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marril96 · 5 months ago

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Safe Haven

Chapter 1: Guilty as Sin

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: After months of no contact, Agatha shows up at your door badly injured, and it's up to you to help her.

To say you and Agatha had parted on bad terms would be an understatement of the century.

You'd forgiven her a lot of things, and could forgive so much more, but the one thing you just couldn't get past was her forgetting your anniversary because she was too busy draining some random witch that wasn't even powerful enough to justify leaving you hanging.

You'd exploded. It was like someone had pulled a switch, and an atomic bomb had gone off, turning everything in its path to dust. You'd unleashed all the things you'd been holding back; centuries of pent up rage, of resentment pouring out of your mouth. Raging and burning. Stinging its target's flesh like lava dripping on skin.

Things you couldn't believe could ever come out of your mouth shot out, bitter, venomous. Bullets aiming for the heart.

You'd called Agatha selfish. Had accused her of not caring about you, of valuing power over you. Had said she'd never loved you, and, if she'd thought she had, you'd certainly never felt it. Had told her other witches were right to have never trusted her for not an ounce of her was worthy of being trusted.

"I can't look at you right now. I don't wanna look at you," were your final words before you'd summoned your magic and had taken off for the sky. Far, far away from her.

It wasn't exactly a breakup. The two of you had had periods of separation throughout the centuries, usually brought on by one of you wanting to travel and the other preferring to cozy up somewhere for a few months. In the end, you would always find your way back to each other. The few times you had parted on bad terms, you were back in each other's arms within days.

You could never stay apart for too long.

Until now.

Three months and counting. No calls. No texts. Both of you were too stubborn, too proud to pick up the phone and make the first move.

Not that it would do much.

You doubted there was coming back from this fight.

If someone had said those things to you, you wouldn't want to see their face, either. Not for a very long time. Possibly not ever again.

You didn't even mean what you'd said. You were just so angry, and Agatha had made a mistake, and you'd wanted to punish her. You'd wanted to hurt her. You'd wanted her to feel how you were feeling. Wanted her to feel worse. You'd wanted to shove a knife in her gut and twist it.

What you'd actually done was aim for the heart and shatter it until it was nothing but specks of dirt under your feet.

Every day since that fateful night had been hell.

You weren't sure how you were able to survive; guilt had been eating you alive, bit by fleshy bit. The words you'd said echoed in your head. Had kept you up at night. Had brought tears to your eyes every time you'd replayed them.

Agatha was no angel, far from it, but she didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve a fraction of the venom you'd spewed in her face.

Maybe that had been a breakup, after all.

You didn't see her forgiving you that kind of cruelty.

You certainly would never forgive yourself.

Loud banging shook you back to the present, to your lonesome reality. Someone — something — was at your front door, insistent, desperate to get inside. The hinges squeaked under the force of the blows.

Blood ran cold in your veins.

You lived in the middle of nowhere; a deliberate choice, as your kind historically didn't fare well among people. Or each other. Experience had taught you that witches could be as treacherous as humans, even more so. Miles and miles of trees surrounded your home, cocooning it, shielding it. Hiding it and you from the world.

Who could possibly be at your door this late in the evening?

A lost or injured hiker? A runaway kid seeking help?

Someone who meant you harm?

The prospect didn't worry you too much; you'd made sure the entrance to your home was spelled so that nobody and nothing could get in without your explicit permission. Hunters and rogue witches, as well as regular, run of the mill thieves, had raided too many spaces you'd thought were safe over the centuries.

When you'd acquired this house, you were determined it was never going to happen again.

It was Agatha who had suggested protection like that. She knew how much it meant to you to have a place to call yours, to call a home, so she'd flipped through the pages of that dark magic book of hers that you weren't allowed to come near (with good reason: you'd avoided that thing like the plague) and had found a spell that would protect you from unwanted guests

It had worked wonders so far.

Still, as you cautiously padded to the door, one of your hands lit up with magic; a witch could never be too careful. You unlocked the door and opened it a crack, then wide as your eyes fell upon the familiar dark brown hair.

Agatha.

Your heart raced, first with excitement at seeing her again, then with concern as the condition she was in settled in.

Her clothes were ripped. Her hair was a mess, as if she hadn't brushed it in days. Blood ran down her mouth, down her chapped lips. Deep, purple bruises marred her face, painted it dark and painful.

"Oh, my god," you gasped, in disbelief at the sight before you. This had to have been some kind of an illusion. The Agatha you knew could never get hurt like this. No matter what the situation was, she would find her feet. She would never allow for it to get this far.

Her power was too grand for even a remote possibility of something like this.

Then why was she standing at your door, bruised and bloody?

Why was she shivering?

Why did she look so fucking scared that it broke your heart all over again, as your own cruel words had the night that you'd abandoned her?

"Y/N, please, let me in," she said. There was no usual snark in her tone, no humor. No playfulness that you'd come to miss in the months since you'd last seen her. Her voice was strained, as if it hurt to talk. As if it was taking the last remnants of the strength she had left to push the words out. "Please." There was a pause, a pained one, then she said, completely and utterly weak, "I don't have anywhere else to go."

She didn't even have to ask.

"Come here," you said, reaching for her. It was an instinct you'd grown into over the centuries of being with her. When she needed you — when she was cold or sad or injured — you were at her side with arms wide open. No questions asked. No demands made. All that mattered was getting her well. Making the pain she was in go away.

Hands on her shoulders, you gently coaxed her inside, and then locked the door behind her.

She didn't have to ask to be let in. Didn't have to cower and beg for mercy.

Even with the protection spell, Agatha had been welcome here from the very start. This was her home as much as it was yours. No matter how angry you were at her, you would never deny her access. Had never denied it.

What you had done, you remembered, chills running down your spine like ants, was tell her you couldn't look at her.

Was that why she was in this condition? Did she think you wouldn't help her if she called? Did she think you didn't care about her anymore — that you didn't care whether she lived or died?

Did she think you would slam the door in her face and leave her to tend to herself?

Swallowing the guilt that pressed on your chest like an ill-fitted corset, you helped Agatha to the couch. She walked with a limp, one hand pressed to her side, each breath she took a labor, a chore. Whoever had harmed her had done a number on her.

You'd seen her lose fights before. You'd seen her beg for mercy. But it had never been this bad. Not even close.

Whoever had done this to her had better leave the country, had better leave the fucking planet if they wanted to live for another day. Once you found them, they would wish they were dead.

That was a promise, and you always kept those when it came to Agatha.

"Is this okay?" you asked. "Do you need a blanket, or a pillow, or—"

"It's fine," she said, taking a few breaths to steady herself, each more painful than the other.

It shattered your heart into a million pieces.

She didn't deserve this. No matter what she did or whom she managed to piss off, she didn't deserve to be in this kind of pain.

As tenderly as you could, you laid your hands over hers. Agatha stiffened, startled, confirming your suspicions — she didn't think you care about her, not after the things you'd said.

All the witches in her life had ended up betraying her, turning their backs on her, abandoning her. It was only natural that you would do the same.

It was only life.

She didn't know anything different, anything better.

And you, the asshole that you were, had poured salt over the wound.

You'd told her she'd deserved it.

"It's okay," you said softly, caressing her hands. Letting her know that she was safe, that the danger had passed. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

But you had, hadn't you? You'd promised you would never, but you'd done what everyone else had. You'd turned your back on her. You'd spewed the vilest things you could think of, things you didn't even mean, to hurt her, all because you were hurt and had wanted her to feel the same — had wanted her to feel worse. You'd thrown her mistakes in her face, and had left her. You'd never looked back. And, no matter how much the guilt was eating you up, niggling at your insides like acid, you didn't have the nerve to apologize, to make it right.

You were no better than her coven. Than her bitch of a mother.

Agatha nodded, then lowered her eyes to her lap, to her dirty, bloodied clothes. Everywhere and anywhere but your face.

She might as well have slapped you.

Not that you wouldn't have deserved it.

"Who did this to you?" you asked, trying your hardest to hold back an explosion that threatened to erupt inside you.

You couldn't hurt yourself, not much more than you already have, but you could make sure that the one who'd done this to her paid with their life.

They'd been living on borrowed time since the second they'd decided to lay their hands on her.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"Hunters." She spit the word like it was poison, like the mere act of saying it befouled her mouth. "They injected me with something that's been blocking my power."

You raised an eyebrow, confused. "A drug of some sort?"

"Try potion."

Now that was interesting. "They're working with a witch?"

Agatha nodded. "A powerful one. It's been two days, and this thing's still alive and kicking."

"Two days?"

They'd had her for two days?

They'd been hitting her, beating her, torturing her for two days?

A few tears escaped your containment, your cheeks burning in their wake.

"Oh, please, it's nothing I can't take. I could go for two more weeks," Agatha said with a shrug, feigning nonchalance. Acting as if what she'd gone through didn't bother her a single bit.

You knew better.

That smile on her mouth was the same one she always hid behind. The one she used when she wanted to hide the pain, the turmoil, despite knowing damn well it didn't fool you. It never did.

"Sweetheart, I am so sorry," you said, on the brink of falling apart.

"Why? You didn't do anything."

That was the problem.

You didn't do anything.

She was tortured for two days, and you were none the wiser.

"I should've been there."

You would have burned those monsters alive. You would've made them beg for mercy, given them hope that it would come, and then you would've taken it away at the last minute. You would've made the punishment fit the crime.

You would do it.

They had no idea what was coming to them.

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Save your pity."

"It's not pity, and you know it," you told her in your most earnest tone. She had no reason to believe you — you'd certainly given her plenty of reasons not to — but you hoped she would find it in her heart to look past that. To give you the smallest benefit of the doubt, a chance to make what you broke whole again.

"Isn't it?" It was her turn to twist the knife, and she knew how to make it hurt without trying too hard.

You deserved it.

As much as it hurt, as much as it bruised and broke you, you had every word of doubt coming.

You swallowed a hard lump in your throat, welcoming the pain. Accepting it as penance. "No."

Standing up on shaky legs, you walked to the adjoining kitchen and started rummaging through cupboards in search of supplies. You didn't have a first aid kit, so a makeshift one would have to do. Some old bandages, a rag, a bowl of warm water. Simple, yet efficient.

Agatha could think what she wanted — she could think the worst of you, and she certainly had that right — but you would still help her. You would still do your best for her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting supplies," you said, picking up the softest rag you had. "We need to get you cleaned up."

A moment of tense silence passed. "I can do it myself."

You looked her in the eyes like you always did when she was being difficult. "Let me help you."

"I don't need your help," she said stubbornly.

If she didn't, she wouldn't have shown up at your door and begged to be let in. She wouldn't have let you hold her hands.

"Agatha," you said with a sigh. Don't do this, you thought. Don't play these games. Not now.

"You don't have to pretend you want me here. I'm only here because I had nowhere else to go," she reiterated.

"I'm not pretending."

"Aren't you? You made it pretty clear you didn't wanna look at me." Her eyes, so blue and sad, filled with tears. Her injured lips trembled. "I'm selfish, remember? I never loved you. I'm not trustworthy. I deserve everything that's ever happened to me. I deserve this."

"No. No, you don't."

But you did. You deserved to have your words thrown back at you. You deserved every jab, every painful poke.

You laid the bowl on the coffee table and sat back down by Agatha's side. "I know I'll never be able to take back all those horrible things I said. For what it's worth, I didn't mean any of it."

"Why'd you say it, then?" Agatha asked pointedly. No pleasantries. No nonsense.

"Because I was pissed, and I wanted to hurt you." It hurt to say it, to admit it out loud, but you owed it to her to be honest. She deserved to know the truth. "All this time, I've been trying to think of ways to apologize. Nothing seemed good enough. You deserve better, and I just couldn't give it to you. So, I left you alone."

You reached for her hand. Momentary relief flooded your veins as she allowed you to twine your fingers with hers. This time she welcomed your touch. Welcomed you.

"I really am sorry," you said. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I wouldn't. I just ask that you let me try to make up for it."

Agatha swallowed. Her eyes fell to your linked hands. You thought she would push you away. That she would tell you where you can shove your apology. That she would tell you that it was too late — she didn't love you anymore. That she wanted nothing to do with you.

Instead, her fingers squeezed yours.

A tiny, silent gesture that spoke more than words ever could.

She hadn't given up on you.

She was willing to give you a chance.

She still loved you.

Just like that, a spark lit up inside you. A sliver of hope, tiny but still there, bright in the turmoil of your mind.

It was more than you could have asked for.

You promised to yourself — to Agatha — that you wouldn't squander it.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange

*****

Next chapter.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #aaa #agatha all along #marvel #mcu #fanfic #fanfiction #my fics #edit

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sixosix · 1 year ago

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YOU'VE RUINED MY LIFE BY NOT BEING MINE | LYNEY

notes this chapter switches from lyney to reader, but you’ll notice right away when it does ^__^ and i also wanted to plug in my hcs of aether sjdkwd, wc 2.1k

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Lyney has had many embarrassing moments in his life. Everyone has their moments, eventually, and Lyney’s not the type to keep track of all of them. He couldn’t even count them with his hands if he tried—it’d be as long as Lynette’s weekly receipt of sweets.

The first he could remember was performing in front of a live audience. He forgot his lines, cowered across expectant eyes, and fumbled with his tricks, but he didn’t regret it. That experience made him the illustrious magician he is today.

There was a time when Lyney wasn’t too used to you addressing him so directly and face-planted on the floor when you called out his name.

He used to hear from the other orphans all the damn time: “Aren’t you at least a little embarrassed?” They never understood why Lyney kept returning to you, even after pushing him away. They never got to understand how thrilling it all was. He was just a little kid with an infatuation—why was he supposed to care about everyone else’s second-hand embarrassment?

He never came to regret any of those. He wouldn’t be here right now if it never came to be.

However, Master Childe standing frozen while Lyney fumbles with not letting you sway all over the place, might start steadily pushing itself towards the top five. Lyney barely dodged as you nearly elbowed him in the face. Graceless in every form in front of the 11th Harbinger.

You use Lyney to prop yourself up and whip around. “Where’s Lord Tartaglia?”

Master Childe pushes the door open, his silhouette like some angel coming down to say he will tell on ‘Father’ about Lyney hoisting the runaway Fatuu. Political-ness aside, it already looks bad enough that you’re drunk, and he’s dragging you. You hiss like some sort of vampire, and Lyney dutifully shields you from the light. Would it be rude to order Master Childe to fetch glasses of water?

“My head,” you groan.

“I’m sorry,” Lyney says, brushing hair away from your face. “Do you want to lie down?”

You’re not given a chance to lie down nor reply as Childe points a finger in Lyney’s direction.

“Hey, you,” Master Childe says, and Lyney blinks a little fearfully, spine ramrod straight. “I know you. You’re one of the orphans in the House, right?”

“What are you doing here, Master Childe?” Lyney asks, hopefully still conveying his respect.

“Well, the Northland Bank wouldn’t mind some wealthy connections,” Childe says proudly. “And one of the special guests here owes something to the Fontaine Branch.”

“You also know me, Tartaglia,” you chime in, stumbling around and revealing your face to him, wasted as hell.

Lyney holds his breath as Childe’s expression blanks. “Do I?” Childe asks indulgently.

“One of your subordinates!” you exclaim petulantly, as if sulking Childe hasn’t given you the same treatment he gave Lyney.

Childe turns sheepish. “I’m not too familiar with all of them.”

Lyney can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved. Instead, he brushes it off and focuses on your well-being. “Y/N, do you think you can walk on your own?”

“Of course I can,” you say, then wobble when Lyney tests it. “W-Wait—”

“Wait,” Childe says, too. “You’re Y/N?”

“Duh.” You sniff.

Lyney smiles. “Please forgive her.”

Childe’s expression does something complicated. “I’m not that good with faces. I do know you—I assigned you here.”

Something about that feels wrong to Lyney, but he’s not given any chance to think too deeply about it when Childe looks as if he is about to reach out to you. Lyney pulls away and takes two steps back when Childe raises his hands. The Harbinger blinks in confusion.

Lyney’s guard is up. “I-I’m sorry—”

Childe lifts his hands in surrender. “I don’t know what you think of me, but I assure you I’m not that kind of person..”

Lyney winces. There goes his first impression on the 11th Harbinger—disrespectful and maddeningly shameless. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to insinuate I thought of you that way, sir.”

Master Childe laughs. “It’s fine. It’s my fault for coming off like that. Do you need help?”

This is definitely beyond rude. You sway on your feet when Lyney moves. “Mon lapin here could really use a glass of water.”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” you announce. Lyney and Childe, positions be damned, share the same fearful look.

Thankfully, the aristocrat’s floor was safe from the assault of your breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but the bushes outside the mansion couldn’t share the same sentiment. Lyney and Childe had a moment of silent agreement to keep quiet about this matter if they suddenly wilted.

“Does the lady need any more help?” Childe asks. He’s actually nicer than Lyney expected and even younger than they say when up close. He's less intimidating when he’s not standing across with his features darkened by the light flooding from behind—that was certainly nightmare fuel.

“No!” you exclaim. “I can go home myself,” you say, still slurring your words.

“I’m not letting you do that,” Lyney says, helplessly charmed.

“You should,” you argue, then look a little green again. “Uh oh.”

Childe takes an instinctive step back. “Are you going to throw up again?”

“No, my head,” you whine pitifully. Lyney wishes he could pull that migraine out with his bare hands, but he also finds your expression right now a little hilarious.

Lyney pinches your cheek. “I told you to lay off the alcohol.”

“Did you not want to kiss me because you were scared I would throw up in your mouth?” you ask Lyney.

Lyney freezes, eyes wide. “You’re still on to that? How much do you remember?”

He wants to ask you a million questions when you’re finally not acting so skittish, but he finds that he can’t. He realizes he hasn’t seen you like this before—not hostile or wary of him. You look nice, like everything was before it was ruined. And there was also how you willingly wanted him to kiss you.

As you press against him, Lyney watches as you deflate like a balloon faced with a needle. You sigh softly, then bury your face against his neck.

“You’re so warm,” you murmur to his skin.

Goosebumps blossom all over his body. Your face brushes against the side of his neck. “Do you hate it?”

“I like it. My hands are cold. Every part of you is warm.”

“Would you like me to warm you up?”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

This is so unfair. Lyney wants to bury his face in your hair and hide there, hoping you’d cling to him forever like this. But that won’t happen in this lifetime or any other one. (He doesn’t pry you off in this lifetime, however.)

The grand entrance doors slide open. Lynette emerges from the party with a tentative look on her face. She swiftly rushes over to Lyney, then is visibly startled when she notices Master Childe still hanging around.

Oh. Right. Why the hell is Master Childe still here?

Lynette bows her head, addressing their superior. He laughs and waves it off like he’s no one important in the streets. His sister turns to him, whispering, “Lyney, ‘Father’ is looking for us. She’s asking for us right now.”

Lyney’s skin crawls. “What? Why now?”

She shakes her head, her eyes flicking back and forth between you and Childe. “I’m not sure. She wasn’t supposed to come this early.”

Lyney frowns, glancing down at you. “I can’t just…”

“We can’t bring her there with ‘Father’ in, too,” Lynette murmurs. Lyney curses, knowing she’s right.

“What’s wrong?” you ask from where you’re pressed against Lyney. “Oh! Hi, ‘nette!”

“Hello, Y/N,” Lynette says warmly. It seems fondness for Y/N runs in the family. “Do you have anywhere to go to? May I ask where it is?”

“Yes, of course I do!”

Lynette looks over to Lyney. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

Lyney, as much as he hates to, glances back at Childe, who is, unfortunately, and fortunately, still standing there.

“Good idea,” Lynette praises, seemingly catching on to what Lyney is thinking.

“That’s her boss,” Lyney says, instinctively shielding you from him. “What if she gets fired because of this?”

“She won’t be,” Lynette says. “And I’m sure that Master Childe would at least make sure Y/N is somewhere safe before he leaves. And right now, we have to do that, too.”

Lyney doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t trust showing you to ‘Father’, too. It’s been too long—he doesn’t know what ‘Father’ would think of you, and her decisions happen in a split-second.

“Lyney,” Lynette says, in the tone of Let’s not keep ‘Father’ waiting.

Perhaps Lyney really isn’t thinking straight himself. “Master Childe?” Lyney calls out. He takes a deep breath and says, “We are in your debt.”

You wake up to a pounding headache and realize that Aether’s hair glows in the dark when fully blacked out. You had an inkling when it looked like Aether was illuminated at night, but seeing it up close is startling.

“Holy shit! Aether, your hair!” You sit up but belatedly regret it when the migraine returns to full force. “Holy shit,” you say again, for a different reason this time.

“Stop swearing,” Aether sighs, looking alien as he moves and speaks like a human being, yet his hair radiates light like the sun—literally. “Can we pull the curtains open?”

“Nooo,” you sob. “I want to sleep again. It hurts.”

“Paimon, if you will.”

The fairy salutes and shows no sliver of mercy as you’re ravaged by sunlight piercing your eyes. It feels like all your cells are screaming in protest. Or maybe you’re the one screaming.

“Huh,” Aether says thoughtfully. “Just as I suspected. You’re wearing the same shade of lipstick.”

You don’t care about your lips right now. Thinking about how dry your mouth is has you wanting to throw up. “What does that even mean?”

Aether ignores it. He’s starting to act like a stern, disappointing mother. “Do you remember what happened last night? Imagine my surprise when I see Childe sneaking in my teapot, carrying you like a passed-out damsel.”

Memories of last night flashed behind your eyelids, most of them featuring the 11th Harbinger, and your blood runs cold. “Oh no.”

“He’s still here, and he’s asking to talk with you.”

Your cells haven’t stopped screaming; they’re scattering around in panic. You certainly feel as if you’re being jostled around. “I think I’m going to throw up again.”

Pitying you, Aether reaches from the bedside desk and hands a glass full of water that’s delightfully the perfect temperature. But apparently, he doesn’t pity you enough to not drag you out of bed.

You didn’t understand what Aether meant when he said Teapot, but while on the way to where Childe was resting, Paimon explained that you were all walking in a floating teapot hanging around somewhere in some corner of Fontaine. Faintly, you wondered if you were still drunk.

Master Childe is all sprawled legs on the living room couch. He senses your presence right away, waving with a bright smile.

“I think I did pretty well last night, comrade.” Childe flashes a grin to Aether, who rolls his eyes. “They didn’t question anything!”

“It’s because you’re their superior.” Aether turns to you, plucking the empty glass from your shaky fingers. “Sit beside them. I have something to ease your migraine.”

You could cry. Instead, you obediently sit beside the feared and renowned 11th Harbinger, moving as stiff as a board.

“Hey.” Childe tilts his head as he studies your face. “You look pale.”

“Sir!” You bow, then promptly start retching.

Chidle laughs, “Calm down, calm down. You don’t have to be so formal. You spoke easily last night.”

“I was drunk,” you murmur, face heating up. You couldn’t recall how easily you spoke to him last night—it’s all a blur. Thinking too hard about it has you dizzy.

“Loosen up then. You’re a friend of the Traveler, aren’t you? That makes us comrades, too.” Childe sinks into his seat, grinning. “I already got the gist of the situation. I gotta say, that’s dangerous deceiving the Arlecchino, of all people.”

“If it involved Teucer, wouldn’t you do the same?” Aether chimes in, entering the room, holding a tray with three glasses.

Chidle guffaws, “Fair enough!”

Paimon settles beside you, looking as alien as Aether earlier by sitting down. Your drink looked different from Paimon’s and Childe’s, but you reasoned that Aether still needed your intel to not poison you.

“It wasn’t part of the agreement to have to see my subordinates canoodling, though,” Childe says offhandedly. “Your boyfriend was like a leech.”

“Lyney is not my boyfriend,” you say automatically.

Childe laughs at first, but it dies down seeing your confusion.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh.” He turns to Aether, who nods sagely, world-weary.

imagine: lyney returning to the bench he left you and childe on, seeing that you’re both gone, and exclaiming FUCK

notes omg its been a while……….How is everyone!!! sorry i know this is so short but im just glad i finally update after like?? nearly a month and a half?? 😭😭😭 tbh im not too proud of this chapter but i cant tell if its bc its been so long or if its bc its actually badjhfkjd EITEHR WAY THANK YOU FOR REAADDINGGG

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#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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strrykais · 7 months ago

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paper rings

idol : han jisung // stray kids song : paper rings - taylor swift warnings : none word count : 454

you never expected to fall for jisung, especially with you being friends since as long as you can remember. you also never expected jisung to have loved you since you were kids, watching you experience everything he wanted with you.

you always thought he was joking when he would make little rings out the paper straws and say he was gonna marry you.

but here you are dressed up in a white wedding gown staring back at yourself in the mirror. you weren't getting cold feet, you were just feeling like something was missing.

stepping off the block, hearing a tsk from your bridesmaid you rummage through your suitcase.

"hey are you okay? what are you looking for?" sana asked, crouching down watching you pull out a small jewelry box.

bringing it close to your chest, you breathe out a sigh, standing up gathering some of your dress and run out the bridal suite.

"what the fuck, we have a runaway bride." you hear one of the bridesmaids shout out as sana runs after you.

"i need to go see jisung." you shout out hoping she could hear. sana halts letting you run off to your soon to be.

you ran straight to the groom's suite, banging on the door watching as minho opens up.

"woah, you look beautiful. oh yeah he is gonna cry when he sees you." minho says closing the door so no one can see you on the other side.

"thank you, but i need to talk to jisung. it's important."

"uhh let me see if he wants to see you, you know he wants to be surprised." minho softly shuts the door and a second later a closed eye jisung swings open the door hands out looking for you.

"baby, what's wrong? are you okay? you aren't leaving me right." jisung rambles on reaching out grabbing onto your shoulders softly rubbing.

"no ji, i know it's a crazy request but lets get married with these." you grab his hands gently placing the box onto them. spinning him around so he can see what is in it.

"paper rings? you kept them?" jisung says, digging through the little pile of paper straw rings he would make you for years.

"of course i kept them, you made them for me."

"what about our real rings we got?" you hear him sniffle out. jisung wanted to turn around and see you, he wanted to see you oh so desperately, but he wanted to see you when you walked down the aisle. it's what he always wanted.

"jisung i always said yes when you placed the paper ring on my finger, what's once more? if it's from you i will always say yes."

1k extravaganza

ⓒstrrykais

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edgeray · 5 months ago

Note

*vibrates*

So many wips… 👀

Ok so. IDK. I have. So many “want to sees”. So I’m just gonna list them 🤷‍♀️

Ghost Clervie AU. I’m imagining Clervie watching as Peruere- sorry, *Arlecchino* develops her “cold, strict, and unfeeling Father persona”. But she quickly reverts back to Peruere in the presence of Clervie when Arle figures out she isn’t hallucinating and this isn’t some scheme of someone trying to throw her off balance.

(I’m actually just realizing the parallels of Furina making her Archon persona and Peruere with her Father persona 🤔 Both masks are there in order to better protect the people that rely on them (Fontaine’s citizens and the Hearths Children respectively)). Anyways.

Isekai-ed Arlecchino. I’m just wondering at how that would work and how serious you would make the writing take itself. Like would it be crack, crack that takes itself serious, or serious? (You don’t need to answer that. I was just pondering)

Modern Cat or Bunny Shifter Arle. Arle in her animal form has a nearly 100% coat with the exception of one ear that’s black. It’s cute. Also, I see her as a bunny with floppy ears that are so long that she trips over them XD I’m giggling at the thought she might even be one of those massive bunny breeds too. This makes me wonder if the House exists and whether or not the rest are also shapeshifters. Like a haven for shapeshifters, if you will.

Pirate Arle. You know (you don’t, but I’m telling you 😅) I’m a sucker for enemies(who actually aren’t all that bad) taking in and caring for an abandoned enemy.

Historical Goddess Arle. I think the fact that Reader prays for a painless death rather than no death at all could be intriguing to Arle who probably regularly gets prayers from people not wanting to die?

Spiderwoman Arle. It’s not a want, it’s a need. I’m also a sucker for secret identity relationships.

Arlecchino w/ Cursed Bio Child.

Alien Arle and Human Reader. Arle and Clervie internally seething at getting another runaway test subject (not at the human, at the fact they were experimented on). That(the facility) would need to be taken care of… (badass ArlexClervie couple who are leaders of an organization who take down illegal trafficking rings, experiment facilities, etc? 👀) Once the newcomer gets adjusted to their new home, of course.

Arlecchino x Alive/Knave Clervie.

Sorry if any of that/the extra commentary seems like I’m trying to press for any of this. Yeah, these are requests. If that’s ok 🙂

👉👈 Hopefully it isn’t overwhelming.

The Other End of the Blade

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon, sorry for being late with this anon! I really love your commentary on all of your (mine?) ideas so don’t worry about it! I’ll put more of a response at the end of this. This one is going to be pirate AU because I too crave some enemies to lovers right now. One piece is the only basis I have for pirates so apologies if it's not alike to other pirate media. Those of you wondering where this list of ideas come from, it’s from my ideas/wip post, where I store all of the silly little ideas for fanfics. Feel free to request from anything on that list.

Content warnings / info - enemies to lovers, semi-graphic violence, heavily one piece inspired, got WAY too invested into this whoops, 4.0k words

Before you could read books, you could read wanted posters. Before you could spell out your name, you could write down ‘pirate’ and ‘wanted dead or alive.’ Before you could write, you throw a mean punch. Before you knew how to play, you knew how to fight. And before you knew how to count your fingers, you could tie knots. Before you knew what a Marine was, you already were one. And before you knew what ‘love’ means, you knew what hate was and who to hate: pirates. Hatred towards them coursed alongside your blood through your veins.

Pirates are the scum of the seas, raiders from the depths of the oceans that have come to pillage towns and wreak havoc over the prospering empires. They’re sick people who only know how to steal and how to kill. They rob lives without an ounce of hesitance, ignorant to the misery and suffering they force upon people because of their actions. The world would be better off without them. That way, all people can live in peace without worry from murderers and pillagers like them. Pirates are everything you should hate and you swear that you're going to make it so not one person has to be afraid of their shores–they'll never have to look at the horizon wondering if they see pirate ships in the distance cruising towards them.

If there is one thing that your family has instilled into you, it would be that a world free of suffering is a world free of pirates. Like every other family member before you, you've been set on the path of greatness that is to eradicate every one of those vermin since birth. The only aspiration you could have is rising the ranks of the Marines. Generations of your family served in the Marine, holding the highest positions. Being anything short of one of the admiral positions, (the lowest of which ranking fourth highest in authority) is a disgrace, a stain on your one of the most prominent Marine families.

Rising towards the ranks was no difficulty for you. It's only about two years since you've joined the Marines, and you've already risen to a commander position. For reference, even the best of soldiers take four to five years to be promoted to that level. And you know you're about to be promoted–you just need one big case. Just capture one famous pirate, and you know that the Captain rank is yours. One more step closer to cementing your place among the greats of your family.

–

Water pelts across your face and the strong sea breeze whips around you. Over your own thumping heart, you can hear the roaring of raging waves paired with the wild flapping of the sails and the creaking of wood. Thudding footsteps rushes all around you, and the clouded sky flashes, thundering.

“Lower the sails!” You scream at the men as they wrestle with the ropes. Seeing one of the men fumble, you grumble under your breath and shove him away to take over.

“Get a bucket, and keep getting rid of the water. We need as little water to get into the hull as possible,” you command him, and that's enough to make him useful.

“Pirate ship spotted!” One of the crew members states and you groan in frustration. A pirate ship at this time? You're only just barely ensuring the vessel does not capsize! Not only is the Marine ship struggling, but no doubt the pirate ship would be too. You release the ropes, seeking out the captain.

“Captain!” You yell as you head towards him. The cranky man shoots you a snooty glare before turning to a Marine soldier besides him.

“Hurry up! What flag is it?! Huh? Huh?! Give me a damn answer before I throw you overboard!” Your captain gruffly exclaims at the poor Marine who was holding a spyglass, pointing it towards the oncoming ship. You cringe at the Captain's voice, silently giving sentiments to the other Marine.

“It's a… um… it.. um…” The Marine stutters, unsure of what to make of the flag. You grind your teeth before wrenching it out of his hands and examining the flag yourself with squinted eyes. In between heavy rain and dark surroundings, you can just barely recognize the flag: a hand grasping a candle.

Damn it! At this time?!

“It's the Hearth pirates!” You announce, tossing the scope to your Captain to see.

“The Hearth? You mean one of the Harbinger crews?!” The old man grunts before seeing for himself. His facial features morph into one of disbelief before hardening.

“I want every cannon manned now! Get your weapons ready and drawn! All hands on deck!” The Captain demands. The confusion and disbelief was practically palpable among the Marines, and felt through their second of hesitation before the soldiers’ replied with a ‘yes Captain.’

Is he crazy? What the hell is wrong with him? As much as you would love to capture the notorious Hearth pirates, you knew now was nothing but an imprudent time. Even if the Hearth was among the less deadly of the Harbinger crews, that did not make them any less powerful. You have heard from other Marines’ hushed whispers that it takes at least a large fleet (5 Marine ships) to take down one entire Harbinger ship, and even that was theoretical. The Fatui pirates as a whole are damn near unstoppable, but the Harbingers themselves are monsters ripped from hell. As much as you hate to admit, you’re not strong enough to defeat a Harbinger, and you have similar doubts for your Captain. Where does he get this pomposity from?

The other men are struggling enough to keep this piece of wood afloat, and now they have to worry about battling pirates? You doubt even the Hearth is eager for a fight. Fighting in this storm would only lead to early graves for both sides. Winning against and capturing the Hearth pirates is unfavorable, but surviving past this storm is indisputable.

“Wait, Captain!” You call out to him. An annoyed click of his tongue comes from him, as if you were the bother, and it only makes you clench your hands into fists. He turns his back towards you, irritation written all over his expression.

“What are you standing around for? Get ready already!” He demands with a scrunched face.

“We can't engage in battle with them yet! We don’t have enough men, and we're already struggling with the storm!” You protest. “We're in no condition to try and fight them!”

Silence. Around you, you hear whispers from the other crewmates, sounds of agreement coming from them. Evidently, this increases the captain's indignation.

“Quiet!” He screams. “If we're struggling, just think about how they could be faring! They don't have nearly enough resources as us marines do to survive! This is our chance to capture one of the Harbinger crews!

“After all,” he pauses to give you a pointed, haughty look. “We have one of the members of the greatest family? We won't lose with you on our side, right? We're in your hands.”

You bristle, your nails digging into your palm as your lips twitch into a deeper frown. To think he would use your family name against you. What is he even trying to do? You're too stunned to respond and he brushes past you.

You're absolutely powerless to do anything, and so are the other soldiers on this ship. No one here outranks the Captain. No matter how correct you may be, you would be punished for disobeying a superior's order. If only you could have been promoted earlier, then you wouldn't have to listen to this fool. Had it been you, you would have this ship steered towards the closest Marine base and report what direction the Hearth pirates are going. But you can't do that. You nod pathetically, and the rest of the men disperse.

You can only watch as the smaller ship approaches closer and closer. As soon as Hearth pirates enter within the firing range, chaos ensues with your Captain's bellowed “FIRE!”

A cacophony of screams and cannon fire sound through the air, deafening you, and the overpowering smell of gunpowder and brine swarm your nostrils. Like all naval battles, it’s always a blur–just a flash of colors and movements. At some point, the pirate ship approached close enough for them to board onto the Marine ship. You are not aware of this until you find yourself face to face with one of the Hearth pirates. By then, all rationale has been thrown out in favor of instinct–the most precise, miniscule reaction is what keeps you alive the most when it comes to battling pirates. Your surroundings fade from your awareness, your only attention on the figure before you.

She’s a young pirate, that you can tell, but her skills are no less admirable. She has an ever passive, unreadable face that makes predicting her movements hard to discern and even harder to catch off guard. You narrowly dodge another slash of her saber, and your cutlass swishes through the air, only shallowly cutting her sleeve. Despite this, she is far from deterred, and you have to parry another swing. The steel of the blades screeches as your blades clash against each other. Now at a temporary standstill, the both of you exchange eye contact for a brief moment. Lilac eyes, brimming with determination, skirts away from yours. She pulls away only to lunge again, a thrust of her blade heading towards you abdomen but you dodge, side-stepping it. The blade skims just past you, embedding into the wood of one of the masts. Realizing the given opportunity, you give a swift kick to the pirate’s stomach, disconnecting her hand from the handle of her sword. She tumbles onto the ground with a grunt, and you use no time to close the distance.

Just as you are about to deliver another blow, a loud gunshot sounds through, making you flinch. A sharp pain erupts from your left shoulder and you stumble back from the young pirate. You cock your head, peering behind you. This action allows you to narrowly miss two oncoming daggers, though your cheek and neck get nicked. Spinning on your heel, you face the dagger wielding pirate fully. He’s a young boy, with a top hat and matching eyes of the saber user. Siblings, perhaps? The fierceness in his eyes confirms your suspicions.

You charge at the boy, but before reaching him, a large wave crashes into the boat, water spilling overboard and throwing you off balance. The sudden impact makes you lose your balance, and you’re hurtled towards the railings of the ship, your back slamming into it. An audible crack emits from the collision and your spine screams out in agony. Lifting yourself into a crawling position, you glance up at the havoc over the deck.

A bit close to you is your captain, fighting against a white-haired woman. Given the striking polearm she wields, that must be the Knave, one of the eleven Harbingers of the Fatui pirates. Her movements are graceful, every thrust and slash calculated and precise. In contrast, your captain’s movements are botched, desperate. Every output of effort from him is just for another instance of him scraping by with his life. Each parry with his saber leaves his arms trembling. He is a bumbling mess compared to the Knave. Easily, you can tell it’s a losing battle for your captain. He’s outclassed.

You’re about to rise when a flicker of bright light catches your gaze. Your eyes widen as you turn your head to spot a bright orange mass covering a part of the deck, and it only grows the longer you gaze at it. The flames stalk towards you with a terrifying space. Despite your body’s protest, you beckon your body to stand. When you have both feet on the wooden planks, you head towards your captain to assist him in his battle. Abruptly, the Marine ship shakes, another current assaulting its side. Swept off your feet, your body is flung, your lower abdomen hitting the top of the railings while you roll off of the ship. It’s only by sheer luck that your hand catches the base of the railing, holding onto it with all the strength you could muster in your left arm. The rest of your body hangs over the ever-swallowing sea.

Your grasp is slipping because of the rain. You grunt as you try to lift yourself with just one arm. Opening your mouth, you clench your teeth onto the spine of your cutlass, freeing up your right arm to grip onto the base of another fence. With much effort, you’re able to heave your head up so that your eyesight is just over the floor. You can spot the familiar boots of the captain. Every muscle in your arm is straining, burning painfully. Holding on for much longer is impossible.

The cutlass has to go. You let the weapon fall from your mouth, and it plunges into the waters below.

“Captain! Captain!” The guttural outcry comes from your lips. There’s the groaning of wood breaking. A large shadow looms over you, and you lift your gaze. The mast above tilts down, forewarning its collapse on top of you.

“CAPTAIN!” You scream out, no longer having the strength to lift your head above the deck. You dangle helplessly, your grip slacking with each second.

You hear thumping footsteps towards you, and you have never been more grateful to see the unsightliness of your captain’s face peering over the railings.

For a moment, he does nothing, viewing your vulnerable state. His lips twitch, a small smile stretches over his face. He turns away briefly, glancing in both the right and left direction, before focusing on you again.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure that they know you fought honorably,” he says, venom in his voice. “So go ahead and let go.”

Your blood freezes, and his face disappears. Your arms can no longer continue and you let up.

You fall, plunging into the icy cold waters. The iciness does not just seep into your blood, but your muscles and tendons too, making your body heavy. Air is stolen away from you and you flail and kick to the surface for air. Everything hurts. As you sputter for oxygen, coughing out the saltwater, your vision catches the glimpse of a long brown mass toppling down onto you. It’s the last thing you see when something hits the back of your head, and everything fades into an inky abyss.

—

Everything hurts. It's the first thing that comes to you when you are able to grasp even a bit of consciousness. You feel it in your limbs, your back, your abdomen, essentially anything above your waist has a stabbing sensation in it. A groan, followed by a deep suction of air, emerges from you, and you lift your head up. Your eyes flutter open, bright light stabbing into your eyes. You let out a pained groan, rolling your neck to ease its discomfort but find it unhelpful.

Your eyes adjust to the orange glow of your surroundings. You blink several times to relieve the blurriness in your vision, able to see more clearly. Given the rocking motion and the familiar sound of waves crashing, you would reckon you're on a ship. Looking down at yourself, you're seated on a chair. You attempt to sit up, only to find yourself unable to. Rope digs into the skin of your bound wrists, and you let out a string of expletives in a single defeated sigh.

“Did you learn that tongue from the Marines?” A cutthroat voice resounds through the room.

You dip your head, turning towards the figure. A tall woman leans against the wall in the corner, a good bit of distance away. White and black strands, charcoal hands, crimson crossed-pupils, and the epitome of beauty and refinement that marks the appearance of the Knave. Strange to find that among pirates, of all brutish people. Your hazy mind clears in an instant, and you sit up straighter. The pirate captain's presence brings about your most recent memories onto the forefront of your mind in short bursts. With a forceful swallow, you recognize that you have been captured by the Hearth pirates. If you're alive rather than dead, that means they have some use for you. Whatever it is, you need to escape from this. You can only do that when you fish for enough information.

Taking in your surroundings, you'd have to guess you're in some storage room. Stacked barrels make up the majority of the room. Perhaps if you're able to access the contents of the barrels, you can use them to escape. If not, you could easily ruin their supplies, including food and water.

“I just thought communicating would be easier in your language,” you snark back, observing the Harbinger's reaction. Expectedly, she remains inexpressive, revealing nothing. She leans away from the wall, stalking towards you. Heels click against the floorboards. Only pirates would have the audacity to be wearing such compromising shoes out on the sea.

She stands before you, unmoving, her piercing gaze smiliarly fixated on your form. When nothing comes from her lips, you make conversation first.

“Admiring me?”

This earns a humorless chuckle. “There's nothing to admire.”

Ow.

A frown comes across your face. Acting coy does not work on pirates like the Knave. The Knave seems like someone who only responds to directness. No use in stalling.

“What happened to my crew?”

“They were alive when we left them.”

“And are they still alive?”

“Presumably.”

You grit your teeth, lunging at her in anger. Your bounds don't allow for much movement, and it only makes your chair screech across the floor boards towards the pirate. “You left them in the middle of the storm with a ruined ship! You killed them!”

“You were the fools that decided to attack us.”

“You would have attacked us first! You scum aren't above anything! How can I even trust your word? How do I not know you're not lying to my face?! How do I know you haven't slaughtered them all?!” You scream, thrashing against the ropes wildly.

“I doubt any persuasion could relieve your distrust. I see that any sort of conversation with you will be futile,” the pirate remarks. She spins on her heel, heading towards the door. You're almost tempted to let her if it means the chance of never seeing her face again, until another thought crosses your mind.

Why did she want some sort of conversation with you?

“Wait.”

The Knave stops in her tracks. “Are you choosing to be civil for once?”

You scrunch your nose. “Never mind. I can't bear seeing your face again.”

An audible huff comes from the pirate before she does face back towards.

“Why did you… why did you keep me alive? Why did you spare me? Why did you…” You pause, recalling back to your last memories. You were knocked unconscious by falling debris, that you were sure of. You should have drowned by all accounts. You doubt your crewmates have saved you–you hate to admit it, but you would have sunk to the seabed before one of them had noticed. Your crewmates would have been too focused on the pirates to have. If it wasn't any one from your party, then that only leaves the opposing party. However, there is no logical reason for them to. You'd sooner accept divine intervention rather than pirates having rescued you.

The voice in your head, the voice that has been fostered since your childhood, tells you that it is neither of those two, just a sick sense of karma. Pirates aren't capable of any good doing. If they've kept you alive, it's because they intend to hurt you even more. They're inhuman monsters who only know how to steal and steal, until nothing of you is left. Wretched people that shouldn't even have the luxury of being labeled as ‘humans.’

“Why am I here?” You finally settle on those words.

Silence stretches for a single moment before she begins. “You encountered two of my children, yes?”

You raise your eyebrows at the mention of ‘children.’ You're aware that some captains likened themselves to a parental figure of their crew–it seems like the Knave is one of those cases. You think back to the young ash blond pirates you briefly fought.

“The swordswoman and the dagger thrower,” you reply.

“Correct. I found Lyney as a child, when I was wandering the alleys of a shoretown. He bumped into me because he was in a hurry to save his sister from being sold to a high ranking Marine.”

Shock envelopes your face as you process those words. A Marine? Someone whose duty is to protect citizens? A high ranking Marine? Someone whose performance and power is praiseworthy and yet they would do something like that? The thought sickens you. That kind of behavior… that can only pertain to a pirate right? It is not possible for a Marine to act that way. Other Marine officials would have never allowed it. She must be feeding falsehoods to trick you, to get you to betray your family and duty. There's no way this would happen.

Despite your inner turmoil, Arlecchino continues. “When I took them in, fed them and gave them somewhere to sleep, it took several months for Lyney to sleep in his own quarters. He couldn't be torn away from his sister's quarters. Any chore assigned to him, Lynette had to be beside him. You would have to possess a superhuman strength to separate him from her.”

You could imagine why. Your stomach churns uncomfortably, hating the fact that with every word, her story seems more and more plausible. Why were you even considering this fabricated story? Why were you being swayed by a pirate's tongue?

“Why are you telling me this? You didn't take me to tell your kids’ sob story,” you remark.

“Every single person on this ship has been dealt an unfortunate hand by the Marines. My children,” she speaks with a hint of indignation, her voice chillingly sincere, “have suffered and wept because of a Marine. Not one of them has ever had a good history with a Marine.”

She gives you a pointed look, one that makes your blood boil. You hate it, you want to gauge her eyes out because you can see the glint of sympathy in them. “I see now that it's not just people having been harmed by the Marines. But their own people too.”

“I am not some pitiful stray you found on the street!” You scream, having heard enough of this. “I have not been wronged by-”

“Your captain abandoned you.” That is all it takes to silence you, and your outburst dies the instant it comes. Any protests on your lips is pummeled away by the heaviness in your chest that forms whenever you think back to that moment. Arms aching, helpless and dangling, and the man you relied upon to lead you and guide you, turns away. He left you, simple as that, to die. Why? You couldn't even fathom a reason. How could a captain do that? After all your service, after all you've done for him, he leaves you.

“You would have died because of a self-serving captain.”

And you still have the audacity to try and defend him. The Marines are all you know. He was just one man. That did not mean all the Marines were like that. “He was just one man.”

“One man is all it takes. One man is one too many. And if that were true, no one else would be on my ship. I do not believe that all Marines are as revolting as him. Quite the opposite. But there is enough and that's the problem.

“You may find it hard to believe, but we want to welcome you. If you choose to so stubbornly reject our hospitality and company, we will drop you off at the nearest island so you may return to your duty. But here, we at least know of loyalty and family, I assure you that.”

The Knave approaches you. You hear the unsheathing of a blade and you feel your wrists relieved from their bounds. You gape at her.

“Welcome to the House of the Hearth.”

More A/N: I know this was really long, and not at all romantic, but I got way too invested into the plot of it all to actually focus on the romance. Please someone request a part two because I haven't enjoyed writing a piece this much in a while (i know my inbox is closed for requests but I will make this an exception. This was such a fun piece that really had me invested the entire time while writing. I would love to see Arlecchino's and Reader's relationship develop more. I hope you guys enjoyed this because it's now the longest request I've ever written.

I'm not done yapping, unfortunately. To address anon's commentary. First of all, never be sorry for the commentary. I love yapping, as you may be able to tell. I love hearing your guys' ideas and I think they're all so cool!! (I'm also lonely :v pls talk to me anons).

I love, love, love Arlecchino's character, and I so wish to see it more explored in x Reader fics (I have something like this in the works ehehe) and I totally see the comparison between Furina and Clervie (even though I don't ship Arlefuri).

I've already written Goddess! Arlecchino x Reader! I've linked it in case you haven't seen it before. I'm also working on an Alien! Arlecchino x Human! Reader, so not quite like the Alien AU! Arlevie, but I thought it's something you might be interested. I think that Bunny! Arle would be more like her plush in the Arlecchino animation, but seeing her with floppy ears is such a cute image. With the Isekai AU, I guess it really depends on my mood. (I've also put a different concept for an Arlecchino Isekai-ed AU in the same post), but likely the one mentioned in your asks will have more crack.

I really want to think you for your conideration of my ideas!! It means a lot to me that people actually see them and like can envision it and feel the raw potential for that story like I do. I know it took super long for me to get to this request and it might not even be how you wanted but I hope you like it. <333

Note to future requests: if you guys give me a list of ideas you want me to do (bc you're as indecisive as I am), I can pick one to write :33)

#arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests

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swan2swan · 10 months ago

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I think he's pulling the old Belloq Gambit. He stays in the shadows and does his studies while Qimir finds these McGuffins and lures them urther and further into darkness.

Okay I'm pretty sure Qimir has broken off from Darth Plagueis because there is no way that a pair of Force-concieved twins would be running free if Mr. "Defining canon trait is evil life-creating Force experiments" knew they existed. He would have snatched up Osha the minute she left the Order and gotten straight to work on figuring out how the hell she and Mae were born.

#though there's also the possibility that he taught Aniseya the techniques #in a sort of...Evil Sea Witch way #I don't know what his timeline is here #it would be hilarious if Aniseya and/or Koril was a former Plagueis apprentice though #because that would spike his count from one apprentice to something like five #with so many planned runaways and feelers #I think I prefer him finding the coven #or their results #and reverse-engineering what they did #but the concept of prototypes and experiments is also always neat #star wars #the acolyte #the wildest theory I have is that Martian Manhunter is Darth Tenebrous and Plagueis is supposed to be the long-range Sith #but he's scheming and plotting #and will eventually put Palpatine in the Senate when Tenebrous is TRAGICALLY ASSASSINATED #but I'm more than willing to accept that the Senator is Just A Guy #it's neat that it could go anywhere though

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haileygarciasunshine · 1 month ago

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Old Flames and New Battles Pairing: Established!Bucky Banes x Reader Mentions: Ex!Dean Winchester x Ex!Reader l Platonic!Sam Winchester x Reader Word Count: 480 Warnings: None Summary: An old flame shows up at the Avengers Compound asking for help.

The familiar rumbler of the impala echoed through the underground garage of the Avengers compound. You felt your stomach twist— not th fear, but with the weight of old history. You couldn’t remember the last time you’ve seen Sam and Dean since you had traded salt lines and holy water in for vibranium shields and super-soldiers.

Knowing that when the hunters show up at your door, it’s never for a social visit.By the time the elevator doors opened, you were waiting in the hallway with your arms crossed along your chest. Your eyes meeting the once familiar green ones. His usual cocky smirk faltering for just a second before he recovered. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t our runaway hunter turned superhero.” Dean taunted. He stuffed his hands into his pockets “Miss us?”

Sam shot him a look of annoyance before turning to face you. “We need your help. Something big. And Weird. Even for us.”

You motioned for them to follow, leading them to the compounds living room. The moment you stepped into the common area, you felt Bucky’s presence behind you, before you even saw him. He had a way of knowing when you were in a situation he might need to back you up on.

Dean’s jaw tightened at the sight of Bucky towering behind you. He glared at Bucky’s hands on your waist. His vibranium arm slightly catching the glint of light. Bucky’s blue eyes filled with sharp curiousity.

“Winchesters,” Bucky greets in a gruff tone.

Dean’s gaze continued to stay on Bucky’s hands. You saw the muscled in his jaw tick.

“Barnes.” Dean greeted, his voice tight. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “You always did have a thing or the brooding types.”

Bucky let out a warning growl as he clenched his teeth together, glaring at Dean.

You sighed rolling your eyes, while lifting your hands to rub your temples. “Not now, Dean.” Your tone sharp and precise.

Sam cleared his throat, visably uncomfortable with the lingering tension in the air. “We’re dealing with something we’ve never seen before. Something that’s taking out hunters, and fast. And, well…. We figured if anyone would have experience with weird, it’d be the Avengers.”

You exchanged a knowing glance with Bucky, who gave a small nod.

“Alright,” You say while crossing your arms along your chest. “Let’s hear it.”

As Sam began explaining, you could feel the weight of Dean’s gaze lingering on you. It went unsaid that he was jealous of the life you had built with Bucky without him.

The unspoken truth hung between you. The hunt came first. It always did.

Join my tag list here

#Crossover #supernatural #deanwinchester #bucybarnes #bucky barnes x reader #reader insert #fandom #deanwinchesterxreader #dean Winchester x reader #mcu #mcu imagine

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blurry-lock · 2 months ago

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Writer writer more shidou please :3 (i love your fanfics sm they give me hope for the shidou tag)

Tysm anon!! That’s so sweet 🥺🫶 recently i’ve been inspired by a lot of songs so i’ll try to write more!! this time I decided to write a little bit of angst >:)

ROBBERS

“But if you just take off your mask, you'd find out everything's gone wrong…”

What you need to know: based on the mv of robbers by the 1975, established relationship, shidou and reader are criminals and troublemakers, blood, gun and wound mentions, angst, cursing, gn reader, slightly suggestive

Wrd count: 2k

He had a face straight out of a magazine. That’s what you thought every time you saw Shidou, even when he was beating someone or when you ran from the cops, it was the kind of love that everyone would bet it’ll end up wrong. You loved each other madly, you found beauty in the chaos Shidou was capable of, the same chaos that would end up destroying you eventually. You and Shidou were both runaways, living in an abandoned house with 2 other runaways, Aiku and Sae that became your friends in no time. You were all living based on deals, gambling and sometimes even stealing, to this day none of you faced any repercussions making you not afraid of anything.

But living this life sometimes got you thinking at night about what if things turned out different for you? Being a troublemaker knowing you do bad things and feel no remorse until recently was getting surprisingly tiring, ever since you started thinking about a dream that kept nudging you from the back of your head.

“What if we formed a band? A real one.” You blurted out as you were lost in thought. The three of them stared at you with widened eyes as you were sitting on the living room talking about random stuff.

It wasn’t a crazy idea, you sometimes pretended you were in a band and played with some robbed instruments you had. Aiku had a bass, Sae an electric guitar and your boyfriend, Shidou had drums (stealing the drums was a crazy experience you almost got caught) and your singing skills were not that bad actually.

“Oh? That’s honestly a good idea, sweetheart~” Shidou chuckled, putting his arm over your shoulders.

“Sounds nice, a lot of girls and guys would give me attention.” Aiku chuckled and smirked at the thought.

“And how? With what money? People will eventually found out what we do…” Sae raised an eyebrow, although internally he liked the idea.

“I… I want to stop having this life, that’s why I suggested the idea of making a band.” You looked down, afraid of their reactions.

“That won’t be easy hun.” Aiku chuckled. “But… I admit I like the idea of starting a new life”

“But doing this is so easy and fun…” Shidou winced and pouted softly, but when he looked at you and seeing your slight frown at his words his heart ached slightly. He was a criminal and a very problematic one, but before any of that he was your boyfriend and he would do anything for you with no objections.

He sighed and smirked at you. “But being with you is more fun, can’t deny I like that idea so count me in~”

You three turned your heads to Sae, waiting for his response.

“Ugh… fine” Sae rolled his eyes, but a subtle smile could be seen on his lips.

Shidou stood up on the coffee table and looked at the three of you. “Let’s do a final robbery, we’ll get some money and with that we can form the band.”

“Are you sure?” You looked at him with unease, you didn’t know why but you had a weird feeling in your gut about this.

Shidou looked at you fondly, a look that always made you weak along with his signature smirk as he leaned closer to you, he held your chin and you could feels his lips brushing against yours as he spoke in a low and soft tone.“You trust me?”

Your breath hitched, you still felt uneasy but you trusted Shidou with your life so you nodded, he nodded back and pecked your lips.

“Oh my god get a room.” Sae rolled his eyes which caused you to chuckle and pull away.

“So, are you in?” Shidou turned to look at Aiku and Sae.

Everyone agreed and for the next days you proceeded to form a plan for your final robbery. The plan was simple, going to the convenience store that was in the outskirts of the city, empty the cash register and ATM. You done this multiple times, but for some reason this time felt different.

“Hey sweets, look!” Shidou entered your shared bedroom and sat on the bed while you were laying down. It was the night prior to your robbery and for the first time you were anxious.

You slightly lifted your head to look and widened your eyes when you saw what he was holding. “WHAT THE FU- Shidou Ryusei!” You slightly lowered your voice as the other two were probably asleep in the other rooms.

“The full name? Not even babe or love?” Shidou pouted, slightly teasing you.

“Why do you have that? We are just taking some money, not killing someone!” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Just in case, ya know?” He teased again, looking down at you and toying with the revolver.

“Shidou.” You sat on the bed and glared at him. Yeah, you were a troublemaker but this was beyond your limits specially now that you were trying to pursue your dream of forming the band and you also didn’t want him doing anything stupid.

Shidou slightly widened his eyes, this was the first time he saw you being so serious about something and the fact you called his last name was enough for him to understand you weren’t playing. He stared at you for a few seconds before sighing.

“It’s not even loaded see?” He showed it to you and then placed it on the nightstand. “It would make things easier, just to scare them.” He looked at you like a scolded student and buried his head on your neck, breathing in your scent.

You sighed and your gaze softened as your hand instinctively started caressing his hair. “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” You mumbled, the weird feeling still lingering on your gut.

“Fine, fine…” he hummed and nuzzled his head in your neck, letting out a content sigh at the feeling of your hand in his hair.

“And promise me something…” You slightly tugged his hair, gaining a soft wince from him. “After the robbery, you’ll get rid of that thing, okay?”

“Promised.” He nodded and planted a soft kiss on your neck.

You nodded back and lay down on your bed again, looking at the ceiling followed by Shidou who straddled your lap and looked down at you, raising an eyebrow. “I may be stupid sometimes, but you definitely have something.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” You looked up at him, trying to mask your uneasiness.

“Okay i’m not that stupid sweets, something’s on your mind, I know ya!” He crossed his arms and stared down at you. Shidou was right, he knew you too well to not notice, to the point you sometimes thought he even knew you better than yourself.

You sighed and extended your arms, just wanting a hug from him right now and he more than gladly hugged you, all his weight on top of you as he did, not that you minded, you were used to it by now.

“Everything is gonna be fine, kay?” He spoke softly as he left soft kisses all over your neck until he got too excited and bit you.

“Ryusei!” You groaned slightly as you tried to pull him away obviously to no avail.

“Hm? You don’t complain when we are-“ He couldn’t finish the sentence when you slightly tugged his hair. “O-okay I get it! Why you always mess with my hair damn…” You chuckled softly and caressed the spot you tugged.

He lifted his head and stared at you with a half-lidded gaze, making you squirm every time he looked at you with those pretty pink eyes he looked so cool.

“You’re probably thinking i look very cool and handsome, right?” He teased you as he flashed his usual lazy smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully and smiled softly at him, you still feel slightly uneasy but Shidou always made you feel better, even with his nonstop teasing.

—

The day finally arrived, Shidou and you were leaning against your getaway car. Aiku on the wheel and Sae besides him watching out for any cops.

“Ready sweets?” Shidou looked at you with his usual laidback expression and as he lowered his gaze to your hands he noticed they were slightly trembling. He took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand gently. “Hey, look at me.”

You looked at him and nodded letting out a shaky sigh, he ruffled your hair with his free hand and kissed the hand he was holding. “I’ll protect you even it’s the last thing I do.”

Your gaze softened and you pecked his lips before covering your face with a mask. “Ready”

Shido smiled and did the same, still holding your hand as you both ran and got in the convenience store. Meanwhile the other two were waiting outside a little impatiently, Aiku drummed with his fingers the steering wheel and Sae looked out the window, both silent.

After a minute or two they heard a shot, which made them both turn their heads to the store.

“Didn’t Shidou say his weapon wasn’t loaded?” Aiku furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the store nervously.

The store door opened as the both of you got out, the sight making Aiku and Sae’s stomach drop.

There you were struggling to carry Shidou as you try to make it to the car, bloody hands as he pressed them onto his stomach. Once you made it in the car you turned your head to Aiku and Sae with fear.

“W-what the fuck just happened?!” Aiku said as he drove away as fast as he could.

“S-shidou pulled out the gun to scare the cashier but-“ You contained a sob as a crazy amount of tears rolled down your cheeks. “T-the cashier… he had a gun too…”

“You need to drive to the hospital” Sae looked at Aiku, shocked and desperate.

“N-no… we can’t-“ Shidou hissed in pain as his hand kept pressing the wound, useless as the blood didn’t stop from coming out. “Just… drive to the house and we’ll see what we can do.” He panted and rested his head on the window.

“Shit. This isn’t right…” Aiku mumbled nervously but listened to his petition.

“R-ryu…” You rested your head in his chest. This couldn’t happen, not now that you were about to pursue your dream.

You should’ve listened to your gut.

“Don’t worry sweets, am still here” He weakly smirked as his breath came out in sharp pants.

He wasn’t going to last long, you all knew it as he already lost a lot of blood and the place were he was shot was dangerous, there was nothing you could do. The rest of the ride was silent, only the sharp breathing of Shidou and your soft sobs filled the air.

Once you were at your house, with Shidou laying on his back in your bedroom with you besides him, hugging him tight as you sobbed, staining his shirt more than it already was. You were both a bloody mess, not that you cared now.

“Please don’t leave me… not like this.” You mumbled multiple times as you nuzzled your head on his chest. “We still have a lot to do…. P-please…”

Shidou’s gaze was blurry and he could feel his breath getting weaker and weaker as the seconds passed. With a shaky hand, he gently massaged your head.

“Shidou Ryusei I love you!” You sobbed, tightening the grip you had on him.

“I know… I’ll always love you too.” He struggled to talk as he felt his voice becoming weak.

“J-just stay… please stay…” You kept begging and sobbing. After all, he was the only person you had left, the only person you made a real connection with, the one that cared when nobody else did.

“Hey sweets…” An almost inaudible mumble came out of him.

You slightly lifted your head, red and swollen eyes meeting his gaze. Despite him almost feeling he was going to fall asleep, he looked at you fondly and not loosing his lazy smirk.

“You look so cool to me, even if you’re crying.” He weakly chuckled.

All you could was let out a sad chuckle before staring at him and crashing your lips against his in a kiss full of emotions and pure love until you felt he eventually fell asleep…

Hey!! This time i decided to write some angst, hopefully it wasn’t too bad or too heavy 😥 Hope you like it!!

Masterlist here

#bllk x reader #bllk x y/n #blue lock #blue lock shidou #blue lock x reader #ryusei shido x reader #ryusei shidou #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou ryuusei x reader #bllk shidou #shidou ryusei x you #shidou ryusei #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x gender neutral reader #blue lock x you #shidou x reader #bllk x you #bllk angst #blue lock angst

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lookmomitsmytmblr · 8 months ago

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OKAY so I am re-listening to "Death and The Queen" again and I am having Thoughts™.

I can't find any info about when this drama takes place continuity-wise, but my personal placement would be after "Planet of The Ood" (4x3) and before "The Sontaran Stratagem" (4x4) because 4x4-4x6 take place directly following each other with Donna stating at the end of 4x6 that she plans to travel with the Doctor forever. Donna's determination to continue traveling w him is in keeping with the conclusion of Death and The Queen, where she comes to the decision that the Doctor IS her "happily ever after," as it were. Placing the drama after "Fires of Pompeii" and "Planet of The Ood" also makes sense with Donna's desire in the audio drama to have a break from "the extraordinary" of traveling with the Doctor (specifically, horrific death and destruction,) which adds understandable context to her seemingly being so willing to leave the Doctor after searching for him for so long.

(Don't talk to me about the ending of Forest of The Dead. It's unlikely Donna would have left the Doctor even if she found Lee. Donna's desire to confirm whether Lee was real could be easily contextualized by her wanting to know how much of her experiences inside CAL were a fabrication, and what the supposed "perfect husband" persona would have said about her if it was drawn from her own mind. Also it was written by Moffatt so it shouldn't count anyway.)

ANyway, what I actually wanted to talk about. Notably, considerable emphasis is placed on Donna enjoying her role as Queen and especially caring for her subjects and having power to help people. A greater amount of text is dedicated to her talking about how as Queen she can care for her subjects than her love for Rudolph, even before the reveal that he is human(?) trash. Her attachment to the role of Queen that marrying Rudolph will grant her is established to be largely based upon her passion for helping people rather than luxuries associated with rank, especially in view of the montage of how royal life on Gorotainia is not as glamorous as she hoped but is still enthralled by being Queen. Later in the story, when danger has appeared, her main role in the story is sacrificing and taking the lead to protect her subjects.

Notably, when things start going downhill and Rudolph starts talking to her about the difficult choices that he must make as royalty she comments that Rudolph is “just like HIM” (the Doctor) and that she went with Rudolph to escape these darker aspects of her travels with the Doctor, specifically the hard choices that go with the role the Doctor plays in the universe (while she doesn’t connect these concepts directly, these two statements are placed very close to one another textually.)

Only when her relationship with Rudolph and role as Queen seems like it will involve some of the same dark choices that her travels with Doctor did does Donna decide she doesn’t want to be involved anymore, which is quickly reversed when she finds out she needs to become Queen in order to protect her people. (I love Donna. In case you can’t tell.)

The narrative has established that a large part of Donna’s attachment to her relationship with Rudolph is potential authority to help and guide people, and that her main interest in pursuing a life with Rudolph rather than her travels with the Doctor was her perception that her role as Queen of Gorotainia would not involve the same death and destruction she has seen with the Doctor. Perfectly understandable after experiencing something like Pompeii.

Donna’s compassion and empathy have been essential components of her character since her introduction, with her wanting to protect the Doctor despite being irritated with him and feeling sorrow for the children of a Rancoss that wanted her to be eaten in “The Runaway Bride”, her taking the time to mention Stacy in “Partners In Crime,” and literally everything in “Fires of Pompeii” and “Planet of The Ood’. Donna has always taken the time and the energy to think of others and work to protect them, even this early in her run. In view of how deeply she feels the pain of others, it is understandable that she would find the idea of a world where she could help others from a position of power without all of the death and chaos and destruction appealing, and her outrage at Rudolph for once again putting her in a position where she has to witness (and potentially be responsible for) terrible things happening to innocent people is believable. He proves that being a Gorotainian royal is like being the Last of The Time Lords. On a smaller scale, sure, but still.

So the text (and Donna) have set up the idea of Rudolph being similar to the Doctor in role, so what is the difference? Rudolph doesn’t much care about people. He is willing to sacrifice his own people quite coldly.

The Doctor does care about people. How good of a person he is, or how good of a job he does caring for people is up for debate, but he cares.

Which all leads me to this quote from “Beautiful Chaos,” that I cannot believe is cannon and real and published.

Why does Donna love the Doctor?

"I wish you could see what I see. We've been to places, to worlds, to futures and pasts you could only dream about. I think half of them I dreamed up because they can't be real. But they are. And everywhere we go, we make a difference. We put things right, we make people happier. That's what the Doctor is all about. He finds a way for the universe to make sense. And I love him for it.”

Donna Noble wants to make a difference. No matter where she goes, she cannot escape the death and pain and suffering and chaos and nonsense that is the universe, and she can’t help but want to help. And right there beside her, the Doctor is working to put things right too. And she loves him for it.

We have this entire drama dedicated to Donna wanting to make a difference, while also escaping the darkness of the universe, and she learns she can’t. There are no happily ever afters.

Except with the Doctor.

I have so many feelings guys.

#tendonna #ten/donna #feel free to interpret this as platonic if u want but this is why I love them as a couple okay #they are whole independent people who learn that if they stand together they don't have to carry the whole world on their shoulders #they understand each other and they have goals that are fundamentally compatible #how is that not sexy #ten x donna #doctor/donna #doctor x donna #donna noble #this is a Donna Noble Stan blog #tenth doctor #big finish doctor who #death and the queen #doctor who #not me being afraid my old English lit teacher will find my tumblr and give me notes on this #1K word essay lets go lads #dw meta #THE TENDONNA THESIS LIVES #I AM FERAL FOR THEM #GRASPS UR SHOULDERS AND SHAKES VIOLENTLY “THE POTENTIAL!!!!!”#okay so maybe Rudolph kinda cares but he has the spine of a wet noodle #not sure if any Rudolph stans are hiding out here tho #not gonna bash any other ships here but #is this not substantive??? Is this not compelling???

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scionshtola · 2 months ago

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Indulgent Research

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 3.5k | rated: Explicit | read on ao3 summary: Corisande finds themself with unexpected symptoms after defeating Honey B. Lovely, and turns to the person best suited to help. notes: written for @femslash-february Bingo prompts sex pollen, begging, and orgasm denial. featuring a dash of "Behave." and size difference, in spirit. not canon for Corishtola, just a fun exploration of what sex pollen could mean for them while broken up. [divider credit]

It was warm in Y’shtola’s cabin. The Tuliyollal evening air pressed heavily down on Corisande, even stripped to their shirtsleeves as they were, their coat and vest strewn across the sofa in a vain attempt at cooling down. Y’shtola’s hands hovered over their chest, encased in the soft blue glow of her healing magic.

She had not said a word since she began her assessment, seeking a solution to the ailment that had brought Corisande unwillingly to her door. Whatever the solution, the cause was quite clear: Corisande thought they had shaken the effects of Honey B. Lovely’s attempt to enthrall them, but hours later, sitting on Y’shtola’s sofa with an encompassing, aching, need threading through their body, it could not be more evident just how wrong they had been.

They shifted, uncomfortable and awkward beneath Y’shtola’s considering gaze. Corisande’s seat on the sofa swapped their usual points of view, setting their gaze level with Y’shtola’s chest. She had traded her favored black dress, with the furred neckline and silhouette perfectly fitted to her curves, for a dress in the local style. The light blue fabric hung loose on her body, the ruched neckline dipping across her breasts, leaving her shoulders and chest bare. Her skin glowed warm and golden in the soft light slanting into the cabin, and the curves of her breasts above the dress bore the slightest sheen of sweat from the humidity.

Before, Corisande could have reached out and touched her. Now, she could only lean forward slightly, until the tips of Y’shtola’s fingers graze her collarbone-

Y’shtola tutted at them.

“Sit still,” she said firmly, and Corisande straightened. It required no thought for them to comply with the command, an old habit returning with ease and an embarrassingly pleasurable pulse between their legs. They pressed their knees together, to chase the feeling or to drive it away, anything that might make it less difficult to be so close to her. They would blush, were their cheeks not already warm from the effects of the pollen. Did Y’shtola know the effect she had on them still? Did the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly in amusement at Corisande’s quick obedience? They could find out. All they would have to do is lean in, and press their lips to hers, perhaps part them with their own—

Y’shtola hummed thoughtfully, drawing Corisande out of their runaway imagination. “I cannot say I have much in the way of experience with such a substance. It may take some time before I can discern a magical solution to your symptoms.”

The clinical way that Y’shtola spoke of Corisande’s “symptoms” would have been amusing, had they not been trying so hard to retain control of themself. They folded their hands in their lap, to keep themself from taking hers and raising it to their lips. Y’shtola was only meant to be helping them, not to be subject to the pollen herself—certainly not in such a literal way, not when they were not together anymore, when they had not touched each other in any way in months, not when Corisande did not even know how Y’shtola felt about her now.

Y’shtola shifted closer, her hands still just above Corisande’s chest, and the ache still building within them throbbed deeply at her proximity. It was impossible to look elsewhere—there was only Y’shtola, ilms away, the familiar smoky floral scent of her perfume on every breath Corisande took. They tilted toward her again. If only she would touch them—

Corisande grasped tightly at Y’shtola’s waist, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress and pulling her closer. She shifted forward, rising from her seat until Y’shtola’s hands pressed against her chest, warm through her shirt. But there was no relief in the touch, only heat blooming across her skin beneath Y’shtola’s palms. She dipped her head, kissing the freckles that scattered across Y’shtola’s chest, across the dark scar below her clavicle, down over the swell of her breast that rose with each sharp intake of breath. She pulled at the neckline of Y’shtola’s dress and forged her path over the newly revealed skin, each taste driving her forward until she took her nipple between her lips.

“Corisande,” Y’shtola started, the rest of her sentence trailing off in a soft moan when Corisande’s tongue met the soft bud, swirling until it stiffened into a peak.

Corisande moved back up, kissing Y’shtola’s neck. They knew she was sensitive there, knew she would slip her hand into their hair and grip tight when they licked along the side of her neck, knew the precise way she would gasp when their lips pressed just beneath her jaw. When at last they tried to kiss her, Y’shtola pulled back, her grip in Corisande’s hair just strong enough to hold them apart.

“Corisande,” she started again. Pressed against her, they felt her ragged breathing against their own chest, the smallest reflection in her of their own growing need. “I am not certain this will achieve what you desire.”

Wouldn’t it? Ever since she had entered Y’shtola’s room, her focus had grown narrower and narrower, the ache of need filling that space within her until the only thing she wanted was Y’shtola’s hands and mouth on her, Y’shtola’s body beneath her touch.

“What if it does?” they asked, their eyes flicking down to her lips. They were desperate to kiss her, to close that last final gap between them. “We will not know unless we try.”

Y’shtola’s lips parted slightly, her breathing quickening, but she did not answer, nor did she loosen her hold.

“Please.” Their desperation nearly turned their plea into a whine. Guilt twinged in their chest—how could they ask such a thing of her after the way they had ended things between them? After hurting her with the promise of not hurting her any further in the future? What was she doing now but causing more pain for them tomorrow? But it was hard to focus on those thoughts over the need that still coursed through them, burning brighter with every moment they were close to her. They pulled her closer by her waist. “Please, Shtola. Let me kiss you, let me touch you, I need—”

They felt the moment Y’shtola gave in. Her shoulders relaxed, her fingertips scraping lightly against Corisande’s scalp as she loosened her grip. “I suppose we ought to test the hypothesis,” she said, the teasing tone so familiar to Corisande it might have hurt, under different circumstances.

Instead, they closed the distance, crushing their lips to hers. Y’shtola leaned into them, her hand sliding up Corisande’s chest to cup the back of their neck. They skimmed Y’shtola’s lower lip with their tongue, reveling in the surprising sweetness that lingered there, before slipping between her parted lips.

Y’shtola pushed her back onto the sofa, and this time she followed after her, climbing into Corisande’s lap. Corisande’s hands glided over Y’shtola’s body, cupping her breast, caressing the soft curve of her waist, smoothing over the outside of her thigh. Y’shtola’s hands were busy, too, clutching at Corisande’s shoulders, twisting into the fabric of their top.

Corisande pressed her hand between Y’shtola’s legs, slipping past her underwear. They kissed her greedily while they touched her—brushing against her clit, parting her folds and dipping into her slick warmth—seeking more and more, until Y’shtola could only pant against their mouth, hips rolling minutely as she sought the friction of their palm. She pressed her forehead to Corisande’s, and her eyelids fluttered shut as she came with a shaky gasp. Corisande wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her as she shook, and pressed light, lingering kisses to her lips. Her other hand still teased her, coaxing her steadily to another climax, her own desire stoked into brightness by Y’shtola’s soft keens of pleasure.

Y’shtola tipped forward, burying her face in Corisande’s shoulder, her soft lips and unsteady breaths ghosting across their exposed skin. Corisande held her until she stilled, and a comfortable warmth stirred in their chest, unfurling slowly as if pulled from a dormant sleep. They closed their eyes, a faint smile curling the corners of their lips, when Y’shtola pressed a gentle kiss to the side of their neck. She trailed them softly over their skin, along their jaw, until she met their lips once more.

“I appreciate your consideration,” Y’shtola said against Corisande’s lips. “However, I doubt my pleasure is the answer to your problem.”

Corisande was not so certain—even now, she found herself longing to continue touching Y’shtola, to bring her to the edge again and again. The continued strength of the desire was surely an effect of the pollen, and one they would have to give in to if they wanted the effects to end.

Though she had to admit—as Y’shtola removed herself from her lap and parted Corisande’s shirt, as she kissed quickly down her body and knelt before her, as she tugged off Corisande’s boots and pressed lingering kisses to the inside of her thigh—that her own needy sensitivity had only grown. She sank back into the sofa, lifting her hips when Y’shtola pushed her skirt up and pulled her small clothes down.

It was almost too much when she finally felt Y’shtola’s tongue against her. Every part of her felt overly sensitive, and the rattan sofa itched beneath her palms as she clutched tightly at it while Y’shtola kissed her. Corisande was keenly aware of the way Y’shtola touched her, could not think of anything but the way her lips and tongue moved hungrily over her, of her grip on Corisande’s thigh and her fingers holding Corisande open while she kissed and licked and swirled her tongue. Her body thrummed anew with every touch, a liquid heat pooling in her core. Even the gentlest of touches made Corisande gasp and moan, her soft cries plaintive to her own ears—and Y’shtola was not prone to gentleness.

It was not long before Corisande was coming apart, their pollen-induced sensitivity and Y’shtola’s particular expertise in their pleasure carrying them quickly to their peak. Y’shtola kissed them even as their thighs quaked with it, guiding them into another with decisive intent that left Corisande dazed as they came again.

Corisande tipped her head against the back of the sofa, eyes closed, a contentment settling softly over her. But the feeling did not linger—Y’shtola rose slowly, lips retracing their earlier path, and each kiss sparked a new flame beneath Corisande’s skin. Y’shtola brushed the curls out of Corisande’s eyes and cradled their face between her hands, kissing her softly before she spoke. “How do you feel? Has the situation…improved?”

Corisande closed her eyes. Any contentment Corisande felt had quickly dissipated under Y’shtola’s kisses, leaving her only with a desperate, painful need to be touched. Y’shtola swept her thumb across Corisande’s lips as she waited, and they parted beneath her touch. Corisande leaned into it, trying to form an answer, but it was too much to ask under this renewed haze of her desire.

She wrapped her arms around Y’shtola and kissed her deeply, relishing her own taste on Y’shtola’s lips and the press of her breasts against her chest, but it was still not enough. Needy, plaintive sighs escaped her as they kissed, whispered desperately against Y’shtola’s lips. “Please, Shtola. More—I need more—”

Y’shtola pulled back, stopping Corisande from chasing after her with a firm hand on her shoulder. She pressed her lips together in a thoughtful expression, her gaze flicking over Corisande’s face and a faint wrinkle appearing on her forehead that Corisande fought the urge to kiss.

“I have an idea for us to consider.” Y’shtola spoke the words slowly, as if she was still pondering the idea herself, but after leaning in to kiss them again, her expression resolved into mild amusement. Pleased with herself and ready to go forward, as Corisande had often seen her after developing a plan of action. She stepped back, offering Corisande her hand. “Sit on the bed. I will be there in a moment.”

Corisande followed Y’shtola’s instruction, discarding her skirt on the way. She watched as Y’shtola pulled open her armoire, rooting around inside for a moment before closing it and turning back to Corisande. She approached the bed, and Corisande’s eyes widened when she saw the stuffed leather toy she held in one hand, and the straps of the harness she held in the other.

There was a hard pulse between her legs, a tightening behind her belly, at the sight of it. Y’shtola nudged Corisande’s legs with her knee, and they opened easily for her, allowing her to step between them. She traced the tip of the toy along the folds of Corisande’s cunt, but it was enough to make their hips twitch forward, seeking more and more and more.

Y’shtola smirked, teasing them as she said, “I take it you have no objections to the plan.”

Corisande kissed her in response, their lips heated and hungry against hers. Their hands found the ties and clasps of Y’shtola’s dress, tugging at them until they could slip her dress down over her body. They trailed kisses in its wake, over her chest, her soft belly, on the mole just above her small clothes before they helped rid her of those, too. They were tempted to keep going, to nose across the white patch of hair between her legs and taste her on their lips, but Y’shtola pushed a hand between them, handing over the harness.

Corisande helped her into it, her hands running over Y’shtola’s thighs as she tightened the straps and properly positioned the toy. Driven by impulse, she leaned forward and trailed her tongue along the side of it, from the tip to the base, one side and then the other before looking up again. She met Y’shtola’s gaze and heat scorched through her like fire at the unbridled desire written across her features.

Y’shtola laced her fingers lightly into their short curls, neither guiding nor holding them still but resting, waiting to see what they would do. Their heart beat a rapid fire rhythm as they leaned in again, keeping their eyes up and slipping the leather between their lips. They cupped Y’shtola’s rear, massaging as they took the length deeper into their mouth, as they bobbed slowly back and forth. Y’shtola’s lips parted, her breath growing shallower the longer she watched. When the base brushed firmly between her legs, her fingers tightened reflexively in Corisande’s hair, and a muffled moan escaped them.

That seemed to push Y’shtola back into action. She tugged Corisande gently but firmly away, guiding her back to the bed. Corisande kissed her as she went, hands clutching at her shoulders, still desperate to be close to her, to be touched by her. She lay on her back, her legs parted for Y’shtola to settle between, and a thought occurred to her amidst the heady want that clouded her mind.

“You certainly had high hopes for this trip.” The words came out teasing, as they had meant them, but a strange feeling curled in their stomach as they spoke. Suddenly, they wished they hadn’t spoken at all.

Y’shtola tutted at them again, and swatted the inside of their thigh just enough to sting. Excitement shivered down Corisande’s spine. “Quite a fortunate turn for you, is it not?”

Corisande did not have time to answer before Y’shtola slipped inside them, distracting them from any further thoughts. Their whole body was alight with sensation, heated every where that they touched—the backs of their thighs pressed to the tops of hers, her hands holding their hips as she moved inside them. Corisande watched her for as long as they could, taking in the way she bit her lip as she looked down at them, the heavy sway of her breasts as she rolled her hips, until they were lost in the sensation, their eyes falling closed.

A fortunate turn, indeed.

Y’shtola took her time, slowing her movements whenever she sensed that Corisande was close, forcing them to plead for more, faster, to hook their legs around her thighs and pull her closer as they begged please, Shtola, don’t stop, until she resumed her pace. She leaned over Corisande, pushing their unbuttoned shirt from their shoulders and kissing their chest, their breasts, Corisande’s skin aflame beneath her lips. Corisande clutched at her sides, her back, anything to keep her close as they moved together. When Y’shtola’s lips circled over their nipple, their back arched, their body taut, and a gasped obscenity slipped past their lips as they came.

Corisande fell back amongst Y’shtola’s pillows, blissed contentment tiding over her. She barely heard the rustle of the straps as Y’shtola removed the harness, could not do much more than tip her head in Y’shtola’s direction and wait for her to come close again. For the first time since she had first kissed Y’shtola that evening, Corisande was satisfied.

But the warmth of that satisfaction soon ebbed away, replaced by a cold clarity. The full force of what she had done—of who she had done it with—crashed over her.

How could she have asked this of Y’shtola after ending the relationship between them? And not just asked, but begged and pleaded and convinced her it was necessary? She had been so unkind to her before, so unwilling to do the one thing Y’shtola asked of her. Now here she was again, still asking Y’shtola for comfort without giving her the small comfort she asked for in return, and Y’shtola was kind enough to give it.

A selfish hurt bubbled inside her as well. She could spend today in Y’shtola’s arms, but when the pollen finally wore off, everything would return to the way it had been before. Still not together, not touching, not waking up beside each other each morning. Tears pricked in her eyes at the thought.

“Corisande?” Concern lined Y’shtola’s voice. Though she could not see the tears in their eyes, there had never been any hiding their hurt from Y’shtola—despite their efforts otherwise. She leaned over them again, her fingers light on their waist as she looked down at them. “Is everything alright?”

No, they wanted to say. Y’shtola’s hands on them were so familiar, so comforting as to make them ache. Everything is not alright. I miss you, and I love you, and I am so sorry.

“Yes,” they said, dismayed to hear the waver of their voice. They fought back the tears, and forced themself to smile. “Just a bit overwhelmed, but I will be fine in a moment.”

Y’shtola looked at her a moment longer, until Corisande leaned forward and pressed their lips gently to hers. She kissed them back, using her hands to shift them both until they were laying side by side. When she pulled back, she did not push Corisande, only stroked their cheek with her thumb in silence.

The last of the hope that Corisande had been holding on to sunk in her like a stone, replaced by a deep, welling sadness. She could not shake the desperate desire for Y’shtola to push for answers as she once had, before Corisande had ended things between them. At least then she could believe Y’shtola had not given up. That she, too, might harbor love for her, and a hope they would be together again some day. It was irrational and unfair of her, yet another way she was being unkind to Y’shtola. No matter how hard she tried, she only ever seemed to hurt her.

Guilt crept in, and she leaned forward, kissing Y’shtola before her emotions could fully ruin the moment. “You made me curse,” she murmured against her lips, with feigned accusation.

Y’shtola smirked, and Corisande felt it against her lips. “I heard. Pray tell, are the results of our experiment conclusive?”

Corisande paused to consider their answer. Beneath their heartbreak and hopelessness, they felt the stir of desire, that urgent need building again, a low thrum reverberating beneath their skin.

“There is definite improvement,” they teased, small smile forming on their lips. “But another trial may be necessary for more permanent results. If you are willing, of course.”

Y’shtola laughed. “I believe I can muster the enthusiasm for further testing. The subject material is quite of interest to me.”

The words warmed Corisande. They sat up and pulled the shirt from their shoulders, finally discarding it completely. They watched with satisfaction as Y’shtola’s gaze dropped to the shape of their breasts, her vision enough that she could see the outline of Corisande’s body. They lay back down beside her, gratified when Y’shtola’s hand settled on their waist.

Perhaps it was not Corisande’s best idea. It would hurt tomorrow, and the next day, and every day that she was not with Y’shtola. But tonight she was lying in bed with her, flirting and touching and kissing, and she would take as much of it as Y’shtola would allow her before the evening ended.

#kels writes #femslash feb bingo #corishtola #xiv fic #i didnt tag it for spoilers bc. well there's just one mention of a boss name and the rest is smut and feelings #but anywayyyyyyyyy its here!!!!!#i did in fact make myself cry writing the end of this lmao.#to the surprise of no one i thought so much about what shtola might be feeling and why she agrees even though none #of that is in the fic alkfsfsd #but yeah. im happy to have written it finally!!!

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runawayscc · 7 months ago

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✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ | I Love Playin' With Fire

1982, Reader was The Runaways' bassist, angst? fluffy ending? idrk!

Word Count: 1059

A/N: This is my first time writing since like, 2022. So bear with me if this sucks, LOL. I'm gonna be experimenting with different POVs, prompts, formats, etc. My requests are open though! I'll write just about anything rockstar-related, just nothing too weird. Anyways, enough yap. Enjoy!

You stared at yourself in the mirror. You sighed as you turned, viewing your outfit from another angle. Your outfit consisted of tight, black, leather pants, a white, cropped, graphic band tee, and an oversized leather jacket you had picked up somewhere over the years. You had on black, heeled boots as well. You touched up your makeup as you waited on your friend to pick you up to take you to some artist party.

You tried to stay involved with the music scene after you left The Runaways. No one else was really looking for a female bassist, so you just laid lowed and took on some projects where you could. You planned to start your own solo career eventually, but it was on hold now.

You heard your friend honk her horn outside your house and you went down to her car. You got into the passenger seat and smiled.

"You ready?" She asked.

"Of course I am." You replied.

She began to drive to more rural part of LA. You didn't know who's party it was, only that your friend said you absolutely had to go, whatever that meant. She turned the radio up and for some damn reason Cherry Bomb was playing. You smiled to yourself and looked down, reminiscing on all the memories. You hung with that band till the bitter end, even after Cherie had left. It's hard to leave your family and love.

Your friend parked the car on the street and turned the keys. She put them in her pocket and got out of the car as you followed suit. You heard subtle music as you approached the house. Your friend opened the door to the house, just walking in. You followed her in as she mingled with a few people. You recognized them all, you just weren't in much of a talkative mood.

You made your way over to the drink counter and began to pour yourself a drink. You went back over to your friend as you nursed it. She was steadily talking and you were getting bored. You excused yourself and began to wander around, seeing if any of your closer friends were in attendance.

That's when you spotted her. Joan fucking Jett. Your ex-bandmate, ex-lover, ex-just-about-everything. You tried to look away, but it was too late. She approached you before you could escape. Fuck. You smiled at her and she pulled you in for a side hug.

"How've you been, honey?" She asked with a smile.

"I've been fine, just fine." You cleared your throat. "I see the solo business is treating you well then?"

"Oh, God, It's wonderful. I'm on my own label, my own management. It's amazing. Much better than fucking Kim, man." She said and then laughed.

I laughed too. It was hard not to be when she looked that damn good laughing. She was in her typical attire. Leather pants, punky cut-up top, and her leather jacket. And of course, her converse shes had since '76.

"You havent changed one bit." You say through a smile.

"Oh, don't act like you have." She teased. "So, what are you doing now? Music still?

You nodded. "Picking up gigs here and there. Just trying to make it through till I get some inspiration to start another band or a solo career."

She nodded and swallowed. "How about we, uhm, move somewhere a bit more quiet?" She offered and you gladly accepted. You can't resist her, even if you wanted to. She lead you up the stairs into a bedroom. Her bedroom. And then it clicked why your bestfriend wanted you here. She knew it was Joan's party all along.

You set your drink on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed across from Joan. "So are we gonna talk about it or what?" You said, bluntly.

Joan was a little taken aback, knowing you weren't usually this straight forward. “We need to, don’t we.” She stated.

“You left me high and dry. I mean, I get it, you were worried about your next gig, but I didn’t deserve that. I didn’t expect you to take me along, but fuck, a goodbye would’ve been nice?” You replied, trying not to get emotional.

“I-I know. I’m sorry. It’s just I-” She shook her head. “I can’t even make an excuse. It was shitty, I was stupid and scared, and I knew I couldn’t be what you needed.” She admitted.

“You know you could have told me that. You know I would’ve been there for you every step of the way, Joanie.” Joanie. That dumb little nickname you had for her.

“I know you would have. And truthfully, I don’t know why I did it. I was spiraling, the band had failed, I was hooked on drugs, I wasn’t on talking terms with anyone but you and Sandy. It sucked, baby. It was scary. I thought I was done for.”

You nodded along, listening to everything she had to say. You didn’t think of some of that. That band was her baby, her pride and joy. And she had to watch it crash and burn over drugs, temper tantrums, and shitty management. Not to forget about Lita’s stupid and sudden obsession with everyone’s sexualities.

“I thought that to have a successful solo career I had to forget the Runaways. Forget anything that had to do with it, you know? Like I had to start completely over.” She sniffed and rubbed her nose. That’s when you really noticed how enlarged her pupils were and you couldn’t help but shake your head.

“You still hooked?” You asked and your eyes softened.

She stared back at you and bit her lip. “Im okay, baby.”

Fuck.

“Joan, honey..” You started, but she cut you off by placing a finger on your lips. You looked at her and made eye contact and you felt something. She moved her finger and held eye contact. You swallowed anxiously. Joan leaned in and kissed you before you could say anything else.

You were taken aback but kissed her back. How could you not? You couldn’t deny that you still had feelings for her. Your love for her never left, as much as you told yourself it did. Joan pulled back and looked into your eyes, her hand moving to hold your jaw gently.

“You missed that, Hm?” “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

#joan jett #joan jett x reader #joan jett and the blackhearts #the runaways #x reader #joan jett x fem!reader

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elecballoon · 5 months ago

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HxH inquiries I know will never be answered but I still think about (spoilers for anime and beyond the anime below)

- What was the Hunter Exam like for Satotz, Menchi, Buhara, etc.

- Is there really no compensation for being an examiner

- Who nen initiated the funny three (Gido, Riehlvelt, Sadaso)

- Who did Kastro beat to gain nine wins (count em, 9. 9 out of the 10 wins needed to be able to challenge a Floor Master)

-- I'd be willing to bet that Gido, Sadaso, and Riehlvelt was at least 1 - 3 of Kastro's wins

-- On that note, who were the eleven that Chrollo (yes, CHROLLO) beat to become a Floor Master

--- yea eleven because 10 wins + 1 floor master = 11 people chrollo had to beat

---- maybe some of them were used as experiments for chrollo's cards (sun and moon, black voice, gallery fake, order stamp, convert hands)

--- Why in Gods name did Hisoka schedule for fights he didn't even show up for

---- yeah he's an "I do what I want and I don't care" guy. But like DUDE. Because of that, your loss to Chrollo costed your EVERYTHING in Heaven's Arena and you have to START ALL OVER AGAIN

- Who is Gon's mom (if he even had a mom)

- Who was the Number 4th Phantom Troupe member before Hisoka (or was hisoka recruited on the spot..?)

-- I'd be willing to accept Omokage if Togashi would (HxH: Phantom Rouge is definitely not perfect, but it was cute for a HxH movie). bonus points if something cool/meaningful is done with Omokage

- What does Tonpa do for a living

- How often does Milluki go outside

- How has Illumi not broken down emotionally yet

- Actually how has EVERYONE in the Zoldyck estate not broken down emotionally yet

- So if Hisoka takes delight in pain and challenges, is there anything that actually pisses him off

-- I would say maybe he gets upset when he's cockblocked (i.e.: Chrollo's "I can't use nen anymore") but even then 1) it gives him more time for anticipation before he eventually realizes his twisted dreams and 2) not getting what you want can be pain and a challenge to relish in in and of itself. So idk maybe nothing angers Hisoka and if that's the case hot dang I applaud his resilience. (Yeah Hisoka took his loss against Chrollo pretty bad but he wasn't visibly ticked off about that)

- What did Tsezguerra do before Greed Island (or did he dedicate his life to something like GI)

- I get people like Machi, Nobunaga, and Franklin, who probably have jobs outside of the Phantom Troupe orders. But what do people like Phinks, Feitan, Shalnark, and Uvogin do outside of the Phantom Troupe

- What does Chrollo do in his free time

-- Does Chrollo even have a set "work time" or does he just determine any time as a good time for thievery and murder

- What is Chrollo a fan of

-- Would he share his fandom interests or keep them to himself

- What does Razor do when he's bored even with sports & such

- What was Genthru hoping to gain after getting all of the cards

-- Maybe Battera's card bounty. but after getting paid, what was he going to do

- Was Kite ever (unknowingly) SO close to Ging during his hunt for him (akin to how close Gon and Gyro were during the CA arc, perhaps?)

- How did the Chimera ants find their way from the Dark Continent and into the known world (like what did some ants migrate on the sea with some floating log)

- How did Knuckle find out about being a hunter, and what drew him to the occupation (same could be asked for Morel, Knov, Palm, and Shoot, but Knuckle intrigues me the most with his whole runaway story)

- How did Knuckle and Shoot meet; How did Morel and Knov meet; How did Morel meet Knuckle and Shoot; How did Knov meet Palm

- How did Morel mentor Knuckle and Shoot

can you tell i like the extermination team members a lot

- What does Knov teach Palm

- Do Knuckle, Shoot, and Palm consider each other as coworkers, associates, or something else (it'd be so cute if all three of them knew each other very well)

- where was Ging before the election, what was he doing (if he was being a bum I wouldn't be surprised)

- What does Pariston do when he's bored

- Does the Hunter Association involve themselves in every field (crime, medical, technology, cybersecurity, food, etc.) and if so where does their influence start and end

- How does networking work in the world of HxH

- How common is it in the world of HxH for someone to be fighting/aiming to physically harm someone or something (because for a story that proposes occupations beyond fighting, it begs the question of how common fights actually are)

- How in Gods name did King Nasubi survive his generation's Succession War

-- Either 1) the other princes destroyed themselves and only Nasubi remained, 2) Nasubi, his men, or his resources actually kicked ass in his Succession War, or 3) Even though he was weak his siblings were weaker (or something)

#hxh #hxh meta #hxh theory #random thoughts #random hxh thoughts #thought balloons

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imagination-mess · 10 months ago

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The Former Reject Demon (Demon!Touya) (1/6)

This is an alternative universe where demons can be familiar to witches or wizards to assist and, most of all, as protectors. Witches and wizards can create pacts with demons.

Preciously: Demon! Katsuki Bakugou

Word Count: 1.0K+ (1/6)

A/N: Tumblr has a limit on how much you can put in singular post. I was forced to put it into six different posts. If you wish to see a singular post about it, here is the link to Ao3.

Kind of came out like outline of events, 😬 It's essentially word vomit about this Au. It's been consuming my mind.

Warnings: Demon Discrimination, Blood, Violence, Manga Spoiler of Touya's powers

Demon!Touya Todoroki

His summoning wasn't what you would consider the traditional way of summoning. It would usually take place at an academy of witches to coven, where there is supervision to prevent anything from going wrong. There are a few factors involved in which his summoning should have been impossible unless two conditions were met.

A Life-and-Death summoning occurs when both the witch and the demon are on the brink of death.

When he was 14 years old, it was determined that Touya was unfit due to having such a fragile body to handle his powers. When he failed the routine medical examination that all demons have to go through at that age, He wouldn't be able to do his job effectively as a demon familiar to a witch.

The Demon Council's decision automatically disqualified him from participation and prohibited him from attending the bi-annual summoning at any of Hell's locations. He will be electrocuted if he tries to enter one of those buildings.

His father, who went by the name Endeavor, also supported the decision made by the council. He is also on the council along with the older demons.

It destroyed Touya even more. Endeavor has already shown his distaste for seeing him train his body to handle his power. Touya wanted to prove his worth to him. He isn't a failure.

He did try to hide and run away, but was eventually dragged back to be marked and cursed against his will. His body was branded by the council, which showed he was rejected in society. The branding should have prevented him from ever being summoned. His wings were clipped and cursed to prevent him from ever flying again. It is an extremely painful experience. He did fight back as much as he could. He is considered to be a baby compared to these hundreds-year-old demons. He never did return to the mansion that he grew up in, along with disappearing from the area.

The branding is worse than death itself. It declares him a failure as a demon within society. He is considered to be beneath even the weakest of demons. His once-prestigious status plummeted to the bottom of the food chain. His status is now lower than that of demons, with no significant power at all. The branding acts as a stamp, marking him as an outcast. A reject who failed to meet the requirements of a demon.

It impacted Touya's self-esteem greatly. His horns on his head shatter into pieces within a month, which is a clear indication of a demon's self-esteem. They were once semi-healthy and smaller than they were supposed to be.

Touya started facing the real danger outside of his privileged life. He learned pretty quickly that he was very fortunate to have been raised to not worry about what lurks in the shadows and the constant bodyguard that his father assigned to each of his children. He had to learn how to survive and defend himself, which led him to learn how to steal in order to survive in hell. It was a dog-eat-dog world.

He also learned to not be in the same area too long; otherwise, he will be taken to those hellhouses that act like havens for orphans and raise them until they are able to get out of hell. He has seen a lot of runaways get taken to those places. Depending on the area, those Hellhouses are nightmares to live in supposedly. You have to earn your bed privileges and food. Touya would much rather take his risk out in the streets than in a place where he is constantly being watched. He knows he will have it worse for being a reject at such a young age.

He has seen and experienced the treatment Reject Demon receives in hell. It's not pleasant. The constant looking over your shoulder. Other demons hunt reject demons just for shit and giggles. No one bats an eye to it, since reject demons are looked down upon.

Touya has never stopped training his body and power. He continued, but less frequently than he had before. He was more worried about getting the next meal one way or another than finding a place to sleep the night. He practically uses his flames in the daily basics just to defend himself from other demons. Not all demons are immune to fire.

However, at the age of 16, he has major burn scars throughout his arms, among the scars of claws on his body from fighting constantly to survive. He often fought with other demons around his age, especially older demons who didn't have good intentions in mind.

His horns have grown back smaller than their normal size, but with visible cracks on them. He has grown immune to the states due to the sad sight of his wings and the state of his body. There is no point in trying to hide his branding when his wings are a dead giveaway.

He never did see his face in the center of the cities on the pinboards. His father never put up a missing poster of him, which showed Touya that he didn't care about him. Unknowingly, there are demons who are taking them down because of their hatred towards the Demon Council member, Endeavor. He looked a lot different when he was 13 years old; he has visible burnt skin.

Touya has stolen a lot to make a living and made deals with sketchy people, which ends up backfiring on him. He was hunted down like an animal when he stole from the wrong person. It was the worst kind of demon who liked to torture and hunt demons just for the thrill of it. He did try to run as fast as he could. He didn't have functional wings to fly away, eventually being cornered at a dead end, which is how he ended up in this situation.

Being choked to death, despite burning the demon that was choking him against the dirt. It became apparent that the demon above him was somewhat immune to flames when the demon started laughing at him and mocking him. He couldn't breathe, but it didn't stop him from increasing the fire as he clawed at the older demon. The demon had a haunting smile on his lips and was looking down at him. The demon was clearly enjoying this, despite blood running down their skin due to his flamed, sharp nails digging into the man's face.

He wanted to live...

NEXT PART (2/6)

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sailorspica · 10 days ago

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dear sweet kat can I PWEASE have a cake cross (it simply must be a cross for sole salvation messiah claimant ezekiel simeon yeager). I'd give u our signs but I know that you know so w/e. Go crazy ahh go stupid ahhh (super cool event btw!!)

oh meow hiii. (MMB.... would love to think about catholic boys tangling with tarot and ouija...)

cat (capricorn): five of coins

zeke (leo): nine of wands

past: four of cups

present: king of swords

future: two of swords

"sheesh!" i said aloud. there is a lot of air in this, meaning there's a ton of swords, which usually means a lot of verbal exchange, from immature and mean to mature and measured.

the five of coins is a kind of exile. churchily, my one tarot book says it's excommunication, being cast out from a community and the resources and good will within. the waite-smith imagery is two figures looking destitute outside of church walls. do i need to say what this sounds like, queerly? (you both have dramatic cards, dw.) i'm going with MMB here, so i take this as however supported cat feels now, they carry this baggage because how could they not? and maybe that's how they're able to relate to avoidant, similarly queer people who don't even know they want to relate.

zeke got the nine of swords. as far as the minor suits go, the swords have the market cornered on runaway, iconic illustrations from miss pamela colman smith. this is the "guy sitting straight up in bed from waking nightmares" card. this is zeke jaeger in every universe, but for a generative artist, the nine of swords is more specifically anxiety that nothing you've ever created is worth shit, and treading over and over again all the ways you've failed and been rejected and felt unwanted.

cake's past is the four of cups. it's a card that's about sticking your head in the sand, a little ironic for cups, corresponding to water. i think it's a slightly immature, avoidant version of the hermit where you react to emails like hunted prey. i disagree with most little deck booklet's take on this as boredom or stagnation in love, but maybe i'm stupid and a pisces and think there's fun in that. i think it's pop songs about early relationship isolation; the lorde is risen, it's "blow all my friendships to sit in hell with you." this sounds like early cake to me, sneaking around and hiding things from their friends and from each other and definitely themselves.

in the present, they're the king of swords. he's kind of a cold king, detached, clinical, so what this means in love is maybe a bit of judgment. this sounds like couples therapy to me, keeping a tight leash on your emotions to remain objective. the court cards denote "age" or experience, so if this was a page or a knight i would've said this was fwb denying there's feelings, but the king does feel feelings and doesn't shy away from them; he just keeps them off the table when it counts.

the two of swords as the future makes me think there's a "reset" button here. the smaller pip cards are the beginning of their suits, the beginning of growth in their particular domain, and the two of swords represents a crossroads between two similarly unpleasant choices. the figure in the waite-smith card wears a blindfold, that's how grim they sre.. frankly, it's a bit of a pre-breakup card, but for you two i think it's the chic burton-and-taylor divorce and remarriage run several times over.

the tarot party is taking requests until the taurus new moon, sunday night, april 27!

#asks #짜릿해 짜릿해 three of cups #fool on the hill #cake #cakecore #lest anyone get mad this isn't about dessert

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fineghkst · 2 years ago

Text

Rules

please let me know if you find any mistakes

tags: forbidden love; mentions of arranged marriage; angst; enemies to lovers

He was sitting on the armchair while reading a book. The perfect aligned hair was now messy, and he let four buttons of his shirt open, exposing his chest to the moonlight that entered the room through the window. Emanating a tranquillity that did not exist beyond those walls. It was the only moment he left all responsibilities behind.

He has so beautiful, almost looking vulnerable, but you knew all Vanserra’s were lethal like daggers. Eris was like a fallen angel right in front of your eyes.

It was rare to see Eris Vanserra without the mask of Beron’s son. During your short meetings, Eris was just a fae without titles and obligations. And so we’re you. It was all pretending, creating your own universe, like a parallel timeline where you two could stay together.

Out of that little world, he was your enemy.

You stared at him, seeing his focussed look in the book. His chest going up and down while he was breathing.

Gods, you were in love with him.

— Little Fox — Eris said almost purring that pet name he gave you, without taking his eyes from the book — I already told you to stop undressing me with your eyes while I’m distracted.

He closed the book, putting on the small desk beside. Eris gave you a penetrating look, making you blush. He got up, walking to your direction.

— You can simply undress me if you want me. — He stopped in front of you, making you look up because of the height difference.

You approached him, embracing your arms around his neck. He smiled before leaning in to kiss you. It didn’t took long for the kiss to get more desperate. Eris had his hands on your waist, squeezing it and bringing you the closer he could.

Eris showed how much he missed you, how he craved for you. How he wish that little word were expanded, turning into real life.

He left small bites on your lips before breaking the kiss, leaving both of you breathless.

— Fuck, I hate this. I hate to wait so long to be with you. I hate to pretend I fucking despise you. — Eris said, leaning his forehead on yours — It’s turning impossible. I can’t act like this with the person I love, the person I want to build a future with.

— I know, Eris — You could feel his sadness. Even if he wanted a future by his side, it was impossible when your families hated each other for centuries.

That relationship was supposed to have an expiration date. The agreement had one rule: no feelings. Just a fast experience to finally put an end at the tension between you two.

Years have passed and you still together, except it wasn’t a agreement anymore. The only rule has been broken a long time ago.

Eris was the first to admit he was in love. He wanted to runaway with you, dropping all the responsibility that was thrown on his back and freeing you from yours. He had constructed a detailed plan, you just had to say yes. If you said yes Eris would make sure both of you were never seen again.

That was the first and last time you saw him beg.

Even if it hurt, even if it broke your heart into thousands of pieces, making it impossible to rebuild it again, you denied. You denied him, breaking his heart.

How could you leave your family behind? There was to many people counting on you. After all, heir expectations were created long before you were born.

That was too much to bare, seeing him slowly destroying himself because of what was supposed to be a simple agreement. You thought it would be better to stay away from him, ending everything, so you created a new rule: staying away from Eris.

Soon you found out that a rule imposed on itself could cause the worst type of pain.

That world that only existed for you two was completely shattered. You and Eris were living now in a grey world, painted with sad eyes covered by hatred looks and apology requests suffocated by public offenses. None of you could live in a reality were you’re only enemies.

After months, both of you couldn’t take that distance anymore, so you broke the rule for him. Again.

You and Eris were condemned, condemned to a vortex of destruction. You knew that fake world was restricted by walls, and soon enough, he would be completely destroyed again. Permanently.

— Don’t marry him — He whispered, afraid if he said that worlds out loud the engagement would turn real.

— I don’t have a choice.

— Of course you do. I’m giving you a choice right now. — He caressed your face, gently — We don’t need to runaway. Just marry me.

— Eris… — You stepped back, chocked to hear that request — You know we can’t. Our families would never approve.

— I know. But we don’t need their approval if they only found out after we are married.

— Your father will never forgive you, neither my family.

— I don’t care. — He said, moving away from you. The anger had dominated his face — Your family wants to give you on a platter to a stranger because of a stupid alliance. My father, on the other hand, never thought twice before torturing me, his own son. I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Tired of being terrorized by him.

— That’s insane. — You said — What we are supposed to do? Get married in secret and then face everyone after?

— I will fucking burn this entire world if I have to. I will destroy all of them, my Little Fox. I promise that to you. — His eyes were stuck in you, allowing you to see all the pain, all the suffering and despair he felt. Eris would really sacrifice everything, fight with the whole fucking world only to have you by his side.

— You understand that you want to risk losing everything? Including having a crown on your head, even after preparing your whole life to assume the throne? — You said and he laugh like it was the funniest joke — What’s so funny?

— Can’t you understand? No crown will be as valuable as you. I’m willing to risk everything, because if I lose you, then I'll be losing everything that matters to me. — Eris approached you again, holding your hands and looking inside your eyes — Please… just say yes. Say yes to me and I will destroy all their rules and impositions to which they restricted us. Say yes, my Little Fox, and I promise to love you until my last breath.

Your heart was beating so fast that it seemed it would fly from your chest at any moment. Eris was standing before you, begging to finally be accept. He waited years and would wait for centuries if necessary, but you couldn’t allow him to torture himself anymore.

It was probably the biggest mistake you ever committed, starting that agreement, then loving your enemy. Possibly, a deep lapse of sanity, but you couldn’t endure blindly obeying the laws imposed by your family anymore. They lived their lives, created their own wars, but now it was time for you to finally free yourself from all ties.

It was as if your lips had acquired life of its own when the three letters came out of your vocal cords to the outside word, making the walls of that little universe you made explode.

— Yes.

#eris x reader #eris acotar #eris acotar x reader #acotar x reader #eris scenario #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader

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