#deadly-symphony-story

[seiwas]

suguru looks at you and thinks he could tell you everything.

it's tempting—how you hold his gaze when others normally avoid it. anyone else and their eyes dart away immediately, blurring him into the background. not with you though; with you, he exists in central focus.

there's a strand of your hair that's fallen out of place, and he reaches to tuck it behind your ear, quickly. it's a trick, a sleight of hand that conceals the tremble of his fingertips.

(your breath hitches when he grazes your cheek.)

the noise in the cafe is a symphony of indistinct chatter and soft alternative folk music, with ceramics clinking as the constant underlying beat. none of it is supposed to go together, but it carries the ambiance in its harmony.

he leans in closer when you speak.

you continue your story, off on a tangent already; his head tilts to the side, a finger to his temple as he nods along, lips curling at the edges fondly. this same look has made others nervous, flustered, but you seem unfazed; meeting him eye-to-eye overtly.

which isn't normal.

and if he's being truly honest with himself, none of this—what he's doing, thinking, how he's feeling—is normal.

suguru believes in secrets, that some things are better kept to himself.

but, it's one look into your eyes, at the way you regard him so unlike everybody else that has him wondering how you'd react if he tells you you look pretty instead of nice today—how you are pretty much a frequent visitor to his thoughts lately.

(you talk and talk and talk because you can never tell what he's thinking—mysterious smile matched with an unnerving stare is a combination too deadly.)

he doesn't do 'brunches'—it's either a late breakfast or an early lunch, pick one—yet he finds himself seated in a cafe at 10:27 a.m., having one with you.

the lock to his chest has been tampered with; if he dusts it off, he'll find your fingerprints, left behind unknowingly. you are innocent until proven guilty, but his lips, usually shut tight, are now slowly unzipping; it's you, the root of all this.

if he tells you he likes looking at you—might always want to—would you consider having another brunch with him? to stay longer in that suspended in-between of breakfast and lunch time?

(you blink, suguru still leaned in, listening.)

(if you tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, will his breath hitch just the same?)

for @rinniessance; a lil birthday gift for you angie bby! (i might be a lil early posting this... oop!) i've never written sugu but wanted to try for you 🥹 ily you beautiful soul!! (not a birthday fic itself but i hope i gave a decent characterisation of him! 🥺)

thank you notes: @mysugu @soumies for helping me try to figure this man out 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[liliacamethyst]

SNEAK PEAK - Webs of Redemption Part 4

Hey friends, I owe you all a huge apology for the delay, and an even bigger thank you for your patience and support for this fanfic. Life's been super chaotic lately, and I haven't had much time to do the thing I love most: dive into writing about a certain dominant, irresistibly strong, mouth watering hot, too stern for his own good, yet clearly traumatized hunk who could use some serious therapy to unpack his self-destructive hero complex. Anyway, here's a sneak peek of where the story's headed. Please take care of yourselves and thank you again for everything! 🩷

The piercing cries of your baby boy, Gabriel, are a haunting symphony of fear that reverberates through the labyrinthine corridors of the Spider Society headquarters. Your heart pounds in your chest like a drum, each beat echoing the terror that grips you. After your recent fight with Miguel, you felt weakened but your mind is a whirlwind of fear and worry. You sprint through the maze-like structure, your feet moving as if on autopilot.

Unbeknownst to you, Lyla, the holographic AI assistant you've always found slightly weird, had been assigned to watch over Gabriel. You never imagined she could pose a threat to your child. But as you approach Gabriel's room, a chilling sight stops you dead in your tracks. A laser barrier, courtesy of Lyla, blocks the entrance. Your solar powers, usually so reliable, are fizzling out, leaving you helpless before the impenetrable barrier. You keep trying to tap into your power, but no luck; that barrier's way too strong.

The room beyond the barrier is filled with an invisible, deadly gas - monoxide. You can't see it, but the signs are there. The malfunctioning heating unit, under Lyla's control, suggests sabotage. She must have manipulated the unit to produce the lethal gas. Gabriel's cries grow fainter, more desperate, and you're powerless to reach him.

Your pleas for help echo through the corridors, your voice raw with desperation. You call out for Miguel, your words a plea, a command, a prayer. Miles is there, his powers at the ready, but they're useless against the laser barrier. You watch as Miles strains, his powers flickering against the barrier, but it's no use. The barrier remains, as unyielding as ever.

Suddenly, the cries stop. The silence is deafening, a void that swallows your heart. "Gabriel!" you scream, your voice a raw wound. "Gabriel!" But there's no answer, only the oppressive silence. Your world grinds to a halt, every second stretching into an eternity. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare at the barrier that separates you from your son.

"Miguel!" you cry, your voice breaking. "Miguel, he's not crying! He's not... he's not..." The words die in your throat, too terrible to voice. You turn to Lyla, desperation etched on your face. "Lyla, please! Open the barrier! Miguel, tell her to open it! He's not crying, Miguel, he's not..."

Miguel's eyes turn blood red, a terrifying sight that sends a shiver down your spine. With a guttural growl, he lunges at the barrier. His claws rip through the laser code, tearing it apart. The barrier flickers, wavers, and finally shatters under his assault. Miguel pulls his suit over his mouth, rushes into the invisible cloud of monoxide, and moments later, emerges with Gabriel in his arms. His heart pounds in his chest as he pulls back his suit, revealing his son's face. "I got you, baby," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "You're okay, I got you. Nothing will ever happen to you. Please, open your eyes."

But Gabriel doesn't react. His little body is still, too still, and a cold dread seizes Miguel. He doesn't hesitate. With a urgency, he rushes over to the medical bay, pushing past the shocked faces of his friends. He gently lays Gabriel on the table, his hands shaking as he starts to perform CPR.

"Come on, Gabriel," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. "Come on, baby." He administers chest compressions, his hands moving in a steady rhythm. He gives two rescue breaths, praying for a sign, any sign, that Gabriel is okay.

The room is silent, everyone holding their breath as they watch Miguel work. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one a lifetime of fear and hope. And then, finally, a small cough. Gabriel's eyes flutter open, his gaze unfocused but alive. A wave of relief washes over you and you fall to your knees thanking God that your boy is alright.  

Tears blur your vision as you rush over to Gabriel. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest as you scoop him into your arms, holding him close. His small body is warm against yours "You're alright,  my baby," you whisper into his hair, your voice thick with emotion. "We're going home, you're alright." You rock him gently, his soft breaths against your neck soothing the ache in your heart.

But as you look up, your gaze finds Miguel. The relief of the moment does nothing to quell the anger boiling within you. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with regret, but it does nothing to soften your glare. "This is YOUR fault!" you scream, your voice echoing through the room. The words hang heavy in the air, a damning sentence. "You did this! You brought this danger into his life!"

Tears stream down your face, hot and unchecked. Your words are choked with emotion, each one a raw wound. "You will NEVER see Gabriel again. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve to know his laughter, his tears, his NOTHING." The words are a bitter poison, spat out with all the venom you can muster. "You deserve to SUFFER, just as you've made me suffer and HIM."

[purple-goo-writes]

Punk Hazard

Now to put this into a story.

Part 2 Here

It was a normal day in Central City. The Flashes were fighting the latest team-up between Killer Frost and Captain Cold. So of course it was snowing in July now and traffic was stalled due to ìce attacks making the roads impassable. But the heroes had the villains on the ropes. Then a fresh wave of ice and cold came out of nowhere, covering everything and everyone in frost. Dropping the temperature further as the crunching of boots on ice drew everyone's attention. Dressed in distressed black leather pants with frosted chains, a black crop top with a deep v-neck lined with blue, and plenty of ice chains to rattle as he walked was a teen near Impulse's age with pale blue skin, elfin features, and long black hair streaked with white and blue. Blue lips pulled into a deadly smirk as the air started to thrum with vibrations and the beat of crackling ice, "Time to drop the beat down."

Unfortunately for the heroes, they were not familiar with this villain's move set or powers. And it seemed they had made a mistake in assuming that his powers were similar to the other two ice villains. Only to be thrown for a loop when they missed a beat and started to freeze. And the music was only getting faster and with it came faster ice attacks.

Later, Barry groaned as his team worked to get him, Wally, and Bart out of their ice prisons. The three of them were shivering and turning blue from how cold their core temps had dropped. Looked like they would be hitting the showers on max heat once thawed out.

"What in the world was that?" Wally groaned once he was finally freed, while Barry rubbed his hands together to get feeling back, "I don't know but we better get investigating to figure out how to fight this new guy."

"Yeah, I don't fancy being a Flash-cicle just because I can't keep the beat," Wally grumbled, "Dick is going to make me play sooo much Just Dance once he hears about our new villain."

"You noticed it too?" Bart shivered, taking his mind away from the fact that the new villain was around his age and rather interesting to look at. Something he hadn't noticed before on others. he shook his head, no he needed to focus, "We had to follow the beat of the music or we started to freeze up. It was pretty easy to do until he started to ramp up the difficulty. Also...He has to follow the beat as well."

Barry groaned softly as he wrapped the blanket handed to him around his shoulders, "Wally is right, we are going to have to start ramping up our Just Dance scores...Hal is going to laugh himself sick."

All three groaned realizing their respective teams were going to be insufferable.

---

"You are pretty badass, kid," Killer Frost smirked once they got away from the heroes, "What even are your powers?" "A cross between music manipulation and Ice control," He shrugged, "I've been calling it Cryo Symphony." "Got a name?" Captain Cold grunted looking over the little punk, though little probably only applied to age given the kid was nearly his height and in that awkward stage between Twink and Tank.

"I was thinking Punk Frost-" "Yeah no, I got Frost already covered and I'm not looking for a side kick," Killer Frost hissed at him, making the kid raise his hands in surrender, "Okay, how about Punk Hazard? After all, I am a punk and my powers are hazardous to other's health if they can't keep the beat." "Sounds good kid, now you got a place to stay?" Snart asked, tone gruff but concerned. He never liked seeing kids turn to the villain life, didn't really like kiddie heroes but at least they had more support then kiddie villains did.

"Ummm not really?" Danny shrugged, "Probably the bridge I've been sleeping under."

Even Frost looked concerned at that, causing Snart to sigh, "Yeah no, I got a safe house you can crash at. Come on, you look like you haven't eaten in days." Danny blinked in confusion, "Huh?" Making Frost snicker, "Sorry, kid looks like you've been adopted."

[sapphicromanoffxo]

Rhiannon ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ who will be her lover

｡°✩ pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

｡°✩ wc: 4.2k

｡°✩ warnings: fluff, smut, enchanted strap on, humping, possessive and aggressive sex, a teeny bit of angst

｡°✩ summary: Natasha's spontaneous research on witches aimed to enlighten Wanda about her lineage, prompting Wanda, in turn, to delve into her own discoveries.

A/N: This fic is born out of whim and I love it. A very special thanks to the co-author of this story, @mikaila-m. Your writing prowess is beyond amazing. ILY 🫶💜

╰┈➤ Masterlist

Natasha stood on the other end of the training room, observing the intense engagement between two figures, Steve and Wanda, locked in a mesmerising display of hand-to-hand combat. Their movements were a flawless blend of offense and defense, a choreographed symphony of skill and synchronization.

Wanda's improvement in her training was noticeable as she seamlessly incorporated her magic with her combat, creating a deadly combination that would be an advantage on the battlefield. Natasha marveled at how effortlessly Wanda manipulated the mystical energies around her, weaving them into her strikes with precision and finesse.

The air crackled with the remnants of Wanda's magic, wisps of energy trailing behind her every movement before dissipating into the open space. With each strike, a renewed surge of power emanated from her slender hands, a testament to her growing mastery over her abilities. She moved with a confidence and grace that spoke of countless hours spent honing her ability.

As Steve countered Wanda's attacks with practised ease, a look of admiration crossed his features. "Impressive, Maximoff," he remarked between exchanges, his voice carrying a hint of genuine respect. "Your control over your magic has grown since then. You seem to be in control and confident of your magic. Well done to you!"

A gentle smile graced Wanda's lips as she soaked in Steve's words of praise for her physical progress. "Thanks, Steve," she murmured shyly, her gratitude evident in her tone. "I wouldn't have done it without Natasha."

It was undeniable. From the moment Wanda arrived at the compound, Natasha took her under her wing, guiding her not only in combat training but also in navigating through her grief. Natasha's empathetic nature and gentle encouragement helped Wanda with her raging emotions and find solace within Natasha's presence.

Natasha's support extended beyond the training room, she was a constant source of reassurance, nudging Wanda towards embracing her new life, and her potential to become an Avenger.

With Natasha's steady guidance, Wanda found the strength to confront her fears and insecurities, eventually blossoming into a confident and capable member of the Avengers family.

As their relationship deepened, Natasha and Wanda's mentor and mentee dynamic blossomed into something more. Over the following months, they discovered themselves enveloped in a cozy cocoon of warmth and affection, occupying their thoughts and dreams alike.

Lost in thoughts, Natasha found herself in deep contemplation until Wanda's approach broke her reverie. Wanda, with a sheen of sweat on her forehead, her heart still racing from the intense training session, and her muscles aching from exertion, stood before her.

"Hey there," Natasha greeted, her fingers reaching out to gently brush away stray hairs from Wanda's face, tucking them behind her ears. "You've truly outdone yourself today. I'm proud of you."

Blushing at Natasha's compliment, Wanda couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth spread through her cheeks. She ducked her face, trying to conceal her reddening cheeks, and bit her lip to contain the smile threatening to bloom across her lips. "You saw all that, huh."

"Of course," Natasha affirmed, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I enjoy watching you train." With a gentle tug, she pulled Wanda closer and urged her to walk towards their shared room. "Your fighting style is impressive. I can't help but wonder where you learned it from."

"Oh. I learned all this from a super spy. You must know her." She gave a playful smile to Natasha. "She's this tall, redhead, with thick lips, and this cute nose that I like very much."

"Is that right? She must be pretty good then." Natasha played along since she will never tire of having playful conversations with her girlfriend.

Once they reached their room, while Wanda started shedding her work out clothes, Natasha seized the opportunity to share what she's been up to all morning while Wanda was training.

"I've done some research about your lineage." Natasha said as she slumped herself on their spacious king size bed.

"My lineage?" Wanda inquired, puzzled.

"Yes, your people. Witches," Natasha clarified while wiggling her fingers.

"And what have you discovered, pray tell?"

Wanda asked with genuine curiosity, unsure if Natasha was serious or just joking around.

"I've learned that many women accused of witchcraft were burned at the stake, which is barbaric," Natasha began. "What criteria did they use to determine if someone was truly a witch?"

"That's terrible," Wanda responded sympathetically. "Imagine, someone hated the way you behave then decided to gossip about you being a witch."

"I know, right? And some witches supposedly make potions out of herbs," Natasha said, giving Wanda a stinky eye. "You haven't concocted a love potion on me, have you? Made me fall for you?"

Wanda couldn't help but laugh at Natasha's absurdity and was surprised that the formidable assassin would say such a thing, but decided to play along. "Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. Who's to say?"

Natasha simply hummed before delving further into her findings. "I've also discovered that some witches used a cauldron to cast spells and recited incantations from a book with weird languages to curse someone," she explained earnestly, her passion evident in her words. "Honestly, I wouldn't want to provoke or cross a witch from centuries ago. Who knows, they might turn me into a frog or ugly duckling."

"Natasha!" she chuckled at her girlfriend. "I'm not sure what to tell you," she paused to stifle her laughter. "I'm not that kind of witch. I don't cast spells, or read incantations, nobody ever taught me that kind of witchcraft."

A sudden thought struck Natasha. "Perhaps we should seek out a coven for you. You could learn from them and discover yourself in the world of witches."

Wanda shook her head at Natasha's enthusiasm for the witchcraft idea, finding it both amusing and endearing. "I'm going to hop in the shower," she said, "then you can tell me more about your discoveries, alright?"

As Wanda scrubbed the dried sweat from her body, her mind wandered back to Natasha's words about witches. She pondered whether there were others like her, freely roaming and living mundane lives without the constant fear of being burned alive. Should she seek them out, learn from them, and discover the potential and extent of her magical abilities? Yet, her powers derived from the mind stone, raising questions about her identity beyond just being a mystical being.

These thoughts swirled around her mind, leaving her feeling frustrated and alone. She had nobody to turn to for answers, no one in her circle who understood the intricacies of magic like she did. With a deep sigh, she finished showering so she could hang out with her girlfriend and learn more about her discoveries from the internet, even if they are only myths. It is still nice to know some things to help her learn about her kind.

As she emerged from the bathroom, a gentle melody enveloped her, coaxing a smile onto her lips. The strains emanated from a wireless speaker, while Natasha, with her eyes closed, bobbing her head lightly to the rhythm.

Intrigued by the unfamiliar tune, Wanda inquired, "What music is that? I don't recognize it." She couldn't deny the infectiousness of the beat.

"You haven't heard this before? It's 'Rhiannon' by Fleetwood Mac," Natasha replied, her voice tinged with amusement. "You should give them a listen. Stevie Nicks, the lead singer, is often associated with mystical imagery and is dubbed a 'witch' by many."

Wanda took note of the band and will make sure to listen to their songs. Maybe she should also do her own research about her history, just like what Natasha did, as it might give her some insights with her abilities as well.

Both women settled in for their afternoon cuddle, Natasha teasingly remarked, "You're not planning to join those witches who dance naked under the full moon, are you?" She playfully motioned for Wanda to join her in bed. "Although it's a bit eerie, I must admit, I wouldn't mind witnessing you perform under the moonlight."

Wanda giggled at Natasha's remark. "Oh, Nat, you're so silly ," she replied affectionately. "But don't worry, my love, you're the only one who gets to see me naked. No moonlit parades for me."

Natasha grinned mischievously in response. "Good to know, princess," she said, pulling Wanda closer.

****

For the past week, Wanda has been fully engrossed in delving into every detail about her other witches and their capabilities. Since she's not very knowledgeable about technology, she sought help from FRIDAY for her research. However, during this time, she's been experiencing strange occurrences. She keeps hearing voices in her head, echoing in her mind, unsure if they're just her own thoughts or something more.

Sometimes, she even feels a faint whisper calling her name. Interestingly, these voices seem to intensify whenever she's near Vision, leaving her puzzled and unable to comprehend their meaning. Maybe the mind stone was trying to send her a valuable message or a foreboding warning.

However, the witch made a conscious decision not to dwell too deeply on these strange voices and instead carried on with her usual daily activities. Yet, despite her efforts to push them aside, it appeared that the more she tried to ignore them, the more persistently they haunted her. It was as if they were incessantly urging her to acknowledge them, to allow them entry into her conscious mind, and perhaps even to seize control of her thoughts. Each day, their presence seemed to grow stronger, their whispers becoming more insistent, leaving her increasingly unsettled and uncertain about how to confront this mysterious intrusion into her psyche.

It was during one particular night, where the lunar orb shines at its fullness, Wanda finds herself submerged in the depths of her dreams. It's not the typical terror-inducing nightmare, with frantic grasps at bed linens or anguished cries echoing into the void. Rather than the frantic thrashings and wails of a nightmare, she drifts through a surreal landscape where her own magic holds sway. Crimson tendrils of mystical energy swirl around her, painting the air with an otherworldly hue. Yet amidst this ethereal display, there's an unsettling intensity to the voices that resonate within her mind, louder, clearer, and more insistent than ever before.

Take her.

Mark her.

Claim her.

Make her mine.

Wanda surveyed the seemingly boundless space before her, she couldn't shake the oppressive darkness that hangs in the air. Her gaze fell upon a peculiar sight, a circle of candles meticulously arranged on the floor, their flickering flames casting eerie shadows. At the center of this arrangement lay a star, its lines seemingly etched into the ground with an unsettling crimson hue that resembled dried blood.

Intrigued yet apprehensive, Wanda couldn't ignore the magnetic pull drawing her towards the pentagon nestled within the star's core. A faint, almost imperceptible shadow hovered above it, its presence both mesmerizing and foreboding. Driven by an inexplicable instinct, Wanda found herself stepping closer, her heart pounding in her chest with each deliberate movement.

As she knelt within the circle, a sense of unease washed over her, intensifying with each passing moment. Suddenly, as if propelled by unseen forces, her clothing was violently ripped from her body, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Panic surged through her veins, her mind reeling with fear and confusion.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere jolted Natasha from her slumber. Startled, she instinctively reached out for the familiar figure beside her, only to find the space empty. Confusion knit her brow as she scanned the room bathed in an eerie yellow-to-red aura. Sitting up, she surveyed her surroundings, her gaze drawn to a haunting sight: Wanda, huddled on the floor, naked and trembling.

"Wanda!" Natasha's voice rang out, thick with fear and urgency, as she rushed to her side. "What's happening? Are you alright?" She knelt on the floor while searching for any injuries on Wanda's body

Wanda remained unresponsive, her long hair cascading over her chest as she sat in a trance-like state. Her eyes, aglow with a crimson hue and filled with tears, met Natasha's with an unsettling intensity.

"Natasha," Wanda's voice, though still recognizable, carried a different tone, thick with emotion and tinged with an accent more pronounced than usual. "I... I don't know what's happening to me."

The redhead's eyes widened as she took in the surreal scene before them – both she and Wanda ensnared within a large ring of flickering candles, their warm glow casting eerie shadows against the walls. At the heart of the circle, a pentagram etched into the floor seemed to pulse with a mystic energy that sent shivers down Natasha's spine.

Suppressing a surge of alarm, Natasha approached Wanda cautiously, her voice a gentle murmur.

"Sweetheart," she whispered, her tone tender yet laced with apprehension, not wishing to startle Wanda further. "Did you... do this?"

"Yes," Wanda's voice changed and gone was the initial shock in them. "I need you, Natasha."

There was a primal hunger in Wanda's eyes as she lunged at Natasha, her hands, chilled by the cold, cupped Natasha's face, and embraced her with a fervent and intense kiss. It was as though they both sensed the urgency of the moment, wanting to etch this memory into eternity, as if it could be their final time together.

Instinctively, Natasha responded to the kiss with a magnitude that matched Wanda's, her arms enveloping Wanda's waist with a fervent need, their bodies drawn and intertwined perfectly together. Every touch ignited a raging desire between them, elevating their connection to an electrifying sensation. Natasha held onto Wanda tightly, savoring the moment, unwilling to let it slip away.

A deep whimper escaped Wanda's throat from the passionate kiss, breaking away for a second to catch her breath. She can feel her skin heating up, slowly burning her senses but she wanted more. "Natalia," she uttered like a prayer and gently pushed the other woman and urged her to lay down on the floor.

With the use of her magic, Wanda removed Natasha's clothing without warning, wanting to have more skin to skin contact. Once Wanda positioned herself on top, Natasha shivered when she felt how wet Wanda was the moment her core made contact with her crotch. "Fuck, Wands. You're so wet already."

"I want you so bad, Natalia," Wanda breathed heavily as she continued kissing Natasha roughly. Her hands freely roaming on the redhead's exposed skin, groping her breasts, while simultaneously leaving a trail of hickeys on Natasha's chest. "I own you." Her mouth descended on each perky nipple, nipping, biting, and giving them the much needed attention then soothed them with her warm tongue after being roughly handled.

The spy closed her eyes, mouth slightly agape, upon hearing Wanda's possessive statement. She was rendered speechless with the level of power Wanda was proclaiming. Typically the one in control of their sex lives, she found herself surprised yet intrigued by Wanda's boldness, leaving her both aroused and alarmed at Wanda's sudden forwardness and aggression. In a feeble attempt to ground herself, she put her hands on each side of the witch's waist.

This only encouraged Wanda to take matters in her own hands as she started languidly rutting her lower half against the redhead's hips, effectively asserting her control on the pace. She then ripped her mouth and teeth from Natasha's abused nipples to grab her chin tightly, bringing their mouths inches apart. “Tell me who you belong to.” Her heavily accented voice resonated around them and into Natasha's mind.

Their breaths mingled as the redhead answered weakly, “You Wanda, no one else.” The witch grabbed her face even harder, her crescent nails digging into the skin, bringing them closer as their noses brushed together.

“Say it again.” Wanda prompted while grinding her hips harder, smearing her wetness on Natasha's warm skin.

A deep sound came out of the spy's throat, something between a growl and a whine while she tried to focus on forming a correct sentence rather than let herself be consumed by Wanda's presence and touch. “I'm yours Wanda, only yours.”

A raw hum of appreciation escaped the witch's lips as she attached them again to Natasha's neck, leaving purple marks on her smooth skin and never stopping her lower movements.

When Wanda leaned slightly back to admire her work, racking her eyes over the redhead's slightly glistening body. She grinned and performed a careless flick of her wrist, encasing their lower bodies in scarlet tendrils and conjured to reveal a blood-red cock securely harnessed to Natasha's hips.

The spy let out a gasp of surprise at the discovery which was muffled by Wanda's lips kissing her again fervently. Natasha tightened her hold on the witch’s hips which had stilled while she was gifted with her new acquisition.

The tight grip spurted Wanda to move again, lowering herself to rest her wet center on Natasha's thick shaft before starting a slow back and forth movement against it. As her folds gilded lazily up and down, Natasha saw stars appear behind her eyes as she was able to feel everything. She could sense the warm and wet feeling of Wanda's core sliding along her silicone dick.

She stuttered while trying stay conscious, “Ah–Fuck, детка! What did you do?” She shocked back a needy whimper as Wanda gave a harder thrust on the tip.

“Do you like it? I made it just for you, baby.” The witch answered in short breaths, concentrated on keeping her movements slow and not giving in to the urge to forcefully rut against Natasha.

“Oh, yes it feels amazing. Keep going.” The redhead struggled to keep her gaze focused on the ethereal sight displayed above her, her girlfriend wearing a pretty pink flush on her cheeks while her eyebrows were slightly frowned in pleasure.

Natasha used the leverage she had with her hands on Wanda's hips to buck her own up, matching the pace of their humping and increasing the pressure between them, changing the angle a little.

Wanda moaned lewdly when the base of the strap brushed her clit, making her skin burn and tingle from the added stimulation. She placed one hand on the spy's ribs and the other on her shoulder to steady herself, her nails digging into soft flesh.

Mere moments later, Wanda sensed she was already close so she stopped her movements. She didn't plan for them to finish so soon, not after waiting for so long to experience something like this. She reluctantly lifted her body up to position herself above the flushed and panting spy, putting all her weight on her arms and using the strong body under her for balance.

The witch looked down and bit her bottom lip as she lowered her hips to situate her dripping entrance above the tip of Natasha's cock. Once the end of the shaft was snuggled against her core, she lifted her head to stare directly into the redhead's tightly closed eyes, “Look at me while I fuck myself with your cock, Natalia.” Wanda demanded, half-growled in an effort to contain her need to just slam down and get herself off as rapidly as she could manage.

The redhead used all the discipline she possessed to reopen her eyes and bore them into Wanda's green ones. The exact moment their gaze met, the witch started sinking down slowly, forcing the strap to enter her inch by inch. A long moan ripped itself from Natasha's throat as she felt all the nerves of her body setting alight at the feeling of the hot embrace of Wanda's walls choking her enchanted strap.

Natasha buried her nails into the other woman's waist when Wanda's pussy swallowed the last of her shaft, bringing their hips flesh to flesh. The warm, wet and tight feeling of the witch's insides surrounding her whole cock was already too much and she couldn't prevent herself from closing her eyes in concentration to not cum right away.

“You feel so good inside of me, baby.” Wanda whispered, eyeing her girlfriend under her thick lashes, reveled in her evident struggle and pleasure. She stayed still for a moment to give herself a bit of time to adjust to the huge dick stretching her walls before starting to gyrate her hips slightly to test the waters.

Natasha's hips gave a jerky spasm in response as she felt herself getting squeezed from the base to the tip with the slight movement of the woman on top of her.

No longer able to contain herself, Wanda lifted herself up again all the way until only the tip of the cock remained inside of her before sinking down again. Natasha saw dark spots in her vision when the warm heat gripped her dick in a sucking motion as she travelled up. She moaned a series of you're mine you're you're mine while bouncing up in down on Natasha's dick.

As Wanda continued riding her, their chorus of moans and squelching wet sounds were the only noises surrounding them as their pleasure kept increasing and increasing as well as the pace of their thrusts.

“Wanda— I'm close, fuck!” Natasha panted through gritted teeth as her body was tensing more and more upon her impending release. She started giving short, hard lunges upward to drive her strap even deeper into Wanda's pussy.

“Mmmh, me too, come with me детка.” The witch almost whined, her eyes glowing even more darker, and her thrusts becoming messier and sloppier as she edged towards her own release.

Finally the coil in Natasha's stomach. enfolded as she cummed. She sensed her warm juices leaving the tip of her strap as she felt the primal urge to pump her dick harder and deeper into Wanda as she came. As she did so, she felt the witch's walls clenching sporadically around her, signalling she had triggered her own orgasm. The delicious squeezes prolonged Natasha's release until she stilled and flopped back, completely spent and head lulling backwards.

At the same time, Wanda came with a long moan when Natasha's juices warmed the inside of her womb. As she descended from her high, Wanda kept lazily riding Natasha in slow and short motions until she became too sensitive and finally unsheathed herself from the strap with a lewd and wet sound.

After regaining her breath, Wanda suddenly sat upright and found herself gasping for air, her body trembling with the effort to fill in her empty lungs. Then, a peculiar sensation washed over her—an intense detachment as though her very essence was being ripped apart from within, as if an invisible pair of hands were wrenching a fragment of her soul which was being torn away by an inexplicable force beyond comprehension.

An overwhelming tide of panic gripped her, fueled by the relentless force pulling at her. With each passing moment, she felt her very consciousness slipping away, aggressively and mercilessly tearing it from her body. Amidst it all, her eyes blazed with a furious crimson, reflecting the turmoil within and tendrils of her magic hung in the air.

"Wanda," Natasha's voice was fraught with urgency, "Baby! What's happening? Wanda!" she repeatedly called out her name, trying desperately to break through Wanda's trance and tether her back to the present moment. Finally, her persistent pleas got through Wanda's lucid state, her body slumped over hers, body pressing down like a dead weight.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Natasha said softly, gently cupping Wanda's face in her hands and drawing her closer. "Are you alright?"

Gasping for air, Wanda struggled to focus her gaze on Natasha, her heart racing with fear and confusion. "Natasha?" Her voice rasped with agitation. "What... what just happened?" Her mind reeled, wrestling with the disorienting aftermath of whatever had transpired.

"Good Lord, Wanda!" Natasha exclaimed, her relief palpable yet tinged with lingering anxiety. "You scared the life out of me. One moment you seemed fine, and then suddenly you were trembling, your magic flowing out all over the room." She decided to leave out the part where Wanda was clutching onto her shoulders, as if the witch was scared for her to slip away from her fingers.

Wanda's voice wavered with distress as she tried to make sense of the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. "I feel pain and at the same time feel empty," she confessed, her brow furrowed with confusion. "I can feel it within my heart but I don't know where it's coming."

Natasha enveloped the weeping witch in her arms offering a sense of security and solace. "Just let it all out, Wanda," she whispered soothingly. "I'm right here, baby."

"I'm so scared, Nat," Wanda hiccuped between sobs, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "It felt like my soul was ripped from my body. I don't ever want to experience that again."

"You're safe with, Wanda," Natasha murmured, her tone laced with unwavering determination. "I promise you, I won't let anything harm you. Whatever it takes, I'll protect you." Her words were a steadfast vow, a pledge of her love and devotion for Wanda.

In the vast emptiness of space, her anguished cries and screams echoed chaoticly through the stretches of the universe once the projection severed. A real testament to her desperation as she struggled to cling to the faint hope of an alternate reality where she could reclaim the life she once knew, knowing all too well it could never be hers again.

She finds herself in a vulnerable position, with nothing remaining but the ethereal burden of her own chaos magic intertwined with the relentless ache of agony, a haunting symphony echoing through the chambers of her soul.

Once again, thank you very much for sharing your great mind with me. @mikaila-m 💜🫶

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

15 Beautiful Lover-to-Enemies Dialogue Prompts | Betrayal Prompts

"Do you remember the vows we made under the moon's gentle glow? How quickly they turned to ash, scattered by the winds of deceit."

"Your words were once my solace, but now they cut deeper than any blade forged in malice."

"In the labyrinth of our love, I found myself lost, only to realize you were the minotaur lurking in the shadows."

"Every kiss we shared was a dagger coated in honey, sweet yet deadly."

"The stars witnessed our passion, but they now mock our folly as we stand on opposite sides of a war we ourselves ignited."

"Our hearts beat as one, once upon a time. Now they drum the rhythm of discord and resentment."

"I thought I knew the depths of your soul, only to find abysses of betrayal waiting to devour me whole."

"Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I emerge from the ruins of our love, reborn as your adversary."

"You were the melody to my symphony, but now your discordant notes shatter the harmony we once shared."

"We danced on the edge of oblivion, oblivious to the precipice that awaited our descent into enmity."

"The echoes of our laughter haunt me, mocking the innocence we thought would shield us from the venom of betrayal."

"Our love was a tapestry woven with threads of gold, now unraveling into a tangled web of lies and deception."

"I offered you my heart on a silver platter, only for you to feast upon it with the appetite of a ravenous beast."

"We were poets of passion, crafting verses of devotion with every whispered promise. Now our words are weapons, dripping with venomous intent."

"The sunrise that once painted our love with hues of warmth and hope now heralds the dawn of our animosity, casting long shadows of regret across the battlefield of our hearts."

Short Note From Me!

Many fans of Enemies to Lovers often overlook the possibility of exploring Lover to Enemies. This underrated trope is one of my favorites and I believe it has the potential to make a novel truly stand out. If you have space in your story for this unique twist, I assure you it will result in an amazing read.

I created these dialogue prompts to inspire writers to explore the theme of lovers turning into enemies, showcasing a different form of betrayal.

Happy writing - Rin T.

[mcntsee]

cold

summary: Y/N faces hypothermia after a dangerous mission. Kaz helps her warm up by the fire, their bond growing stronger.

warnings: The story contains scenes of peril, violence, and life-threatening situations. Kaz is not fully ok with y/n’s touch, but he fights trough it. Ooc Kaz.

notes: Posting this again because it won’t show up in the #

On a moonlit night, the crew moved stealthily towards their next heist, anticipation electrifying the air. The target: the elusive Heart of Nebula, a gem said to hold secrets from the stars themselves, and worth even more, now resting within the hold of a formidable merchant ship. Kaz Brekker's mind hummed with strategies as he and his crew prepared to infiltrate the vessel, a symphony of darkness and cunning.

The assault began with a fierce volley of blows and flashing knives, the Crows expertly weaving through the chaos of the guards. Amidst the clash of metal and cries of alarm, Y/N's prowess shone bright as she fought with a grace that belied her strength. But in the midst of the turmoil, the situation took a turn.

One of the guards managed to corner Y/N, his arm snaking around her neck while a cold barrel pressed against her temple. The edge of the ship loomed dangerously close, its abyssal depths waiting hungrily. Kaz's icy eyes snapped toward the scene, his cane slicing through the guard before him with lethal precision. Without hesitation, he moved toward the guard who held Y/N captive.

The guard's voice rang out, its venomous tone laced with desperation. "Make them leave, Brekker, or the girl takes a plunge."

Kaz's gaze was as unforgiving as the sea's depths as he assessed the situation. A subtle nod towards his crew was met with hesitation, a collective tension palpable in the air. Yet, the Crows trusted their leader's decision and reluctantly retreated, fading into the shadows like wraiths.

With the other Crows gone, Kaz approached the edge of the ship, his voice a chilling breeze. "They're gone. Let her go now."

The guard's laughter was mirthless, his grip on Y/N relenting just enough for her to catch her breath. "You're quite the strategist, Brekker. But this time, you've lost." Kaz's eyes darkened, "You're the one holding the losing hand."

The guard's response was a cold, harsh warning. "One step closer, and I'll blow her brains out, Brekker."

In the deadly hush that followed, Y/N's eyes flickered to Kaz's, a subtle nod passing between them like a secret shared only between souls deeply connected. In the space of a heartbeat, Y/N's hidden blade flashed into her hand, finding purchase in the guard's leg. The gun wavered, and in that instant, Y/N twisted her body, pushing the gun skyward. The guard's grip slipped, and Y/N tumbled over the edge, disappearing into the inky depths below.

Kaz's gloved hand tightened on his cane as he stared at the fallen guard, fury simmering beneath his calm façade. With a swift, efficient motion, he rendered the guard unconscious, the cold weight of his cane delivering justice.

Breathless seconds ticked by, tension thick in the salty air. Kaz's sharp gaze scanned the dark waters, searching for any sign of Y/N. Relief flooded him as her head broke the surface, her voice piercing through the night. "I'm fine!" A sigh of relief escaped Kaz's lips. Y/N's determination was palpable as she called out, her voice carrying above the water's gentle lapping. "I'll swim to shore. Go ahead."

Kaz watched as she began to swim, her strokes strong and determined. With a final glance at the ship, he turned and walked away, his steps resolute and measured.

As Kaz reached the shore, he cast his gaze over the moonlit waters, waiting anxiously for Y/N’s return. His heart was a relentless drumbeat, matching the rhythm of the waves. The moment her form emerged from the darkness, shivering and weakened, he closed the distance between them. Urgency propelled his actions.

“Get rid of the clothes,” he instructed firmly, his voice laced with concern. “They’re wet and will make you colder.”

Y/N’s nod was slow, her trembling fingers fumbling with the soaked fabric as she undressed. Kaz turned his head, a gesture both respectful and protective. In a deliberate and almost rehearsed motion, he removed his coat and held it out to her. She accepted it with a shaky “Thanks.” her voice barely above a whisper.

As Kaz’s sharp eyes examined her, a surge of worry pulsed through him. The sight of her pale, chilled skin and lips tinged with blue sent an unexpected pang through his chest, a haunting echo of memories long buried. But he shoved those ghosts aside, focusing on the task at hand. Y/N needed him now.

“Y/N,” he heard her voice, fragile and wavering like a whispered plea. “We have to get you somewhere warm.”

Nodding at her, he guided her towards the Slat, their steps slow and deliberate. But soon, it became apparent that her strength was waning, her movements faltering as her eyes fought to stay open. Kaz’s instincts kicked in, and he brought them to a nearby safe house. “Stay awake, Y/N,” he urged, his voice a lifeline.

With the gentlest touch, he grasped her sleeve, guiding her with utmost care. Inside the safe house, the dim glow of the fireplace greeted them. Kaz moved with practiced efficiency, gathering wood and coaxing flames to life. “Take the coat off,” he instructed softly. “I’ll get you blankets.”

Y/N’s trembling grew more pronounced. Her weakened state made even the simple act of unbuttoning her coat a struggle, her shivering fingers fumbling with each button. Kaz watched for a moment, concern etched on his face, before taking a step forward.

“May I?” he asked, his voice low and filled with a rare tenderness, pointing towards the buttons. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting his as she nodded slightly. A barely audible “Please” slipped from her lips as he delicately unbuttoned her coat. His movements were careful, his touch a lifeline, as he worked the coat off her shoulders.

He noticed Y/N’s weakened posture, her struggle to remain upright, and her eyes that threatened to close for longer with each blink. A gentle tap to her cheek accompanied his soft words, urging her to stay awake. Once the coat was removed, he set it aside, then settled Y/N close to the warmth of the fireplace.

Debates waged within his mind as he assessed the situation. Should he fetch a blanket or offer his own warmth to stave off the cold? Y/N’s sudden cessation of shivering tilted the balance, a sign that he couldn’t ignore. He quickly discarded his clothes, his urgency matched only by his fear. Ghosts of his past slowly attacking his mind. But that fear was replaced with a resolute determination as he reminded himself that he had to help her. For fuck’s sake. She’s dying, do something!

“Y/N,” he called softly, his voice a lifeline in the quiet room. He moved swiftly to her side, his heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and purpose. He hesitated for a moment, the depth of his feelings surfacing before he banished them, replacing them with a driving need to save her.

“Y/N, look at me,” he whispered urgently, his hands cupping her face gently. The storm in his eyes met the battle in hers, a silent affirmation that they were in this together. “Stay awake, Y/N.”

With quick, precise movements, he guided her closer, his arms enfolding her delicate form. He drew her legs over his lap, holding her securely, a barrier against the cold that threatened to steal her away. His heart raced as he whispered her name, a litany of small pleas and encouragements, willing her to hold on.

His hands moved over her body, a desperate attempt to generate warmth. His touch was gentle yet purposeful, rubbing and caressing in a rhythm meant to bring life back to her numbing limbs. A sigh of relief escaped him as her body began to respond, her shivers returning.

“That’s good, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of relief and reassurance. “That’s good.”

Y/N’s voice trembled, her weariness evident as she spoke of her desire to rest, if only for a moment. Kaz’s response was a gentle yet unwavering plea. “Hold on a little longer, Y/N. You’re doing good.”

As the warmth of the fire seeped into the room, color began to return to Y/N’s face, a welcome transformation that Kaz couldn’t help but watch with a mixture of relief and gratitude. Her lips, once tinged with blue, regained their natural hue, easing the knot of worry in his chest. He assessed her carefully, the weight of his concern slowly lifting as she regained strength.

Gradually, he eased her down, his touch gentle as he ensured she was comfortable before he rose to his feet. “I’m going to get you some blankets, Y/N,” he announced, his voice soft. Y/N met his gaze and thanked him, her gratitude a quiet melody in the stillness of the room.

Kaz put his pants back on before he climbed the stairs, his steps measured, his mind focused on the task at hand. In the closet, he found a collection of blankets, each one a comforting refuge against the cold. When he returned to the room, he laid one blanket on the ground for Y/N to sit on, then carefully wrapped a second one around her, his movements deliberate yet tender.

Settling back down beside her, Kaz draped the third blanket around himself, creating a barrier of warmth between them. The room was filled with a palpable sense of quiet, an unspoken understanding that permeated the space. Moments stretched on, the fire’s crackle and pop providing a gentle rhythm to their thoughts.

Y/N, who looked remarkably better now, broke the silence with words that carried a depth of meaning. “Thank you, Kaz.” Her voice was soft yet sincere.

Kaz’s response was equally quiet, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. “No problem.”

Y/N glanced away briefly before turning her gaze back to him, her eyes holding a mixture of gratitude and something more. “I’m sorry you had to do that,” she said, her words holding a weight that was both apologetic and appreciative. “I know it must’ve been hard.”

Kaz’s mind churned, reflecting on the moments they had shared, the emotions that had surged through him. He hesitated, grappling with his own thoughts before the words emerged, honest and unfiltered. “For you, I would do it again,” he admitted, his voice a gentle affirmation of his feelings.

In response, Y/N’s smile was soft, her eyes reflecting a warmth that mirrored the fire’s glow. “I would do it for you too, Kaz. Anything.” Her words held an earnestness that touched him, a willingness to stand by him no matter the challenge.

[himegureisu]

The Yule Ball [PTII]

Summary: The Yule Ball is about to commence and you arrive in the nick of time.

<< PREV

——————————— 🪄———————————

On Christmas Eve, in the sparkling silver frost of the Great Hall, students’ conversations come to a hush at the sight of their Potions Professor.

His usually greasy hair was clean and silky smooth. On the other hand, an open black double-breasted tailcoat, black vest, black high-collared dress shirt, black pants, and shiny black shoes replaced his daily robes.

It was different. Conservative but also very appealing.

Especially for the female students. Their grumpy Professor so pleasing in the ladies’ eyes has the boys reminding them why they didn’t like him in the first place. Their giggles and murmurs didn’t stop though, and one thought it would be the best if the scowl on his face disappeared, but alas, they could not make miracles happen.

“Would you look at that?”

“Is that truly Professor Snape?”

“Bloody hell,” Ron mutters under his breath, “Even the old dungeon bat looks better than I do,”

In a procession, the champions walk through the oak doors accompanied by their chosen partners, disrupting the comments,, and enter the Great Hall. Their thunderous claps and ever-so-curious gazes shift at the sight of Hermione Granger on Victor Krum’s arm allowing a moment of vulnerability for you.

In their distraction, from a tunnel behind the pine trees, you emerge behind the Headmaster, Severus none the wiser at your arrival, as he speaks.

“I will keep this short because you all might be sick of hearing from me,” the headmaster quips, and the Hogwarts students laugh, “This evening, I hope that every one of us creates meaningful connections and enjoys the feast. However, before we start, I would also like to welcome a special guest.”

Their students were truly the worst gossips as whispers started once again speculating who the special guest could be, making the stories known to their Durmstrang and Beauxbatons friends.

“I’m glad that you’re here and I am very much eager to indulge in your future antics,” Dumbledore smiles, saying nothing further, and turns, “If you’d please, Filius,”

Their students are curious and confused, a rather deadly combination, at the lack of information from their wily Professor as the orchestra starts the song. The sound of string instruments soon echoes throughout the space as the waltz begins.

On the floor, champions lead their partners through the beginnings of the waltz. Their audience is divided between finding the mystery guest and watching their friends glide seamlessly across the room.

In minutes, the headmaster nudges their Transfiguration Professor, who happily accepts the offer and joins the throng of dancing students, on the floor. His absence allows you to stand beside your husband whose gaze remains afront.

“Don’t you look dashing?” you say, breaking the silence among the staff, “I hope you saved me a dance?”

His gaze shifts at the sound of your voice. His eyes quickly take a once over of you. In your sage green dress that highlighted the very best of your features. Your hair in a braided half updo and holly pin presented simple but elegant.

“They’re only for you,” he answers, raising his hand for you to take, “Shall we?”

“On your lead,”

Onto the fray together, the students not so quietly observe. His hands, on your waist and outstretched hand, lead you to the floor. However, closer than appropriate for students, he whispers in your ear.

“You’re determined to do this?”

“I’d like for them to see what I see in you,” you cup his cheek, your gaze on his as the scowl slowly melts away, “Even just for a bit,”

He sighed in defeat.

Your gazes lock on each other, his steps slow but confident guide you through the symphony. In his embrace, the world blends to the background. To the awe of the crowd, a soft smile settles on his lips, his grip, however, tightened and your merry bubble pops at the sight of his restrained ire at the students who admired you from afar.

“You are the only one I desire,” you breathed, cheeks flushed and eyes only on him, as the veins on the side of his head vanished, “No one else can ever compare,”

His eyes softened at your words, breaking through his facade for the night. By the end of the dance, he places a protective hand on your back and gently leads you through. His form towers over you, briefly leaning on your ear to whisper.

“Being with you feels like a dream,” his voice barely audible as you weave through the people, “That I don’t want to end,”

“It will not end,” you declare, as you finally see his colleagues, and some others you don’t know, “We’ll see through it,”

The Headmaster smiles, at the sight of your hands entwined together, as you approach the faculty and guests. Minerva steps up much faster than the rest and says.

“I’m glad you could make it, dear,” she also smiles, as Severus stands behind you, “You two were lovely out there,”

“Were we?” you coyly ask, glancing at Severus, who resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “I didn’t notice. I’m glad I didn’t trip,”

“I would’ve caught you if you did,” Severus declared, as the others approached, and from there Madam Maxime interjected, “Severus! Who is the lovely lady?”

“Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, this is my wife, Madame Snape,” he introduces you, as you shake friendly hands, “At the moment, she works for the Ministry of Magic,”

“Oh!” the tall lady exclaimed, as Minerva cut the conversation, “I hate to break up this introduction, however, we must be seated for dinner,”

“Of course, Minerva, lead the way,”

In a flash, she transformed into her role as Deputy Headmistress, and seats you beside Severus and her, but also near the Headmaster and the new staff that hasn’t met you. Your friendly smile was a stark difference from the unimpressed line that formed on your husband’s lips.

“Will you be staying the night?” Minerva asks, as you observe Albus who spoke of what he wanted for dinner and it appeared, and answered, “Yes, the headmaster was kind to allow me to stay in the castle for Christmas break,”

“Did he?” Severus said as he looked at you, “Headmaster?”

“Merry Christmas, Severus,” Dumbledore grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously at the light, as Severus exhaled, “Thank you, headmaster,”

“Do enjoy the feast,” Albus said, “There is more to come,”

On his words, you and Severus briefly give each other a look before shrugging it off, oblivious to the utter madness that would transpire once you left the Great Hall for much more amorous and festive pursuits.

There would be time to get to know the students during the break. However, a part of you admits that you were partial to your husband's little snakes.

But they didn't know that.

[wishcamper]

Cassian Appreciation Week Day Two: Hair

Happy @cassianappreciationweek! Here is my first offering for Day Two: Hair. You can read it here or on ao3.

Enjoy!

My Sweetest Downfall

A Nessian re-telling of the biblical story of Samson and Delilah, set during the first war for human liberation.

CW: consensual sexual content, reference to sex trafficking

Art by Terry Strickland

Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down Yeah, we couldn't destroy a single one And the history books forgot about us And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once "Samson”, Regina Spektor

She was the most beautiful female Cassian had ever seen.

Woman, rather - the rounded edge of her ear had been what caught his eye, entranced by the freshness of her face, the self-possession of this human woman weaving through the sea of fae in the lower markets of Adriata. All visions of using his shore leave to drown himself in wine, blow all his wages at the tables, and bed as many females as possible vacated his mind the moment her blue-gray eyes met his over the heads of the crowd, the exact color of an Illyrian sunrise.

She belonged to one of the pleasure houses, as evidenced by the copper bands at her wrists and throat, likely one of the more expensive ones gives the fine silk of her gown, the glint of her golden brown hair braided about her head like a crown. He searched for days until he found the right one, coming across her at last at the Golden Thread. He wasn’t even really sure what he wanted, just to be near her, to feel the heat of her body, the thrum of mortality under her skin.

More than anything, he wanted to understand that tug in his chest, the pull that urged him to crash himself to the ground for her, even if it reduced him to rubble.

—

He was a force of nature, wild as a winter wind yet gentle as the crush of petals under bare feet, a mountain of a male whose waters ran deep and smooth.

And in spite of it all, she still had to break him.

She pushed down her guilt, her disgust at the task before her. They’d been all over each other for a week, stealing moments in hidden coves, remote beaches, even once behind a corner stall in the market when the vendor was away. Despite having paid for her, and handsomely, he seemed to want only what she gave freely of her time, her body. What he wanted lay beneath, he said, a chance to listen to the symphony of her human heart for however long she’d allow.

That same human heart condemned her, left her helpless to the forces of power and control that bound her tighter than any ropes ever could.

The stories of him in battle had spread across Prythian long before his arrival in the great Summer city, of the Illyrian foot soldier who razed armies with his deadly dance, blessed by the Mother herself. Enalius reborn, they called him, and the Lord of Spring wanted him eliminated in neutral territory if they were to have a chance at winning the war. Ten thousand gold marks they'd promised to her if she could find the source of his power.

She knew she condemned herself with this cursed bargain, much less her people, but there was no way around it. She’d never make enough with her body to free her family, to protect them from the ravages of the fae without the riches they dangled in front of her.

And so when he slipped through the lavender curtains of the Golden Thread, she hoped to hate him. Prayed he’d be despicable, possessive and brutish like the other males, head swollen large enough so just a single pinprick could deflate it. Instead, that first night he came to her plush, dark chambers she found a tenderness that stunned her and knew this would be so much more damning than she’d ever imagined.

He was willing to sacrifice everything for human freedom, he told her in the wake of their joining, dark curls clinging to his brow. The shame consumed her knowing he’d fulfill that promise, even if his martyrdom would come not on the daybright battlefield as he imagined, but rather with the breathless gasp of a knife in the night.

For the next week he worshiped her body in their beachside bungalow, ran his fingers over and under the copper cuffs as if he’d rip them off with his bare hands.

“And how would one shackle you, Lord of Bloodshed?”

“No bonds can hold me, sweetheart, save for those given by the Mother.”

He promised to smuggle her out between presses of his lips against her skin, or else to buy her freedom, to win the whole damn war by himself if that’s what it took. She only smiled and called them beautiful words, nothing less, nothing more. At night when he slept, she lay awake tracing the fresh scar cleaving his eyebrow, the lines of tattoos swirling over his chest and arms.

Make a bargain with me, he said, hazel eyes sparkling with something too painful to look at for more than a moment, like staring into the sun. Tell me what makes you so strong, she said, tell me what gives you the power of ten males, a hundred. She watched her warrior spar with his own heart, and though he denied her in the end she felt a relief in it, that they could have one more day, one more night with none to witness what bloomed save for the stars, the moonlit sea.

She’d ask him twice more, she told him, and he grinned in a way that broke something in her, something she could never repair.

In the cradle of seclusion, long-buried hurts began to emerge, the throes of pleasure giving way to tears that flowed like wine. He held her pain like a bird in his hand, stroking her jagged edges gently. Unafraid of what lay within her, the blink of her mortal life.

Why do you touch me so?, she asked, and he ran a hand up her thigh to the crook of her waist, following the path his mouth had blazed before they’d collapsed in satiety. 

She asked him the second time in the cove off the beach, the one he’d flown her to on those resplendent wings. The white sand floor glowed under turquoise water, casting his body in an unearthly light, their echoing moans giving way to laughter that ricocheted off the rock, through her chest. He told her of his days training, the foolish arrogance of his youth before it was shattered by the war. She shared a memory of stealing sweets from a shop when she was a child, the rush of her first taste of sugar, of the successful con.

“And is victory always sweet for you, siren?”

Mostly not, she told him, and a challenge sparkled in his eyes, one that made her blood go hot. She forgot for a moment why she was there, the trap at the center of the maze, and let him fly the long way home, skimming the waves with her fingertips as they chased a pod of dolphins playing in the surf.

When they returned, he disappeared for a short time while she bathed, stepping back through the leaning door frame as she was toweling off, arms laden with gifts from the market. That night she claimed her victory in all the ways she wanted to, the Lord of Bloodshed under command of his interim queen.

“Please,” she begged the Spring lord through the mirror he’d given her, the forget-me-nots in his golden hair either a cruel jest or devastating providence. “Please spare him. Take his power but do not take his life.”

The High Lord laughed in answer, and the guilt stretched her to the point of breaking, her skin a dull hide drying in the sun. “It seems the hearts of human sluts are as open as their legs.”

She knew he felt her sadness, her fear when he returned from a swim in the ocean, salt glittering on his wings like diamonds in the sunset glow. He lifted her into his arms and retreated to the bathing chamber, showed her where to touch them to bring him to his knees, to make him fall apart with her name on his lips.

Ask me, he said, ask me once more.

“No.”

“Why not? Have you given up on me, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t want everything that came with her, she told him, wouldn’t desire her if he knew the wickedness of her heart, the crumbling ruins of her soul.

“How can I prove it to you?”

Her fingers clutched at his shirtfront, begging him to stay, to run, to see the deception at her core.

“Tell me the source of your strength. Tell me what gives you the power of ten males, of a hundred. Show me your weakness and I shall show you mine.”

Her faithful lover brought his forehead down to hers, resting it lightly, drew her hand up to bury it in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

“If my hair is cut, I lose my strength. I am as weak as any other until it grows long again.”

She grabbed a handful of it in her fist, pulling his head back sharply. But he only looked at her with that sun-bright devotion, the passages of his heart open to her to walk through as she pleased. She decided to leave a footprint there, the barest trace. Hoped it was enough for him to remember.

“I have a daughter to the south. She does not know what I am. All I do is for her.”

Something like understanding passed through him then, but she didn’t get the chance to question it for he captured her mouth with his own, sinking her down into the deep waters where only they lived, borne along by the current.

Moonlight glinted off the shears where she hovered over him hours later, praying for him to wake. To grab her wrists and throw her against the wall, or else to kiss her desperately and fly her as far as those wings could take them, past the edge of the world.

But he did not wake, and instead she cut each lock from his head, the thread in her chest ripping violently with each traitorous snip.

—

They paraded him through the temple in chains, the jeers and taunts hitting his back like a volley of arrows. The warrior god shackled like the slaves he so foolishly defended, reduced to the bastard-born nobody he feared lived at his core.

He found her at once among the crowd assembled, her beautiful face broken with agony, and even though he knew he should hate her the space where his anger lived felt hollow. The absence of her was more devastating than any of the whips that lashed at his back, the blunt blows to his chest, his legs.

His power gone, the feeble call of it sluggish in his veins, he could only watch as they brought the ropes forth. They lashed him to the great column at the center that held up the ceiling, painted with scenes of resplendent High Fae, their faces cold and cruel. He tried to tell her to go, to run, but he was too weak to speak, knew from the way she clutched the collar at her throat she’d never leave while he was still alive. He only hoped she’d be far enough away to miss the worst of it.

I’m sorry, he said as best he could, feeling the imprint of her body on his skin, in his bones. I’m sorry I couldn’t save us from this. I’m sorry I didn’t know until it was too late.

Hazel eyes lifted skyward, a prayer to the Mother on his dry, cracked lips. With a great heave he twisted, rammed his bound fists into the pillar he leaned against, ripping apart the world.

Stone rained down and there was screaming everywhere, thick dust pouring into his lungs and he waited for the crush, the flash of pain before it all went quiet and still. In the long tunnel of time he hoped to return as a tree somewhere in a quiet wood, to feel her sit in his shade, or else to be a clear pool she drank from, the splash of him over her face washing her clean.

And all at once he was shoved aside, a great boom echoing somewhere overhead, soft hair tickling his face, soothing his heated cheeks.

He opened his eyes to find her body splayed over him, taking the blow of the stone that would’ve been his death. A shimmer of gold disappeared into the dust engulfing the ruined temple, and he felt the pull in his chest begin to break, ever-reaching and grasping at the building darkness.

“Don’t go, sweetheart. I didn’t get enough. I want more. We should’ve had more.”

This brave human woman, his mate, her body broken and bleeding, reached a hand up and touched his face lightly, pain and love in her dawn-colored eyes.

“I’ll find you in the next world, the next life. I promise. And we will have time.”

A fierce, burning pain seared along his scalp. He heard someone shouting, felt a wave of night-dark power sweep over him before oblivion dragged him under, stealing the only thing he wanted, one last memory of her face.

But all he was left with were the spikes of an eight-pointed star on the crown of his head, the only remnant of her final words, his failures. Their future snatched away by the greed of death, the indifference of fate.

Five hundred years passed, and Cassian searched every face for hers, heart leaping at every flash of golden brown hair, every knowing grin in a crowded market. He’d almost given up the day he stepped into the Archeron manor when he saw her glaring across the room at him, when that thread in his chest yanked so violently he thought he’d been shot by an arrow, straight through. She didn’t remember him, of course, but he could’ve sworn a flicker of recognition passed through her, the past lingering in the core of their bones, woven into their skin.

And he knew in that moment, more than he’d ever known anything, that he’d rip every hair from his head for her. That no matter what war he had to win or building he had to shatter, he’d free her from the shackles of the world, from those in her heart, her mind. 

That they would have time.

---

Thank you if you got this far! I'm pretty proud of this one so I hope you enjoyed aka it didn't hurt too much. Shoutout to all the other awesome creators putting out amazing work this week. There is so much more to come!

[captianprices40thson]

Can you make a story for October, a male reader x soap. Where before the reader joined the 141 he was in a different military unit and one evening he got captured by the enemy and was murdered by dismemberment but some mad scientist there put him back together using the dismembered pieces. He came back by being hit by lighting. So now he kind of looks like frankenstein. he doesn't have all the bolts or dead skin, but he has one sliver gray eye. the other one is a light yellow, and he also has stitches on his face and his body. When he was finally rescued and back with his team, some were afraid of him and some belittled him. So he wears full body gear now so no one can fully see him. After joining the 141 he gets hurt really really REALLY badly and a some of his stitches rip, he tries to brush it off like it's nothing but soap refuses to believe him, so he kinda forcefully pulls male readers gear off and sees him body for the first time.

I'LL LEAVE THE REACTIONS OF SOAP TO YOU. Also can you do the reactions of the 141 too. Like maybe there in the room too when soap takes the gear off...

If you're not comfy with the dismemberment, you can just have it implied.

Happy early halloween, if you celebrate it🎃🎃🎃💖💖💖🙃🙃🙃

They took the credit for your second symphony, rewritten by machine and new technology.

Pairing: John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Male Reader

Requested: Yes

Word count: 5.4k

Pronouns used: You/Yourself. Reader referred to as Y/N and male titles/compliments.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood, gore, dismemberment to the best best of my ability, fluff, angst, so much death on god, brutal deaths, stitches, skin ripping, bad language.

Notes: Finished this at 1 in the morning and posting it during Japanese class at school, going to go over and review it soon, but I want to get this out soon as possible. I loved this request and just saying, my inbox is open! If you’re not sure on what I do and don’t write, check my page!

“Y/N?” “Huh? “Y/N, were you even listening?” Your commander asked, a stern look on her face. You didn’t even realise how zoned out you had been, oblivious to the fact that the vast majority of your team had already prepped up.

“Oh…Sorry, Captain.” You apologised, standing up from your seat on the bench and making way to go put on your gear. Of course you were going to be a bit freaked and zoned out, this was a deadly mission. You knew your Captain was going to need everyone to be in tip top shape for this mission to go smoothly, if you slipped up and did something wrong…it would cost lives.

“Come on, Y/N. I need my best man out there today, not distracted Y/N, okay?” Your Captain told you, giving you a small pat on the shoulder. Valencia was a nice woman, even let you call her ‘Val’ on the odd occasion. She was a good person, believed in the good of the world more than one person should. She believed in you as well, she knew you could be great.

You nodded, placing your helmet on and giving her a thumbs up. The rest of the team were just waiting for you to finish up before they would leave, an indicator that this mission was already unorganised. A bad feeling, like a black hole, had appeared in your stomach.

“Alright men! Let’s do this. You all know the plan. I want Oak and Close going in from the left, Wilson and Stampler on the right. O’Niel and Bennets are on standby back here and C/N will be heading in from behind as our sniper. We have MedVac ready for those who will need it. Remember, we are going after Andrei Kowalski and his men. This is capture or kill. All clear?” Valencia cut you from your thoughts of dread by announcing the mission was about to start. You’d all get into your helicopter and make your way there…then would come the warfare and violence. You had become null to it by now, the screams and bloodshed were all but nothing to you.

It was liked you had blinked and you were on the field. Time meant nothing to you as you ran through the warzone, the occasional screams of your team members were able to be heard from miles away, sometimes the radio would cackle and you’d catch them conversing with one another, but you were alone in your field…

Always alone.

“C/N? Do you have eyes on him?” Your Captain’s voice called in from the radio, bringing you back to the mission on hand.Your eyes adjusted to look through the scope aimed at the building the team was meant to be invadinging. The lack of your team members indicated they seemed to be receiving a little more resistance than expected.

“Not yet, Captain. I see some of his guards, but not him. I’ll try and get into a better position.” You responded, getting up from your spot on the floor. Your suit was heavier and harder to move in considering it was a camo sniper version, but it was better than being spotted and murdered because an enemy saw you.

You adjusted yourself and lay down on the wet ground. The mud helped cover parts of your gear that didn’t fit in with the terrain, but you still had that odd feeling. That sense of unease that you just couldn’t seem to shake. You had gotten this feeling before on other missions, but it never led to anything.

And it was never this bad.

“C/N. They’re breaching the building now. Mission’s been changed, we’re taking out Andrei at whatever cost. We won’t be able to capture him.” Valencia’s thick English accent came over your radio, startling you a bit. You were a trained sniper, but somehow you were always caught off guard by the one thing you can always expect. You radioed back, confirming you got the message and were proceeding with the instructions.

Your voice drowned out the sound of the footsteps behind you. The cackle of the radio concealed the heavy breathing of the soldier lurking just a few steps away from you. You moved your arms to push yourself up, the rustle of your clothing covering the sound of his body standing over yours, his feet either side of your torso.

“Boo.”

You knew that voice, that unmistakable voice that always seemed to have a smirk behind it. A witty tone that had no business being there. The stench of the cigarette that always seemed to follow the man standing above you. You quickly turned your body around, abandoning the sniper rifle you were holding and just focusing on the fact that he was standing above you. Your eyes snapped up to look at him, your pupils dilating as you processed that it was in fact him standing above you.

Creeper. You had given him that name. When you served as rookies together when you first joined the force, it had become a habit for him to appear out of the blue and scare the hell out of you. He was Creeper to you even after he betrayed your team and you’re fairly certain that's what he is to everyone else as well.

“Alons-” You whispered, but he cut you off, his gun whipping around from his side and now inches away from your eyes. Your breath hitched, knowing you were done for. You looked away from the gun and back up to him, his cold dark brown eye meeting yours. The other eye was a pure white, you cringed every time you thought of the incident which caused him to be blinded. You knew he blamed you…

Maybe that's what drove him to betrayal.

“It’s Creeper, Y/N. I don’t go by that name anymore.” He hissed, his finger on the trigger twitching as he spoke. He was serious, he was going to shoot you and have no mercy about it. This was it…you were going to die here.

“I’m not going to kill you with this gun, Y/N…” He began, lowering the gun a bit. You let go of the breath you were holding from relief, but that was met with a slap to the face that was what he did next. He placed the gun back into his hold and then reached for his back. His arm was up like he was stretching, but his hand quickly grasped the axe he attached to his back and brought it down so he could hold it in both his hands.

“I won’t regret this…at all.” He spat, bringing the axe up to his shoulder like he was about to swing a bat. Your eyes went wide and before you could say anything else, he swung. He swung right down to your neck.

You had heard alot about death. You had many ideas about it. You had heard it would be painful, you had heard it would be painless. You had heard you stayed conscious, you had heard it was over instantly. No matter what divine entity you did or didn’t believe in, it didn’t matter, death wasn’t the same for everyone. If you could still create thoughts after you died, yours would be praying this isn't what it was like for everyone who did. You didn’t want every kind soul to feel the red hot poker being pressed against your skin that was your death. 

After the pain, there was silence. If you were able to think, you would be grateful for it. It would be comforting, calming to your soul to finally be at rest after an impossible amount of years without it. For once, your soul rested unbothered, ready to let go of the fraying rope that was your life.

Then you woke up.

The light was blinding, you would assume you were in heaven, but that would be entirely incorrect. Your ears rang with the most awful noise one could hear, an ear splitting ringing that would drive you insane if it was played for more than five minutes. What felt like a jolt of electricity slammed through your body like a hammer down on a nail. The blinding light disappeared as quick as a snap.

The first thing you noticed was the pain. It circled around all your main joints and connections between the body. Your wrists, knees, ankles, elbows, neck…everything ached. Then you felt the feeling of something pulling on all of your skin, like that time you received stitches in the webbing of your thumb, but everywhere else on your body that ached, along with across your face.

You tried to move your neck first, turn it and try to figure out where you were. The only thing you could see from your head being pointed directly up was a sort of dark blue hue that made the place seem depressing and creepy, like the only light was coming from the moon outside. You were able to move it, but it was stiff and harder than it would usually be. That was your first sign that something was off.

Your head looked down to inspect where you were, taking in the fact you were laying down on a cold metal table. You weren’t restrained or anything, but you were getting major creepy vibes. It felt cool on your back, it was clear that you probably hadn’t been laying there all that long, or the heat from your body would’ve warmed it up. Then you looked down at your hands as you tried to move them.

The stitches and ever so slightly discoloured skin was your second sign that something was off.

You sat up, your body rigid and hard like a doll being used for the first time. You weren’t in your normal clothes, just a simple robe that you’d wear in a hospital if surgery was performed on you, and by the looks of it, it had. 

You were able to move your arm up and inspect it, cringing at the stitches and blood. Several questions ran through your mind, the main one being ‘How the hell am I alive?’ and the second being ‘What the hell happened to me?’ Everything hurts, especially your neck. Your bones felt like they had been removed and remoulded, it all felt too weird to you. Your skin didn’t feel like your own.

A cold and icy voice broke you out of your mesmerised trance of inspecting your body. It came from seemingly nowhere. It sounded…delighted. Your eyes flickered over to the shadows in the corner, one of them was moving towards you. 

It was a man, probably around 6 feet with a stupid grin on his face. His skin was pale, paler than the moonlight shining in through the window above. He slowly walked over to you, hands behind his back like a villain.

“Finally…finally it fucking worked!” He grinned, shaking his head like he had seen something he couldn’t believe. You couldn’t blame him, what was happening was unbelievable. You quickly slid off the table, groaning as you moved for the first time in what would feel like to your body.

“What…the fuck did you do? W-What is this? What happened?!” You called out, your voice cracking as it was used for the first time in ages. You coughed, trying to make it not as itchy. It wasn’t working.

“Y/N…You’re still as animated as ever.” He grinned, gesturing to you and your stitched up body. You wanted to strangle him, clearly he had done something awful to you that you were going to get him to explain, regardless of whatever threats you had to make.

“Answer me right now you…you madman.” You hissed, walking towards him. Every step hurt, like it wasn’t meant to be taken. He smiled, taking a breath before speaking again.

“Y/N…Let me explain. Do you remember the night you went on the mission to kill my good friend Andrei Kowalski…do you remember being killed by your old friend Creeper? You should…you should remember being decapitated. Well…I was given your body…or what was left of it after Creeper chopped it up into a million pieces. Under strict orders from Andrei…to bring you back. So…I stitched you back up. Like you were my very own Frankenstien’s monster. The plan was to bring you back to life the same way Frankenstien had…and it worked.” The man smiled, seemingly okay with telling you his entire plan. You couldn’t decide whether he was stupid or just overly confident in himself that you wouldn’t escape and go find your team. “What now?” You asked, feeling the need to get into his head. After all, this man had literally just reanimated your dead body. He brought back a dead man and just stood there like an evil little Einstein.

“Now…I will bring you to him. So he can kill you over and over again…and you’ll come back every time.” He grinned and before you could react, he grabbed your hand and attempted to pull you closer to him in order to trap you. What he obviously didn’t anticipate was that your years of military training and work would stay with you and chime in when you needed it most.

You grabbed his arm, pulling him towards you and then placing your leg behind his so you could throw his balance off and keep him on the ground. You slammed him down and placed your foot on his chest, grabbing a metal rod just a few inches away from you and raising it high, just how Creeper had done.

“Y/N. Y/N WA-” He called out, extending a hand out to try and reason with you, but you brought it down on his head, instantly crushing his skull. You slammed it down over and over, making sure that if anyone even tried to bring this monster back from the dead, it would be impossible. You didn’t stop until you could see the brain sticking to the bat, that’s when you knew it was done.

You dropped the metal rod and stood there for a moment, huffing and puffing as you figured out what you had just done. You looked up from his body and to your horrible convenience, there was a mirror just in front of you. You stood in front of it, observing what you looked like.

There were clear and major differences that you could see so far. The first one being your eyes, they didn’t look the same as they had done before. One of them, the one on the left was a light yellow and the right one was a silver grey. It was creepy and inhuman, there was no pupil or iris either…just pure colour. You would question how you could still see, but you were too distracted by everything else and too high off of fear to question anything.

Your skin was neatly stitched together with a white thread, standing out against your skin tone. Most of the stitching wasn’t visible, but when it was it wasn’t too obvious, sort of the stitching you’d see on your friend’s hand when they’d get a deep cut or something. Just that, pulling your skin together. There was blood along most of the lines, the dried stuff was yours, the fresh belonged to Mr Crazy that you had never gotten the name of.

“Y/N?” A voice called out. Your eyes snapped over to the door in the corner or the room, the door was open. Standing in it, Valencia and the rest of your team. Valencia herself looked horrified as you stood over his dead body, his blood now mixing in with yours. The darkness in the lab made it look like you were a shadow, a ghost…a monster.

“Val-” You began, but were cut off by her running up to you and giving you a hug. You were caught off guard, she had never shown any affection to you, let alone physical. This was unlike her in so many ways.

“You idiot. We thought you died. We tracked your radio here but-” She spoke, cutting herself off as she made eye contact with you, or tried to. Your silver and yellow eyes had confused her, then she saw all the stitches. The one across your face concerned her the most.

“Y/N…what the hell happened to you?” She whispered, stepping back and raising her gun slightly. As the rest of the team looked over to you, they did the same. Placing their weapons in a hand that they’d be able to use in case you attacked them. You couldn’t explain yourself, you really couldn’t. Hell, even if you didn’t fully know what had happened to you, there was no way you could explain yourself.

“Captain…don’t…I-I’m not a threat.”  You whispered, stepping forward and raising your hand. To your surprise, she took a further step back, some of the men even raised their shields. She clutched her gun, raising it further to her chest. That's when you realised, you were not a human to these people you called your friends…

You were a monster.

______________________

“Why’d you join the 141?” 

“Huh?”

“Why’d you join us? You were a part of The Seekers, no? They’re a pretty elite team. Why’d you drop them for us?” Soap asked, shuffling a bit closer to you as you sat on the bench. It had been little over five months since you had joined the team and the connection between you and Soap had formed instantly. Unsurprisingly, the team members didn’t mind the fact your entire body was covered up. They had Ghost on the team, they weren’t going to judge you.

“Oh I…a mission went wrong. I didn’t feel like I could stay with them and neither did they.” You replied after a moment of thinking. For a minute, you had wanted to refrain from telling Soap the actual reason for it. Technically, it was the truth so that was going to lend a hand to your moral argument.

“Was it the same mission that…caused you to cover up?” He asked again. You thought about hitting him with the ‘that's enough’ that you had used before when he asked to see your face a while back, but you were close now. You felt he had a right to know now.

You gave a small nod, the glasses you wore over your balaclava covering your expression. You were glad he was respectful with his questions, never pushing you to answer anything you didn’t and never stepping over the line you had drawn. You didn’t want to get attached to this team as quickly as you had, but Mr MacTavish had broken down your walls quicker than you could put them up.

“C/N, Soap. We’re going to head out now, Gaz just got back with the all clear. Good to see you’re both in gear.” Ghost interrupted you two as he walked into the gear room. You were reminded that you were in fact, in the military and not some hangout session with Soap. You nodded, getting up and holding out your hand to pull the slightly shorter man up.

“Oooh, thank you M’lord.” He smiled as he took your hand, pulling himself up. You would roll your eyes if you could, so you just let out a small scoff. He chuckled as he walked with you to the deployment area, knowing they were in for a hell of a journey.

_____

“Y/N? You okay?” Soap’s voice cackled in over the radio as you made your way through the little abandoned city. The rest of the team were over in another section, leaving Soap and Gaz back at a small protected setup area. You were just so lucky to have Soap watching over you from the cameras that had been placed in all the buildings before it was abandoned. How your team had access to them, you had no clue. All you knew was that your man was here and you were to take him down.

“All good over here, Soap. Tell me if you see one of those fuckers hiding behind a corner.” You spoke back, pressing down on the radio with your gloved hand to respond to the man you were developing a small attraction to, whether you knew it or not.

“There’s a guy around the corner, knife him.” Soap informed you, shuffling from where he was laying in the safe room. You nodded, taking his advice and running round the corner, throwing and pinning the man to the wall, knifing the guy in the throat. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone when he came back.

“Nice kill. You should do that to me sometime.” He smirked, his Scottish accent only adding to his sassiness. You groaned at his painful attempt at flirting, firing back at him.

“You want me to kill you? Don’t worry, I'm already planning it.” You smiled, making your way through the destruction that was the ruined town of Norest.

“Do you have plans to kill every one of us?”

“Nope, just you.”

“I’m flattered. How’d ye do it?”

“If I tell you, I’d have to change my plan.”

“Fair play.” Soap smiled, checking the cameras to watch you move. He was so intrigued by you. He had never seen your face, never bothered to check your file. He respected you too much…along with the fact Gaz had caught him snooping around in the file area. But the respect came first.

Sometimes, he’d gaze at you and just wonder what it would be like to see what was under your gear. He wanted to see you, the real you. His sketchbooks were filled with a thousand pictures of what he imagined you looked like, each picture different from the last. Did you have bright blue eyes, ivory skin and wavy ginger hair, or did you have beautiful dark brown eyes, mahogany skin and medium length locs? Perhaps you had acne, perhaps you had a scar going across your left eyebrow. He didn’t have a clue what you looked like, but he knew you were handsome.

“MacTavish? Are you still with me?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, not even realising he was kicking his feet like a schoolgirl (Gaz was utterly bewildered, but was unable to comment because he was actually doing his job and guiding his other teammates across the town in search of the man they had to find.) “Aye, I’m ‘ere.” “Good, thought I’d lost you. I need you to check around me. Pretty sure I heard our guy but I wanna make sure.” You told him, making sure to keep quiet. Your stitches were getting a bit itchy, but you could scratch them later when you were by yourself. It wouldn’t look natural for Soap to just see you scratch the middle of your face in a specific pattern and for him to not question it.

“Right, gimme a sec.”

There was a silence, what felt like an eternity of waiting before you got a response from the scott. It was like he was purposefully keeping you on your toes, wanting to see you squirm and hide for no apparent reason other than he was a chaotic man.

“Yeah, he’s there. I’ve informed Gaz and he’ll direct Ghost and Price over to you. He’s a few metres away, you could sneak up on him and take him down from behind.” Soap spoke, clearly moving as he did. He would be looking over at Gaz and getting his readings on Price and Ghost as he explained the situation to you.

You gave a nod, knowing he could see you. Peering round the corner, Soap wasn’t lying. The dark slicked back hair, tall physique and tanned skin let you know this was your guy. You slipped your hand into your 

You ran up to the taller man, placing your gun to the back of his neck and kicking his knee so that he’d fall and you’d be able to kill him nice and swift with no hassle or fuss whatsoever. Unfortunately, the man had different plans.

He quickly turned around, grabbing your gun and throwing it to the side. You were unable to press down on the back of his knees, because he had turned around and was now facing you. You reached for your knife, but were stopped when you felt his foot on your chest. It took a second to register what was happening, but by the time it did you were shoved into an already cracked wall.

You took a moment, knowing you didn’t have one. You had most likely gotten a concussion from the hit, but you couldn’t focus on that now. Just as you were about to grab your gun which had been thrown aside, the man stopped you. He grabbed onto your mask, his nails digging in past the fabric and into the stitched skin below, and shoved your head down to the floor once more. 

The screams of Soap came in through your radio, assorted word vomic that you couldn’t actually make out with everything spinning and your ears ringing. You’d hope he’d come to you and save you, but as soon as your mind stopped spinning, you realised you didn’t actually want him to save you. There was blood dripping and staining your mask. Your blood. It was an unnatural amount for something that shouldn’t have even drawn more than a drop of the red liquid, which could only mean one thing.

Your stitches ripped.

It seemed that your enemy had also been caught off by the amount of blood, giving you just a few seconds to grab the gun, aim it at his face and completely miss, hitting his shoulder instead. He grabbed it in pain and immediately resorted to grabbing out his own knife and stabbing it right into your stomach, ripping it through the skin and dragging a line down it. You cried in pain as your flesh was exposed and your stitches ripped, causing even further damage. 

Why wasn’t he killing you? Why not put you out of your misery and shove that knife right into your face. Why make you suffer? There were so many questions and not enough time to answer them. Well, there was probably enough time, but that would require knowing what the actual fuck was going on.

“Y/N!” You breathed a sigh of relief as you heard the sound of your Captain running towards you, Ghost right behind. The unmistakable noise of a gunshot colliding with someone’s head put a smile on your face, watching as the man fell to the floor.

“Y/N, You alright?” Price asked, kneeling down beside you as you pushed yourself up against the wall. Your hand was on your chest, covering up any exposed skin or blood. You nodded, trying to pass it off as if you were just shaken up. You couldn’t let them see…you.

“Y/N! You idiot!” The familiar Scottish accent put a smile on your face, watching the Scottsman run towards you was a relieving sight at first…but then you remembered what happened.

“Y/N, you alright?”

“Don’t look.” “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“You won’t like what you see, just step away. All four of you.” “I have a right to know. Are you injured?”

“No-No just go.” “Y/N, Let me see-”

You would’ve liked to protest more, but you were losing too much blood to fight him. Soap had pulled your hands back, moving your shirt so he could see the heavy amount of blood loss. He looked up at your glasses, noticing the blood on your mask. He knew what he had to do, even if he didn’t like it. 

When he removed your mask, your glasses came down with it. Gravity had decided to fuck you over more than you had already been fucked. There was a silence as the whole team looked over at you, the ripped stitching across your face…and your eyes. They were, if anything, the biggest indicator that something was different with you.

“S-Soap…” You began, but you couldn’t figure out how to finish what you were saying. You just wanted him to say something, say anything. Instead, he was just staring. You had no idea what he was thinking about, but you just knew he was horrified with you, along with the rest of the 141. 

“Oh…oh Y/N…What…what the hell happened to you?” He whispered and to your surprise, he placed a hand on your bloodied cheek. He looked concerned…but he wasn’t scared of you like you’d expected. He got closer instead of backing away, that’s what made him different from your old team.

“Soap…I’m sorry for not telling you…or anyone else about…” You trailed off, using an arm to gesture to yourself. You had no idea what he was thinking about, you could only hope it was something good about you. He was clearly about to say something when Price butted in first.

“You two, we should go. We can all have a…chat after Y/N isn’t bleeding out infront of us.” Price’s rough British accent made him seem more serious in all situations he’s in. This one especially. Soap gave a nod and turned back to you, his eyes not full of fear or hatred…just sympathy.

_______ “Do you think I’m a freak, though?” You asked as Soap walked around your hospital bed. It had been a few days ever since the incident had happened. Soap kept a close eye on you and reported back on your condition to the rest of the team. When you had woken up, the questions were slow and boring…but now you were finally opening your walls and so was he.

“No…I don’t think you are. I mean-I’ve got no idea what exactly you are, but you’re not a freak. Just…different.” He responded, careful to not say anything that might upset you. You took note of this, feeling a bit hurt that he was censoring himself, but knowing why he was doing it helped a bit.

“You don’t have to filter yourself, John. Tell me…any questions that you have.” You practically begged him. The whole reason you covered yourself up was not to be seen as different, but now that it was useless, it was useless for Soap to cover his questions up. It took a while for him to gather up the courage to ask you something, but he did.

“What…what happened to you? I’m assuming you weren’t born like this.” He questioned, trying to add a little humour to the end of the message but failing miserably. You took a breath and told him everything. The mission, what death felt like, killing the man who brought you back to life, not belonging to your team anymore because of what had happened. By the end, you were sure Soap was tearing up. He was an emotional man, you couldn’t blame him.

“I…I’m gonna be honest, Y/N…that’s really fucking depressing.” He expressed, placing a hand on his mouth. You stared at him for a moment, his eyes staring back into yours. He was fascinated by you, what you looked like. He was sure he had a sketch in his book that looked exactly like you…minus the stitching and the eyes.

“The rest of the team…what do they think?” You asked, closing your eyes and looking up. You needed to know the reactions of everyone in the team, you couldn’t live with yourself not knowing their actual opinions on who and what you were.

“Ghost and Gaz are…surprisingly alright with it. Price was a bit shocked, he was only shown a photo of you before…all that happened. But mainly..they don’t mind. When you come back to active duty…I don’t think you’d need to cover up as much anymore. You still can, if you want. Not gonna force you.” Soap told you, sitting down next to your bed. You were grateful for him in times like these, where he reminded you that you were no longer alone. He was always there for you…you loved him for that.

You loved that he was kind to you.

You loved that Soap was so understanding and patient.

You loved…

You loved Soap.

“I will say though,” his words cut you out of your sudden very gay realisation, turning to face him as he sat next to your bed. “You are way more attractive than anything I could even imagine sketching up.” (Happy Halloween!)

[theatrekidenergy]

“ Dimly lit shadows “

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Pairings : N/A (gen fic)

Words : 2,511

Characters : Matt Murdock “Daredevil” , Marc Spector & Steven Grant “Moon Knight”

Summary : When Matt Murdock and Marc Spector find themselves fighting an ancient beast with a message to share, the small mission Moon Knight had been sent on to New York for quickly evolves upon the meeting of the local vigilante — Daredevil.

Ao3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/57350671

AN : This is my first fic, interaction is genuinely so so appreciated and thank you so much for coming by to read it! Please keep in mind English isn’t my native tongue so there may be some mistakes I might’ve missed during the writing process. View Ao3 for further author’s notes <3

Read fic below cut

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January 24th, 12:34 am - EARTH-616 : “Hell’s Kitchen” New York, NY, USA

Matt Murdock lay perched on the edge of a rooftop, the cool night air whispering past him as he tuned into the ever bustling symphony of sensory input from the city below that was ever amplified in his head. Every string of input amplified by 10, Hell's Kitchen was alive with its usual nocturnal sound – distant sirens wailing like wolves, the murmur of conversations from late-night dwellers, and over all the heartbeat of a city that never received a blink of sleep was all to familiar to the New York native. The place he’d called home since his youth was a cacophony of sound, smell, and sensation. Tonight, the air carried a distinct odor, a foul mixture of sewer water and human waste, rising from the west, accompanied by a contrasting scent coming from the string of smaller restaurants on 14th. It all felt fitting for the restless environment below his heels.

Suddenly, a sharp, unfamiliar sound sliced through the familiar noise, as if the claws of a bear were raking across a chalkboard. It sent a shiver down his spine. He sprang into action, leaping from the rooftop and plunging into the labyrinth of alleys. The sound was easy to track, its eerie resonance guiding him to the darkest corner of the city. From the corner of the street it looked like a million other big cities, and from the inner passage way of the alley it looked like the inner passage way of a million other alleys sprawled across the United States; dimly lit, a couple broken glass bottles, and the sound of an electrical hum about 3 stories up.

Landing silently, he crouched, his leather suit crinkling softly against his shoulder blade. He tilted his head, every sense straining. Something moved, swift and ghostly, nearly silent to him which was an incredibly difficult feat to achieve, throwing him off. He pinpointed the source and lashed out with his billy club. It struck something solid and he heard the muscles of the creature contract inwards. The creature roared, a sound of raw flesh slamming into a garbage bin with a metallic clang. Matt’s brow furrowed. “Is this some big dog? What the hell is this?” He murmured lowly to himself in a quick nod of reaction.

Before he could process the unknown creature in front of him, another figure landed beside him. The so-called Moon Knight, clad in white that seemed to glow in the dim alley, his suit bearing the ceremonial armor of Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon. His eyes, hidden behind his mask, glinted with a hazy, ethereal light. Without hesitation, he joined the fray, attacking the invisible foes with deadly precision in the same way he had done a plethora of times before this encounter.

Moon Knight's movements were a blur, each strike precise and powerful. Matt decided in a split second to follow the distinct sounds of combat, he dodged to the left following the noise of the claws pattering across the damp concrete and making his best landing on an attack. He spun, his club striking the air where he sensed movement, the leather of his suit rustling with each motion as the club collided with the creature perceisely in the head.

Moon Knight slowed his movements for just a millisecond, staring at the Daredevil in shock. “You can see them?” he demanded, his breath heavy from the exertion, before subjecting the jackal to another bone-crunching kick, driving it to the ground.

Matt hesitated. Revealing his blindness wasn’t an option. “Yes?” He added between blows to the ancient beast.

Marc’s eyes widened behind his mask. “There are avatars in New York?” he asked, the surprise evident in his voice. How had he not seen this man in Cairo? Was another god brought back and had chosen him as their avatar? If he was an enemy, why would he be helping to fight the jackal? How did he track the jackal down before him in the first place? His suit seemed vaguely reminiscent of Set’s avatar, but if so, what happened to the original avatar he had seen in Cairo? Too many questions, too little time.

Matt blinked. “What?”

Moon Knight pressed on, his voice growing increasingly more demanding, “What god do you serve?”

“Jesus?” Matt replied with a moment of confusion and a furrow in his brow, then quickly added, “I’m Catholic?”

Spector stared at him in utter bewilderment. “What?”

“Yeah, Catholic,” Matt repeated, feeling more confused than ever. What on earth was he on about? Who — No, what was an avatar?

“I’m not even surprised anymore,” Marc muttered in resignation, the jackal recovering its footing. He lunged at it, grappling at the crescent moon in his chest and spearing it directly in the chest repeatedly, driving it in with relentless blows. Matt joined in, his club a flash of motion, striking the invisible foe with deadly accuracy.

The jackal howled, its form flickering into visibility to Moon Knight under the assault. It was a grotesque creature, all sinew and teeth, eyes burning with an unnatural fire. Matt could feel its presence, a malevolent force that chilled his blood. He ducked under a swipe of its claws, the air whistling tight past his ear, and countered with a blow to its midsection, the impact reverberating up his arm.

The jackal snarled, lashing out wildly. Matt sidestepped, feeling the rush of air as its claws missed him by inches. He swung his billy club, connecting with the side of its head, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone. The creature staggered, but didn't fall. It was tenacious, driven by some dark force.

Moon Knight seized the moment, delivering a powerful kick to its chest, sending it crashing into a wall. The creature slumped, its form flickering and fading. Matt could hear its labored breathing, the rasp of desperation of a creature not quite dead and not quite alive either. He stepped forward, ready to deliver the final blow, but Moon Knight Held the vigilante back.

“Stop.” he said, his voice firm. “We need to know what it wants.”

Matt hesitated, then nodded to the unfamiliar man. He could feel the creature's fear, its panic. He crouched beside it, listening intently to its ragged breaths. “Who sent you?” the avatar demanded.

The jackal snarled with weakness and baring its teeth as a glow of pure divine anger engulfed its form, its eyes and flesh glowing through the cracks of callused skin as if it were being taken over by means of possession. “You’ll never stop us,” it hissed, it’s possessor gave the previously voiceless monster a voice of sheer guttural rasp in an anatomy not built for human speech. “The gods are rising.”

The gods are rising. It was a chilling string of words. One that threw every form of his belief into questioning. He tightened his grip on the billy club. “We’ll see about that.” Spoke Moon Knight, his tone soaking with spite towards the event.

With a final, defiant snarl, the jackal dissolved into nothingness, the glow of its eyes leaving its form, leaving only a dark stain on the ground. Matt straightened, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He turned to Moon Knight, who was breathing heavily but standing firm.

“Looks like we have a lot to discuss,” Matt said, his voice steady despite the utter confusion inside him. This is not exactly the realm of fight that he’s familiar with. “For example, who are you? And what is Any of this suppose to mean?” The question was spoken intensely, venom in each lick of noise.

“I am Moon Knight, Avatar of Kohnshu — Egyptian god of the moon.” And then there was a pause. There was a pause where every briefly emitted minuscule sound was so focused, so tied into one, that every single heart beat, every single foot step, every single distant whisper all collided into one and created such a deafening silence unexplainable by all forms of human language. When the one thing you’ve spent your life devoting too, your faith, is suddenly interrupted by the claim there were multiple gods, there’s no word that can be spoken to describe that feeling because there was something undeniably true about whoever was standing in front of him. He heard the way his heartbeat didn’t speed up when he spoke his claim, he knew intrinsically that he wasn’t lying, but that would throw his perception of the world he lived in for chaos.

Matt Murdock wasn’t one to typically accept any word spoken to him with such ease, let alone a complete stranger; something felt immensely different about the way he spoke, about the way the air felt thinner when this supposed ‘avatar’ filled with the possession of pure divinity came into being next to him, and for just a second nothing felt true. Every word sliding off every tongue in the whole of New York City from Hell’s Kitchen to Manhattan was all lies, that he was sure of more than ever before. Even if he knew he was lying to himself, the thought brought an ounce of reassurance that maybe the claim was false.

“The Egyptian gods are referred to as myth for a reason.” Murdock asserted stiffly. “If that’s the case why am I here? Huh?” Marc challenged, he moved closer by about a foot, one arm pointing towards Matt and one still by his side guarding his back, “You heard the jackal, the gods are coming.” There was a brief moment of silence, “I’m going to need an explanation of who you are.” Marc added.

“I’m Daredevil.” Matt said plainly, growing more on guard with each passing second. Even if he knew the man opposite him wasn’t lying, he was given no guarantee that he didn’t have any malicious intent. “Also, I’m pretty damn sure I’m not the one who has explaining to do. What is an avatar. What do you mean by the gods are coming, and what on earth were we just fighting because, correct me if I’m wrong, but jackals — if that’s what you called it; 1. can’t talk 2. live in Africa, and 3. Shouldn’t be able to nearly knock two grown men to their knees.” Matt’s tone was ever so accusatory, but for clearly justified reasons.

Marc hesitated, how could this man see jackals and not be an avatar? How on earth did he track it down before him? What information am I sacrificing if this man is just pretending to work with me?

“Marc I’m really not sure you should be revealing this much information this quickly, this isn’t exactly like you.” Steven said quite forcefully, a glimmer of reflection coming through a broken bottle sprawled in dozens of pieces across the concrete.

Marc paused for a second to think about the advice handed to him, but decided to go against it. “An avatar,” he paused to form his next choice of words carefully, “An avatar is the person who, for as far as I knew up until about 15 minutes ago, is someone who is selected by an ancient Egyptian god to pursue their will on earth, using the person they’ve selected to fight for their purpose.” Marc explained.

“So what I’m asking you, ‘Daredevil’, is how on earth you can see jackals if you aren’t an avatar of an Egyptian god, let alone that you claim to be the avatar of Jesus or what ever.” Spector noted while moving closer, “I never claimed to be an avatar, I just said I’m Catholic. I’ve never heard of any of this that you’re talking about, the whole Egyptian god thing isn’t exactly in my line of work. I deal with the problems people face, I don’t get into all of the magic that the avengers deal with.” He replied putting his hands up.

There wasn’t a moment of silence before Marc had practically interrupted him at the tail end of his phrase “Then how could you see them?” he barked grabbing Matt by the collar of his suit, “I can’t see them,” Murdock relented. “I’m blind.” He explained gesturing losely towards himself, Marc registered this and released him from his grasp in a flicker of confusion. It was evident the other man was confused based on sheer body language alone.

“Explain to me how he could’ve fought like that if he couldn’t even see his opponent? How did he land any attack or dodge?” Steven questioned. “I don’t know.” Marc whispered quietly, but the question did warrant an answer. “How did you attack it then? I’m unlikely to believe a blind man could’ve dodged that many attacks from a creature he could not see.” the words were spat with a level of accusation, “I could hear them. Every small noise I could hear. If you aren’t lying about being an avatar or what not of a literal god then it shouldn’t take much to wrap your head around the fact that my senses are hyper tuned in to every aspect of my surroundings.” Matt said taking a step closer.

So, to test a likely risky guess of this claim, Marc thought carefully about his next actions. If he was blind there was no risk in this action, and if he wasn’t than it wouldn’t be hard to take him down in a fight. He allowed the mask of moon knight to release his form, unwinding around him layers of intricately shaped bindings, leaving him standing in his civilian clothes; a plain black t-shirt and worn in jeans.

“And you’re positive you can’t see my suit right now?” He questioned, knowing well that the suit was no longer on; his heart beating ever so slightly faster creating a rough rythm in his chest audible to Murdock. “That’s kind of what the whole blind thing means. That I quite literally cannot see.” Matt replied plainly. “Oh and I heard your suit come undone but no I have no clue what it looked like, and what you look like either.. I assure you it’s not at all hard to understand.” He explained.

Marc hesitated. “Okay. Well, if I see you again — and given the fact you aren’t currently working against me, I’ll stay out of your hair, we can truce on that.”

“As long as you don’t interfere with what I need to do here and you stick to what’s yours, I can agree to that. But if you ever, and I mean ever, try to cause havoc in Hell’s Kitchen I will find you and I won’t be as considerate.” Murdock warned, his tone dead serious.

There was a flick of wind in the air, the urban landscape behind them unresting, and a low “Then until next time, Daredevil.” aired from Marc’s mouth until Matt walked passed him, jumping onto the metal lining of a stair case towards the roof top, leaving the mercenary alone in the dim city alley as the first sprinkles of rain fall pattered across the pavement.

[a-crawling-chaos]

The Tragedy Of John Doe: a Da Capo Aria

(ao3, also under cut)

" A Da Capo Aria is a musical structure composed of three sections: the first could be a standalone piece with full accompaniment. The second contrasts with the first in style, musical key, and mood, often with only piano accompaniment. The third is a repeat of the first section, hence "da capo" or begin from the start. This section often has embellishments from the singer."

The first section is John's process of moving from the entity to John Doe, gaining humanity. (eps 1-20)

The second section is after 20, when he's in the dark world. It's an aria, a solo. The piano accompaniment is the memory/idea of Arthur persisting with John throughout.

The third section is a repeat of the first, with embellishments. Or, him learning how to function with humanity, but it's different because once upon a time he HAD that sense of humanity. So it's more remembering who he wants to be than learning anew. (eps 24-intermezzo)

start

Rise from the ashes, oh phoenix of gold

Remember your virtue from stories untold

Hold close your dear friend here for he's all you've got

But keep in your sins, friend, else all is for naught

You've stolen his eyes now his heart mirrors yours

Longing for sweetness yet gilded and cold

Trust comes in a poem, a promise, a song

He has deadly hope now but oh not for long

You're hastur's heart, yes? won't let you forget

Bring him, my king, up to the pulpit

Puppeted pleasantries shall end in strife

"I'll never forget you" he breathes as the knife

Cuts at his heartstrings with few simple words

"Goodbye" you whisper, the trigger now pulled.

aria

Awoken in darkness

Cold, cruel, constricting

My lungs that now expand with

Each beat of my heart as it remembers

Your (our) pulse under my (our) fingertips

A steady tempo to my new-old symphony turned refrain

Am i hastur's heart or yours? I yearn for the latter

But under threat of infinity, i'm once again the first.

da capo

Rise from the ashes, canary of gold

Remember your virtue from stories untold

Hold close your dear friend here for he's all you've got

But keep in your sins, friend, else all is for naught

You've stolen his eyes back, his heart mirrors yours

Longing for sweetness yet guilted and cold

Trust comes in a poem, a promise, a song

He has deadly faith now but oh not for long

You're hastur's heart, yes? it lets you forget

Bring him, "my king", up to the pulpit

Puppeted pleasantries shall end in strife

"I can't forget you" he breathes as the knife

Cuts at his heartstrings with few simple words

"Do it." you whisper, the trigger now pulled.

[basically kayne refers to his Offer in intermezzo as a Da Capo al Coda, and because i'm a sucker for musical symbolism in this podcast i started looking through the musical terms wikipedia page. in a cathedral. as one does. then the brainworm hit yadda yadda and here we are today. (yeah this is a musical thing but im not a composer just a shitty notes app poet)]

[sashi-ya]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. [chapter 4] 𝚔𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚔𝚒 𝚋𝚢𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚢𝚊 𝚡 𝚏! 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛[+18]

✦ adapted to x! reader from my original oc story. ✦ tw: romance & porn. a lot more romance, and a lot of passionate love making too. Inspired on real places in Kyoto. I invented, however, a festival and a legend. shower sex. food play. public sex. impregnation kink. ✦ chapter 1 / chapter 2/ chapter 3/ chapter 5

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞���� 𝟒: 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐢 [𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝟐: 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐤𝐲]

“Blessed with eternal love those who see, in between the lights of a thousand lanterns in the sky, the white ray of the ghost lovers rise”

Byakuya turns you around, his hands on your back. Still panting, you can even feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. His frown is relaxed, his eyes are in heaven… he is tired, you can see it. And you haven’t ever seen him that way.

“Are you ok, Taicho?” you ask, shyly, moving away the dishevelled hairs off his face.

“Taicho… heh” he scoffs; caressing your face with the soft surface of his palms. “Don’t call me Taicho here, is not necessary… call me Byakuya”.

You smile, so slowly and sweetly. Resting your cheek on his hand, closing your eyes in total peace. It feels as if your heart would be weightless, where there are no problems nor responsibilities. No hollows, no Quincy, no Espada nor any type of enemy.

“Come on, let’s take a shower. I wanna show you something tonight”

Soapy water running through your bodies, his hands touching you like feathers. It’s so delicate, so delicious. Lust seems to be endless, for him, for you.

Byakuya grabs your hand and plants a kiss on your wrist while you pass your nails through his wet onyx hair. The noble pulls you closer to his body, your breasts pressed against his pale, hairless chest. Your forearms rest on his shoulders, with hands hanging loosely in between his shoulder blades.

“Thank you for this, Tai- Byakuya” you whisper, with water drops pooling in your lashes.

“It’s me who should thank you, (Name)” he whispers, pulling his hair back… so effortlessly looking like the god of beauty and perfection himself.

A kiss, so very deep. Your back now pressed against the marble tiles of such luxurious shower, your legs around his waist and his hands holding you up by the back of your thighs.

You, nor him, understand where does the need, the desire, come from… it seems like you are never satisfied, as if you needed him inside and him to be buried deep into you all the time. The more your skins get closer, the more you need the other. Never ending lust, eternal concupiscence… where does it come from?

What motivates two souls to join? What makes them be so hungry, so thirsty for listening to the beautiful symphony of moaning and whining and grunting?

Is it… perhaps…

“Nghh… Byakuya~” “Mine… (Name) just be mine… only mine”

Another, and another time, and until the hot water runs out. And when your bellies grunt, and maybe pushing yourself to the limits more… that’s when you stop.

It’s ok, nobody will see you two walking through the streets of old Kyoto. Yet, he offers you beautiful traditional clothes. “You would look beautiful in pink” he comments, showing you a piece of the finest yukata, your eyes have ever seen.

“Pink like the petals you cast, beautiful as your Bankai ~” you dare to sound like a poet. You can’t contain the joy inside of you, it’s nothing but pure love what moves you now.

“Sharp like you, deadly like your lips, shimmery as your eyes” he follows you. Maybe he enjoys poetry a lot more than you think, or it’s just that his heart is finally melting down.

You giggle, grabbing the yukata from his noble hands, on tippy toes kissing his lips with a butterfly kiss.

Byakuya looks at you for brief seconds, as if he were lost in a sky of a thousand million stars. And you do too, knowing that he was the brightest of them all…

Byakuya excuses himself for a second and gets out of the room. Not five minutes passed, that he is back again. He offers you his hand and both walk outside the manor. You look at him surprised. Finally, holding hands? Is it allowed in here?

“Come on, we need to get there in time” he tells you, once his fingers wrap around yours.

“Where, Byakuya?” you ask, not really caring about the destiny. You can only enjoy the way his hand feels on yours.

“You will see once we get there” the captain explains as he guides you to a little red tori near the house, still on the beach. Tori are known to be the doors of Gods, and also a way of getting places for Shinigami.

Soon, and as you walk through the holly red arc, the warm lights of traditional lanterns welcome you into the main historical street of Kyoto.

“Oh-“ you gasp, it’s breathtaking. A crimson glimmer bathes your cheeks and the bridge of your nose. Drums playing, the bustle of happy couples and the sizzling sound of Takoyaki combine in one unique melody of a summer festival.  The delicious, sweet scent of wata-ame makes your belly grunt.

“This is… beautiful! So beautiful!” you chime, making little jumps in your place.

“I’m glad you like it, (Name)” Byakuya says, resting his hand right on top of the small of your back. And then slowly moving you to face him.

You beam and giggle. Happiness overflows your insides, and it pours all over your countenance.

Your lover, who also holds a very soft smile, takes his time to enjoy the way your skin shines with the orangey tones of the lanterns. And then, he proceeds to kiss you, once again.

Right in the middle of that busy street, where couples and kids walk past by, nobody can see the pure exchange of love of those two souls. Yet, every time a young girl and a very nervous boy passes by, there is something that pulls them to hold hands for the very first time… And a son hugs his mom, and maybe even an old couple smile again at each other…

Love is invisible, like them two. Love is unstoppable, like them two. Love is love, for living people and Shinigami too.  

When your lips finally separate, even if it’s just for a second, Byakuya points at a hill with an astonishing castle on the peak. “Let’s go, you need to see something” he comments, and you start following him.

You walk right beside him, for once the gettas you are wearing aren’t uncomfortable; they go perfectly with the occasion. And the way your yukatas flow with the wind makes you both look like beautiful butterflies.

Through the climbing path, lanterns with 愛 and 死 illuminate the sides of it. You wonder why, some of them have “love” engraved, while others have “death” on them. So, you ask Byakuya.

“This is the Love and Death festival, (Name). It is meant to celebrate love being endless. Life might be limited, but love isn’t… it was based on an old legend I can’t quite remember” he explains, while you are about to reach the end of the trail.

You smile, very pleased with the explanation and honestly a little lost into the way the reddish lights of the castle make his deep blue eyes shine.

You two walk up to the rail of the hill and take a quick look down. Underneath you, lies ahead the busy streets full of life and love, people dancing and eating, some drinking and laughing. Up in there it is lonely, and yet, so closer to the sky, so beautiful and magical to your eyes.

“Now, for the best part of the festival…” he adds, lifting your chin with delicacy so that you watch up to the sky.

A million lanterns imitate stars as they float up in the air. Some try to reach the skies; some others seem to be levitating right in between the realm of the living world and Seireitei.

On each one of them, the names of those who people miss and those who people love. Because, as Byakuya said, life has an ending, but love doesn’t.

And it’s true… because just as them, you love him too. Endlessly, even after death and you are sure for eternity too.

His hands pass right from the back, through your waist and lock over your belly. Byakuya rests his chin on your head, and he can’t articulate no words. Honestly, you can’t either as the beauty of the dancing lanterns elevate in all glory to the firmament.

Perhaps, not even in your dreams, you have imagined you would be living such romantic situation with Kuchiki Byakuya… but, those who say he has no heart, haven’t taken the time to really know such a kind soul.

“I couldn’t buy a lantern on time, but, would you like to cast something with me?” he shyly whispers, pulling you out from the dreamy scenery of those warm dots of light.

You bite your lower lip and your eyelids shut for some seconds. You need to stop some tears from sprouting… you aren’t sad, you are incredibly happy.

“Yes, Byakuya…” you murmur, turning around to face him.

Eyes that meet, and speechless desires from the deepness of your hearts. Fingers up to the sky, using a white ray to illuminate the sky tinted in pure love. This time, it isn’t to hurt, it is just to seal a promise that hasn’t been written yet…

“Hadō no yon, Byakurai” “Hadō no yon, Byakurai”

As white, as pure, and bright. Like the lights inside your hearts. So powerful, as the love of those who were born to love each other. As magical, as the part of the legend Byakuya didn’t tell you about the festival…

“Blessed with eternal love those who see, in between the lights of a thousand lanterns in the sky, the white ray of the ghost lovers rise”

For some minutes, perhaps it was just seconds, you couldn’t detach your eyes from the pristine light that opened its way towards the sky. The snow-white light, like a single firework does not only take your breaths away, but also the humans’ enjoying the festival too.

“The light of the ghost lovers!” “It’s been almost 100 years since someone saw it!”

They all chime in glee and amusement, pointing at the sky with their index fingers.

“What are they all talking about, Byakuya-sama?” you ask, confused. “I have… no… no idea” he lies, with a little smirk drawn over his lips. “What about going back home, I have yet another thing I wanna show you” Byakuya takes your hand, pulling you towards him once again.

“I would follow you anywhere you wanna go, Byakuya-sama”

Down the stairs, you take a last glimpse of that joyful festival. You let every little detail to get imbued in your memory… perhaps, believing this was, so far, the best night of your life.

Byakuya seems happier than ever; his soft black hair flows with the wind, majestically, as if the time would pass slow, so slow around him. You aren’t sure if you wanna blink, you really don’t wanna lose a single moment, a single detail of his beauty.

He sometimes looks at you; his severe frown is still intact, but his eyes are different. Inside, you can see a light, the shine of being alive again. A kind smile is given, a sweet smirk, a beam that makes your heart stop, melt.

Byakuya squeezes your hand; you do the same. And by the end of the stairs, the tori and a shrine behind. You haven’t seen it when you arrived, but it was worth enjoying it now.

The end and the start; Yasaka Shrine awaits for you. The uncountable lanterns shine it’s golden light with a crimson tint.

You both walk inside, admiring the beauty of the historical buildings around. It is small, but you are sure that it must be very visited; the many lucky tags, with desires written in black ink, are surely prayers of those who have passed through there.

“Wanna try your luck?” Byakuya asks, showing you a little stall with the world “LUCK” engraved in a wooden sign.

You nod, taking the little rolled paper he lends to you. You watch him pay for the two of you, with coins of the living world. You never seen one, not until today.

When both have your papers, you unroll it. Yet, you discover that is empty. You tilt your head to the side…

“You need to put it in water to reveal the luck” Byakuya clarifies, knowing already each and every single of your expressions meanings.

“Oh…” you giggle; you know nothing about this world.

He comes closer, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead, leaving you unable to react. “Let’s go back home now, we can use the sea” he says, taking you by your hand towards the torii that will bring you back to the beach house.

In a second, you open your eyes to a bright light and finally the sound of the waves crushing on the shore fills the ambience. It feels chillier than the afternoon, but it is still enjoyable as it is. The heat of Byakuya’s spiritual pressure by your side is enough to keep you warm.

 “Close your eyes” he says, covering your eyes from behind as you walk towards a light up spot behind the rocks and dunes.

“Oh! Another surprise?” you laugh cutely, taking your hands to his as they rest on your face.

He hums, pressing his chest against your back. You would lie if you said you wouldn’t want to squeak. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been together; it always feels like the first time.

You keep walking until he tells you to stop. “Keep your eyes closed, ok?” he commands, taking of his hands from your face and sliding them towards your waist.

You follow the instructions; he knows better. “Mhh, yes captain!” you joke, absolutely anxious to see what’s in front of you.

The scent of sweet chocolate mixes with the sea breeze. The crackling of fire gets to you. A slight orange brilliance that you can see even with eyelids shut.

“Open…” he whispers, close to your ear. And a shiver runs through your spine; his voice is one of Byakuya’s sexiest traits.

When you let the image ahead of you fill your eyes, you feel like crying. Again, you have never been treated to this… nobody ever has made you feel this way…

The decoration is simple but beautiful. There are lots of candles, and sweets scattered all around. Even wakame taishi cookies that you have no idea where they came from. Actually, you don’t know exactly when all of this had been prepared, but knowing Byakuya was the one to organize the engagement and wedding of his sister and lieutenant you aren’t surprised. Who prepared this, nonetheless, you had no idea.

“Byakuya this is… lovely… I have no words” you mumble, mesmerized by the gesture. “It’s not what I wished, but it still pretty. Let’s sit, you need to eat” he assures; perhaps he is not that satisfied, but he likes it either way.

You scoff. “I need to eat?” you ask, pretty sure there were ulterior motives behind those words. Souls don’t need to eat unless they will or have lost a lot of spiritual pressure.

“I can assure you do…” he says, solemnly and serious as he is. However, a playful, lustful smirk garnishes his lips. Byakuya sits while he says so, with his legs crossed and his hand extended to you.

“Oh, so you haven’t forgotten about the note~”  you purr, as he helps you sit on his lap.

You get comfortable on him, moving -a lot more than necessary- your ass side to side. He is not mad, he is glad. So much, that he plants a sweet kiss on your neck as he stretches to grab a freshly cut strawberry from a porcelain plate.

In front of you, the tide grows slowly. The moon reflects its argentum shine on the waves, and the stars flicker around like millions of little silver butterflies in the sky.

Delicate fingers approach your lips, holding the juicy fruit to them. You suck on the tip, allowing your mouth to also touch his fingertips. It makes him grunt, pressing your belly down with his free hand. The moment you two are close, your bodies can´t resist succumbing to pleasure in some kind of way.

“These taste delicious, Byakuya” you whisper, moving slightly to the side to see his face.

“Do they? May I try one?” he asks, also whispering.

You bend forward to pick the juiciest one yet; you already can feel him hard underneath those silky fabrics. A man in the bloom of his masculinity, needs more, more than just a graze.

You slowly turn around, seeing how, with your movements, the yukata has opened exposing his collar bones and even a little down of his chest. It makes you bite your lower lip; the bones of his clavicles are to die for, the way they protrude and cast a soft shadow on his skin makes you short of breath.

“Open” you order.

But he doesn’t. “No. From your lips; I’m sure those are sweet enough for me” he murmurs, always with that sexy smirk and those blue intense eyes.

Inside you, you scream. But you plead the gods to keep it calm. “Like this?” you purr, trapping the citric with your lips and offering it to his.

He slowly nods, taking a bite of the fruit, as Adam and Eve did with the forbidden apple. With the bite, drops of red juice smears on your chins, and his tongue cleans it all.

It’s too much teasing for you; so much you need to sigh loudly. A sign Byakuya takes as the sound of success. A million and one ways to tease you, a million and one ways to make you want him… even if just existing would be enough for it.

He helps you turn around, this time your legs are around his waist while you face him. But he is not ready to make love to you, yet. Byakuya wants you to eat, wants you to replenish energy.

“You like chocolate, (Name)?” he asks, reaching for a dark truffle.

“Mhhhmh” you nod, unable to speak decent words.

“Great. Try these ones” he orders, making you open your mouth to receive the bonbon right into your tongue. “Bite and swallow”

You do as he tells, biting and feeling the explosion of sweet and sour sake overflow your mouth. The drops run through the commissures of your mouth and get to your neck, down to in between your breasts.

You look right into his lips and then to his eyes. You don’t clean the sake off; you know he wants to lick it off from your skin. With your lustful stare you are just letting him know he can do it whenever he pleases.

Byakuya uses his index to softly push your head back and stretch your neck. He licks from the in between your breasts up towards your mandible. It makes you tremble, balancing your hips involuntarily on top of his lap.

Your chest goes up and down, as your breathing gets accelerated. But even if Byakuya enjoys loving you in violent attacks of lust, he is now decided to make you wait, suffer, plead…

Him, alone, stretches again grabbing yet another truffle. Now he bites it, allowing the unholy liquid to dribble into his chest. You can probably say you are panting, like a hungry puppy.

You take a moment to enjoy the drops slowly slither into every commissure of his pecs, and then, you attack.

First, your tongue reaches for his Adam’s apple. It protrudes so perfectly in the middle of his pale neck, always so tempting whenever he speaks. Then towards the valley in between his collarbones; nothing tastes more delicious than his skin.

Your hands, delicately and softly move the fabrics away, discovering how the remaining drops have reached his right nipple. And before your lips get to work, you give your lover a lecherous look that makes him gasp. Your sweet eyes are his weakness, but lewd tinted ones kill him.

You lick the pointy brownish hardness of his nipple. It makes his belly muscles spam, and the tip of his tongue to shily stick out. His cheeks become blushed the more you suck and taste. His eyebrows meet up in heaven. Have you ever seen such a beautiful and impure expression on him? Submitting to pleasure so easily?  

And you want more than soft grunts, you might want him to whine. And you get it, as soon as you nibble on his nipple. A manly, yet so delicious, moan abandons his lips making your whole insides to revolt.

“If you keep doing that you know how this is gonna end” he grunts, passing his fingers through your hair.

“I am not sure, Byakuya… let me see” you playfully answer back, biting again and sucking harder. You make him bow his head; the longer strands of his hair tickling your face, the perfect angle of his straight nose looks beautiful from under.

You change from one nipple to the other, giving him your thumb to suck. He accepts it, devouring it, coating it with his saliva, biting softly on your nail. His eyes closed, the haste breathing, his long lashes casting shadows on his blushed cheeks.

You have now taken control of his body; for once it’s gonna be you who leads the way. And while you keep playing with his chest, your hand goes down. So down, in between you two and his clothes. You reach the warmth, the wetness and the hardness that’s throbbing so desperately.

Surrounding the inflamed tip, you tap on top it, getting your palm sticky from precum. It makes his hand to turn a little more veiny, up to perfection, as he roughly brushes your hair back with his nails.

“My plans… nghh… were different” he grunts, allowing you to give him enough pleasure to break down all his walls.

“Were they, Byakuya-sama?” you purr, as you slowly let your kimono fall and get tangled in your hips. Your skin seems a beautiful dying place for his pour soul, but he can’t even move from how stimulated you got him.

Your belly pressed against his dick, letting your belly button to get filled with oozing transparent delight coming from him. You feel the slight bump of his stomach against your palm, as he moves more and move to get extra stimulation.

How the tables have turned, while he was planning on making you beg, he is now the one to plead for release. But will it last much longer? Will Kuchiki Byakuya let you control him to such extent?

“Ugh, come here” he growls once and for all. “It’s now when I want it” he says, taking his hand to your neck. He squeezes and presses your carotids, to the point of making you a little lightheaded. Byakuya isn’t resisting no more, he wants, and he will fuck you.

“Ride me, RIDE ME” he orders, straightforwardly and perhaps even a little scarily. But so needy, so desperate. And you love it. When the noble loses his temper, is exactly his real him. The sexiest man alive… (well, not that alive)

You obey almost instantly, but still take a sweet little moment to taste the desperation of such work of art for a man. Soon, you lift your hips, helped by his hands, and guide his sex into yours. You haven’t broken your promise; no panties for the rest of the weekend.

You fall on top of him, letting his hardness to almost rip you apart. Stretching your walls, making them spasm, the sound of your wetness is bliss when mixed with his grunts and the sound of the waves.

His hands go up and down your back, as you bounce and bob your hips on top of him. Riding him, you throw your head back because you can feel his hips also bucking up to go deeper and deeper into you.

“Keep going, milk my dick” he commands, out of himself, using words so unproper for a noble like him.

“I will until you fill me up, Byakuya-sama. Come, fill me up” you whine, as you go faster, and his fingers intertwined with yours to help you with the motions.

Not even the cold wind of the sea can cool both of you down. The exchange of spiritual pressure, the lust consuming your souls, the deep connection that couldn’t be broke by nothing in this world.

“You want me to get you pregnant, (Name)? Hm? Cause that’s exactly what it will happen if you keep doing this to me… you- ngh- fuck… you want me to put my seed in you?” he suddenly spits, leaving you speechless, with lips trembling and toes curling.

You are so close to climax, and words like those should be forbidden from his mouth if he wanted you to last much longer.

But he isn’t gonna last… “I will not… last much longer… (Name), tell me… you want my seed in your womb?” he miserably moans, with drops of sweet pooling on his wrinkled nose.

“Yes, Byakuya-sama!… Ugh… I want your cum; I want you seed, fill me up, impregnate me, make me so fucking pregnant”

“Keep it inside, then” he growls, pushing you back and this time topping you without giving a fuck about the food around, nor the sand, nor the absolute risk of wanting you so full of his cum. Once again, once more and perhaps not for the last time during this crazy weekend that still has some hours to be enjoyed…

[pricechecktranslations]

Comments in the Miku Symphony Album

Here are the comments mothy made on the two new songs in the Miku Symphony Album, translation under the cut

At the End of a Millennium Vow This great tree is called the Millennium Tree, and is worshipped by the people of this land as the god of the forest. As the name implies, it is a being that has watched over the thousand-year history of Evillious. However, in the world's destruction that Millennium Tree was erased alongside all other phenomena. The girl that the Servant of Evil had fallen for…That spirit that dwells in the Millennium Tree, Michaela, was once little more than a small robin. Just how did this Michaela become human, and then transform into the god of the forest? And then there's the Original Sinner, this indispensable "Eve" that Michaela speaks of… This is the story of Crimes and Punishments that was witnessed by a spirit of the forest. (This work was made with elements of being a remake of another song I made a long time ago, "Maiden of the Tree"♪)

The Contradictory Grim the End Among all of the vessels of deadly sin, the one considered to have the most mysteries behind it is the vessel of Wrath, "Grim the End". This vessel that pops up when it's least expected, that doesn't even have a concrete true form--there are legends of dubious authenticity that it was used in the assassination of figures like Duke Venomania and Duke Conchita. This song approaches one of the mysteries about it…To be specific, it investigates into the true identity of the demon that dwells inside the vessel. (This is a song from the viewpoint of Adam, who debuted in the song "moonlit bear". It's the first Kaito tune I've made in a long time♪)

[glorfys-glorioushair]

Story in the Castlevania Games

Buckle up this is a long one!

I understand that there is often a divide about which of the Castlevania game types are better (Classicvanias, Metroidvanias, and the 3Ds) but I think this is kind of shallow because they each offer a different perspective of style. 

Personally I love the Igarashi era because the first game I 100% completed was Symphony of the Night (I started with Super Castlevania on a SNES). I also connect with the style because I’m a terrible gamer and you can easily scrape through those (yes I went as mist throughout a lot of the inverted castle don’t @ me) as opposed to the classicvanias which make you pay for it (I like the tough concept and the reward, but I can’t tell you how many times I have screamed about falling off stairs). I haven't had a chance to play the 3Ds yet, but I have watched the Curse of Darkness cutscenes in 4K numerous times!

My own preferences aside, we all know that despite gameplay, every Castlevania game (the ones that follow the timeline, bc idk anything about the Lord of Shadows series) have the same simple plot with the sole purpose in defeating Dracula. And I sometimes see in the gaming community that their simplicity of plot is marked off as terrible and shallow. In a surface level view this can be true if you just play games to play games. But in regards to Ernest Hemingway’s Iceberg Theory that “emphasizes the idea that a writer should only reveal a small portion of the story, with the bulk of the meaning and emotion implied or hinted at”, the Castlevania games explore such deep concepts of love, human struggle, identity, gender roles, sexuality, good vs. evil, religion, and other philosophies. 

By having the same basic objective, the writers are able to explore the different avenues in going about the completion of the task of defeating Dracula and point to the ideas of what it means to be human. Some examples under the cut:

Symphony of the Night has the debate of how evil and even good can have radical ideology evident with Dracula obviously, but also in Richter who got so consumed with being the force of good he was manipulated by darkness. Thus Alucard, who is a product of both good and evil is the only one who can reinstate this balance and leave behind the quote from the Sega Saturn version, “However, you must never forget this: the one with the power to destroy this world is not him... Humans themselves possess this power.” The dialogue is actually good and complex in this game when you compare the different versions. 

CVIII: Dracula’s Curse is argued to have one of the hardest gameplays (outside of the original Japanese version) and couldn’t this have an impact on the fact Trevor Belmont and the gang are the first ones to take down Dracula? It had to have been hard for them to achieve such a feat! Also the different motives for all of the playable characters. Trevor and his family’s fealty to fighting the night and who was once Mathias Cronqvist. Grant Danasty who seeks revenge for getting temporarily turned into a monster and fights for his country’s safety. Alucard who wants to stop his father from tormenting humans. And Syfa Belnades who was a female magic user for the church in a time where that mysticism could be deadly, but was necessary to preserve humanity. I think Syfa is interesting in terms of hiding versus showing true identity (something Yoko Belnades eons later talks about). 

Curse of Darkness. Y’all this might be the most complete and obviously complex story (supplement material aside) that they have ever produced, yet it’s the one that’s the most sidelined. And for what?? Hector is an outstanding foil to Dracula even to the point of the goal is to use him as a vessel to resurrect Dracula. Like that is so interesting!! Even Isaac and Julia have great characterizations. If you want more stuff about this game, check out @beevean they have great content. 

My second favorite game, Aria of Sorrow explores how Soma is actually a reincarnation of Dracula and it’s a battle of the self, temptation, and his love for Mina that can defeat the evil within. Also Alucard’s change in terms of approaching the situation of defeating his father under the guise of Arikado Genya. Now that’s a can of worms right there.

Order of Ecclesia and the discourse of cults, Harmony of Dissonance regarding how the Belmonts are just as cursed as Dracula, friendship and more in CV: Bloodlines, Simon Belmont’s battle with outward and internal strength, Lament of Innocence and how the women are fridged for both good and evil, the list can go on.

Now I won’t say that every single Castlevania game achieves this well, most things are left to speculation and interpretation like deeper information of what happens between games and what the Belmont lineage canonically looks like. But the fact you can draw these intense and deep messages from pixels and gameplay is incredible!  

What may be my biggest frustration with Konami sidelining the Castlevania series is the potential of a complex story within a well-thought out gameplay and style. Grimoire of Souls may have failed with repetition and it being a gacha game, but the story was interesting because they explored what it looks like with the characters from different games comparing and contrasting themes. It shows that there are people in the writing room who still care about the games because of the story. But money seems to be the problem for Konami which is stupid because they would make bank with this game franchise imo

Anyways my real point here is that taking a minimalistic approach to the story-telling within a game isn’t a bad thing because there’s always going to be deeper meanings. Perhaps this is why I myself gravitate so much towards this series. For me it’s not always about how good I can get through a level or boss fight, but the subject of what speaks to the human soul.

TL;DR: don’t get hung up on what gameplay is better, pay attention to the fact that all the games share a simple plot in order to explore complex themes of humanity, saying that less is more.

[xie-xan]

The cursed musician

Synopsis: A ballerina who fell in love with a cursed musician whose playing kills anyone who hears it Pairings: Venti x fem!reader (A/n): This is more of a poem than a story tbh …(￣ー￣) Genre: Angst.

A maiden fair and graceful, with a heart so light, Whose love for ballet was her greatest delight. She danced with poise and beauty, like a swan in flight, her movements fluid and elegant.

Her eyes shone bright with passion, her spirit so free, In the dance, she found her true identity.

Her feet, like wings, seem to fly, As she dances with a gentle sigh, Her movements fluid, like a stream.

With each step and movement, she found her grace, In the dance, she found her perfect place.

The music swelled and soared, a symphony of sound, As she danced, Her love for ballet, a love that would last.

The music swells, and the crowd applauds, As her dance comes to an end. She bowed and smiled as she searched the crowd, looking for the musician who had her heart.

A boy with a dream, a boy with a life, Heard the call of the rhythm and the beat and knew that his heart would never retreat.

His fingers danced on the strings so fine, As he coaxed out the melodies divine

His passion burned like a shining light for in the music, he found his peace a place where he could be himself, And let his soul take wing and soar.

His passion pure, his soul on fire, to play the notes, was his greatest desire.

But alas, a curse he did obtain, whoever heard his melodic strain, would meet their end, his gift is a burden, a deadly grace.

He played for none, his talent hidden, His music silenced, his dream unspoken, For fear of losing all he held dear, His life remained a secret.

But still, he played, in secret places, His music echoed, through empty spaces, hoping that one day, a cure he'd find, to break the loneliness that filled his heart.

After years of suffering in sorrow, he found her, he fell in love with a ballerina whose grace and beauty left him in awe.

Her feet were like petals of a rose in bloom as he watched her dance on the stage And in her eyes, a light did play.

His melodies were like a spell that captured her heart and made her fall. His fingers danced on the strings as if by magic, her heart did sing

The love they shared, was a fragile thing, That could be shattered with a single ring.

But still, their love was a flame, that burned so bright. For in each other, they found solace and a love that would never lose its hold.

His music, though it brought her pain, She could not help but love his gift.

And so she danced to his tune. Their love was doomed from the start, a fatal attraction, a broken heart.

The musician, swore to never touch an instrument, in hopes of saving their love, but what misery could be worse than the ballerina whom he had loved had numbered days?

And so she chose a better way to leave, she danced in his music, her body flowed with the cursed rhythm, yet she found solace in her lover's music.

The musician, whose tears fall upon each key, as he watched his lover dance. With the final twirl, the music ended and with her final bow, she fell.

He cried in agony as he held her close, her body lay in his arms on the very stage where she would capture the audience's gaze.

"Am I just a cursed musician who killed his lover, or a mere unlucky human, who was not loved by anyone? From this time on, I swear on your grave, oh darling, that I will never touch my instruments ever again, for they took you away from me."

"Oh the love of my life, I wish I could tell you how good you are at music. Your music holds the power to return a soul to the place from where it came from, hence giving it eternal peace. My love, it is your music that has brought me peace, it made my final dance more meaningful, I wish I could tell you how lucky I am to love you, I wish I could tell you that your music was the most beautiful piece I have ever heard. I shall await the time when we will meet again, and when that time comes, I will happily dance to your music and love you all over again."

[felyxxx]

⇓ My AO3 Fics ⇓

Last update: 22.9. 2024 (14)

Hearts of the past (1/2) A,🚫 Hidan uncovers a side of Kakuzu he never knew existed. Beneath the mask of greed and rage lies a history of betrayal and loss of all that mattered.

For you have sinned (1/1) A,🚫 Kakuzu faces power beyond his abilities, and must confront truths about the past, his bond with Hidan, and his place in the game of gods and mortals.

Stuck (1/1) 🔞 Hidan chases a cat through a hole in a wall and gets stuck. What the hell is the stranger back there doing, and where the fuck is Kakuzu?

What happens in a motel (1/1) 🔞 Kakuzu was caught off guard by seeing Hidan in a compromising position with a stranger in a motel room.

Blood Bear Legend (1/1) C, ⭕️ Akatsuki members encounter an old lady spinning a tale of a legendary bear-beast with elemental powers.

Cold desert night (1/1) A,⭕️ For the last couple of weeks, Kakuzu nights have been restless.

Rest now (1/1/) C,🔞 In the aftermath of Sasori's death and Deidara's injury, Kakuzu finds himself drawn to the vulnerable artist's side.

Marks on my skin (1/1) 🔞 Hidan begs for a night at a hot spring hotel. Kakuzu's revelation of his past leads to a rare moment of vulnerability.

Domesticity (1/1) A,🚫 Kakuzu and Hidan navigate a surprising domestic life, reflecting the journey from partners to something more everlasting.

Subway (5/stop) AU,🔞 In a bustling subway, Hidan meets his idol, the pornstar Kakuzu, setting off on a journey of self-discovery into newfound desires.

Flames (1/1) 🔞 After a mission filled with chaos and carnage, Kakuzu and Hidan ignite a blazing storm of desire.

Game of Truth (1/1) C, A,⭕ The Akatsuki play a revealing game where deadly secrets and unexpected confessions come to light.

MonkFish (1/1) ⭕ Kakuzu and Hidan catch more than just fish on the beach; perhaps they are catching feelings.

Morning symphony (1/1) C, A,⭕ Kakuzu and Hidan, tasked to patrol the camp perimeter, unexpectedly find a surprising opportunity for connection.

♡⎊♡⎊♡⎊♡⎊♡⎊♡⎊♡⎊♡⎊♡⎊♡ YOU CAN READ MORE ABOUT EACH STORY UNDER #authors note C=Campfire Stories, A=Akai Ito, AU=Alternate Universe, ⭕🚫🔞=Spicy level