#and like not to sound Vain or Full of Myself

[bhaalsdeepbat]

i literally walked into this space knowing NO ONE, sat off to the side and told them, "I'm sorry, I'm like a cat. I have to just watch for a second, then I'll socialize more." and like. the entire group was just like YEAH MAKES SENSE. no one took it wrong. they just let me observe until i was ready to mesh in more. and now almost two years later I am now burrowed so deeply into this troupe that i wouldn't have the friends or opportunities i have without it.

[ozymoron]

hate when im reminded im actually talented and that most people cant draw the kind of shit i can draw and that its actually kinda incredible i can do what i can do and that im just so used to being in art spaces that i forget its a genuine skill most people dont have

[candycandy00]

The Maiden’s Voyage - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 4 (Final)

You’re a passenger on a ship attacked by pirates. The pirate captain Sukuna chooses you to be his entertainment for the voyage.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Sukuna as a Pirate Captain. Very rough sex! Violence. Blood. Sukuna is a cruel, sadistic monster here! You’ve been warned!

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! There will be multiple parts because I got really attached to this idea and it was getting too long. Any feedback, comments, reblogs, etc. will make my day sunny and bright! 💖 Dividers by @benkeibear!

“Sukuna!”

Your voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to you as you cry out his name. You’re behind him, unable to see where he was stabbed, but blood is pooling at your feet. 

The man who attacked you is suddenly thrown back, his body slamming into the deck. Sukuna turns to face you, and you see that the dagger has stabbed completely through his forearm. It frightens you, but you can’t help being relieved that he hasn’t been hit in a vital spot. 

Several other pirates run over and grab the attacker, holding him down. His face is shoved down against the deck. 

“He must have stowed away at the port,” one of them says to Sukuna. 

The captain walks over to the man, seeming completely unfazed by the knife stuck in his arm. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But your plan was weak.”

The man grunts in frustration, trying in vain to break free. “Murderer! You’ll burn in hell for what you’ve done!”

Sukuna grins down at him. “Maybe I’ll fuck your fiancé when I get there. Oh wait, you said her body was found on the ship. She must have been an ugly, worthless cunt if I didn’t bother bringing her to my ship for my men to fuck.”

The man’s face twists in rage and despair, and he screams. No words, just a guttural howl of fury. And mid scream, Sukuna brings his boot down on the man’s head, cracking it open like watermelon. You turn your face away. You’ve seen bloodshed before, on your own ship, but it doesn’t make this any less gruesome. And even though the man tried to kill you, you can’t help feeling sorry for him. He lost someone precious to him in a horrific way. That would drive anyone to madness. 

Sukuna turns to you. “Let’s go back to my quarters.”

You look at his arm and then back to his face. “But, the dagger! You need to-“

“I need a strong drink!” he says, grinning to his men. They cheer their captain, and one of them hurries off to get that drink.

Sukuna takes you by the hand and pulls you along with him. On the way back to his cabin, one of the pirates hands him a full bottle of rum. 

Once inside, he shuts the door and heads over to his bed to sit down. He opens the bottle of rum and takes a long drink. 

“Don’t you have a doctor on this ship?” you ask, moving over to him. 

“I do, but I’m not going to him.”

“What?! Why not? You’ve got a dagger in your arm! When you pull it out, you’ll bleed to-“

“I’m the captain of this ship,” he says firmly. “I can’t show weakness in front of my men. It would be better to die from an injury than to be killed in a mutiny and have my legacy tarnished.”

“That’s ridiculous!” you shout, realizing a second later that it’s the first time you’ve raised your voice to him outside of your screams during sex. 

He puts one hand on the hilt of the dagger. “It’ll be fine. I’ve had worse wounds.”

“Wait!” you yell, then hurry over to the dresser to pull out a fresh sheet. You rip it into strips. “You’ll need to bandage it quickly!”

He takes another drink of the rum, then jerks the dagger out and drops it to the floor. Blood begins pouring out of the wound at an alarming rate. He pours some of the rum over it, not even wincing at the burn, then reaches for the strips of cloth. 

You rush over and grab them, holding his arm out and beginning to wrap it up. Sukuna pulls his arm free. “I can do it myself! I’m not depending on a woman to-“

“Twice now!” you suddenly say, cutting him off. “Twice now you’ve told me to touch you as I please! This is how I please! Will you go back on your words, Captain?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs. “You’re right. Do as you wish then.”

He holds still from then on and lets you bandage his arm tightly. It takes more cloth than you expected, forcing you to tear up more strips, and Sukuna finishes off the rum. When finished, you sigh and sit on the bed beside him. “We’ll have to change it every couple days or so, and watch out for infection. But I think this has stopped the bleeding.”

He looks at you, his eyes slightly glazed from the rum and the blood loss. “Why are you doing this? You should be trying to kill me yourself.”

“You only got stabbed because you stood in front of me,” you tell him. “Why did you do that?”

He scoffs, looking away from you. “I told you before. I’m not done playing with you yet. I intend to enjoy you thoroughly before the end of this voyage.”

It strikes you then that this is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. Injured and weakened, while still maintaining his smug persona. But there’s something in his demeanor, in his eyes, that feels different. He leans just slightly against you, the shoulder of his injured arm touching yours. 

You reach one hand over and place it carefully on his bandages. His body feels warm next to you. “Thank you for protecting me,” you say quietly. 

He meets your gaze, wearing a mysterious expression. “I’m an injured man. Are you going to comfort me, woman?”

You suddenly feel hot, almost feverish. You realize there’s a part of you that’s been wanting to touch him all evening. You stand up from the bed and move to stand in front of him. As he watches, you slowly pull off the lovely new dress and drape it over a nearby chair, then you step closer until you’re standing between his legs. 

His uninjured arm circles around you, pulling you so that your body is pressed firmly against him. You wrap your arms around his neck and he tilts his head up slightly. You kiss him, deeply and passionately, your lips smashed into his, your tongue slipping into his hot, rum coated mouth. 

You feel a hand softly squeezing your breast, and look down to see that he’s using his bandaged arm. You wonder absently if flexing his fingers like this hurts his wound. But then his mouth moves down, trailing kisses down your neck and collarbone before  closing around your hardened nipple, his wet tongue flicking at it. 

Your breathing gets faster as you snake your hands down to open his pants. Unsurprisingly, he’s already hard, his huge cock standing up straight and proud. You position yourself above it, then slowly sink down, wincing slightly at how he stretches you. 

He’s staring at your face, his expression calm, as if he hasn’t just been stabbed, as if there’s not a naked woman currently in his lap, struggling to take his entire cock. You want to make him react, to see his handsome face display the pleasure you give him, so you lower yourself further down, gasping when you feel that he’s all the way in. 

You sit there for a moment, your arms wrapped around him, face pressed into his shirt, giving yourself time to adjust to his massive size. It’s a luxury you don’t normally get. Strangely, he doesn’t rush you to begin moving, or thrust up into you. His good arm simply remains wound around your back.  

Once you’re ready, you pull back slightly to look him in the eyes as you gradually begin moving up and down. Your hands slip down and begin unbuttoning his shirt. You’re struck by the urge to feel his muscled torso against your skin, to see those alluring tattoos. Once his shirt is open, your fingers slide beneath it, your palms rubbing over his chest. 

You know you’re playing a dangerous game. These feelings you’re experiencing will only bring you pain. Another pirate sneeringly told you that Captain Sukuna never keeps or releases his women. Without exception he always either kills them or hands them over to his men once he’s done playing with them. The pirate seemed to think it would be the latter, and you cringed when his eyes roved over you. 

How will you feel when he decides he’s tired of you? When he’s stabbing you to death? When he’s laughing and watching his men take turns with you? 

You can’t imagine it, but you also can’t fight what you’re feeling right now as you sink down to the base of his cock again, taking quick shuddering breaths as you maintain eye contact with him. 

***********************

Sukuna still doesn’t know exactly why he protected her. He tells himself it’s probably because he didn’t want to lose his plaything for the rest of the voyage. But the truth is, he moved without thinking, as if it were a reflex. 

And now, that beautiful, delicate flower he protected is riding him so well. His instinct is to throw her onto the bed and fuck her violently, but there’s something appealing about watching her take the lead, watching her take his cock so very deep of her own accord. Her motions are slow, but deliberate, intimate. She clenches him tightly, her eyes full of lust, her lips plump and swollen from their kiss. 

She leans her head down, and he feels her wet little tongue on his chest, licking along the black lines of ink. Ah, such a sweet maiden. He could stay buried inside her forever. 

What is he going to do with her? The thought of any of his men touching her, experiencing her tight, velvety pussy for themselves, fills him with intense anger. And he can’t bring himself to snuff out her existence. 

He pushes these thoughts to the back of his mind. No use thinking about it now, while she’s wrapped around him so pleasingly. She pushes down again, taking him all the way in, and her soft hands tremble as her breaths hitch. Her face looks blissful, her expression rapturous. 

“You’re… so deep… inside me,” she says, now gripping his shoulders for dear life. “Feels… so good!”

Sukuna has never done this before, never allowed a woman to climb onto him and fuck herself on his cock as she pleases, going so slowly and carefully. He’s always only cared for his own pleasure, which he got from pounding into women as roughly as possible, enjoying their screams and the friction of fucking them so hard. 

But looking at the unbelievably beautiful woman before him, he’s beginning to understand the appeal of fucking this way. Watching such a pure, innocent maiden’s face glow with pleasure just from having his cock inside her is making him feel heated in a way he’s never experienced before. 

Her eyes are locked onto his, and she suddenly appears shy. Funny, considering she’s completely naked, breasts bouncing in front of his face as her slick pussy moves up and down his shaft. “Does it… feel good… for you?” she asks as she continues moving, clearly craving validation from him. 

He grins at her. “Feels so good, I’m going to completely fill your womb with my cum.”

She sighs, closing her eyes as if she’s content. Then her arms are around him again, her body pressed to his, and he can feel her heartbeat through her skin. It’s beating so fast as she moves her hips in a circular motion, moaning when his cock hits the right spot inside her. 

When she cums, she clamps down on him, and he can feel her shuddering as her heart races. Sukuna has never truly felt another human being so deeply before, been so connected to another person, and for a brief moment, even he is overwhelmed. A throaty moan escapes his lips, and she immediately looks at his face, her eyes wide. In the heat of the moment, he only wants to feel more of her, so he pulls her into a kiss, their tongues mingling, until he reaches release.

As promised, he fully coats her insides with his seed, wanting to dye her in his colors completely. 

The pain in his arm is all but forgotten as they stay there on the bed, melded into each other. 

******************************

For the next several days, things are back to what you call normal on this ship. Sukuna goes back to being rough with you, but your body has slowly begun to enjoy it, to a certain degree. 

For as long as you live, you’ll never forget the sheer intimacy of that night, when he was gentle with you for the first time. You felt like the two of you became one, if only for a few moments. You long to experience that again, but Sukuna has shown no inclination towards repeating that night.

The end of the two weeks is quickly approaching, and you feel dread building in the pit of your stomach. Your only plan is to beg Sukuna to kill you swiftly, because dying by his hands would be preferable to being handed over like a piece of meat, discarded and unwanted. 

So on the eve before your last day, before the ship will dock at their destination, you feel extremely anxious as you wait in Sukuna’s quarters. When he walks in, you stand up from the bed, holding your hands in front of you nervously. 

“We’ll reach land in the morning,” Sukuna tells you. “We’re just spending a few days there to resupply and rest.”

You nod, wondering why he’s bothering to tell you. 

He looks at your worried face, and he’s silent for a moment. You have your plea prepared in your mind. You’ll as him to give you a quick and painless death. But he sighs and sits in his chair. “When we dock, you’ll leave the ship. I’ll give you enough gold to buy passage to wherever you were going.”

You feel like you’ve been slapped. “What?”

“I’m letting you go,” he says. “You can return to whatever life you were living.”

Your fists are now balled at your sides. Your whole body is shaking as tears sting your eyes. “How dare you!” you suddenly shout. 

Sukuna blinks, surprised by your outburst. 

“You kidnap me,” you begin, “have your way with me, make me fall in love with you, then send me away?! How could you?!”

His eyes widen slightly, then that smug grin you’ve grown to love spreads over his face. “So you’ve actually fallen for me?”

You feel your cheeks burning. You didn’t intend to confess your feelings this way. But the cat’s out of the bag now. “Yes, I have. And I won’t be thrown off the ship like a stowaway!”

Sukuna stands up and steps over to you. “If you stay, I can’t guarantee anything. I might end up doing something truly heinous to you.”

You look up at him. “I understand.”

He puts one hand on your face, his thumb grazing your lips. “I won’t go easy on you just because you love me. I’ll still fuck you whenever I want, as hard as I want.”

You swallow, then slowly nod. “I can accept that.”

His eyes seem to soften. “But I suppose… fucking you gently every now and then wouldn’t be so bad.”

He leans in and kisses you softly. When he pulls away, you steel your resolve and say, “I have a request.”

There’s a hint of surprise on his face as he says, “Oh? And what would that be? More dresses? We can get some when we dock.”

“No more women,” you say. 

He laughs. “Jealous already? I don’t intend to take a woman for myself while I already have one who pleases me.”

“No, I mean… no taking any women. At all.”

“The men will hate you,” he says, though he’s still smiling. 

“I was thinking about this. There should be women willing to come aboard and… entertain the crew if they’re paid or perhaps given free passage to somewhere they’d like to go.”

“You mean whores.”

That’s not a word you’re comfortable using, but you nod. “Yes. And wouldn’t the men be better served by women who choose to be here, who have experience pleasuring men?”

“I’ll consider it,” he says, then he suddenly jerks your body to him and wraps his arms around you. His wound seems to be healing well. “Now take off this dress before I rip it off. You’ll need something to wear when we disembark tomorrow.”

You slide the dress up and over your head. “Will you be gentle with me tonight?” you ask. 

His hands are already exploring your body. “Not when you ask me so sweetly. It only makes me want to ravage you more.”

Your fingers are tracing his tattoos. “But I wanted to feel you tonight, all the way to my core, while I ride you.”

He pauses, looking into your eyes. “You’ve bewitched me, woman.”

You smile at him as he takes your hand and leads you to the bed. Your true voyage has only just begun. 

[ghostedgrim]

She's all that is about the popular guy being dared to date the "nerdy girl" by his so called friend, he takes the dare but ends up falling for her. She finds out and they have a fight and break up. He wins her back in the end. Take it anyway you want! I do want Eric to be jealous as hell after they break up when other guys start taking an interest in reader!!

She's All That pt.1

Pt2. Request page. Masterlist

Warnings ⚠️: Getting dared to pretend to date someone, implied violence, jealousy,

"Eric, with all so respect, you're a Dauntless leader, yet you've been single since day one." The music in the bar is so loud that for a moment Eric almost didn't hear him.

"Personally James, I don't see how that's relevant. I have enough hookups to satisfy me plenty, I don't need some girl or whatever. Relationships I just a bothersome hassle."

"I bet you don't have a single romantic bone in your body."

"That's what you think, James," the bartender hands Eric a plate of food and leaves her number on the receipt. "Now if I were an unromantic man, that woman wouldn't have given me her number just now."

"Okay whatever, we both know you're good at getting men and women into your bed, but can you handle a full on relationship?"

"Yes, I just prefer not to, I don't need it" Eric shrugs.

James smirks and holds up his wallet. "Prove it then, date y/n then, the ex Erudite girl from your iniation class. You don't have to love her back, just make her love you. Do it and I'll pay for your next tattoo."

"Fine, how long do I have?"

"I'll give you about a month."

"Then we have deal James."

Is drinking by the chasm stupid? Yes. Do I care? Absolutely not, not when I've been on a week long trip to Amity to handle Dauntless soldiers who forgot their mission and decided to play with the Amity girls. My job is to train and direct Dauntless soldiers, yet most days I find myself spanking ass because they don't know how to behave.

"God I should've stayed in Erudite." I groan. Obviously it isn't true, the people there were cruel, liars, manipulators, vain, but I must admit I missed all the reading and research I'd done throughout my time there.

"Saying stuff like that would get you killed," I damn near jump out of my skin at the sound of the deep rumbling voice behind me. I turn around to see Eric standing right behind me. He wraps an arm around my waist to stable me, and guide me away from the chasm as I sway. "Long day?"

"More like a long week," my hard scowl meets his cold grey eyes, "What do you want Eric?"

He looks at me with a prideful expression, "I wish to take you out on a date. Don't worry about work tomorrow I'm assigning you a day off."

I scoff, taking another sip of my drink. "Me? Hookup with you? Not interested."

Eric falters for a moment, a small tick in his jaw, before returning to that prideful arrogance. "Good, I'm not interested in a hookup. Meet me tomorrow at 8pm by the train, I'd like to get to know you, nerdy and all."

Before I could even argue he walks away, that entitled ass really thinks I'll just go where he tells me because he said it's a date. I wonder if he uses that method with every girl he hooks up with. Either way I'm not going.

"I'm not going." I remind myself for the uptinth time today. I'm laying on my stomach atop a skyscraper, sniper rifle in hand. Every shooting range in Dauntless is underground except for the rifle range. Every target is at least a mile away, and every night they're moved to a new spot, hidden somewhere on the streets below, or hidden in a new room within the buildings around me. Sometimes, the targets are put on conveyors so they move around, and sometimes some are hidden so well you can only see a tiny sliver. To handle a gun that can shoot from miles away takes practice, and extreme smarts. Constantly I must calculate how the wind may effect my bullet, how far before gravity pulls it down, the most effective place to hit a target, arm to disarm, leg to stop them from running, chest or head to kill.

Only 7 people here in Dauntless have been trained and can handle a rifle and I'm one of those seven. It's one of the few jobs I can use to challenge myself. Kinda fascinating how using a gun takes so much math and knowledge in physics. None the less, I still train at least twice a week like the others.

I'm not fucking going! BANG!! My gun jerke violently, the bullet flies through the air landing perfectly onto the head of a far away target.

I look at my watch, "6:15." I'm not fucking going.

I readjust. BANG!!

I wonder what Eric could possibly have in mind for our date. Wait, why the fuck should I even care? I'm not even going.

It would be rude to stand him up though, and maybe he does actually like me, maybe he's finally going to be in a relationship and he actually chose me. I scoff, nah that's fucking stupid, as if Eric would think to pick me our of all the women already obsessed with him. I'm sure he'll live if stand him up.

BANG!! I miss by a whole 5 feet. "Fucker."

BANG!! I miss again...

It's 7:58, I'm standing by the train tracks wearing my nicest black dress, combat boots, and my favorite gun and dagger holstered to my thigh beneath the skirt of my dress. I even did my makeup. Fuck me, why the Hell did I fall for this crap?

I watch the train approach. "Where the Hell is Eric? Is this a prank?" I fail to hear the frantic footsteps from behind me. I barely have time to process anything before there's an arm around my waist and I'm getting dragged into a train car.

"Sorry I'm late, had some last second paperwork to handle. Thank God I made it in time to catch the train. You okay?" Eric is wearing his typical black cargo pants, combat boots, his black shirt is tight fitting and pared with a black jacket, his hair is in it's signature style and everything. Why the Hell am I about to swoon?

"I'm uh, yeah I'm fine." I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear as I regain my footing. "For a moment I was scared you stood me up."

Eric scoffs, "Stand up a beautiful girl like you? I'd rather punch a brick wall." He sits down on the threshold of the door, letting his legs dangle out of the traincar as we race through the city. "Come sit," he pats his thigh.

If he's dissapointed I didn't sit on his lap he doesn't show it as I sit across from him. Unlike him I keep my legs inside the train car. "So uh..." I click my tounge, "why did you ask me out in a date, and why did you do it without the intent of hooking up? Last time I checked you never had time for a girlfriend."

"You've never been asked out before-"

"Oh so you're asking me out as a joke? Or pity? Because I'm not staying if that's the case." Eric appears to panic for a moment and quickly grips my shoulder as I try to stand.

"I wasn't finished," he states defensively, Eric's eyes stare deep into mine, their color cold as a winter storm, yet my cheeks warm and my heart stutters. I should probably check that with a doctor. "You and I came to Dauntless and went through iniation at the same time, if I recall correctly you ranked 10th place out of 35 initiates. Now you're not only training and directing Dauntless soldiers, but you're also apart of the only seven people here in Dauntless capable of handling a sniper rifle. I think I have every reason to be curious about you, because the fact that nobody has asked you out is baffling, especially considering how stunning and powerful you are."

Never have I expected a man like Eric to say such words. Stunning? Powerful? I know I'm strong, no idea where he gets the idea I have good looks, but honestly, I feel like I'm the hottest girl in Dauntless after hearing those words. Eric's hand rests atop mine, warm, strong, calloused from rigorous training, his eyes seem to trace my face, and suddenly I'm 16 and freshly transferred to Dauntless again. Eric was terrifying, but hot back then, he still is now just more tame.

I soon realize I've been gaping like a damn fish for minutes now and Eric's small chuckle breaks me from my trance. "I take it nobody has told you that before," he brings a hand to my cheek, his expression soft, "let me be the one to change that, to show and tell you just how amazing you are."

I used to imagine how his lips would taste. t

Then I turned 17 and pushed it from my mind because I was convinced Eric would never love me. He would always be too busy chasing tail to even notice me. But now his eyes are on my lips, his tounge even darts out for a moment to lick his bottom lip. He then looks back at my eyes, he leans in the hand on my cheek pulling me closer. "You smell like strawberries." Our lips are almost touching, his warm breath fanning across my jaw, he smells like gunpowder, cedarwood, and whiskey. I can barely hear anything over my pounding heart. I close my eyes, leaning forward to close the distance between us.

"Shit!" I open my eyes as Eric frantically pulls himself away from the door and the traincar is encased in darkness for several seconds until we leave the small tunnel. "Fuck," Eric laughs, "nearly lost my damn leg." I can't help but to laugh with him.

"That would certainly be quite the traumatic first date." We settle down again the wall both looking out the open door across from us. "How about we just keep all our limbs inside the train for now?" Eric sighs, and we both relax taking in the sight and sounds of the dark clouds rolling in and the distance thunder. The train rolls through the miles of green, flat land between the city and Amity. You can still see the bright lights of the Erudite buildings. It's peaceful, and I can't help but just enjoy the moment rather than talk.

"I once lit my hand on fire." Eric says it so casually as if he were talking about the damn weather.

"You what! Please do tell." I smile like a little kid excited for candy. Eric smiles back and dives into the story of how in chemistry he accidentally covered his hand in lighter fluid, then instead of washing it off he thought it faster to just burn it off. Fortunately the fire lit and burnt out too quick to cause any permanent damage.

It's pouring by the time the train reaches the Dauntless sector. Eric jumps off, then I jump right after. I barely have time to finish standing before he's wrapping his jacket around me. "I would hate for you to catch a cold. Now let me walk you home."

I'm starting to think this is a dream.

Asking her out was one thing, I never meant to get attached. We've been dating for almost a month now. Every time I see her my heart stops, and all I can do is admire her like some dumb schoolboy with a crush. Never in my life did I think I could actually fall in love, and never did I think I would stay up all night imagining what it would be like to kiss a girl, let alone replaying the sound of her laughter in my mind over and over. She's strong, smart as Hell, arguably smarter than me, and gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous I could drown in her arms. Honestly if she suffocated me I'd probably thank the damn woman.

"I'm fucked, I'm so utterly fucked." I spend maybe another hour in bed with nothing but my boxers on. I'm already running late, but fuck it, it won't kill Max if I'm late for work just once.

I'm quick to change clothes and rushed out of my home to search for y/n. I find her in the training room running a small squad through some drills. Without a single care I kiss her cheek, "Good morning, my dagger. Sorry for interrupting, but I just needed a small taste of you to get through my day." Her cheeks are dusted in red, and fuck she's just so damn cute it stabs my heart, and then her expression snaps back to stone and she shoos me away.

I catch James in the small squad of men, he's smiling and my heart drops as I remember our bet. I take my time walking up to my office. "How the Hell am I going to escape this?"

Today was exhausting, and I received far to many lewd comments about my relationship with Eric than I'd like. But now I can finally go visit Eric at the bar. For a guy known to be heartless and terrifying he's an amazing boyfriend.

Many people, especially Four, had warned me that Eric was likely dating me as a joke, but I highly doubt he'd continue fake dating me for a whole month as a joke. It's definitely not a joke. Yeah he can be mean, really mean, and cruel, especially to initiates, and yes he's heartless to seemingly everyone here in Dauntless but he has exceptions for certain people... I'm important to him, he's not dating me as a joke, sure he's capable of being that cruel but... he isn't doing that... right?

I try to shake the uneasy thoughts from my head, their just stupid fears, that's all. I pull on Eric's jacket and quickly make my way down to the bar.

I've been sitting alone at this table for nearly 20 minutes, and I can feel the eyes on me. My stomach is a storm of unease, and my doubt is ever growing. This isn't the first time Eric has been late to a date. When we first started dating, he had been cocky, full of himself, half the time it sounded like he was trying to talk me into bed. Despite our first date, it had taken me a while to finally, truly open up to him, to trust him, and believe he wouldn't hurt me. Yet here I am, sitting alone at a table a week later.

It's been a fucking hour, and I swear I can hear the whispers, feel the eyes. The waitress looks at me with contempt, as if she's won something and I lost at whatever she was winning it. My unease eventually turns to frustration and soon I'm walking through the dimly lit halls in search of Eric.

"Fuck me man, and here I thought you were incapable of a relationship." James, without a damn doubt that's his voice.

"Well I'm full of surprises." Eric? That's definitely him. Why the Hell is he with James instead of me, and why are they talking about relationships?

I stalk closer to where I'd heard them speaking, James is running his mouth about a girl's ass making it easy for me to find the two men, and watch them while remaining unseen.

"Have you both kissed, better yet fucked?" James asks and it makes my stomach turn sour. Kissing is fine, but asking about my sex life is not. Not that I have one, yet.

Eric huffs, "no we haven't had sex, and unless you count kissing on the cheek, then we haven't kissed yet."

"Ah, so in that case it isn't love." James has a concerningly victorious look.

"Just because we haven't kissed doesn't mean she isn't in love with me. She's never kissed a guy before, let alone have sex." Eric sounds somewhat annoyed.

"Well damn, a virgin, and unkisssed, I think I may need a taste myself. It's been awhile since I've tried a girl like that. Though-"

"James," Eric warns, his voice deep and posture tense. I wish I could see Eric's face, but all I can see is his back.

"Fine, fine, so you claim she's in love with you. Now I can argue that, but I saw the way that girl looked at you when you visited her last week. She looked at you the way a girl looks at a puppy." James shrugs, and then his eyes lock with mine and he smiles. "It seems I've lost our bet Eric. You can be romantic, and you are capable of making any girl, even ugly miss grumpy, genuinely fall for you. I can't wait to watch her face and see her cry when you tell her you're whole relationship has been fake."

"James-"

"Then aging you should definitely keep dating her. Think about it, maybe she'll stop being so closed off and grumpy, better yet, she'll stop being so strict on my squad. Perhaps you can make her give me a few promotions."

"Playing with her emotions to make her date me and fall in love was-"

I don't think, I just run. I don't stop running, not until my legs give out and I find myself sitting in a train car. That asshole! I trusted him, I loved him, and yet that fucker was using me for his own sick gain! My comm link keeps ringing, and in my frustration I stupidly throw it out of the train.

I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe, my chest hurts like Hell, and my vision is so blurry from tears that I can barely see shit. It was fake, it was all fake. Everything he said was fake! I was nothing to him! Absolutely nothing!

I curl up, and I hate myself for doing it, but I pull his jacket tighter around me. "Gods how can I be so fucking stupid... they warned me, so many fucking times and I ignored them like an idiot."

The sun is rising by the time I get off the train. It's freezing cold, snow covers the street and snowflakes fall from the sky. I glance at the cameras as I walk back to the compound. No doubt Four is watching me through them, or is already at my apartment with a whole essay of a lecture awaiting me. I don't even know if I have the energy to keep walking. So I just lean against a brick wall inside an alley.

I don't know how much time has passed, I'm shivering uncontrollably but I just can't seem to move.

"Y/n." His voice is deep, soft, and full of warmth and I find myself crying all over again.

"Four, I... you were right I-" He interrupts me with a tight hug and kisses my forehead.

"Later, let's just get you home and warm." Four bundles me up in a spare jacket and scarf he brought before picking me up and carrying me home. The exhaustion hits me hard and I unwillingly let myself drift asleep.

I'm bundled in thick warm blankets when I wake up, two warm hands hold one of mine. I finally open my eyes. I'm in my bedroom, Four is leaning against the wall near my door, his knuckles scabbed, and splattered with blood. Confused I look to my left to see who the Hell is holding my hand. To my suprise it's Eric. His gaze is locked on our hands, eyes are rimmed in red, bruises decorate his jaw, right eye, and possibly other places, even his nose looks broken.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Eric's head snaps up and he looks at me in such a way that I'm convinced he actually does love me.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, what happened- no, what I did was wrong. You didn't deserve any of that." A tear slips down his cheek and I roll my eyes at his pathetic attempt of gaining my pity. "Yes, James and I made a bet with him betting I couldn't make you fall in love with me. It was wrong, and it was cruel for me to manipulate you like that-"

"Get out." I snap.

"Hear him out, trust me," Four interrupts. "We both know Eric isn't the guy to let himself get beat up, especially without throwing at least one punch back." It dons on me that Four beat the shit out of Eric, but that's not what suprises me, it's the fact that Four is utterly unscathed. Eric actually let Four beat him up after what he did to me.

"I- at first it was fun, but then I started to develop feelings and holy shit I fell. I fell hard and fast and I didn't know what to do." Eric's voice breaks and he looks away from me. "You were like a goddam dagger, burrowed deep into my heart and seared into my brain. I thought, maybe to could just let myself win the bet instead of calling it off, you'd never have to know and we'd get to keep dating. You don't have to forgive me, but please know ever I've told you, it was the truth and I do love you. I love you so much it hurts."

"A part of me wants to believe you, Eric. However, the other part of me knows you're nothing more than a lying manipulative snake. I don't want to ever see you again, don't talk to me, don't even look at me."

Defeated Eric finally rids himself from my room.

"What happened to James?" I ask Four.

Four smiles, "Eric broke his jaw."

I sigh, deep in thought, "Did Eric actually let you hit him."

"Pretty much. I found him outside frantically looking for you, I punched first before asking questions. I had already seen all I needed to through the cameras. He didn't fight back once, just stood there and took my beating. I yelled st him for quite a bit before dragging his ass here then returning to the security cameras and waiting for you to step off the train."

"Four?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. And if I ever act that stupid again, slap the shit out of me."

[yorshie]

Hiya! This was an ask on AO3, thought I'd upload it over here as well just to keep everything even. I couldn’t keep myself from making it a continuation of the turtles fav clothes ask.

Bayverse TMNT X Fem Reader

SFW, though apparently I was in the mood to write the turtles falling over themselves so it's a bit suggestive.

Donnie

Donnie landed a little bit harder than he meant to on the roof of your building, catching sight of the sheet and projector a little too late and assuming someone was already using the space. He ducked in an unconscious effort to hide, knowing it was folly, only to pop back up at the sound of your giggle.

“Love?” He asked, looking around, sure he had heard you.

“Hey baby. You ready for our date?” Your voice came from the far side of the sheet, and he snorted in amusement as the fabric gave a little shimmying ripple.

“Is that what you’ve been planning?” He asked, taking careful steps towards the chairs set either side of the projector. When you didn’t answer his snout swung around curiously, but the only other things he could see was a cooler set up as a coffee table with a few styrofoam containers up top. “Baby?”

“Here.” You called back, and he blinked at the low curse that followed. “Just- having technical difficulties.”

He smiled, starting for the sheet. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re dating a technical tu-” He cut off with a choke, stalling at the sight of your bare back presented to him, your hands trying in vain to reach the zipper that was getting caught on a bit of…

His eyes trailed down, taking in the way the city lights glittered off the purple sequins covering your dress, a small, strangled noise escaping his throat at just how much of your legs were not covered.

“It was suppose to be a surprise.” You half whined, pouting at him over your shoulder, and your words reseted him, his eyes trailing back up your back to give you a strained smile.

“I- It’s very surprising.” He blushed at the break in his voice, but when you only giggled he took a step closer, hands hesitantly raising towards your own. “Can… I can help?”

“Please.” You asked, dropping your hands and arching your spine to hold the fabric taunt.

Donnie tried his hardest not to touch or think about the soft skin beside the zipper, straightening the little piece of metal and pulling it seamlessly upwards until it reached the little latch at the top. “There.” He stepped away quickly, rubbing his thumbs against the side of his first finger in an effort to keep them grounded and to himself.

“Thank you.” You murmured quietly, turning slowly to show him the full outfit. “What do you think?”

Donnie’s head tilted, looking you over, taking in the high collar and the swish of sequins as you moved. The dress was a beautiful dark purple, jewel toned and looking more like it belonged on a fun trip around town, not cooped up on a roof with him. “You’re beautiful.” He said softly, flicking his gaze up towards your face. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You smiled at him, reached forward and clasped his hands, lifting one to twirl yourself around and closer into his arms. “I got Chinese food.” You whispered up at him, grinning. “And those grape sodas you love so much.”

Donnie swallowed, golden hazel eyes caught on the way your eyes bloomed when you looked at him, and quietly let go of the anxiety that said you were better off without him. “That sounds amazing.” He said instead, twirling you back out and following in a small side step dance that let him see the way the sequins covering your dress caught the light. “Maybe we could dance for a bit, first, though?”

Your answering laugh was bright and happy, and his heart soared at the sound.

Raph

A locked down arcade was not the place Raph expected to roll up on when you asked him to meet you somewhere not your apartment, but he wasn’t alarmed until your text said to walk in the front door like he owned the place.

Not knowing what to expect, half his mind worrying you’d been abducted and this was a plot to corner him without backup, he nervously turned on the cctv jammer Donnie had given each of them and cautiously walked inside.

The game lights were still on, soft 80s rock filtering through the speakers, and he stalled, not quite sure what was going on exactly.

“Hey there, tiger.” He turned sharply towards your voice, hackles rising when he couldn’t’ immediately pick out your location before relaxing as your crinkled eyes peeked over a tall pony wall. “Glad you found the place ok.”

He huffed, feeling that adrenaline slowly seep back, unconsciously returning his sai to their proper place. “Jesus, baby, give me a heart attack why don’t ya.” He raised a brow at the high pitched giggle you gave in answer, mind flipping to the gutter in an instant. “Whatcha doin’ over there?” He asked lowly, taking a step closer when you skipped away further down the wall. 

“Nu uh, you stay right there, I’m coming over.” You insisted, and he heard the click of heels on the polished comment floor. He followed the bob of your hair around the corner, smile faltering when you reappeared and he caught sight of what you were wearing.

“Uh…” He trailed off, eyes locked on the swish of the red skirt and the frothy petticoat peeking with every swaying step. “Damn.” 

He kept enough of his head to whistle long and low when you did a twirl for him, but in truth the only thing he could think of was how this was the most girly thing he’d ever seen you in, and he loved it,

“That good, huh?” You asked cheekily, and he was surprised by the instinctual rumble that escaped him as you stepped within arms reach, his hand snagging out quick as a flash to catch your own. 

Real good, but he made his mouth say something else. “You dressed up for me?” He twirled you around again, eyes darting between your face and the swirl of the skirt. When you faced him once more, his free hand dipped, fluffed the bottom of the skirt just to watch the arcade lights reflect on the color.

You laughed, walking backwards, holding onto his large hand when it became clear he was too busy staring to watch his feet. “I thought I could demolish you at the motorcycle games and then we could eat some burgers.”

He almost didn’t hear her words, head dipping to indicate his agreement, before a few syllables made it past the *Skirt* filter and he stopped hard again.

“Motorcycle?” He asked, tearing his eyes away to look for the mentioned game, before returning to your skirt. “You… you’re gonna play in that?”

You smirked, stepping back into his space to tap a finger against his plastron. “I’m gonna kick your ass in this.”

You thought he was broken for a long moment, before a sound ripped out of him. Expecting the deep rumble your teasing usually got, you were shocked to hear a high pitched chirp that you’d heard Donnie or Mikey let loose, every once in a while, but never from your boyfriend in red. 

A visceral shot of panic lanced through Raph’s chest at the slow, understanding smile you leveled at him in answer.

Leo

Leo navigated onto the small balcony outside your apartment with ease, brow furrowing when he noticed all the lights were off, only the flicker of candles on the kitchen island to great him. He opened the door silently, stepping inside with a deep breath. 

Only the scent of you and the scented candles greeted him however, and it eased him enough to call out. “Darling?” 

“Here, babe!” Came your voice from your bathroom, and his shoulders loosened, hands coming up to undo his harness and set his swords against the wall next to the balcony door. “Give me just a minute.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, not really sure if you could hear the low sound, before he stepped towards the table to take in the plates and cups set out in a neat array, belted napkins folded over the clean ceramic. “Are you setting up for something?”

“Well, if you must know,” came your amused voice, “I was planning on surprising you with dinner. It’s keeping warm in the oven.”

“It’s a very welcome surprise.” He assured you, crossing over to the oven and opening the door a little to peer in at the aluminum foil packages inside. “What is it?”

“Your favorite.” You called back, and his heart pinged softly at your words, one hand reaching inside to try and peek at the biggest dish.

“Hey, what happened to patience?” Came your teasing voice from right behind him, and he smiled, hand retreating and closing the oven while turning to give you his attention.

“I was just peek-“ He trailed off, and you smiled at the way he blinked long and slow at the sight of you posing at the edge of the hallway leading to the bathroom and your bedroom in a blue dress whose length kissed the floor.

“Blue?” You asked, taking a step closer. “You ok?”

He took a step closer abruptly, herding you back until your back hit the corner where the kitchen transitioned into the next room, arms coming up to softly touch the silky midnight fabric that he swore matched his eyes better than his mask. 

“Where’d you get this?” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, thumb rubbing across your hip in a way that would read as absent minded if not for the sharp precision in his gaze.

“Found it on sale.” You whispered it to him, hands skating along his arms. “Judging by this reaction, I’d say it was a good gut purchase.”

“Very good.” He agreed, finally moving from your space only to clasp your hand with his own and pull you further into the living room. “You look beautiful.”

“Beautiful in blue?” You guessed, teasing gently as he raised your clasped hands and convinced you to twirl for him. A rough sound punched out of him when he saw how low the back dipped, a long tailed bow that was familiar hiding the top of the zipper at the base of your spine.

“Beautiful in anything.” He explained, “but especially in blue.”

You chuckled low at the feeling of his other hand sneaking in to press right above the bow. “We should probably eat, then, before the food gets cold, and then maybe we could bust out the playlist and dance for a while.”

He tilted his head, and you could tell he was considering convincing you to just skip dinner, but you purposefully nabbed the little placard from the restaurant that was sitting on the island, placed it under his nose until he could focus on the name embossed across the little card. 

“That’s evil.” He said, tearing his eyes away from the two words, and you laughed out loud at the pout that crossed his lips.

Angelo

Mikey wasn’t expecting anything fancy, though he knew you were planning something. There were too many questions in the text chain the last couple of days, too many times you’d double checked his preference for something or the other to be anything but a surprise. He looked forwards to it gleefully, especially when he got the text asking him to come over Friday night. 

You weren’t anywhere to be found when he let himself into the small place you called your own, shucking his backpack and chucks noisily and whistling so you’d hear him. A white box sitting on the coffee table with a well known bakery logo stamped across the top had him audibly swallowing, fingers itching to get ahold of whatever confections he hoped was hiding inside.

He must have made some instinctual noise, because a light giggle floated through the apartment, and he tilted his head, grinning as he heard you moving around in your bedroom.

“My, what great pastries you’ve got here, babes.” He called, hopping over the back of your couch and snagging the box.

“The better to tempt you with.” You called in a sing song manner, and he hummed in agreement, listening to the sound of your feet carrying you closer as he chose one of the chocolate filled varieties and bit into it with a little sound of enjoyment.

You snorted, from the kitchen now he thought, and listened as you shut something in the microwave before hitting a few buttons. “Save some room for the pizza, Angelo, it should be here any minute.”

“Ooo, baby, you spoil me rotten.” He set the box back on the table, used his free arm to roll himself back over the couch and landed with a thud. “M comin’ to help you with those fizzy orange drinks.”

“How’d you know I got those?” You sounded amused despite the accusation, and he grinned as he rounded the corner into the little kitchen.

“Cuz my baby always gets-” He cut off, pastry halfway to his mouth, eyes bugging at the little orange velvet loungewear you were wearing.

As if you could hear his eyes popping out of his skull, you threw a smile over your shoulder from where you were stretching up towards the top of the cabinet. “Hey, babe, come give me a hand?” 

Mikey stuck the whole pastry into his mouth and crowded you against the counter, hands proffered to show you that he in fact, had two he could offer you. 

You snorted, pointing upwards with a smirk. “The popcorn bowl, Mike. I can’t reach it.”

His eyes were slow to tear away from the two large collar and the way it slipped off one shoulder, baby blues flicking to your eyes before following the extended finger to the large metal bowl on the top shelf. 

“Mm, ye~ I cef gef che thef.” He swallowed, tongue all but shoving the pastry down the hatch, before he reached up without moving and snagged the bowl easily. “Here ya go, one bowl retrieved.” 

You tried to hide the smile at the fact that he was still all but trapping you against the counter. “Angelo?”

“Yeah babes?” He asked, eyes back to being glued on the little strip of stomach he could see between the matching top and bottom.

“You gotta move so I can get the popcorn.” You explained, popping one hip out and smothering a laugh when his eyes jumped to the movement.

“Uh huh. Popcorn. Right.” He said, fumbling to set the bowl down with one hand and snagging one of yours with the other.

When he made no further move, you rolled your eyes fondly and pushed lightly on his plastron. “Baby. Popcorn. Then cuddles?”

“Cuddles?” He parroted the word, and it was like the synapses fired correctly that time, because he all but jumped to complete the task to get one step closer to the reward.

You chuckled fondly, turning to the fridge to retrieve the ‘fizzy orange soda’, pretending not to hear the chirp behind you when he obviously saw what you were doing.

[rosanna-writer]

Out of the Woods (1/3)

An AU that diverges from canon after Rhysand leaves a head spiked in the garden. Aware of the unsnapped mating bond and unwilling to get between another High Lord and his mate, Tamlin hands Feyre over to Rhysand. Panicked, shocked, and desperate, Rhys scrambles to gain Feyre’s trust, find her a hiding place, and cover his tracks before returning Under the Mountain. And then learns the hard way that Feyre Archeron can never leave well enough alone.

A huge thank you to @amnevitahwritesstuff for the beta read and encouragement, and to @thesistersarcheron for dropping a casual "huh I wonder what would have happened if Tamlin knew Feyre was Rhys's mate the whole time?" in my comments section like a year ago. And a happy @officialfeysandweek to everyone!

Some text is lifted directly from both A Court of Thorns and Roses and A Court of Mist and Fury, and just a note that I've chosen not to use warnings for this fic.

Read the first chapter Here on AO3 or under the cut.

We'd been speaking of the blight, and Tamlin shot to his feet so quickly that for a moment, I thought I might have summoned it. His claws gleamed in the midday light as he snarled at the open doorway, canines elongating.

The house, usually so full of busy footsteps and servants chattering and so much life had gone silent.

The way the forest did when a raptor passed overhead.

And like a field mouse, I wanted to scurry under the table and tremble until it was safe to emerge. Or just start running and hope for the best. Lucien swore and drew his sword.

“Stand down,” Tamlin growled, all command. The voice of the High Lord. “He’s here to collect what’s his, and we will not stop him.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lucien hissed. “We’re not really going to—”

“No one will ally with us if we try to stop him. You know the laws.”

Lucien sheathed his sword, even as the baldric of long, serrated blades appeared from thin air across Tamlin’s chest. I snatched one of the knives from the table, and neither one of them made any attempt to stop me.

Perhaps because a measly steak knife would do no good against whoever was coming. Someone awful enough to frighten them, even as Tamlin slouched in his seat and picked at his nails in a vain attempt at looking unaffected.

They hadn’t been like this with the Attor. Or the naga or the Suriel or the Bogge. My grip tightened around the knife.

Footsteps sounded from the hall. Even, strolling, casual.

Tamlin continued cleaning his nails, and Lucien sat down, tension radiating off his body. He’d curled his hands into fists and bent his knees like he was ready to fight or flee a moment’s notice.

The footsteps grew louder—the scuff of boots on marble tiles.

And then he appeared.

No mask. He, like the Attor, belonged to something else. Some one else.

And worse…I’d met him before. He’d saved me from those three faeries on Fire Night.

With steps that were too graceful, too feline, he approached the dining table and stopped a few yards from the High Lord. He was exactly as I remembered him, with his fine, rich clothing cloaked in tendrils of night: an ebony tunic brocaded with gold and silver, dark pants, and black boots that went to his knees. I’d never dared to paint him—and now knew I would never have the nerve to.

He stopped in the doorway and stared and stared at me. For a moment, I could’ve sworn pure shock flashed across his features, but the look he leveled at me was pure predator. As if I were nothing more than prey to him.

“I remember you. It seems you ignored my warning to stay out of trouble,” he purred, like a cat playing with its dinner. He turned to Tamlin. “Who’s your guest?”

“Feyre Archeron,” Tamlin said. He said my name with a heavy finality, like a judge delivering a death sentence.

“Did you really just give that— that bastard her name? Lucien cried.

“Names have power. It’s Rhysand’s right,” Tamlin said.

I braced myself for an attack—slashing talons, snarling and growling. But Rhysand just laughed—a lover’s laugh, low and soft and intimate. A shiver skittered down my spine.

“A bastard? Is that really something you ought to call a High Lord of Prythian?” he said.

My heart stopped dead. This High Lord, with darkness rippling from him and violet eyes that burned like stars, could only belong to one place.

The High Lord of the Night Court had come to Spring.

With the hand that wasn’t holding the knife, I gripped the table as my knees threatened to buckle under me. Rhysand’s eyes slid to me, and his perfectly shaped lips twitched for just a moment.

But Lucien was undeterred. “This isn’t the Night Court—you have no power here. So scurry back to Amarantha’s bed where you belong.”

“Enough. If you can’t behave yourself, leave us, Lucien,” Tamlin said.

Lucien moved slowly, as if he were fighting the High Lord every step of the way. I’d never seen such anger smoldering in his expression. Rage and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a hint of betrayal.

But he obeyed. And cast one last apologetic look at me before the dining room door shut behind him. Something told me I’d just lost my only ally.

I tried not to tremble at the thought.

Tamlin turned back to Rhysand. “My apologies, High Lord. The Spring Court wants no quarrel with Night, and we won’t keep you from taking what’s rightfully yours.”

“She’ll be pleased to see the brutal war-band leader finally learned his manners. And just in time for you to join the rest of us.”

“I’m obeying the old laws, nothing more and nothing less,” Tamlin said tightly.

“Now?” Rhysand said, arching elegant, groomed brow. “They’ve been dead for centuries. I don’t see what would cause a change of that stone heart of yours after all this time.”

“What are you talking about? I burned them when— Oh, you wouldn’t know, would you?” Tamlin barked a humorless laugh, the harshest sound I’d ever heard him make.

Rhysand’s face became a mask of calm fury—terrible, fearsome, and heartbreakingly beautiful—as he stalked towards the High Lord of Spring. Tamlin raised his claws but made no other move to attack. I nearly ducked under the table to shield myself from whatever was coming, but I didn’t dare so much as breathe.

“Explain yourself.”

“I hardly believed it myself when Lucien told me he saw the mating bond—a High Lord and a human girl are far from equally matched. The clever magic of his mechanical eye doesn’t lie, but I thought it was a trick nonetheless. You and your mistress, forcing me into a war with the Night Court if I dared attempt to save my lands.”

I’d hoped they’d both forget I was there, but Rhysand turned and stared at me again. Really looked, as if he were searching for answers written in my eyes, my face, my body.

I raised the knife, though I knew he’d kill me long before I could bury it in his chest.

An invisible, talon-tipped hand pressed its way into my mind. I couldn’t move. Against my own volition, my muscles went taut, and the knife dropped from my hand and clattered against the floor.

One swipe of those mental claws and who I was would cease to exist. And I could feel them rooting around in my mind, flipping through my thoughts and memories like the pages of a book. Everything laid bare to him, no matter how private or personal.

I would have vomited if I had enough control over my body to do so.

“Leave, Rhys,” Tamlin said. “You can do this elsewhere.”

It wasn’t—I noted—a plea for Rhysand to release the magic binding me. No, Tamlin hadn’t lifted a finger. Perhaps I meant so little to him that he’d hand me over to appease a monster. Perhaps…he hadn’t cared, after all.

I would have whimpered at the thought if I’d had the freedom to draw breath. But even my heart only beat as Rhysand willed it.

“Tell me who she is,” Rhysand demanded, a slight frantic edge to his voice. The first crack in his cool demeanor.

“Feyre Archeron is your mate.”

The talons in my mind stilled but did not release their hold on me, and Rhysand’s eyes widened in pure shock. Tamlin grinned wolfishly.

Like he’d just delivered devastating news to his worst enemy.

I heard Rhysand’s voice inside my head, far softer and gentler than anything he’d said aloud. If I’d been able to move, the sound would have stopped my trembling.

Has he hurt you at all? You can be honest with me, love.

No. If anything, he’s protected me.

I felt a rush of relief—Rhysand’s relief, not my own. Whether he’d deliberately shared it with me or it had just traveled along some sort of connection between us, I couldn’t say.

Those invisible claws caressed my mind, then pulled out gingerly and vanished. My knees finally gave out, but Rhys moved with inhuman speed and caught me by the shoulders before I could sink all the way to the floor.

He hooked his other arm under my legs, cradling me against his chest. Too overwhelmed to fight, I merely tried not to sob or scream. Rhysand had seen everything—I hadn’t known it was possible to be violated so deeply in my own mind.

And yet, I had the strangest urge to bury my face in the crook of his neck.

“We’re finished here,” Rhysand said coldly. “Needless to say, if you breathe a word about her to Amarantha when we meet again, I’ll reduce your court to ash and skin your pelt for fur-lined mittens.”

He sounded like he’d go to war over me. I could barely understand it—faeries looked down on mortals, and a human girl should have been far below a High Lord’s notice.

But Tamlin had called me Rhysand’s mate. A bond so deep, it made even marriage seem insignificant in comparison, he’d once said. But plenty of husbands considered their wives little more than property—and I had no doubt Rhysand guarded his belongings jealously.

If I was no more than a thing to him, then perhaps I was a valuable one, at least.

“I have no desire to see Feyre harmed, either,” Tamlin said, though he didn’t even get up from his seat. “Take care of her.”

Rhysand inclined his head. “I’ll see you Under the Mountain.”

And with that, he carried me into the void between worlds, like a bride over a threshold.

***

We emerged in a wood. Somewhere I could feel in my bones was older—more aware—than anywhere in the Spring Court. The Night Court, perhaps. But I wondered if we’d left Prythian entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Rhysand said, before I could ask. “Fuck. I am, so so sorry.”

“Put me down. Please,” I said.

I’d almost expected him not to, but he did, moving slowly and bracing an arm behind my shoulders until I was steady on my feet. Then he stepped back and left a healthy distance between us.

His violet eyes had gone wide and wild. Desperate.

And yet…when he spoke again, his tone gentled, as if I were the feral creature that might bolt or lash out at any moment. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I believed him. But nothing else made a lick of sense, and I’d never known a forest as quiet as the one where we stood. No birdsong, no distant breaking branches, no hum of insects. It set my teeth on edge.

“Then what do you want with me?”

“My first priority is keeping you alive. There is quite a lot you don’t understand and very little time to explain. So…may I?”

The invisible talons hovered at the edge of my mind but did not pierce it. Rhysand looked at me expectantly.

The silence between us stretched on and on. But those talons did not encroach any closer. I waited to feel them slashing through the very core of myself, but…they never did.

He was waiting for permission, I realized. It set me at ease just enough to say, “Alright.”

A party, somewhere underground. A throng of fae dripping in finery—jewels, elaborate clothes, displays of wealth and power. The crowd parted, and my eyes landed on a surprisingly plain, redheaded female.

Amarantha. The woman I’d come here to kill tonight.

I gasped, realizing it had been a memory. That he had been the one intent on killing Amarantha.

Gods, hadn’t Lucien said that was the woman whose bed Rhysand warmed?

“It’s a painful memory, but one you need to see,” Rhysand said.

There was a gentle pressure against my palms. Caught up in the vision, I hadn’t realized I’d reached out and clasped his hands, and he’d squeezed back. I didn’t let go; the touch was…grounding.

It was a wonder my hands didn’t shake with rage as I plucked a glass of wine from a try proffered by a passing servant. How unfair—how monstrously unfair—that she sat here tonight in a gown of glittering rubies smiling and surrounded by sycophants, thriving and unpunished after all the lives she’d ended. The human slaves she’d killed, the soldiers she’d tortured in an attempt to break me…they all deserved justice.

I couldn’t wait to see her brain leaking out her nose.

But her mental shields were damned difficult to tunnel through. I slunk to a corner of the room, grateful for once that no one wanted to come make small talk with the High Lord of the Night Court. Breaking her defenses would take all of my mental concentration.

I didn’t bother listening to the speech as a toast. It was probably some utter bullshit about ushering in a new era of peace. No, I just kept digging, desperate for a way in. But to avoid arousing suspicion, I lifted my glass along with everyone else.

I sipped my wine and realized my mistake the second the bitter taste hit my tongue. Poison. The well of power I drew from, a vast sea of magic, began to drain away.

In the last few seconds my power was wholly my own, I wiped memories, flung out shields, and cried desperate mental warnings to my friends to stay away. And then it was done. I’d become her slave.

The memory faded, and when I came back to myself, I realized my nails were digging into Rhysand’s hands. He didn’t seem to notice or mind—his violet eyes bored into mine with single-minded intensity. “She intends to help the King of Hybern tear down the Wall and invade the mortal realm. Now do you realize the danger you’re in?”

I nodded weakly. “She’ll kill my family.”

“It gets worse,” he said, and the next memory sucked me under like a riptide.

Another party, a masquerade this time. I sat at Amarantha’s right side, and the lingering scent of what we’d done together in bed still clung to me. She hadn’t let me bathe—had wanted the smell clinging to me, marking me like a brand.

I might as well have attended the revel with a sign around my neck declaring me her whore. And if it continued to keep my court and my family safe, I’d endure a thousand more humiliations.

But I wasn’t the one she was most interested in that night. Tamlin had been foolish enough to slap her hand away when she’d tried to touch him. He should have known how badly that would enrage her.

“I’d sooner touch a human—sooner marry a human—than ever touch you,” he said, the fool. “Even your own sister preferred Jurian’s company to yours.”

The crowd tittered at that—some in shock, others in excited anticipation of the coming bloodshed. By bringing up Clythia, Tamlin might as well have been digging his own grave.

“You’re lucky I'm in a generous mood,” Amarantha drawled. Dangerous words. “I’ll give you a chance to break the spell that binds your power to me.”

Tamlin, the idiot, spat in her face. She laughed.

“I’ll give you seven times seven years before you join the rest of us Under the Mountain, my dear Tamlin. If you want to break the spell before then, you’ll have to find a human girl to marry you. And not just any girl, one with ice in her heart, willing to kill a faerie. Maybe after sending your sentries across the wall like lambs to slaughter, you’ll learn your lesson. Your courtship can only begin after she’s murdered one of your men in an unprovoked attack, killing for hatred alone. Perhaps then, you’ll understand my grief for my sister, and you’ll change your mind.”

This time, as the memory faded, another one pulled me in immediately.

In the dream, I saw a hand. A beautiful, human hand painting flowers on a table. Such a simple thing, but whoever she was, she was living in relative safety if she was painting something entirely ornamental. Something beautiful.

There was still hope.

I tried pushing back an image—the night sky. Stars and the moon. It had been so long since I’d seen an open sky, but the thought of it had kept me going for nearly fifty years. I wasn’t sure the human would receive it, but…I had to try.

“There’s more,” Rhysand said aloud, as the talons in my mind retreated again, “but that’s the gist of it. There isn’t time for me to explain the details right now.”

I just gaped at him as I tried to process all of it. The girl with ice in her heart had been me. But so had the painter from his dreams. His mate.

No wonder Tamlin had thought it was a trick—he’d known I was another male’s mate. Winning me would save his lands…only to earn the ire of the wicked Night Court.

Lucien’s words came back to me. The Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed.

But that was all due to Rhysand’s sacrifices. I didn’t quite understand what it meant to be mates, but I had his loyalty. That might be enough to keep me alive. And I needed to get a warning to my family, a message to flee to the Continent before Amarantha made it below the Wall.

I straightened my spine. “What are you planning?”

“To fake your death. Enough people have seen you that I’m sure word of your existence will get to her eventually. When I go back Under the Mountain, I’ll say you fled for the Wall and were eaten by some creature before you could make it home.”

As sound a strategy as any, I supposed. He’d need evidence if it was going to work. My blood, perhaps. Locks of my hair, torn up clothes with my scent still clinging to them. Anything to fake a struggle.

“I don’t know what happened to the body that belonged to the head you left in the garden,” I said, reaching for the buttons at my collar, “but if you’re in need of a mangled corpse, a faerie bled out in the manor after Amarantha took his wings. Tamlin buried him nearby.”

I slipped off my tunic, leaving me in just my pants and the thin undershirt I wore beneath it. And despite the gruesome turn the conversation had taken, I watched Rhysand’s eyes trail down towards my chest, then very quickly back up to my face.

Pig.

Rhys laughed—a real one, I realized, not the affected one meant to intimidate that I’d heard in the dining room. It might have been the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. “Oh, most definitely. But you didn’t have to think it quite so loudly.”

I tossed the tunic at his face, and he caught it handily. In an elegant movement that spoke to refined manners, he folded it over his arm like a dinner jacket.

“If we’re faking my death, where am I to hide in the meantime?”

“Here, in the forest to the east of the sacred mountain Amarantha claimed as the seat of her court. Neutral territory. In this wood, there is no High Lord, and the law is made by who is strongest, meanest, most cunning. She does not dare touch these creatures or disturb this wood.”

If Amarantha wouldn’t set foot here, I shuddered to think what monsters lurked among these trees. Something far worse than the Bogge or the naga or even the Attor.

So much for thinking Rhysand wouldn’t throw me to the wolves.

“You won’t be entirely without help,” he said, sounding almost…affronted. If he had wings, they would have rustled. But he’d clearly been listening to my thoughts again, so I couldn’t help but scowl.

A tang of magic stung my nose. I shivered at the way the spell skittered along my skin, though there was something oddly familiar about it. Like I knew Rhys’s power.

I glanced down at my arm, which had become a blur of color, like I was made of half-mixed paint. When I tried to focus on a specific part—my fingers, my elbow—my attention merely bounced elsewhere. I’d seen something similar before.

“A glamour?” I guessed.

“The scraps of power at my disposal aren’t enough to completely glamour you, but you’re…camouflaged. Not entirely invisible, but the creatures here will pass you by as long as you don’t draw attention to yourself.”

I’d manage. Out of habit, I moved quietly through the woods anyway, intent on not scaring away any game. I knew how to keep myself hidden.

A pack appeared at my feet, laden with supplies. A small tent, some rope, a flint, a bedroll, a bandana, another set of clothes. The sort of things I would have killed for when I was hunting in the woods.

“There’s no knife—she limited my magic so I’m unable to summon weapons. And I can’t give you food, either. But this should be a start,” he said.

I picked up the pack and slung it over my shoulder. “Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know,” he said, face darkening. “She rarely lets any of us out from Under the Mountain. And give it a wide berth—get too close, and her sentries guarding the entrances will spot you.”

I’d be alone in the woods—besides the more fearsome creatures, it wasn’t all that different from my life below the Wall. And at least this time, there was only one mouth to feed.

“So is this…goodbye?” I said, hating the way my voice wavered.

“For now. If you stay in the forest, you’ll be close enough that I’ll be able to reach your mind. We can speak that way when I’m not…” He trailed off, but his wince and the memories he’d just shown me spoke volumes about whatever duties he carried out in Amarantha’s hellish court.

“And you’ll answer my questions?” There was so much I needed to know.

“I won’t keep secrets from you, especially not after rifling through your mind earlier. I’m sorry for the harm it caused.”

Something told me Rhysand didn’t apologize very often. That he’d bothered, with time running so short…

“Thank you,” I said with a nod. “You should go.”

My jacket was still folded over his arm. He lifted his other hand and started to reach towards me, then dropped it as if he’d thought better of it. His fingers curled into a fist at his side.

“I’ll find you again as soon as I can,” he said. It sounded like a vow.

His violet eyes held mine until he faded completely into mist. It was just me and the moss and gnarled trees and lichen. And somewhere…the unholy creatures that called this place home.

Day after day, I’d survived and kept my family alive by stepping into the trees and putting my feelings aside. Without even a sigh, I set off to find somewhere to camp.

[skybluewritings]

Last Summer Part 2, Felix Catton x Fem!reader

word count: 2K

Masterlist

She would be staying with the Cattons for a month then return home a couple days before her flight to finish packing and give her tearful goodbyes. She paused the track on her iPod when she saw him pulling up to the station. Felix had insisted on coming himself to collect her despite her insistence that she was happy order a taxi.

The car came to a stop, she picked up the handle of her suitcase and walk down the steps of the station. Felix got out of his car, despite having seen each other only a week ago she couldn’t contain the rush of joy that seeing him brought. Her suitcase was momentarily discarded, she squealed as she flung her arms around his neck. His arms wound around her waist, he laughed as he lifted her a little. The wood and spice smell of his aftershave was intoxicating.

Once he had set her down she unwrapped her arms from his neck, grinning up at him. She glanced down noticing his arms were still around her waist, his palms resting on the small of her back. He also noticed this and immediately pulled away from her.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”

Heat spread through her stomach. “No it’s uh quite alright.”

Neither spoke for a moment, Felix clapped his hands together. “Right, shall we?”

“Yes, yeah, let’s go!”

She went to pick up her suitcase but he had beat her to it.

“I’ll be taking that.” He told her.

She scoffed. “I think I’m more than capable of carrying a suitcase.”

He shrugged. “Nope don’t care."

“You vex me.” She sighed, opening the car door and dropping into the seat.

“You love me really!” He sang, taking the suitcase and opening the car boot.

He was closer to the truth than he would ever know.

*

The car sped through the countryside, it was a bright and blazing day. The roof the convertible was down, the wind making her hair dance all around her. The upbeat tempo of music vibrated through the vehicle. She rested her arm against the window ledge, choosing to subtly gaze at Felix through her cat eye sunglasses. It was unfair how good he looked in his ray-ban sunglasses, her eyes traced the sharp curve of his jawline.

“I can feel you staring.” He said.

“I was very much not!” She replied defensively, looking away from and at the rode ahead.

“I’m not blind.” She couldn’t see him but she knew he was smirking.

“You flatter yourself too much.” She teased.

“I don’t think I flatter myself enough.” He replied, she playfully smacked his arm knowing he was joking. It may have seemed like a narcissistic thing to say but when it came down to it there wasn’t much about Felix that was self obsessed. He was not unaware of his own attractiveness but he didn’t carry himself in the way most vain men would.

“So how much further?” She asked.

“Another couple minutes I reckon.”

“Is there anything you haven’t told me that I should know? Like that your family is actually a coven of aristocratic vampires.”

“Just my mum!” He told her, before shaking his head. “No, there isn’t much that you don’t know already. My family can be somewhat traditional but pretty welcoming overall.”

“Will I be presented to your mum in the fashion of a debutante at court?”

He laughed. “Yes then you’ll be forced to dance a waltz with my dad.”

This made her laugh. “Sounds sexy.”

“Thank you for agreeing to come I really do appreciate it.” He told her taking her hand and giving it a warm squeeze.

She squeezed it back. “You’re welcome, I’m always here for you.”

“You too.” He said finally letting go of her hand.

Her pulse was far too fast and so was her spiralling mind. How was she going to manage a month with him?

*

They finally drove through the gates of Saltburn, as cliche as it sounded her mouth nearly fell open in sheer shock. It was the most elegant home she had ever seen. She knew he came from a lot of money but was still taken aback by the extravagance of it all. The car drive came to a stop inside a large garage full of a variety of old expensive cars.

 

Felix came round to her side opening the car door for her, in a gesture she thought only happened in old films.

 

“Thank you.” She told him with a smile.

 

He smiled back. “My mum would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

 

“I would have thought someone else parked your car for you?” She pointed out.

 

“Sometimes I like to do things for myself.” He explained matter of fact.

 

She supposed that was a fair answer, truthfully, she had no clue how the rules of anything of this worked. This was an extreme version wealth which she had never encountered before.

 

He opened the boot of the car, and she took out her suitcase pulling it behind her as they left the garage.

 

They reached the main foyer of the house, it had wide cavernous ceilings with various patterns carved into it. An older man in a suit dipped his head at them politely.

 

“(Name) this is Duncan the head Butler.”

 

Head Butler?! She thought. Was she in Pride and Prejudice?

 

Duncan gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Pleasure to meet you.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” She replied trying to mimic his formal tone.

 

“I will have your luggage taken to your room.” Duncan told her.

 

(Name) waved her hands. “Oh no really it’s okay I can take it.”

 

Duncan’s face became more pinched. “No please I insist.”

Yeah she was not going to try argue with him.

 

“Well thank you then.” She said awkwardly.

 

She looked on helplessly as Duncan commanded another butler to take the suitcase.

 

Felix clearly sensing her discomfort pat her on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go to the conservatory my mum will be dying to meet you.”

 *

 

There were three women in the conservatory, they were all sat on ornate chairs that faced opened glass doors. Two of the women were engrossed in a story the blonde woman was telling them. She stopped speaking when she noticed her friends had stopped paying attention to her and to instead the new arrivals. The blonde woman turned to see what they were staring at, her whole face lit up.

 

“My goodness darling you do know how to pick them don't you.” The blonde woman (who she had worked out was his mother) said to Felix.

 

She elegantly stood from her chair and practically sauntered toward them.

 

“This is my mum, Elspeth.” He told her.

 

“Lovely to meet y-“ Her words were cut off when Elspeth grabbed both sides of her face tilting it to one side then the other. (Name) winced at having her face manhandled.

 

“Mum stop that!” Her best friend scolded, gently swatting his Mother’s prying hands away.

 

Elspeth bought her hands to her chest. “I do apologise it’s just that I’m trying to figure out what it is about your beauty that draws my son in. I think it might be your eyes they’re rather lovely.”

 

It was a strange compliment, but still a compliment she supposed. “Oh thank you.” She said with a nervous smile. “However I’m pretty sure my physical appearance doesn’t really play a part in my friendship with Felix!”

 

Elspeth furrowed her brow. “Friendship?” She looked to her son. “Felix I thought she was your girlfriend.”

 

Girlfriend?!

 

He sighed. “Mum, I explicitly told you I had a friend coming to stay.”

 

“But the way you so lovingly spoke about her-“

 

“Anyway,” Felix said slightly too loud. “I am sure (Name) will want to get settled into her bedroom, we’ll see you for dinner.”

 

“But really it is wonderful to have you stay dear.” Elspeth told her kindly.

 

She found herself smiling genuinely. “Thank you.”

 

Felix led her out the conservatory with the same speed she led him out of the party.

*

Felix fell back onto the bed in the guest bedroom. He covered his face with both hands groaning into them. “Oh god I’m sorry, that was so embarrassing.”

 

She perched on the bed next to him. “I-I mean it wasn’t too bad. Your mum seems to at least like me!”

 

“Yeah I guess.” He removed his hands from his face. “But how could she imply that you and I-as if I am not capable of just having female friends.”

 

“You seemed to be pretty good friends with a lot of the girls at Oxford.” She snickered, pretending it didn’t hurt to know that.

 

He rolled his eyes. “How do you know?”

 

She flopped down next to him and playfully elbowed him. “I mean you weren’t exactly subtle in hiding it everyone kind of knew.”

 

 “Is that really how you see me?”

 

She turned to lie on her side. “No of course not-sorry I was only teasing.”

 

He didn’t look at her, instead picking at the buttons of his shirt. “I don’t like the idea that a bunch of people can just decide something about me, like they know me. I always made it clear I never wanted anything more from the people I was with. I’m not some heartless fuck boy. It makes me feel uncomfortable that some people might have that view of me...”

 

“Well I don’t.” She said softly. “No one’s perfect but you aren’t a bad guy, people know that even if they see your exploits differently to how you did.”

 

He now looked at her. “What do you think of me?”

 

Where should she start? “I think you’re just one of the kindest people I’ve ever met and that well-I can’t believe I’m existing in the same room as you.”

 

Maybe the last part was too much, but she couldn’t help it if she meant it. His lips parted at her words, he seemed at a momentary loss for words as he stared at her stunned. His full lips looked so inviting parted like that, it wouldn’t have taken her much to lean forward and find out. She chose to sit back up this was becoming too dangerous for her.

 

She cleared her throat. “Do with that what you will.”

 

He seemed to snap back to reality gradually sitting up next to her. “I’m sorry it took me a minute, it’s just- no one’s ever really said anything like that to me before.” He swallowed hard.

 

“Maybe it’s time that someone should.” She admitted.

He gave her a grateful smile that made everything inside her melt away. The moment passed when he stood up from the bed and offered out his hand to her which she gladly took as he pulled her to her feet. “Come on I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

Tag list: @emitaylorsverson

[blackmistral]

Bound by Love - Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader/OC

Omg first of all - HI! so no one knows me here (😞) but if any of you ever wrote a fanfic about Alcina, i most probably read it bc i'm literally in love with her! I began writing this a long time ago for myself and decided to finish it to publish it here! My first language isn't english and I originally wrote it in french so I hope the translation isn't too bad! Please feedback for any mistakes! (it's so goddamn short ngl)

The path to the village was by no means hard to access. The only real dangers were the traps and the lycans - who nevertheless kept a relatively safe distance from the young woman. But on this day, there was no such danger.

   Laura made her own way to the village to go to the night market, claiming she didn't mind the task. Alcina Dimitrescu's three daughters, Bela, Cassandra and Daniela, had all offered to accompany her, but she had told them she'd be quicker on her own. So, she dressed warmly, given Romania's capricious October weather, and went out with nothing more than a sorrel basket and a small purse. She hadn't gone to notify Alcina of her departure, since she was still working in her office and wish not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.

   So, she headed down towards the village, keeping an eye on her surroundings. The trees around her looked threatening, as if they were warning her off. As she went deeper into the forest and looked back for a moment, she noticed that she could no longer see the castle in the fog. Clenching her fists for courage, she started walking faster. Each step seemed to lead her back towards an uncertain danger; and she widened her eyes when she spotted a large shadow behind her. It must have been there for some time, but the bad weather had prevented the young woman from seeing properly. A hand came to rest on her right shoulder, and she jumped. Thinking at first of a lycan, she was, for a moment, calmed by the realization that the figure behind her was not a monster but a man. But when she looked at his dirt-covered face, she was astonished to discover that there was nothing human about his gaze. He was glaring at her bitterly, as if she wasn't really to his liking. A wry smile appeared after a few seconds, however, and she suddenly remembered that she was alone - and defenseless - against this stranger.

   “Did you get lost, pretty girl?”

   His voice sounded to her like a low growl, meant to be threatening. Laura tried to step aside and answer, but the hand on her shoulder moved abruptly to her throat and grabbed her neck. It was hard to breathe now, and the realization hit her once again. Not only was she alone, but she wasn't expected back at the castle for at least another hour. Alcina, she thought. She imagined her face until the grip around her neck tightened and the man pushed her to the ground. She tried to catch her breath, but her assailant came dangerously close, giving her no respite.

   She wondered how this had happened. Alcina had told her, warned her, that she shouldn't go out alone. Laura had found her reasons somewhat foolish before, until now.

   He threw himself at her, a terrifying smile plastered on his face. She began to cry now, her tears falling into the mud. The man grabbed her jacket and blouse and yanked them off, tossing the clothes aside. She was now in her underwear and bra, her face twisted in fear, trying in vain to scream for help. She felt naked, humiliated. He moved his fingers towards her chest, ignoring her pleas and cries, forcing one of his hands over her mouth to silence her. It was when he touched her breast that a ferocious growl was heard, stopping the man in his doing. He frowned.

   “What the hell?”

   Behind him, a shadow nearly ten foot tall made him break out into a cold sweat. He turned around slowly, and Laura recognized her. She'd recognized her by the rumble in her voice. Alcina. She now approached at full speed, growling again, and sank her outstretched claws into the mortal's throat. Blood splattered onto her white dress, but she paid it no mind, her gaze fixed on the one she was about to kill.

   “My wife. My partner. You dare lay your hands on her? Prostule!” she exclaimed almost breathlessly, the rage consuming her.

   He choked as he tried to answer, but she dug her claws into his chest, and he stopped breathing. Laura watched the scene before her, torn between relief and fear. Alcina dropped the lifeless body to the ground, seeming to regain awareness of what she had done. She rushed over - still with the same elegance that fascinated Laura - and knelt beside her, taking her in her arms.

   “My darling,” she murmured.

   Laura noticed that Alcina was trembling too and put her arms around her neck.

   “Alcina... Alcina,” she sobbed.

   “I'm here, comoara mea.”

   The vampire ran her gloved hand through the young woman's hair and embraced her, rising to her original height. Laura wrapped her legs as best she could around her broad torso and rested her head on her breasts. She was still sobbing, shocked by the events that had taken place in such a short space of time. Alcina stayed silent and walked carefully to the castle.

***  

   Inside, the oil lamps were still burning brightly. Laura's skin was pale, slightly bluish at the tips, and her teeth were chattering. Alcina went straight across the central courtyard and into the building where their apartments and luxurious bathroom were located. A bathtub, with gigantic dimensions to match the vampire's supernatural size, was set in a corner of the room, near a window overlooking the forest below. Alcina placed Laura gently on the cabinet and sat her down, then tried to pull away; unsuccessfully, in view of the small, trembling hand that held her by the sleeve of her dress.

   “I'll just run some hot water, darling. I'll only be a moment.”

   When the young woman nodded softly and let go of the cloth, Alcina moved to the bathtub and turned on the hot water tap. She added one of her wife's favorite foaming soaps, then returned to her. Laura had never looked so fragile. True, she was a “tiny” woman, but this was one of the only times she'd seen her so terrified.

   It was a sight she never wanted to see again.

   She approached again and slowly ran her hands over the marks on Laura's neck.

    “My beloved... Forgive me for not having been here before. As soon as I knew you were in danger...”

   The vampire lowered her face to her wife's throat and planted her canines delicately in the mark she had given her at their wedding. Laura stroked Alcina's hair as she kissed the bruises. The brunette took Alcina's face in her hands and gave her a tired but sincere smile.

   “I'm fine now. You saved me, as you always have.”

   Yet, despite her reassuring words, Laura was still trembling. Alcina stepped aside, undressed and removed Laura's remaining clothes with ease, then led the young woman to the bath. She placed her at the front of the tub and settled herself behind her before pulling her back against her chest. Warm and tender kisses were placed on the nape of her neck and Laura sighed.

   “For a moment, I thought... it was too late,” she whispered.

   The big arms around her instinctively tightened and Alcina nestled her nose in his neck.

   “I'll always be there to protect you. From anyone and anything. I sensed you were in danger the moment you came across that... horrible lucru stupid de om.”

   Alcina growled softly, then tenderly kissed the back of the young woman's neck.

   “When I sensed your fear, your anguish... the first thing I did was look for you all over the castle. The girls came to see me and told me you'd left... Why didn't you warn me? You know the risks of leaving my lands alone, my angel.”

   “I didn't want to bother you,” Laura admitted. “You're so stressed with the investors these days…”

   “Those stupid incompetents - and my wine - are not my priority. You are my priority,” Alcina whispered, turning the brunette's head to rub her cheek against hers. “I apologize if I let you think otherwise.”

   Hearing these words, Laura turned in her wife's embrace to face her.

   “I didn't mean it that way. Even though I often find it hard to believe, I know you love me,” she said, smiling sheepishly, her cheeks flushed. “And I'm enormously grateful. Without you and our daughters... I'd be nothing.”

   Alcina ran a hand through her companion's sleek hair and smiled back.

   “Just like us, darling.”

***

   When the water turned cold and Laura had fallen asleep, Alcina decided it was time for them to go to bed. Their daughters had probably gone hunting, and it was late in the night by now.

   Once settled comfortably in their bed and dressed in a light nightgown belonging to Alcina, Laura looked peaceful, the vampire thought. She lay down beside her and wrapped her arms around her again. Alcina was by no means an insecure woman. She was afraid of nothing and nobody. But in the presence of such a fragile being... She couldn't help wondering if she would ever be too late.    She frowned. “No one's going to take you away from me. I love you too much for that to happen.”

[se-agapo-skywalker]

Silence at the Cliffs of Dawn

Celebrating one year of the blog 🥳

CW: age gap (dilf!Luke Skywalker), finger (cybernetic) sucking, oral sex (f! and m! receiving; blowjob/face sitting/69ing)

WC: 3.5k

"...All I ever do is make myself unlikable. You know that," Luke says, "Why do you even bother staying?"

The two of you are laying down in his bed, pressed together tightly to avoid accidentally pushing the other off the already small space--how you managed to convince Luke to let you sleep with him, you have no idea... Of course, you did sleep with him. Your current state of undress is evidence of that; in a move showcasing a rare display of his kindness, he allowed you to hog the majority of the blanket while he chose to rely on the warmth of his nightclothes.

Propping your head up on the pillow, you look at Luke and frown.

"I don't think you do it on purpose... for the most part, anyway," you tease. He raises an unamused eyebrow at you, before shaking his head and letting out a quiet almost-laugh.

"I can't even tell anymore. I guess I've really grown into it."

You fall silent for a moment. "What were you like? Before... When you were a Jedi?"

More silence. The rain outside is just starting to clear up, you notice, but it's still dark out. Luke's features are too dim to fully discern, but even then, you can notice the pain in his eyes... the conflict.

Strangely enough, he laughs. An actual laugh.

"...I looked a lot nicer. Dignified, you know? Not like some hobo hermit living in the middle of nowhere." He sighs. "In all seriousness, though... things were different. I can barely even recognize who I am now, nor can I the man I was before."

"Let me guess..." you smile, trying to picture a younger version of the greying man before you. You've seen the old propaganda posters--shockingly handsome ones, portraying him as the gorgeous golden boy of the Rebellion. "Plenty of admirers? Paramours, even?"

Luke shakes his head with something akin to embarrassment. "People certainly tried, but... that life wasn't for me."

Intrigued, you decide to press even further. "Well, what was? The daring pilot with a life full of adventure, or the wise, contemplative Jedi who liberated entire planets with the wave of his hand?"

"I did my fair share of both, but the truth is far more complicated than that. For a while, I did chase the feeling of being a hero..." His gaze grows distant. Regretful. "But it was all in vain. The people you save get killed. The things you build get destroyed. This galaxy, everything in it, it's all... temporary."

You sit up, blanket sliding off your nude form slightly and catching Luke's attention; as much as he tries to hide it, he can't help the way you affect him. For a moment, you smirk, but with the better view of his face you can see just how tormented he is.

"I mean, the galaxy isn't all that bad... it brought us together, right?"

"But it took so much in the process," Luke mutters in response.

"I-"

"Don't tell me it was worth it. It wasn't."

He moves over onto his back and covers his face with his left hand--hiding tears, no doubt. Tears he isn't yet ready to let you see.

"...The rain is over. You can leave if you wish."

"I'm not leaving," you say, maneuvering yourself over him. Luke peeks up at you through his fingers before you gently grab his hand and move it away from his face. "Not when you need me."

He exhales slowly, sadly, but he makes no move to shove you off him. With your other hand, you brush away the tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

"Let me take care of you, alright?"

Just as Luke instinctively opens his mouth to protest, he immediately concedes, settling back into the pillow. He's old, and he's tired, what use is it trying to fight you off? Besides, he wants this--needs it, he discovered at the onset of the rain--so the last thing he's going to do is stop you.

The room is silent, save for the sound of baited breath, as you finally lean over to kiss him. Using your free hand to stroke the fringe out of his eyes, other hand still holding his, you kiss the lines of his forehead, the bridge of his crooked nose, and finally his lips.

Luke doesn't think he's anything special; you think he's extraordinary. Not for being the hero of your dreams, but for being the man he truly is--as broken and as vulnerable as he may be, he's yours. And that's enough.

Despite the few times you've kissed him, you both take to it like a pikobi to water. You take the lead; his are quite shy, but by the time your lips meet, Luke noticeably relaxes beneath your touch.

His mechanical hand moves to your bare back, tracing the shape of your spine as you arch over him, the texture of the leather glove making you shiver. It moves from your back to your waist, slowly climbing toward your chest, where he graces your nipple with a firm pinch--not hard enough to hurt you, but enough to show his desire. Yes, Luke Skywalker desires you.

Although still sleeping, you can feel the stirrings beneath you as his arousal grows. You're fully awake, restless, hungry. Luke, on the other hand, needs a bit more time, time you're more than willing to give--you know the prize will be worth it.

"Master..." you purr, wiggling your hips slightly as he twitches at the sound of the nickname. "You've seen me. I haven't seen you yet."

"I-I'm nothing worth looking at..."

"You are to me."

Luke moves his cybernetic from the valley of your chest to cradle your face. You silently kiss the palm of his hand, mechanical fingers flexing within the leather, before taking the material between your teeth to pull it off.

"Wait-"

The leather doesn't catch on the metal; instead, it slips off like a raindrop sliding down the stone roof. Luke makes no move to halt its movement. The mechanical fingers are revealed to you, one by one, grey metal glinting in the slivers of moonlight streaming through the window.

"Beautiful..." you whisper, barely loud enough to be audible. But Luke hears you; if he were to respond, he's certain he'd just about cry.

Being linked to his nervous system, he has enough "feeling" in his cybernetic to control its movements and sense external stimuli, but without the synthskin, he can't truly feel. Hence why he barely uses it to touch you, let alone in a sexual context. All you have to do is show him he can.

In a swift motion you barely even stop to ponder, your tongue comes out to explore the metalwork; a metallic flavor--no surprise to you--accompanies the cold, and Luke refrains from flexing his fingers in your mouth.

Stars, he can't even register what you're doing, let alone why you're doing it. He watches you, blue eyes full blown to near-blackness as you suck on his fingers like they were a cock. Speaking of which, his throbs uncomfortably in the confines of his pants. Your movements in his lap feel incredible. Peeking down to look at your bare pussy grinding on him is enough to make him come... well, almost.

You, however, are not a fan of the cloth boundary between you; sure, it adds extra friction, but it's nowhere near as electric of a sensation as skin against skin. You've seen Luke's face, and his flesh hand, and his cock, but that's as far as you've gotten. Is he insecure about being old? It's not a problem to you, and he knows this, but you doubt he's fully internalized it. Being a (former) Jedi Master, you're sure he's covered in scars from the countless battles he's fought in... scars on his arms, his chest, his thighs-

"Y-yes," Luke pants out, seemingly reading your thoughts. "You can..." He can't even finish his sentence, flesh hand moving to grab your free hand and bring it to his clothes.

"Are you sure, Master?"

"Just do it already."

Delicately pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a thin line of spit connecting them to your lips, you pin Luke's right arm over his head, just like he did to yours earlier that night. He looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and arousal, a small smile of disbelief forming on his lips. You have plans--and you can't wait to show him.

The material of his sleep shirt is a rough wool of some kind, the cut of it a simple wrap-tunic similar to his Jedi robes. It gives you easy access to his chest; considering just how much Luke likes yours, you believe it's your turn to enjoy his. Ghosting your fingertips beneath the fabric, he shivers at your touch, and you raise an eyebrow at the texture you discover. Coarse, fuzzy, thick--you hadn't expected him to be just as hairy on his chest as he is on his face, but stars, you aren't complaining.

Luke is just about as red as a gundark by the time you pull his sleep shirt open. Of course, his embarrassment is no match for his stubbornness, which quickly bubbles up again to hide his discomfort. Typical Luke.

"Sure took you long enough."

"It did."

"Now what?"

"You'll see..."

Placing both of your palms flat on his chest, you lean over to kiss him once more; your mouth meets his, and then his neck, where you brand it with a startlingly red hickey. At the same time, you're scratching down his torso and tugging at the greying hairs.

Beneath the layer of fur is a web of tendril-like scars, stretching across his body like lightning. You can't help but wonder what dramatic battle between Jedi and Sith must have caused them... but stars, they're beautiful. You're determined to show him this.

Luke groans against your lips--if he had it his way, stars, he'd flip you over and pound you senseless. But no, he has already done that... and he's tired. Tired physically, tired mentally, tired of being in charge. For once, he'd like to experience what it means for someone to take care of him. Just once.

Taking care of yourself isn't even on your mind. Yes, you're horny beyond belief, skin on fire as you grind your dripping cunt against his still-clothed cock. Force, it isn't enough, it'll never be enough until you get the real thing. But... you want to try something different. You have a feeling he might want to as well.

"Where are you-" Luke begins to ask as you reluctantly pull yourself off him, only to be cut off by you running your fingers down his happy trail before shoving your hand down his pants. "Shavit, sweetheart!"

"Who are you calling sweetheart?" you smile, enjoying the thrill of feeling him before seeing him. His cock is hot and heavy in your palm, and much to your delight he neglected to wear any undergarments. As much as you enjoy the groans that escape his lips at the way you run your thumb over the already leaking tip, the devious part of you desires to tease him even more; removing your hand from his member, you move to squeeze his tightening balls.

"Fuck... fuck..." Luke moans. He's gripping the sheets with his cybernetic, flesh hand resting over the upper half of his face.

"Such language, Master... and such a light touch, too," you say, "I'm starting to worry you won't last for me."

When Luke finally manages to look out from under his hand, there's something strange in his eyes--lust, desire, conviction. To do what, you don't know.

"Sit on me."

"Are you sure? I don't think you're ready-"

"Not my cock. My face."

Now it's your turn to be surprised. All this teasing, all this bossing him around, yet he can't help but turn the tables and remind you who's in charge. That damn Skywalker is impossible to figure out, but you wouldn't have it any other way--in all honesty, that's why you're here. Why you stayed, even when he tried to push you away.

"Very well, Master... but I want a taste of you as well."

Before maneuvering to climb over him, you pull his trousers off his legs in one swift motion, his cock standing at full attention as it springs from its confines. Fuck, just the sight of it is enough to make you want to bounce on it until you're both sweaty and screaming. But not yet.

Your eyes are just keen enough to notice the way Luke blushes at you eyeing him up in the dim light. Stars, he is hairy--not that you're complaining, of course. You just didn't expect the wise old Jedi master to practically be a Wookiee beneath his clothes. He squirms a little under the intensity of your gaze, cock twitching in anticipation. A bead of precum glistens in the faint moonlight and dribbles down the veiny shaft... Licking your lips, you decide to do something about it.

Luke steadies you with his arms as you maneuver to climb over him. Soft apologies and awkward giggles are traded between the two of you as you try to figure out your bearings, metal hand accidentally pinching soft flesh and weight being distributed uncomfortably, but not painfully.

"I-I've never done this before," you breathe out, breaking your previously seductive demeanor.

"I wouldn't know where to begin," Luke's low voice chuckles, "but I think as long as you don't break my neck, we're doing it right."

Your current predicament involves you straddling his neck and facing his chest; you're bent over him, just barely hovering over his face, and his hands are gripping the soft flesh of your ass. The cybernetic in particular digs into your skin in a deliciously painful way, and you know it'll leave marks after--marks you'll wear with pride. Not that anyone other than him will be seeing them.

Luke quite enjoys the view he's getting--it takes practically all his willpower not to pull you down onto his face and go to town, damn the consequences (although a sprained neck at his age in the middle of nowhere is most certainly a bad idea). After having gotten a taste of your pussy before, he's insatiable; he'll do anything to get his fix.

Balancing your weight on your knees and your forearms, you lean forward to assess your target. The slight upward curve of his cock gives you easy access to it; licking down his happy trail, you nuzzle through wiry hairs before greeting his aching, impatient member. The Jedi Master may be able to hide his impatience beneath his actions and his demeanor, but, given his anatomy, his body can't.

Leaning forward, you greedily stick out your tongue to lap up the bead of precum already leaking out. It's... salty, and slightly bitter. You're still not sure about the taste, but it's him, so you want it.

Luke groans beneath you at the feeling of your tongue on him. The vibrations from his voice dance cruelly on your clit, the phantom of pleasure yet to come--before he finally grants you mercy and pulls you down onto his waiting lips.

The gasp that escapes your lips is muffled by you taking him in your mouth to gag yourself on his cock. He felt so massive when he was inside you, but like this... you almost can't handle it. Figuratively, and literally--you stop right before he hits the back of your throat, taking in just enough to really drive him wild without hurting yourself.

Luke drowns his moans in your soaking cunt, his noises and the movement of his hands beckoning you to start moving on his face.

Come on, sweetheart, his voice says in the back of your mind--another Jedi ability, you're sure. You won't hurt me.

Hips and mouth begin a slow, rhythmic pace on him. You can't help the way you tremble ever so slightly, unsure about the pressure of your movements or the depth of your strokes, but that anxiety becomes an afterthought as your senses dissolve into pure pleasure.

Luke fights the temptation to start bucking into your mouth--no, you've been far too good to him, you don't deserve to be treated in such a way. You're his angel, his saving grace, the being he isn't even worthy of touching (yet somehow is). Whatever he did to earn your affection, he wants to repay tenfold--you're his to use as you please.

He uses his tongue on you with as much fervor and hunger as he did earlier that night, if not even more. The taste of you on his lips lights a fire in the pit of his stomach and fully has him drunk on your essence. Reverently Luke alternates between fucking you with his tongue and swirling it around your clit, just as you alternate between sucking and stroking his shaft.

It's so wrong, a master and student behaving like this... Your cheeks flush at the utter indulgence of the act. Whatever afterlife the Jedi of old reside in, you can only hope they aren't witnessing your liaison.

Luke, however, doesn't give a fuck. He hasn't given one in quite some time--why should he live by the rules of the dead? That dogma nearly destroyed him. It ruined everything he ever cared about, everything he never allowed himself to truly love. No, "attachment" was forbidden. Anything that could become a pathway to the dark side was to be shunned.

Luke never understood how for so much of his Jedi training, so much of his life, his emotions were regarded as an inseparable part of him, passion and love he had harnessed to help countless others during the war. That all changed when he saved his father. He had defied Obi-Wan and Yoda's instruction to kill Anakin; therefore, his feelings were misguided, wrong. And it became his duty to suppress them.

But not anymore. He is no longer a Jedi, not in the way he was "meant" to be. He's just Luke, just a hermit, just an old man learning to love again--or, perhaps, learning to love for the very first time.

Luke's cock twitches and kicks in your mouth, threatening to spill at any moment. Teasingly, you pull him out of your mouth--earning a harsh groan into your cunt--to kiss the swollen, purple head.

"Oh, master..." you whisper, tracing his veins with your fingertips, "let go for me. I'm here, I'm ready."

A final squeeze of his balls urges him to finish on your tongue--and, capturing him in your mouth once more, he does. Spurts of hot liquid spill inside you, albeit in a different spot than before, and you choke slightly on the sheer load of it all. You're milking Luke for all he's worth, and he rewards you by practically breeding your mouth. Hips stutter and still as he calms down and starts to soften, so you slip him out of your mouth, gracing the overstimulated head with a final lick.

Your clit throbs at the taste of him cumming in your mouth, the knot forming within your belly signaling your own impending release. Beneath you, Luke is patiently at work drawing it out, exploring the depths of your sacred spot with his tongue. Now you're fully free to ride his face with reckless abandon--a task he encourages you to do with the guidance of his hands squeezing your thighs and groping your ass.

"Luke... Luke..." you moan, letting the sound freely escape your now unoccupied lips. No 'Master,' no titles or nicknames, just his name; his true name, the one he hasn't heard anyone call him in the past six years. If your senses are correct, coupled with the scratchy sensation of his beard, you can feel him smiling into you as he eats you out. He's positively making out with your cunt, kissing you just as he had kissed your other set of lips when you first came to him.

The orgasm that approaches is entirely unlike the one you experienced before; it approaches slowly, like a wave off the coast of the Temple Island, growing and growing in intensity before finally crashing against the shore. You buck your hips on his face, feeling the friction of his beard against your clit as you chase the delicious sensation bubbling beneath the surface.

Soon enough, Luke grants it; your Force bond burns white-hot as you tremble and come undone on his face, slicking his beard with juices he laps up as happily as a massiff. You're sure the cries that escape your lips are audible all the way in the Caretaker village. Luke chuckles beneath you, large hands--the ones that surely left bruises on your skin--coming up to help you slide off his face and into his lap.

Silence. No more rain. Just beyond the cliffs, the twin suns of Ahch-To begin to rise; much like the dawns of his youth, you imagine. You turn your gaze to your new lover's face as the first slivers of light stream through the opening of the window.

"That was..." you start, laughing breathlessly as you run your fingers through your hair.

Luke props himself up on his elbows, wiping his face with his flesh hand. A rare smile appears on his face.

"...Good. Very good."

[phoenixyfriend]

If you still do the ask meme: nr.1 for a timetravel Jangosoka?

26 Family Prompts Ask Meme

Accidental Baby Acquisition

This contains both intentional and accidental acquisition. (They'll give it back! Probably.)

------------------

"He's mine."

Jango looks at the woman he has, somehow, managed to fall for.

He looks at the baby.

He looks at her again.

"You adopted? Without asking me?"

"No, birthed him myself."

That baby is human. Fully human. There is no chance, in any way, that Ahsoka managed to have a fully human child. There's some shit about placentas or whatever. A tog can't surrogate a human and vice versa.

"Jetii--"

"Oh, I'm in trouble," she giggles, entirely too enthused about his annoyance.

"Jetii," he tries again, "please tell me you didn't steal a child."

"I did not steal a child," she confirms. "I just... acquired one."

"Acquired one."

"Yeah."

He waits in vain. He breaks and asks, "Ahsoka, how did you acquire this child?"

She smiles at him.

--

The child's name is Ferus Olin. He was not stolen, but given willingly by his parents for Ahsoka to take to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

"You could have just said so," Jango gripes as he fires up the engines. She laughs at him, and hikes the tot higher on her hip. "Don't act like it's not within the realm of possibility that you'd randomly pick up a kid and forget to warn me about it."

"Sure," she says, "but consider this: it was funny."

"You are not nearly as funny as you think you are."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes and addresses the kid instead. "What do you think, Ferus? Am I funny?"

The toddler--baby, really--stares up at her silently. There is something up with that kid, but Jango figures that's par for the course with Force Sensitives.

A slightly wet, very chubby hand lands on a lekku.

"That is saliva," Jango notes aloud, mostly because Ahsoka looks a little disgusted, and likes she's trying to hide it from the kid. "Baby drool."

"Oh, fu--shove off."

"Classy."

--

So like. Here's the thing. About carting around two almost-Jedi:

One of them is his age, and hot, and weird, and he's a little bit in love with her.

The other one is less than a year old, and should be relatively safe and sound to leave alone for five minutes while napping so they can do things like use the bathroom, or argue over the nav, or knock against the walls doing things that babies probably shouldn't know about.

Ahsoka says that Ferus was a rule-abiding guy in the future, uptight, even.

This means nothing, because the ship jolts out of hyperspace without warning while Jango's got his hand up a hot tog's skirt, and they both have to rush to the cockpit to find the literal baby has crawled onto the pilot's seat and somehow turned off the nav.

The baby continues patting, full-palm, at the controls.

"What the fuck?" Jango demands.

"Language," Ahsoka sniffs, and then picks up the baby and swings him around. "Who's a little troublemaker? You are!"

"What the actual--"

"Language!" Ahsoka snaps, a little harsher this time. "There's a baby."

"Yes, I noticed, it just knocked us out of hyperspace."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes. "It's fine. We just need to keep a better eye on him."

"This could have been deadly."

"Eh, doubt it," she dismisses. "I mean, with a normal kid, yeah, but I bet you ten to one odds that he did this because the Force told him to."

"I cannot explain how much that doesn't fill me with confidence."

She ignores him. She settles into the chair, toddler on her lap, and closes her eyes. This lasts for several minutes, and Jango tries to keep his impatience under control so he doesn't 'project' it into the Force or whatever it is that the Jedi are worried about. It would distract Ahsoka, and possibly more importantly, it would upset the baby.

"I've got it," she finally says. "A direction. He pulled us out a bit early, but the fact that we didn't overshoot it is a bit of a shocker in and of itself."

"A direction to what?"

She shrugs. "We'll find out."

--

The direction is to a fresh-faced teenage Duros by the name of Cad Bane, who's been floating around the guild's gossip lines for a few years now. He's good, for eighteen, but Jango hasn't met him before, and Ahsoka really doesn't like him--Jedi don't hate, supposedly--and that's enough for Jango to have zero interest in really networking here.

Also, Bane has a stolen toddler. Jango knows the toddler is stolen, because she's dressed in far-too-fancy clothes for Bane to bother with, and screaming her head off, and trying to bite him, and yelling about how she wants to go home. Surprisingly eloquent for a toddler, actually. She can't be more than four.

Jango wants to get involved. He's itching for a fight. He does not get one.

He gets the smaller baby, and is told to take care of said baby and be ready to catch the bigger baby--toddler--while Ahsoka handles the fighting.

It seems kinda personal. Jango leaves her to it. It's not like they need both of them to fight this literal teenager.

(He's right. They don't.)

--

There are now two small children on Jango's ship. One of them is barely-almost a toddler, and the other is barely-almost not.

"I am Padme Naberrie of Naboo," the little girl tells him, all care and important grandeur. "Thank you for saving me. When may I return home?"

Naboo. The noble kids from there are damn creepy. Also worth a good ransom or a better bounty, to some. It's not exactly surprising that Bane went for one of them. the family must be pretty influential somehow.

"Not sure," Ahsoka says. "We were on our way to Coruscant... do you have a number we can call? Maybe one of your parents can meet us on the way."

"That is ac-cep-table," the little girl sounds out. She even bows, a touch wobbly. "Thank you, Master Jedi."

Ahsoka is not a Master, and is only sort of a Jedi. She does not correct little Padme, because that would be a little mean, in Jango's estimate. The girl's just been through something harrowing, and even he's not that much of a dick.

"Do you know their contact info?" he asks instead.

--

They aren't on a convenient hyperlane for Naboo, so they're meeting Lady Naberrie on Corellia. It's several days there, which is still faster than trying to get to Naboo from where they currently are, and Padme spends an hour or two talking to her mother before the woman enters hyperspace and comms are no longer an option. Then she talks to her father, and asks about someone called Sola, and Jango's not paying enough attention to keep track of who's who in the life of a child that is not his.

He doesn't have enough beds on the ship for this.

He empties out a small armor crate and lines it with blankets, then sets it on teh floor by the end of his bed. It's big enough for Ferus, who probably doesn't care much for fancy things. Padme gets her own bed, because they're strangers and it would be odd to suggest she share with Ahsoka as a gender thing. The other, larger bed is then for Jango and his somewhat irritating and entirely too lovely Jedi.

He laces his fingers with hers, once they're in bed, autopiloting down the hyperlane. Padm's breathing has finally evened out, and Ferus hasn't woken up yet either.

"Do you want them?" he asks.

"Hm?" Ahsoka shifts, and when she speaks, it's sleep-heavy and muddled. "Want what?"

"Kids," he says.

She's silent, long enough that he starts to wonder if she's fallen asleep, but eventually she shrugs. "I'll take an apprentice one day, probably."

It's basically the same thing, for Jedi.

"Did I ever..."

He tries not to ask too much about his personal future. He knows how Galidraan would have ended, and knows that somehow, he had been involved in a clone army that tried to kill Ahsoka when she was seventeen. She tries not to tell him too much.

"One," she says. "Boba. A few years younger than me. And..."

She doesn't finish.

"And?"

"Maybe another time," she says.

He's gotten that response more than once. He knows it for the wall it is.

"Alright," he says. "You could... tell me about Boba in the morning?"

"Maybe."

Noncommittal. He's not entirely surprised.

"Okay," he finally says. He presses a kiss to her lek. "Goodnight, Ahsoka."

"Night, Jango."

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 56 Karasu Posting

Hooooooly moly dear void. I will de-feral this as much as possible before posting, but full disclosure: I am not hiding my Hakuri bias at all this time. Thank you once again for tolerating my bullshit.

Now that I have access to the JP version, I can try to TL the editor's notes that are left out of the EN version! They're not super important or anything, but it's still an unnecessary corner to cut IMO. Other languages like Spanish keep them in...

(Please consider this and all other TLs practice for myself and not an actual competent interpretation, kind void.)

First page: 代償と覚悟- [taishou to kakugo-, "Cost and resolve..."]; I think a better, less literal translation would be along the lines of "The cost of one's resolve...", but again, not in any way competent at this. Last page: 妖刀振るう者の実力戦況が動く-!! [youtou furuu mono no jitsuryoku senkyou ga ugoku-!!, "The tide of battle shifts as the Bearer shows his true abilities through his enchanted blade...!!"]; 戦況 (senkyou) literally means "progress of a battle" or "war situation" but I think it's equivalent enough to the phrase "tide of battle" to translate it as such. It sounds a lot less stiff that way anyway... and yeah, 妖刀 (youtou, bewitched/magical/demon sword) is what the enchanted blades are called in Japanese, just like 振るう者 (furuu mono, wielder) are the Bearers. This one's honestly a toughie for me since it's hard to keep all the connotations without the sentence getting clunky or too far off from the original. Welp, that's why I'm just a total amateur still!

Also, putting this here in case it's left untranslated in the EN version: In regards to Samura's command when he draws Tobimune, karasu (鴉) means "crow" or "raven"- hence all the feathers. What an awesome reuse of the theme from Roku no Meiyaku!

Someone save this one-shot from MTL hell pretty please

Crows can represent good omens in Japan- they're associated with gratitude, guidance, and good luck in addition to the usual things like cleverness and trickery. Pretty fitting for Samura, I'd say! Especially with the backstory we got about him and the Makizumi this chapter.

On Respect for Life

I love Hokazono-sensei's chibi style. Look at Samura scolding his guards like Shiba scolded Hakuri and Chihiro!

This manga seriously never misses on the found family wholesomeness. I know we're getting this backstory to make the potential upcoming deaths hurt so much more- the only question I'm asking right now is how many of them will live through whatever the Hishaku's trump card is. I just love seeing characters care deeply for each other beyond the sake of duty, y'know? No mater how they meet, they connect and come to value each other's lives as much as or more than their own. That's peak shounen!

Samura's so passionate about saving the lives that others are willing to give up for his sake that he can't bear to leave them behind even when it's for the best. It takes Uruha's intervention to get him the hell out of there but he immediately wants to charge back in. He wants to save no matter how much it conflicts with his personal beliefs or how much it will cost him personally- no matter how much it will cost the whole nation if he dies (sounds like someone else we know).

What about Uruha, though? He's not quite like his (former) master- he's been tempered differently and I can't wait to find out why. He seems to be very accepting of letting other people die for his sake again.

Uruha has the same abundant respect for life and the desire to protect that Samura does but it manifests completely differently. He still recklessly jumps in to save the day, but he's far more prudent about strategy despite being younger. To Uruha, valuing the lives of the guards means acknowledging the importance they place on his own. He respects their devotion by staying alive to ensure their sacrifices aren't in vain. It's about honoring the choice they made, even if it hurts him to do so. (And possibly another thing, but that'll be near the end since it's kind of a reach on my part.)

Master and disciple of the same style with completely different outlooks on how to emphasize the importance of life. Which one will be given credence by the story here, though? Depends on a technically unrelated third party.

Hakuri, the Makizumi, and Samura

Hmmmmmmmmm who does this sound like.

If there were any doubts about what this part of the arc is for, let them be forever cast aside: this is for Hakuri's growth. The Makizumi, Uruha, and even Samura are here to focus on key aspects of Hakuri's character, namely his two biggest flaws: "freakishly devoted" and "not valuing himself enough or in the right way".

The obsessive devotion of the Sazanami clan was cast in a negative light- seeing themselves as tools, tradition over humanity, Soya's entire character. Now we have the Makizumi, a clan who also see themselves as tools to live for a master's sake. They're being shown in a positive way though: they're lovingly devoted to Samura's well-being, and the sacrifice they plan to make is noble instead of terribly pointless. But it's not because of their mindset- that's way too close to the Sazanami's for comfort. It's because they were humanized by being with Samura.

He rejected their protection and utility despite the air-tight logic of their argument. He absolutely refuses to let them die for his sake even though they essentially exist to do so. He's not a guy who trivializes life even if he's given full license to do so because it goes against his sincerely held beliefs. Instead, Samura sees them as people to care for and protect in return- that's how he values life (who else does that sound like?).

Now look at Hakuri.

Like the Makizumi, he lives to be useful. Working with Chihiro means making the world a better place so there will never be another Ice Lady. His life has no value other than how useful he is and what Chihiro sets it to (hence all the allusions to Hakuri being Chihiro's dog in the Japanese version).

Like Samura, he absolutely will not let others die for his sake. Even disregarding his own inherent value as a person, it doesn't matter to him that he's a key part of the plan for national stability. Whatever happens to him is of no consequence if it means others are safe. He will not let another life slip through his hands again.

So yes, this part of the arc at Senkutsuji is (almost) all for Hakuri. Uruha was an obvious parallel to him from the start, and now Samura's a mirror of his ardent savior complex while the Makizumi reflect the mindset that fuels it.

Sazanami Hakuri: #1 enabler of recklessly suicidal behavior.

What happens next depends on where Hakuri's character growth is intended to go. If he's supposed to be more like Samura, his actions will save the day and everything will be fine even if he himself is out of commission for a while. But if he's supposed to be more like Uruha, then this victory will be fleeting. I think the latter is the more compelling development, personally. There's nothing new or exciting about a character exceeding their limits to achieve an upset victory here. Hakuri's done it three times now, in fact. But I'll have more to say on this later. For now...

Shameless Hakuri Praising

I am absolutely insane over the colour page. It's the first one for a solo character that isn't Chihiro and it's just to show off Hakuri looking absolutely incredible!

Normally don't post the full thing but LOOK AT HIM. HE'S SO COOL!

//NOTE: May as well mark it in the off-chance it isn't removed: the kanji in the blue box is just the title of the series (神楽鉢, Kagurabachi).

I should have been more confident and not let someone talk me out of the "I'm the only one" connection to Kyora's willpower last week. I won't go back to edit it- that mistake will stay forever. But holy shit. I am in love with this colour page and all it represents. I've been waiting for ages for us to get reminders that Hakuri is still a Sazanami! He only destroyed his family about 24 hours ago, so their ideals are still very much present in him and core to who he is.

It's even down to the suit he's wearing! It's the same as his younger appearance in the Ch. 20 flashback panel, just with Kyoura's ugly tie from the Ch. 31 colour page:

Apologies yet again for my shitty MSPaint skills.

This is everything I wanted! Repudiating his family's ideals, taking them down, and leaving them behind to make the world a better place didn't undo everything that he was trained to do for his deeply-held beliefs. Hakuri still carries the legacy of his family with him in how he devotes his entire being to a cause. He's still his father's son.

There's his name, too! 伯理 [Hakuri] means "logical chief". It implies that the person is due respect as the family's role model, among other interesting things. So dressing him up in a suit and giving him his dad's tie makes me go just a skosh feral. He's the true Sazanami ideal that Kyoura could never be- living up to his name despite everything that happened between him and his family. Call it reaching if you want! I won't deny that it's a tenuous implication at best. But I love this kind of shit so I'm going to hold it close and gnaw on it in delulu land.

One last possible interpretation (and my personal favourite)- if the JP text is removed as usual from the EN version, the caption on it is: 胸に秘めたその信念- [mune ni hi meta sono shinen-; "The conviction(s) hidden in his heart..."] (curse Japanese for being vague about singular vs. plural so often) .

Hm. What could such an exuberant character like Hakuri be hiding? This guy is completely open about what he's thinking and feeling at all times- there's no mystery about what's going on with him.

Unless, of course, it has to do with his whole raison d'être.

Ice Lady is a complete unknown to Chihiro, Shiba, and everyone else. He only mentioned her as "someone who set [him] on the right path" in a flash back panel in chapter 34. He keeps what he did to her close to his heart, hidden away from the world. I hope this part of his backstory comes into play this arc or in the future. Her suicide completely changed his mentality but it got mixed into his slavish devotion mindset. He just shifted the focus of that resolve from the Rakuzaichi to saving lives.

But there's something else too. Something much more fundamental affects how Hakuri sees the world and himself that he doesn't talk about, much less acknowledge.

Most people would not frame this kind of physical harm as "love" in any way, shape, or form.

I made a separate post to go way too-depth about this facet of his character but here's the gist: Hakuri's deeply held belief in his own lack of worth is a key factor in his suicidal recklessness when it comes to acting on his other convictions.

He's used to thinking of himself as completely disposable just from the indoctrination he received as a Sazanami, but shovel a heaping helping of abusive, manipulative "love" on top of that? Hoo boy. Hakuri's got some harmful beliefs about his self-worth that he's not ready to face yet, much yet talk about. There's a reason why he's still got those Visual Metaphor Tools still hidden in his warehouse.

Hakuri's true reasons for acting the way he does are hidden alongside the beliefs about himself that he's yet to address, the combination of which are sending him into a self-destructive spiral. Deprogramming arc when?! I've always got my clown suit ready but come on...! Mentioning it so prominently means it's important, right? I'll get to see him talk about his past and trauma with Chihiro (or someone else he comes to trust) to start healing for real, right? RIGHT?!

Nice delusional rant, bro. But what about the chapter itself? Well, there's this deliberate artistic choice:

Chs. 42 & 56

Like father, like son.

Note the cracked mask and double lines that give a sort of distorted pulsing impression for them both. It's a cool as hell way to show them working against enormous mental strain, and they're the only characters to have this effect in the series so far. We're truly meant to see Kyora in Hakuri this chapter.

Of course he passes out right after. But never, ever doubt a Sazanami's capability to defend to the death.

[incoherent screeching]

God I love Hakuri so much. He responds to Samura's will resonating with his own and gives him exactly what he needs to save everyone like he's the Lady of the Lake: Kagurabachi edition.

Hakuri's resolve is the stuff of legends, no doubt about that. Chihiro was right to feel like he couldn't measure up to this guy's sheer tenacity; he's got a will of adamant, just like Kyora.

It's also leading him down the same path of self-destruction. So this moment is clutch as hell and I am cheering for him, yes... but I'm also wondering how the narrative will punish him.

Again, he's not dying despite that being noted as a possible outcome. So the question becomes: how dire was Healer Lady's "you'll lose your sorcery" warning in truth? I'm still 50/50 on him losing access at all, much less permanently. Might lean closer to losing access now than before, but it's not changed much.

Instead, I'm waiting to see how much I should keep glazing the writing.

Death Tangent (Hakuri Edition)

I lost a lot of faith in shounen series in general after I realized that "stop, you'll die!" is just a flat-out lie 99% of the time. Yeah, I know, death doesn't have to be the end result just because a character yelled about it. But the consequences of risking death should make me believe that it really was a possible outcome. It's almost insulting for a writer to try and convince me that the stakes really are that high before having everything be fine after a short bed rest.

Hm, that sounds familiar...

The stakes (chapter 42).

The consequences (chapter 45).

Shiba already committed this sin in chapter 42 and I let it slide because it was the only time so far it'd been invoked. And yeah, Chihiro probably would have went poof without recourse if he couldn't get out of the storehouse in time. But he's the main character so of course he wasn't going to die. Hakuri was the only one truly in danger there.

Char's existence also negates the worst outcomes. It's pretty safe to assume that she can heal any physical wounds our heroes incur- she can even regrow missing limbs with enough time after all! So the default stakes of "stop, you'll die!" are zilch unless the character is killed on the spot or succumbs before they can get to her (which is also undermined by Shiba's teleportation abilities).

...Or if they injure themselves in a way that Char can't help with. Which is why Chihiro's fine, but Hakuri's still struggling.

So, I might be giving the author too much credit with what I'm going to say here. I fully and freely admit it- it wouldn't be the first time I've done this. Yet I feel like the "deadly outcome" scenario here in chapter 56 isn't purely to create tension through cheap tactics. Neither, in fact, was Shiba's line in chapter 42 despite me writing it off as such. Instead, they're mentioned to highlight how self-destructive Hakuri is and set him up for changing that. Reasons being:

Healer lady mentioned death as a worst-case scenario alongside the more plausible consequence of losing his sorcery.

2. This is a direct continuation of the consequences from Shiba's exclamation in Ch. 42 instead of another one-off moment for dramatic tension.

Hakuri is mostly OK after Char's help and a good night's sleep. But he can't use his sorcery without passing out and looks like he's got a bit of a headache too. And what's this? He'll be fine in a few days but he keeps straining himself over and over? He's KOed by the pain with a nosebleed when he keeps pushing? Would you look at that- consequences. And he keeps making them worse!

Hakuri is trying to do that shounen protagonist thing of bashing his head against the wall until it crumbles from his sheer persistence. He got off almost scot-free the first time but he won't wait the few days it'll take to recover. He won't even let himself be taken elsewhere to shorten the time to 30 minutes. That's why we see him in the same state as Kyora when he was fighting off Magatsumi's influence in his death throes- Hakuri's actually risking his life using his abilities now. He's going to genuinely invite death over and over until he's forced not to somehow.

So what'll it be for him? Losing all his sorcery forever- or maybe only temporarily? Shoved offscreen in a coma? Another good night's sleep and actual rest for a week or two to be right as rain? Still running on fumes until the end of the arc? I'll be (unfairly) using the outcome of this situation to decide whether or not to take my sky-high evaluation of the series' writing down a notch. I have no problem putting on a rainbow wig and squeaky shoes if this all turns out to be me making delusional excuses. God knows I've done that plenty as a long-time KH fan and SoRiku shipper. I just want to know what to expect in return for trusting the author with my emotional investment. I can forgive a lot of things, but not having proper consequences for invoking death as an outcome really sticks in my craw.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

Samura and Uruha's argument also ties into the larger themes that I'm hoping get explored when it's time to focus on the Kamunabi as an org: the greatest good vs. the greater good for all. There are strong cases to be made on both sides of the divide and it's possible that some of them will be explored through Chihiro and Hiyuki when we get to them.

In Samura and Uruha's case, Samura is going against the government's well-justified interest in keeping him alive at all costs to act on his personal beliefs. It's noble and heroic- no one can deny that saving lives is an immensely good deed. But it's also a selfish act that exposes the nation to risk. Uruha is the voice of the other side of that philosophical argument saying that it's justifiable to sacrifice a few for the benefit of the many. He loathes that people are dying for him just as much as Samura does. But like Hakuri noted, he understands his own value in the grand scheme of things and acts according to what's best for the majority. In this case, he prioritizes his own life so that the Hishaku can't use a magical nuke in the event of his death.

This could just be reaching on my part, but I feel like it's a prelude to the eventual values conflict between Chihiro and Hiyuki. Chihiro acts in his own interests to do the greatest good he can while Hiyuki (so far) aligns with the Kamunabi's views that power of that level should be controlled for the good of the nation. Her view of Chihiro as a person shifted after the Rakuzaichi- she's willing to help him make his case to her superiors. But we haven't seen a hint of change in this mindset yet:

Ch. 20

Not to mention Kazane and Ikuto still (barely) hanging around after the Sojo debacle.

Chihiro's position hasn't budged at all either. He's got his dad's words about not letting the Kamunabi have access to the blades front and center in his mind, right next to the Hishaku wanting the Kamunabi to have exactly that. They're gonna clash over this for sure. I'm just waiting for the time to come.

On character writing...

I know it's just basic storytelling and Hokazono-sensei's not the first or only author to do it so well, but I truly admire how intricately he writes characters to compliment and bounce off of each other. There are never polar opposites who are simple contrasts. Hakuri and Chihiro, Uruha and Samura- each foil pair is a pleasing blend of shared and opposing ideology and expressions that highlight each other's defining traits, bringing out both the best and worst in each other.

Also, I love all the passionate men in this series. It's so awesome to have a cast whose ages skew heavily into the 30's and 40's still be so damn fiery and hot-headed. Even more temperate ones like Kyora are so full of conviction that they put the younger generation to shame in some respects! They aren't there to just dispense sage wisdom and remind the youngsters to keep the bigger picture in mind. They're flawed people burdened with trauma living life and guiding the younger cast with the best they have. There are some major fuck-ups along the way too- like everything Kyora did to his sons, and Samura accidentally influencing Chihiro to think he's a monster. They have issues that are unconsciously passed along to keep amplifying the manga's core theme of "legacy"- how it's made and echoes through generations. I LOVE STRONG THEMATIC STORYTELLING AT EVERY LEVEL.

Guess I had a lot to yap about this time after a few lighter weeks in a row. Sorry about that, void. Thank you as always if you made it this far. Do a small act of kindness for yourself today, okay?

[multi-lefaiye]

snippet sunday - sunbringer's song

WOOOOO wowie wow wow!!!! okay, yeah, i am *very* close to finishing the prologue, but it's not quite done. but!! i wanted to share a bit of what i've gotten done for snippet sunday.

(or should i say... sunbringer sunday........ yeah i'll see myself out.)

content warnings for this excerpt: eye trauma, worms, worms going in someone against their will. y'know, bg3 prologue things. the actual gore isn't described in a lot of detail, but it's still very visceral because i'm focusing heavily on what eden is *feeling* in the moment. if any of that is an issue, please tread lightly !

writing / eden's fanclub taglist: @vacantgodling @skitzo-kero @anexor @chaieyestea @invaderskoodge

@kk7-rbs @albatris @corvus-rose @paradoxspir1t @moonflowerrss

@astral-runic @yourlocal-lichen @void-botanist

A worm--a terrible, spiny creature, hissing and writhing in the mind flayer’s grasp. It snaps its jaws full of jagged teeth, and the freezing dread in his veins splinters as his heart leaps into his throat.

For what feels like several long, agonizing hours, the mind flayer lowers the worm down toward his face. He struggles, in vain, to jerk his head away, but whatever force is keeping his eye open holds him firmly in place. There’s nothing he can do.

A heartbeat passes, and the worm is on his face, his skin itching at the feeling of its claws.

Another, and it rears up, snapping its teeth as it drools in frantic anticipation.

And then, it dives into his open eye.

Half of his vision explodes, bloody and hot and agonizing like nothing he has ever felt before. He can’t see what’s happening, but he can feel every stab of the little monster’s teeth and pinprick claws as it rips into him. It’s a million fire-tipped needles slicing and tearing open his flesh, burrowing into his skull.

He wants so badly to scream, but no sound comes out as he thrashes about in his coffin. But the mind flayer is still holding him in place, watching him impassively as he bites back pained sobs.

Some time passes, he can’t be sure how long, but eventually his vision begins to clear, bit by bit. His head is throbbing anew and his sight is blurry and streaked with red, but it seems the worm has come to a stop, resting just behind his eye.

He lets out a shuddering, whimpering breath, then bares his teeth and looks back up at the mind flayer. It’s still watching him. All he wants is to claw those beady fucking eyes out of its skull, to make it hurt like it’s making him hurt, but he still can’t move.

“Fuck you,” he bites out, each word a ragged clot of blood and glass shards in the back of his mouth. The mind flayer does not react. After a moment, it waves its hand, severing whatever strings held him in place, and he falls limply back into his coffin, his left eye snapping shut reflexively.

Another wave of its hand, and the lid closes with another hiss.

[mayorwatermelon]

I’ve decided for some reason to explain exactly what it is about being stuffed that is so hot for me. Maybe it’s so that I can understand it better myself? This will probably be kind of boring for some people, but in the tradition of using this blog as a locker for all the feelings that don’t have a place in the rest of my life, I’m just gonna fucking send it.

1a) The belly itself, MASOCHISM: pain in a sexual context turns me on; the pain of being waaay too full, feeling my stomach stretched to its limit, the pain of indigestion

1b) The belly itself, sounds and other sensations: the sensation and noises of digestion, and BURPING (relief from discomfort)

1c) Visual signs; being very visibly round, distended, the difference in size, shape between empty and stuffed

2) Exhibitionism: the process of getting stuffed/bloated needs to be witnessed. This is why, no matter how hard I try, I can never manage to stay away from having some sort of belly kink blog for very long. The sensations are one thing, but without being SEEN, it doesn’t feel anywhere near as gratifying. Additionally, outside of the world of bellies, I have always had a kind of slutty desire to be seen and displayed for an appreciative audience. The idea of being someone’s eye candy is very, very hot to me.

3) Praise: related to exhibitionist tendencies, I want to be praised for my capacity, for how round and noisy my belly is, for how my burps sound. I also enjoy being praised for like, everything about my body. I am secretly (although it’s probably not that much of a secret to people who follow this blog lol) a little vain. Or maybe I just need a lot of validation. [Being degraded, described as a pig, all of that, is very hurtful to me because of stuff that happened when I was younger. Fortunately, almost everyone I’ve interacted with has been extremely chill and never assumed that I would want that (probably bc I am a guy, although I did run into some of that when I was on *shudders* feabie)]

4) Dom/sub dynamic: so there are certain situations and partners where I do enjoy being dominant, and that feels very natural, I have realized over the last few years that I am much more submissive. The thing is, I am also (usually but not always) much bigger (5’ 11”, 215) and (always) much stronger than my partner, so it always seemed more “natural” to the women I’ve been with that I would be the dominant one. And I mean, logically, if I can at least bench press you if not lift you over my head, how are you going to make me submit?

But it’s not all about physical domination! All the ways a could domme find to gain control of me without having to physically overwhelm me (or that would make physically overwhelming me much easier) are, in fact, much hotter to me. The fact that someone would want me, and to dominate me, enough that she would come up with creative ways to gain that dominance is so good. It’s hot because it breaks with conventional norms and roles, it’s hot because it means that a woman finds me desirable enough to flout convention and bend rules to take advantage of me and claim me. And the hottest way, by far, is taking advantage of my naturally outsized appetite to make sure I am too stuffed to do anything but give in to your designs for me…

5) The not very kinky but still very strong need for emotional intimacy involved in stuffing aftercare! Belly rubs are affectionate and good and sweet! It shows that not only do you think I was a good boy for you, but that you care, and that is just the best.

Anyway, this was very silly and self indulgent (so is the whole blog lol), but if anyone was curious about the “whole picture”, this is pretty close.

[arpmemething2]

Agent Carter quotes

Send one for my muse’s response.  Feel free to change pronouns as needed.

"She's a cute broad. When she's not punching me in the face. Who is she?"

"I think you're a man out for his own gain no matter who you're charging."

"How refreshing to meet someone who appreciates the finer things."

"Then we may get hurt, there'll be a spray of bullets."

"Does anyone else feel a chill going up their knickers?"

"I used to strap a chair to my ass and take long walks around the neighborhood, too."

"Your line of work requires support. People who care about your well-being, who'll be there to stitch up your wounds."

"He can be thoughtless. Inconsiderate. Vain. Childish. Unreliable. Arrogant."

"Because unless I have your reports, your coffee, or your lunch, I am invisible."

"It's so hard getting straight answers out of people nowadays. Whatever happened to a nice cup of tea and a civilized interrogation?"

"Promise you'll get the son of a bitch who did this. Say it!"

"You were trying to do something good, and I believe you accomplished it."

"Well, that was a bit premature."

"What? I hate small spaces. What if the chain snaps and I fall to my death?"

"I was angry. That doesn't mean I want you to die."

"You have one chip to trade on, fear, and fear is the one tool that little girls who grow up handcuffed to their beds learn. I however am not afraid of you."

"I'd rather be the cowboy."

"To you, I’m a stray kitten left on your doorstep to be protected. The secretary turned damsel in distress. The girl on the pedestal, transformed into some daft whore."

"And I suppose the confession portrays me as what? A patsy? A doe-eyed idiot succumbed to the charms of America’s mustachioed Casanova?"

"The necklace is equipped with a tracking device so that I can monitor your location at all times. And if you attempt to move the beacon or break even one link in the chain, you will be injected with a neurotoxin which will kill you in 35 excruciatingly painful seconds."

"I wonder if I might request a sick day."

"I'm not here to make you talk. I'm here to make you sing."

"I imagine strange women traipsing through the property isn't a completely unusual occurrence."

"If I allow people to get close to me, I'm putting them in danger."

"How would you feel if we smashed that mirror with this table?"

"Darling, you have no idea."

"Never speak again."

"Get the drop on them?" You've been in custody all of an hour, and you're Jimmy Cagney."

"Am I being fired?"

"Keep your eyes open."

"I like it. I don't think the audience is ready yet."

"You weren't really going to shoot me, were you?"

"Stop wahooing and help!"

"I know my value."

"All of my inventions are in your lab."

"Darling, you have no idea."

"But they're ready for a movie based on a comic book. Sounds like a dreadful idea."

"For all I know, you did steal your inventions."

"Comfortable back there?"

"Just another day at the office."

"I figured you'd never have a problem finding a man."

"My land lady gave me an idea."

"What kind of thing is that? The alphabet? I can teach you. Let's start with words beginning with "A"

"And one more thing... tip generously."

"Now, I go to work."

"Technically, we don't even know if it works. But, let's face it. I invented it. So, it works."

"You were happy out here, and then I came and mucked up your whole life."

"Maybe I was just fooling myself."

"Then why is your mustache so sad?"

"I'm just considering all the angles. It seems you have a lot of them."

"I, however, am not afraid of you."

"I could do with a hobby."

"In polite society, one telephones ahead before trespassing."

"I understand you're not happy with your meal."

"So, I've got two foreign agents with no voice boxes fighting over a milk truck full of experimental implosives."

"I'm so sorry. Truly."

"I have a terrible idea!"

"You're new to espionage, aren't you?"

"We're still attached to a table."

[sunnynwanda]

Friends & Enemies

The rain hits hard against their burning skin as Hero rushes down the street. Their clothes are wet, their eyes - even more so, but the rain has nothing to do with the latter. Today was a record day, and they… they were the champion.

How many people can disappoint a person in one day?

The stakes weren't particularly high, given that Hero had two and a half friends in total. The half being their new sidekick, who turned out to be a double agent that had infiltrated with the sole purpose of revealing Hero's identity and making them an easy target for the criminal minds of the city. Turns out, their parents were criminals that Hero had arrested.

They sigh loudly. I didn't even kill them, so what's the drama about?

But that was only the half of the harsh truth. The other two 'friends' of theirs, as Hero found out just now, had their allegiance changed by the mayor. Money can buy anything in this city, the man had claimed with the most disgusting of smiles. Even you can see it.

Hero could. Yet they refused to become a pawn in the game led by the highest officials. What devastated them most was the realisation that all of their hard work had been in vain, always drifted in the wrong direction. They felt like a clown that tried their best to do good but ended up as laughing stock for those using them.

They managed to escape with a gunshot that grazed their skin and a deeper wound to their self-esteem - the second one, despite not being physical hurt significantly more. Everything in their life had been a ruse, leaving them a puppet that never knew of their strings. Not one person had been honest with them, yet they were constantly blamed for not trusting anyone with their identity. Turns out that was the right call after all.

They cross the yard and sneak into their apartment building and up the stairs, careful not to attract attention. Their roommate has a night shift today, so they don't bother shutting the door to their room as they stroll into the bathroom.

Damp clothes discarded on the floor, they return to their bedroom, plopping face down on the bed with a satisfied groan when a familiar voice drags them out of their sleepy thoughts. "Anything wrong?"

Hero could as well fly in front of their roommate - that's how high they jump up. "Why are you home?"

Their voice is panicked despite knowing full well they sneaked in unnoticed.

"Why, I can't be at my own apartment now?" Amusement seeps through their roommate's voice.

"That's not what I meant." Hero props themselves up on their arms to see their interlocutor. "Aren't you working today?"

Hero begs them not to question their reasons for knowing a roommate's schedule so well. They don't. "There was a power shortage in the city, so we closed. Have you seen that shower outside?"

Hero almost growls. Even their bones are cold, muscles stiff as if the damp clothes are still touching their skin. They get up, moving to sit on the couch. Their roommate follows behind, a concerned look touching their eyebrows. "What's up?"

"Nothing." Hero hates the way their voice sounds so whiny. They don't want to talk about this. "I'm tired and cold after walking under that rain."

Their roommate nods, searching for a blanket before returning to their place. "Listen. I might be dense in many aspects, but this ain't one." They claim, watching Hero intently. "What happened to leave you all moody?"

"I'm not moody!" The side eye says everything their roommate doesn't utter. So Hero repeats. "Am. Not." They sigh, letting their head drop back. "I'm disappointed."

"In?" Their roommate is restless, which would be irritating if only they weren't so endearing.

"In everything. And everyone." The room is quiet for a moment. Their breathing and the rattle of the raindrops are the only sounds. "But most of all - in myself."

"Hey, I'm not sure what it is, but don't be too harsh on yourself." Their roommate starts. Hero can barely hear them through the sleep haze. "You're so overworked a mistake was bound to happen."

Hero smiles at the softness in their voice. Maybe the count of their friends wasn't correct after all. Maybe, it should have been three and a half. Except they never talked with their roommate unless it was necessary.

"Is it that bad?" They ask, shifting on the couch to face them while talking.

"To the point that I'm doubting if I'm on the right side." Hero blurts out without thinking.

"Of… what?" They freeze. Both of them. Hero can feel a chill run down their spine. Shit.

"Forget it." Is all they can muster, knowing full well it's not going to satisfy their interrogator.

"Wait, no." The shakiness in their voice should be alarming, Hero thinks. Yet they cannot bring themselves to care. "You can't say something like that and then request me to forget it. What are you talking about?" Hero shakes their head, moving to get up when their roommate places a hand on their forearm. "I have a feeling this isn't about selling ice cream anymore."

Hero knows this is a bad idea. They know they are going to regret it. But the loneliness consumes their entire being, and honestly… can it get any worse at this point? They don't know. What they do know is they want to pour their heart out to the most random person in their life. Well, at least they are still in their life, unlike their so-called friends.

Ah, fuck it. "I'm Hero." They say matter-of-factly. They can sense the breathing pattern of their interlocutor accelerating. "And today, I discovered that everyone I trusted is a traitor."

Their roommate is gaping. Appropriate reaction. They keep chattering to ease the tension.

"I know it's shocking, and I shouldn't have unloaded this on you. I'm sorry." They shake their head, already remorseful. Too big of a secret to share with a neighbour. "Forget I said anything. Let's think I was drunk."

"No, no, no, no. You cannot backtrack from this. Not after this kind of a revelation." They sound panicked as if Hero's identity matters more than it presumably should. They pause, looking blindly into the darkness of the room. "You're Hero? You're Hero! God damn it, my roommate is…"

"And this is exactly why I never told anyone before." Hero interrupts their monologue of thoughts with their own. "Shoulda kept doing that."

"To be honest," their roommate starts, focusing on the conversation. Their mind is reeling, but Hero has no need of knowing that. "You are on the wrong side."

"Huh?" Hero turns, looking at the flushed face of their newfound friend. "Are you a Villain apologist or something?"

"Suppose I am." They admit with a barely concealed smirk. "Can you blame me for it?"

Hero stops. Entirely. Their brain collapses for a long moment before they can restart it.

"Are you alright?" Worry laces their roommate's voice when they touch Hero's arm again.

"Yeah." Hero squeezes out, licking their lips to collect their thoughts. "Apart from realising I was looking for the enemy in the wrong place this whole time." They shake their head, rubbing their eyes with the palms of their hands. "They're not the evil one, are they? Villain."

"Well, no? I like to call them a villain with a cause." The claim makes Hero chuckle.

"That's quite fitting." They accept, wondering what their nickname would be. A loser with no brain? Their roommate offers them a crooked smile before getting up. Dazed, Hero doesn't realize they are thinking out loud when they say. "The whole leather aesthetic makes more sense now."

"Hey, what's wrong with my aesthetic?" The words roll off their lips before they can stop them. They bite their tongue, but it's too late.

"What did you just say?" Hero is staring at them with the widest eyes they have ever seen on a human.

They know they fucked up. Doesn't mean they cannot try to salvage the situation. In the dumbest way possible. "N-nothing."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Ooh, you can't backtrack from this one." The excitement of the revelation tingles their fingertips. And then it dawns on Hero. "Damn. You're my hot archnemesis? You?! Out of everyone?!"

"Excuse me, I'm your what?" Villain's voice reaches an uncomfortably high pitch on the last word, scratching the back of their throat. Hero beams at how flustered Villain is by their unintended confession.

"I do think I was on the wrong side." They admit, standing up to face their nemesis without any masks in the way. "Not anymore."

"I'm still not over the fact you called me hot, but…" Villain starts. They laugh when Hero rolls their eyes at that. "Want some hot chocolate?"

"By all means, yes!" Hero sits by the bar of their shared kitchen, watching their foe-turned-friend fuss around, making hot chocolate with adorable smiley marshmallows. They still feel like an idiot for being blind all along. But, the disappointment eating at them dissipates with every little gulp.

Sometimes what the city needs is not a noble hero to save the day. Sometimes it's a villain with a cause, ready to dirty their hands to fix the problem at the root. Once and for all. And Hero? Hero has chosen their side.

Masterlist

[goldenempyrean]

can you do some 'angst' one like, Lizzie's her assistant and Lizzie's being a bitch to her but her assistant is so nice that she even blame her self for that but one time her assistant had a sick/accident so lizzie will take care of her.

Yes Ma'am

〚 Notes - I wrote this when I was meant to be sleeping so we’re gonna excuse how awfully written this is, my sleep deprived brain isn’t good at wording things ;) 〛

〚 Pairing - Lizzie Olsen x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Dealing with your boss was exhausting, but after you get sick and push yourself to the point if exhaustion it seems Lizzie is finally ready to change. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1530 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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Working for one of the biggest news publishers in the country was your biggest achievement. Reaching your position at such a young age was almost unheard of in this field. Everything was perfect…

Well, almost perfect. Your boss was a nightmare. To anybody else, Elizabeth Olsen was a strong, independent, and nurturing boss. Even just working in her department was considered a privilege. But not for you.

Every effort to impress her was met with cold, harsh resistance. She scanned through every page of your work with a fine-toothed comb, critiquing every last detail. Hell, she even criticized the font you used.

Despite her criticisms, your work had been recognized numerous times by other departments. Honestly, you'd lost track of how many transfer requests you'd received from other departments asking you to transfer.

Yet every time you'd gone to Lizzie and asked, no, begged her to sign off on your transfer, she'd decline. She never explained why either, just flat out refused. Eventually, you gave up even asking.

You tried your best to ignore her constant criticism and focused on improving your skills. You spent hours perfecting your writing, researching new topics, and attending seminars to learn from industry experts.

However, it seemed that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't meet Lizzie's high standards. You began to feel frustrated and demotivated, wondering if all your efforts were in vain. But still, you pressed on, pushing harder and harder every day. Honestly, even getting four hours of sleep a night was a rarity.

It wasn't a surprise when you got sick. You'd felt it coming too, that residual stuffiness that never seemed to go away, the small tickle at the back of your throat. But still, when you woke up feeling completely awful, you couldn't help but muffle an exhausted, raspy groan into your pillow.

You dragged yourself out of bed and made your way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot, and your face was pale. You knew you needed to take a sick day, but the thought of calling in and facing Lizzie's wrath made your stomach churn.

After a few minutes of deliberation, you finally mustered up the courage to call in sick. Lizzie picked up the phone, and you could feel her cold gaze piercing through the receiver.

"What's the matter?" she asked, her tone sharp and impatient.

"I'm not feeling well," you replied weakly, your voice barely audible.

There was a moment of silence before Lizzie finally spoke again, “Tough, we're majorly down on our readership. We need everyone working at full speed. I expect you to be on time. Do I make myself clear?”

You couldn't believe how heartless she was being. You knew you couldn't go into work feeling the way you did, but you also couldn't afford to lose your job, “Yes ma'am.”

After a few minutes of contemplation, you decided to push through and make your way into work. You arrived at the office feeling like a zombie, barely able to keep your eyes open. As you sat at your desk, you struggled to focus on your work, feeling fevered and dizzy.

By noon, the pile of tissues in your trashcan was threatening to overflow, and the sound of your ceaseless sniffling was the background track of the office, much to the displeasure of the colleagues around you.

“Hh’tshoo!” Your head bobbed down as you sneezed into a crumpled tissue, sniffling thickly before trailing off into a series of crackling coughs.

“Bless you…” A distinct voice said from behind you. Lizzie cleared her throat as you turned around in your chair, expecting to be met with her cold eyes and a tongue-lashing over the lack of work you’d done. 

But instead, you were surprised to see a concerned look on her face. "You really are sick…” She sighed, she almost sounded surprised. 

You sniffled, reaching over to snatch a tissue only to be met with an empty back, “Why did you think I was lying?” You tried to sound annoyed, but it came out as more of a fatigued mumble. 

Lizzie hesitated for a moment before answering, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off that way. I just… I've never seen you take a sick day before." 

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. After all the times you had begged for a transfer, after all the times she had criticized your work, Lizzie was finally showing a hint of empathy. 

“How about we talk in my office?” She asked quietly, overly aware of the over listening ears of the office gossips. 

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You had always thought of Lizzie as a harsh and unyielding boss, but now it seemed like there was a different side to her. Perhaps she was just trying to push you to be the best you could be. 

Feeling curious and a little nervous, you followed Lizzie into her office. As soon as the door closed behind you, you noticed a distinct change in her demeanour. She was no longer the cold and critical boss you had grown accustomed to. 

"Sit down," she said, gesturing towards a chair in front of her desk. 

You sat down, feeling a little apprehensive about what was to come. Lizzie took a seat opposite you and leaned forward, looking at you with a serious expression. 

"Listen, I know I haven't been the easiest boss to work for," she said. "I can be tough and critical, but it's only because I want you to succeed. I've seen a lot of potential in you from the beginning, and I believe that you can go far in this industry." 

You nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope in your chest. 

"But you need to understand that this is a tough business," Lizzie continued. "Readership is down, budgets are tight, and we're all under a lot of pressure to perform. I need my team to be at the top of their game at all times, and that means pushing you to be your best." 

"I understand," you said, feeling a sense of clarity wash over you. "But why won't you let me transfer to another department?" 

Lizzie leaned back in her chair and sighed. "The truth is, I don't want to lose you. You're one of my best writers, and I need you here. But that doesn't mean I can't help you grow. We can work together to develop your skills and help you become the best writer you can be." 

You felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over you. The weight that had been hung over your chest finally felt like it had been lifted. 

“I realise now that I may have gone too far. I haven't been giving you the support you need to reach your full potential," Lizzie continued, her voice softening as you coughed again, “You really don’t sound well though, I’m sorry I made you come in. Do you feel like you have a fever?” 

You nodded weakly, feeling grateful for the concern Lizzie was showing. She immediately got up from her seat and walked over to you, placing a hand on your forehead. 

"You're burning up," she said, her voice full of worry, “You shouldn’t drive home like this, do you have anyone to pick you up? Girlfriend, boyfriend maybe?” 

You shook your head, feeling grateful for Lizzie's concern. "No, I don't have anyone to pick me up." 

Lizzie paused for a moment, considering her options. "Alright then, I'll take you home myself. I have a meeting that I can’t reschedule for the next few hours but I’m more than happy to let you rest on my couch for the meantime.” She nodded towards the black couch set against the wall. 

You were taken aback by Lizzie's sudden kindness. You had never expected her to offer to take care of you in this way. You nodded gratefully, feeling a little overwhelmed by the situation. 

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Lizzie smiled warmly, her eyes softening. "Of course. It's the least I can do." 

With that, she helped you to your feet and led you over to the couch. You sank down onto the soft cushions, feeling the weight of the day's stress and illness start to lift off your shoulders. 

Lizzie disappeared for a moment, returning with a blanket and a glass of water. She draped the blanket over you and handed you the glass. 

"Rest up," she said, her voice full of concern. "I'll be back in a few hours to check on you." 

You nodded weakly, feeling a deep sense of gratitude towards your boss but there was something else As you closed your eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, you couldn't help but feel your heart flutter at the sudden care Lizzie was showing towards you.  

There was something about her tone of voice, or maybe it was that deep caring look behind her eyes. Whatever it was, just the thought was enough to make you feel a little warmer inside. 

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