'd like to very much, and it was arranged that I should follow her car in mine. I was excited at what I thought was going to happen. Miss Crawford, I felt pretty sure, was going to offer me some of her old ball gowns and ensembles that she'd grown tired of. The house was very beautiful and elegant. We had lunch in the kitchen with Miss Crawford's four children and a beautiful white poodle. After lunch, Miss Crawford asked me to come upstairs to her room. "Brown would look very good on you," she said. "I must show you the things I've been knitting." She showed me a number of knitted dickies in different shades of brown and explained that they were to be worn under different shades of brown suits. "The main thing about dressing well," Miss Crawford explained, "is to see that everything you wear is just right- your shoes, stockings, gloves and bag all fit the suit you're wearing. Now what I would like you to do is to make a list of all the clothes in your wardrobe, and I'll make a list of all the things you need to buy and see that you buy the right things." I didn't say anything. I usually didn't mind telling people I was broke and even trying to borrow a few dollars from them to tide me over. But for some reason I couldn't tell Miss Crawford that she had seen my wardrobe in full-the incorrect white knitted dress and the wrong gray suit. "It's so easy not to look vulgar," Miss Crawford assured me, when I was ready to leave. "Do make out a list of all your things and let me guide you a bit. You'll be surprised at the results. And so will everyone else." I don't know why I called Miss Crawford up again, except that I had promised I would. Maybe I was still hoping she would present me with some of her discarded ball gowns. I think, also, I had some intention of telling her the truth about not being able to buy any fancy clothes. But when I heard Miss Crawford's voice on the phone, I had to start palavering as I'd done before. Had I made out that list of my wardrobe? No, I hadn't. That was very lazy of me. Yes, I knew. And I would make the list out in a few days and call her up again. "Good," said Miss Crawford. "I'll be expecting to hear from you." I didn't call Miss Crawford again. In fact, the next time I heard from Miss Crawford was in the newspapers. This was a year later. I'd gone to work at both Century-Fox again, and the Marilyn Monroe boom had started. I was all over the magazines and movie columns, and the fan mail at the studio was arriving in trucks. Among the honors that were now showering on me was the privilege of presenting one of the Oscars to one of the Award winners at the Academy's annual affair. I was frozen with fear the night of the Academy Award Ceremonies. I waited tremblingly for my turn to walk up to the platform and hand over the Oscar in my keeping. I prayed I wouldn't trip and fall and that my voice wouldn't disappear when I had to say my two lines. When my turn came I managed to reach the platform, say my piece, and return to my table without any mishap. Or so I thought until I read Joan Crawford's remarks in the morning papers. I haven't saved the clippings, but I have sort of remembered what she said. She said that Marilyn Monroe's vulgar performance at the Academy affair was a disgrace to all of I Hollywood. The vulgarity, she said, consisted of my wearing a dress too tight for me and wriggling my rear when I walked upholding one of the holy Oscars in my hand. I was so surprised I could hardly believe what I was reading. I called up some friends who had seen me at the ceremony and asked them if it were true. They laughed. It wasn't true, they said. They advised me to forgive a lady who had once been young and seductive herself. I have written out this accurate account of one of my "feuds" because it is typical. The feuds are all started by someone whom I have mysteriously offended-always always a woman. The truth is my tight dress and my wiggling were all in Miss Crawford's mind. She obviously had been reading too much about me. Or maybe she was just annoyed because I had never brought her a list of my wardrobe.

*From my FAQ about whether MY STORY is trustworthy:

My Story is based off of interviews that Ben Hecht conducted with Marilyn in late 1953 and early 1954 for an autobiographical work they were doing together. The project was nipped in the bud after Hecht’s assistant leaked the manuscript to a publisher in England. Marilyn lost faith in the project and the book sat away for decades after her death. It landed in the hands of the Greene family, and they published it in 1974 - 10 years after Hecht’s death. After much digging and consideration, I would not regard it as a factual autobiography. The loose information provided like her childhood, molestation, rise to stardom, relationship with Joe DiMaggio is factual, but I would not take the book word-for-word. It’s also incredibly disappointing that her name, Norma Jeane, is mis-spelled as “Norma Jean.” Marilyn’s niece, confirms this on her website as well:

MYTH: Marilyn wrote an autobiography entitled MY STORY.

FACT: No so. Ben Hecht, a Hollywood writer, concocted a half-baked manuscript based on conversations with Marilyn. The manuscript remained unpublished long after Marilyn’s death. Marilyn’s former business partner Milton Greene had it in his possession. — http://www.monaraemiracle.com/disc.html⁣⁣

In the short version, the story is a myth without factual evidence. Furthermore, there is no proof that Marilyn ever engaged in sex with a woman.

From Marilyn herself:

“A man who had kissed me once had said it was very possible I was a lesbian because I apparently had no response to males-meaning him. I didn't contradict him because I didn't know what I was. There were times even when I didn't feel human and times when all I could think of was dying. There was also the sinister fact that a well-made woman had always thrilled me to look at. Now, having fallen in love, I knew what I was. It wasn't a lesbian.” —My Story, ghost autobiography

Marilyn, however, was very supportive of gay rights, in 1960 she told W.J. Weatherby, (about Montgomery Clift): “People who aren’t fit to open the door for him sneer at his homosexuality. What do they know about it? Labels – people love putting labels on each other. Then they feel safe. People tried to make me into a lesbian. I laughed. No sex is wrong if there’s love in it.”

Following the 1953 Photoplay awards Joan Crawford made nasty comments about Marilyn to the press for her dress choice:

“Certainly her picture isn't doing business, and I'll tell you why. Sex plays a tremendously important part in every person's life. People are interested in it, intrigued with it. But they don't like to see it flaunted in their faces. Kids don't like her. Sex plays a growingly important part in their lives, too; and they don't like to see it exploited. And don't forget the women. They're the ones who pick out the movie entertainment for the family. They won't pick anything that won't be suitable for their husbands and children. The publicity has gone too far, and apparently, Miss Monroe is making the mistake of believing her publicity... She should be told that the public likes provocative feminine personalities; but it also likes to know that underneath it all the actresses are ladies.”

Marilyn’s reaction was:

"I cried all night. I've always admired Miss Crawford for being such a wonderful mother--for taking four children and giving them a fine home. Who better than I to know what that means to homeless little ones?"

#ask

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carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich · 5 years ago

Note

These Fanfics of Shin and Carla of nice and all...but we want the story on how Carla Tsukinami stoke your ham sandwich! The greedy bast*rd he is...

Anon, this is one of my favourite asks ever and I love you. Thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to shamelessly insert myself into the world of DL I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

I wrote myself as a nameless herione (because I don’t think most of you know my name) which also means you can treat it as a reader insert if you want to, but bare in mind this is based on how I would react in this situation and there are some details that are a bit specific to me.

“Hm, I wonder if I’m allowed up here?” The girl glanced back at the door to the rooftop of Ryoutei Academy, trying to spot any sort of kanji that could translate to “Keep Out” but found none. Shrugging to herself she concluded that if anyone caught her up here when she wasn’t supposed to be, then she would have to play the confused foreign student card and hope for the best.

A mild scolding seemed better than going back to the cafeteria anyway.

She looked down at the slightly sorry looking lunchbox in her hands and loosed a sigh. It was only her second day at her new school and already she felt herself desperately missing her friends and the familiarity of her old school.

The other students had all been pleasant enough- aside from the boy with glasses in her class, who she’d caught eyeing the hemline of her skirt with obvious disapproval, as though it was somehow her fault that whoever made the school uniform had not done so with five foot nine female transfer students in mind- but the thought of trying to navigate getting food when almost all of the signs were in kanji she didn’t recognize made her gut roll with anxiety.

Besides at least the rooftop was pretty, with troughs of well kept roses lining the space and a perfect view of Kaminashi town, just beyond the iron railing, the lights from the small shopping district a warm glow against the midnight blue sky.

The girl walked over to the edge of the rooftop, intent on giving herself a moment to admire the townscape when a nearby rose caught her eye. It’s petals were such a dark red, they looked almost black in the modest illumination provided by the few lights lining the roof. She crouched down on the balls of her feet and set her lunchbox carefully to the side. Something about the scene, the dark flower with the night sky behind it, made her fingers itch with the urge to sketch it.

“I don’t think I could do the dark colors justice with my watercolors and I can’t do realism with markers so maybe colored pencils would be best?” She muttered to herself she tried to find the perfect angle for some reference photos she could use later, while reaching into her pocket for her phone. “Acrylics could work I guess but I don’t have any canvas here and I-”

“What are you doing?” A low voice came from right beside her ear. The girl let out a high-pitched shriek and jolted in surprise, barely catching her balance in time.

She loosed a breath before turning her head in the direction of whoever had spoken, but before she could, they spoke again.

“Hahh, that’s no good… Hmph!” A rough shove sent her sprawling into the roses. Thorns scratched at her skin and she cursed as her hands plunged in the damp mulch, just barely stopping her from face-planting into the dirt. The rest of her however, was not so lucky, and she knew from the way her torso had landed in the soil that her skirt’s hemline had just become the least of her worries as far as her uniform was concerned.

A cruel laugh came from behind her and she turned to look up, filled with some mixture of anger and embarrassment.

But whatever had been brewing petered out the moment she laid eyes on the culprit. He was quite possibly the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen; short choppy, strawberry blonde hair framed pale face with an eye the most incredible shade of gold.

He was utterly stunning.

The effect was promptly ruined however, when he opened his mouth, face twisting into a sneer.

“Haha, how pathetic, crawling around in the dirt.” He continued to chuckle as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, wincing slightly at the way they stung where they’d scraped against the ground.

“Heehhh, aren’t you going to say something?” The boy asked, the humor in his expression dying down as he regarded her as one might a spot of mould on a piece of bread. “Or is it that you’re so stupid, you can’t understand what I’m saying?”

The girl froze slightly, unsure how to navigate whatever was going on. Was this guy a bully? Her strategy for dealing with bullies until now had generally been to avoid them or ignore them, neither of which seemed like a good idea here.

“Oiii Miss idiot, are you going to keep ignoring me until I do something like this?” Before she could react the boy placed a heavy black boot on her hand and started to put his weight onto it.

Shit.

“What do you want from me?” She blurted out, praying silently that she hadn’t messed up the Japanese grammar, which really shouldn’t have been a concern given this encounter could feasibly end with a broken hand.

The pressure stopped briefly and she took the chance to tug her hand out from her under his shoe and get to her feet. The girl was a little surprised to find that the boy was no taller than she was, although his general aura of menace certainly made him intimidating enough without needing any extra height.

“Ah, so you can talk. As for what I want… why don’t we start with an apology for shrieking in my ear earlier? It hurt you know?” He made a show of obnoxiously cleaning out his ear with his finger and the girl found herself completely lost for words. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, there were a lot of words swirling in her brain, all of them English and not to be used amongst polite company.

Biting back the urge to tell him to fuck off, she reminded herself that she was currently alone with this guy on a rooftop and angering him further probably would not end well. “I apologize for shouting in your ear, you surprised me. I’ll be going now.” Lunch forgotten, she went to make a hasty retreat to the rooftop door but was stopped short when the male put himself directly into her path.

“Not so fast, you haven’t answered my question yet. What were you doing up here, sticking your head into the roses like some kind of animal?” The girl tried to keep her breathing even, as she felt panic rise in her veins.

“I wanted to take pictures as drawing references, I didn’t realize that-” an arsehole like you would show up “-someone else was already here, forgive me, I’ll be on my way.” She went to take a step around him, when the boy took a step towards her, forcing her to take one back. Soon her back was pressed up against the railing and she internally cursed.

“You just wanted to draw some pictures of the flowers? Isn’t that a bit childish? Well, I guess you still wear kid’s underwear so I shouldn’t be surprised.” The girl spluttered and instinctively went to yank down her skirt, a slightly ridiculous action, considering he must have seen everything when he pushed her earlier.

“That-that doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she said, eyes on the ground as her face burned with shame. “Please, just let me leave.”

“You know, you still sound pretty demanding for someone who’s shaking and is covered in mud. Also,” he paused, sniffing the air briefly before glancing down at her knees, “ah I wondered where that awful scent was coming from, geez human blood really isn’t appealing at all.” The girl looked at her legs and caught sight of red liquid staining her knees, but that wasn’t what made her pause.

“Human blood? What are you-” A cold dread spread through her as she looked back up at the boy and the inhuman color of his iris. This had to be some sort of awful prank right?

“Oh, maybe I spoke too much, but that reaction isn’t bad, haha. Hey, what do you think I am?” He asked her, opening his mouth just wide enough to reveal a pair of gleaming white fangs.

“That’s… There’s no way… You can’t…” The girl struggled to process the image in front of her, trying to find some sensible sounding explanation. He had to be a nutjob with fake fangs right? A nutjob who liked to terrorize girls on rooftops and happened to go to a night school.

“Ah how boring. Shouldn’t most girls be crying with fear by now? I don’t want to but, would you react a bit more if I pierced you with these fangs?” He lowered his face and panic surged through her. Lunatic or something else, she had no intention of being bitten by him. The girl went to shove him away from her, but before she could blink he had her arms pinned above her head.

“It seems you still haven’t learned that I’m not the sort of person you should fight back against. Hey, how much would it take to make you cry?” His grip on her wrists tightened and she winced at the strength in his grip. “Your wrists are pretty thin, I’d barely have to use any of my strength to snap your bones.”

“Please stop!” She begged, as she silently prayed for someone, anyone to intervene.

“Oi Shin, what are you doing?” An incredibly deep voice came from the entrance to the rooftop and the girl said a silent word of thanks.

“Huh,” Shin looked over his shoulder, allowing the girl a glance at her savior. He was tall, with long white hair, that appeared dyed pink at the tips. A dark scarf covered the lower half of his face, while above it were a pair of piercing golden eyes.

A shudder ran down her spine as her gaze locked with his for a moment, suddenly feeling a lot less safe than she had just a moment ago.

“Ah brother, I was just having a bit of fun.” The girl wasn’t sure which part of this statement horrified her more. That her so called savoir was actually related to the demonic pile of steaming garbage in front of her or that this was Shin’s version of fun.

“That’s enough, we have matters to discuss.” The man walked over from the door to the roof, his footsteps stopping just behind Shin.

“Tch,” Shin let go of her arms, only to grip hold of her chin, moving his face uncomfortably close to hers. “Hey, if you tell anyone about what happened here, I’ll rip your tongue out, got it?” His fangs caught the light as he spoke, and the girl felt very close to tears as she muttered a soft yes.

Shin flashed her that nasty smile of his before letting go. “Well then, get out of here!”

Needing no further prompting, she hastily got away from him, pausing only to grab her school bag. As she did so, she caught sight of her lunchbox in the older boys hands and faltered.

“Go!” Shin yelled and the girl concluded that the ham sandwich and peanut butter flavored chocolate bar contained in the hundred yen tupperware were not worth her life as she borderline ran to the rooftop door, slamming it shut behind her.

***

Carla watched the girl flee from the rooftop with a dispassionate expression.

“What exactly did you do?” He asked, more concerned with trying to keep their low profile as they furthered their objective than anything else.

“Nothing much, I just toyed with her a bit. She’s only a human so it doesn’t really matter does it? More importantly, why did you keep hold of that?” Shin nodded towards the plastic container in Carla’s hands.

Carla said nothing as he opened up the box and pulled out a modest sandwich wrapped neatly in clingfilm. Removing some of the wrap, he sniffed it briefly before muttering.

“I thought so.”

Shin took a deep breath through his nose. “Ah, I see, a dry cured ham sandwich huh?”

“Normally I would never eat something prepared by human hands but to take away the taste of that polluted blood, it can’t be helped.” Carla lowered his scarf and took a bite of the sandwich, chewing a few times as he deemed it to be palatable before swallowing. “Oi Shin, take this.” He threw a plastic wrapped bar at his brother and Shin caught it without effort.

He turned it over in his hands before spotting the reason why his brother had given it to him. “Peanut butter huh? Well at least it seems that girl’s good for something.”

#own post #my writing #self-insert #I realise that the heroine/me is a bit lackster but that's because while I get embarrassed chronically easily #I don't get angry very easily at all and my normal strategy when faced with anything unpleasant is to try and leave by all means necessary #Also I genuinely do stop to take photos of flowers because I want to draw them #I love that upon being given a chance to insert myself into DL I just used it to have Shin bully me #I could have gone on longer with this but i think 2000 words of me is enough for anoyone #This is based on the idea of me being 18 (which I was when I started this blog although I was in Uni already)#and spending my final year of highschool at Ryoutei Academy

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jay-and-dean · 5 years ago

Text

Rescue You Chapter 1 : October 27.

Dean x reader

The original Aestetic was flaggued, so this is my new version of it. Thank you for all the amazing feedback I just had time to read before they got lost

Summary : My name is Y/n. I’m the outcast of my witch community. This is the story of how I rescued Dean Winchester, the story of how he saved me.

Serie Warnings : Swearing. Injuries. Smut. Fluff. Angst.

Words : 2.9k

Note : I really have fun to write this story, because it’s a little different from my usual things. I’ll try to make shorter chapters than usual, and to edit it more often. I hope you enjoy. Special Thanks to @holylulusworld and @roonyxx to support me.

***Want to read more ? => MASTERLIST***

__________________________________

October 27, 6am.

I open my eyes and grunt, then throw the cover above my head.

I don’t want to go. I never do, today is just worse. Maybe it is because the sky is so grey again, maybe it’s because it’s full moon tonight… My mom and sister will bring the community home, to prepare the moon rituals as always and I just hate it. Halloween coming is enough already, and it seems that the meetings never stop. I don’t want to face the community looks of pity and annoyance ; being my mom’s disappointment is enough, it don’t need to be the freaking town’s black sheep.

But this is my life.

Being the only child born without powers in a large and powerful witch community is not only frustrating, it’s a curse. And my life has slowly become a nightmare.

It started at five, when the Coven decided my father was the one responsible for my “inability”. Men don’t have powers, and they are just excluded most of the time, treated like they were less important, less intelligent, like many women are currently treated in the rest of the world… Aunt Kali says we are better than humans because we don’t underestimate women, but I’m not sure if doing the same things to men is really being better.

My father loved me, he wasn’t close to my sister because my mom never really let him. She’s so talented my sister, and her powers started to bloom early ; but as mine took time, my mother neglected me. Until the community started wondering why I had no talent…

When I was five, they decided I shouldn’t see my father anymore because he had a bad influence on me. Two years later there was a trial, because they now knew I will be without powers.

It happens once in a while, a child without powers ; and they always blame the males.

So they banned him. They banned him and erased his memories, perfectly knowing it messes with people brains…

I heard he’s now an old drunk working in a factory in Main. I just wish they had banned me too, but they can’t erase my memory of this town so they just have to keep me. And I’m a woman.

All the rest have been the same, they refused that I do Vet school, that I marry Aiden… Now I just came to agree that my fate may be to stay at my mom’s, and be the handywoman of the town.

I really try to ignore my mother calling me, hiding just a few more seconds under my blanket, but she’s not someone you can ignore for long, so I get up grunting.

When I enter the kitchen with my hands in the pocket of my large hoodie, my eyes widen : The place is already crowded with people speaking loud and looking worried. The whole Coven is here, the mayor too, and my sister, frowning like she this was serious. Nothing is ever usually serious to her.

“What is happening ?” I ask her and she looks at me with that common annoyed look.

“Hunters” she says. “Two of them, one is dead, but the other is gone.”

I frown. Hunters ? Oh…

“Ophelia, where were you when you saw the hunter ?” the old Mam Griffin asks.

“In the forest” Ophelia whines. “Sally and him fought, she stabbed him but he killed her” she sobs with her face in the silk tissue. “He escaped to his car so I… I crashed the car and run… B-but… Saaallyyy” she whines again.

Sally was a bitch, she used her powers to hurt animals, and me, so I won’t really miss her. And Ophelia is a stupid blond girl, but she’s very strong, so if she says she crashed the car, the hunter must be in pieces.

Mam Griffin sits and everybody shuts up, she looks at her knobbled hands and clear her throat.

“Tell the boys to find the corpse, throw it in the river and bring me blood” she gnashes.

The awful sound coming from her makes me frown, and when she notices, I know I’m screwed.

“I changed my mind” she says looking me right in the eye with the usual hate. “Send Y/n.”

“B-but, he will be heavy and if the other hunter…” my mother tries.

“Enough !” the old lady cuts her. “I want hunter blood, Y/n”.

October 27, 9am.

It’s already so cold, I just hope it won’t rain. The woods are misty and creepy, as they always are in autumn.

Their hate of me makes them reckless, what if I can’t drag the hunter out of the car ? What if people follow me ? I roll my eyes thinking of Mam Griffin and her old mouth falling on both corners.

Good think Aiden told me to call if I couldn’t move the corpse.

Aiden is my best friend, he’s my only friend. He works at the sheriff office but isn’t really respected, as he’s a man. We used to be really close when we were young, but when we started dating, the community went mad. We were tolerated until the Coven reminded my mom I should never have child, to avoid spreading the curse. So they made us break up, made him marry Ophelia’s sister, and now he already has two kids, boys…

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t look at the ground and stumble.

“What the…” I grunt, catching myself on my hands.

When I look up, goosebumps appear on my arms.

Just before me, against a tree : a black American car lays pathetically, windows shattered, broken. I have already seen a dead body, but never one smashed against a tree, so I start to shake a little.

“Please don’t be too gross…” I whisper walking toward the car, my knife in my hand. “No brain everywhere or whatever.”

A shoe, a leg. And finally, all of him. He’s not in pieces, he’s nothing like I could have imagined. The knife in my hand falls on the ground.

Behind the wheel, the hunter lays, peace on his bruised and swollen face, blood everywhere. One of his hand is holding his stomach, and his jeans are soaked in his own blood, pieces of glass are planted on his arms. There is something brave, something noble about that man. An inexplicable something that makes me, just for an instant, regret that I’ll never see him move, or talk. I stay silent for a second, confused by the sadness invading me, looking at the most dangerous man I ever seen with bitterness in the back of my mouth.

That’s when I notice it, the small steady movement of his chest.

He’s not dead.

I look at my feet and see the knife, take it with shaking hands. I enter the car slowly, cautiously, to get closer to his throat. It smells like blood and leather and this man in here ; and it’s cold. With a trembling hand I raise the blade above him, hoping I would managed to be precise and quick, because somehow, I don’t want him to suffer more. And the truth is, he terrifies me.

He opens his eyes.

He unexpectedly opens his eyes and his pupils contract when they meet daylight, landing on me. My breath get stuck in my throat and I just stay completely still, looking back at his green eyes, my knife still raised in my two hands. The fear is paralyzing me, but my fascination grows. He closes his eyes again in a weak sigh, obviously ready to die.

I try to hit him with the knife, I really try. But my hands won’t move, at all. Looking down, I panic : What if I can’t kill him ? They would severely punish me for that. Treat every hunter like he had already slaughtered your family, because that’s what he would do if you let him run. That’s what I’ve been taught.

Still…

I lower my arms in a whine, cursing in my head. After several hesitations, I put a cautious finger on his pulse point, he just passed out. I look around and my brain goes crazy. If I don’t kill him, it will be even crueler because he will die here, in extreme pain ; but I just can’t do it.

“Okay…” I pant because of the stress, rubbing my face.

If I put him somewhere his partner will find him… But the community will find him too, kill him, and kill me. Or I hide him until he can walk, so he just runs away. That’s crazy… Ollie’s ancient cabin is not far, maybe I could hide him there, just for the night, he will probably die before morning though, so I’ll just have to throw him in the river tomorrow… I’m dizzy now. Shit !

I push the opposite door of the car and get out, then I turn around and grab the collar of his vest. With all my strength, I pull him out of the car and he loudly falls on the floor with a groans of pain. I let him go and take a step back, I feel like I am poking a sleeping bear, it’s terrifying. But he doesn’t move, his eyes stay closed, only his breathing fastened a little with pain.

October 27, 1pm.

I fall on the chair in a groan, sweating, shaking, panting. Wiping my face, I realize I probably put blood on my forehead, but I don’t mind.

I look at him, still unconscious, laying on the wooden floor. It took me three hours to drag him in the cabin, three hours of moving a massive man on a forest ground without hurting him more ; I have never done something that hard in my life.

Ollie’s cabin is my second home, I know this place by heart. When he abandoned it, I made it my place, and now, even if it doesn’t have electricity, I spend a lot of time here just hiding from the world. There is water and a little gas cooker, a very rustic shower and oil lamps. Ollie left because, when his wife passed away, he had no magic heater and light anymore, so the cute little wood cabin became completely inhospitable.

For me it is enough, and to hide a dying hunter, I couldn’t ask for more. I look at the room : only a bed for two, two chairs and an old TV, the humble table and the gas hotplates, a closet with old pan and a few utensils. And a first aid kit.

I take it and thank the goddesses that there are some magical things in it too, Ollie was a trapper and was often wounded, so there is still a bit of that ointment that stops bleeding magically.

Kneeling close to the hunter, I check his breathing once again, like I did every five minutes in the woods.

His face is blue and green, his lips white, swollen wounds soaking him in red above all of this. He must be broken everywhere inside, I just need to be sure there is no internal bleeding. My trembling hands hold the scissors I found, the dry blood allowing the cold metal to stick on my yet sweating skin. I push his vest and flannel on the side and start to cut his t-shirt open, it’s saturated with blood, some of it dry, making it hard to cut the fabric.

I hiss at the sight of the open wound on his stomach, I can’t be sure if any vital organ is touched, what’s sure is, with the blood he lost, most men would already be dead. It’s soaking my hands so I hurry to put some ointment on it. The rest of his chest is covered in bruises, and smaller cuts I can fix. One of them damaged his tattoo, anti-possession I think. That would make sense for a hunter… I’ll give him another, that’s really not the more urgent.

I open his belt and take down his pants, making his phone slip out of his pocket, it’s shattered. When my eyes look down, I frown : His leg is badly broken and I’m pretty sure he would need surgery.

“Fuck…” I grunt beneath my teeth.

As I start to sweat bullets, my heart beats like crazy. I know I have to move his bone back, I have no other choice, except end his suffering. I did it once or twice with Misses Gerald, the vet, when I was her assistant… But only on animals.

“Just don’t faint… don’t faint…” I murmur to myself, taking his leg above his ankle, firmly in my hands.

“1… 2…”

“ARH !” he suddenly cries out, immediately passing out again.

I think I made it.

Still kneeling, I let my head fall on the wooden floor, trying to catch my breath. My head is dizzy but I can’t wait, I have to clean every wounds before it gets infected, I have to check his back too, and make a solid splint for his leg.

During all the process, my stress is eating me alive. The stress of having his life in my hands, the stress of the terrible treason I’m committing, the stress of all these wounds I barely know how to heal. So I start talking to him…

“Okay, stranger, just, please don’t kill me… See ? I told you it was going to be better without that piece of glass on your back… Oh no, you’re burning up… Hold on stranger, I’ll find antibiotics somewhere…”

October 27, 5:45pm.

I throw his clothes in the river, hoping it will be enough to convince who needs to be that the man is dead. Watching them go away with the flow, I wonder if someone will look for him. I heard hunters rarely have wives and kids… But maybe a friend, a partner.

The blood redden the water ; and watching it, I take a second to think about the risks I’m taking. His phone in my hand, I wish I could go through his photos or anything, to learn more about him. Just a name would be great. I need to know if I just made the worst mistake of History, what if he’s really a monster ? Or just an horrible person ? What if he’s a violent father ? I heard hunters were brutes… They kill my people anyway.

Even if he is severely wounded, still unconscious, and that I tied him strongly, I have still that fear of him being behind me all the time…

I have to hurry. Old Mam Griffin has to be convinced he’s dead, then I have to take diner with my mom, still treating me like a teen, and listen to my sister’s today masterstrokes. And after that, during the moon rituals, I’ll enter the vet’s office at night to take pills, syringes, bandages, and other stuffs to try to make the stranger survive. I have to find a lot of pain killers too, I think there are some in my mother’s closet.

I have never felt so alive, maybe because I know I could die any moment, from his hands or theirs, maybe because, for the first time of my life, I have a secret.

I can’t wait to go back, I’m so curious, terrified and exited at the same time. I need to take care of all of his wounds, bring him something to eat and drink even if I have no idea how to feed him. Everything will probably take me all night, I can’t mess up, his life is in my hands and mine is… Well I guess I will need a lot of luck.

I just… I just want to talk to him I guess…

October 27, 7pm

I try not to look at her in the eye because I’m sure Mam Griffin could read my lie on my face. I hand her the little bottle of blood with my head low, and my hands and clothes still entirely bloody, but I’m used to be dirty ; they only give me dirty work. Ophelia is still sobbing like the annoying little snot she is and I really try not to look irritated.

The old witch’s dry hand takes the flak in silence with a disapproving look. Everybody is looking at us, I turn my eyes a little to see Aiden, and he gives me side smile. She opens the bottle and smells the blood for a long time, so long it actually becomes awkward, but just for me.

“Are you positive that he’s dead, Y/n ?”

“He was when I found him” I lie. “It took me a long time to drag him to the river, but his blood reddened the sacred water, Grandma.”

I take a step back and bow my back as we have to when the Grandma is about to tell a Truth.

She opens her eyes again and they are white now. Her skinny grey hand brings the blood to her lips, she tastes it. Flashes pass inside of her eyes, but too quickly for me to see anything in it except shadows of men.

“Winchester” she grunts with a look between disgust and fear.

A rumble invades the room and I try to remember what that name is supposed to evoke me. I see my mom put a hand on her mouth and even Aiden seem a little impressed. Ophelia stays silent, her mouth wide open while her mom takes her hand oh-so-proudly.

“Dean Winchester.”

_______________________________

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