#i had a friend looked down upon and insulted over this today so i wanted to speak out about why folks are wrong abt this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

virune · 6 months ago

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Oh oh story prompt!

"After a rather long day, two very tired hedgehogs find out they've been sharing a secret resting place"? Hope that makes sense, just two hedgehogs being like "oi this is my isolated sleepy spot-" LMAO

Sonic was bone-tired.

Eggman had really pulled out all the stops today. Droves upon droves of badniks, all powered by a chaos emerald that the doctor had somehow managed to get his mitts on. Then, if that weren't bad enough, he'd even brought Metal Sonic along with him, if only to add insult to injury.

It was all over now, at least: with the help of his friends - Tails' smarts, Amy's perseverance, Knuckles' strength, and Rouge's cunning, the doctor's evil plot had been sufficiently brought to an end, one destroyed badnik at a time.

"Wasn't expecting you to join the party, Rouge," Sonic had told the bat, smiling at her as she dusted off her immaculate clothes.

"Well, let's just say I happened to be in the area." Rouge's replies always seemed to be intentionally cryptic, Sonic noticed. "And besides, any chance I have to knock that rotten doctor down a peg, I'll take. He's a nuisance for all of us."

"Hah! Can't argue with that." Sonic rubbed his arm, and then reached out a hand just as Rouge was about to fly off. "Wait! I - can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Big Blue." There was a twinkle in the bat's eye, one that Sonic only usually saw when Shadow was nearby. Speaking of which…

"How come Shadow wasn't with you? Is he… on a mission?"

"That's right." Rouge's eyes seemed to glitter even more, as though she could sense his disappointment. "Very important business. I'm sure you understand."

Sonic offered a smile. "Yeah."

"Why, were you hoping to see him?"

"What - I - no! I was just curious! You two are friends, aren't you?"

Rouge's hand found a place on her hip, pinning Sonic in place with a gaze that seemed to be able to find anything it ever searched for. She had always been so incredibly perceptive - especially when it came to Sonic's little… crush.

"Of course," she said, her voice smooth and nonchalant. It made his fur stand on end. "Don't sweat it, hon. I'm sure you'll get to see him soon."

Before Sonic could babble out a flustered reply, Rouge took off at last, disappearing into the darkening sky.

Wow, was it that late already? Despite his frazzled nerves, Sonic found himself feeling tired, mouth stretching open into a generous yawn. Well, since Eggman had been taken care of, surely it couldn't hurt to grab some shut-eye.

Luckily for him, he knew a nice little spot. Somewhere quiet and undisturbed. And it wasn't too far from here - at least, not at the speed he was capable of.

And so, with a final wave goodbye to his friends, Sonic vanished up the mountain in a cobalt blue streak.

---

Someone was in his spot.

Even from up on the bank, Sonic couldn't miss the orange glow coming from the cabin windows, nor the smoke billowing from the chimney. It was getting darker still, and somebody had stumbled upon this place and made it their own.

But who?

This old cabin had been left, seemingly abandoned, up on a mountain. Surely nobody could find it under normal means. Sonic himself only found the cabin because he'd decided to take a detour from his usual running path, winding up the mountain until he was pushing open the door to look inside.

It was a nice little cabin, too. Nobody came back to claim it so Sonic decided to… well, make it his own little place, so to speak. He didn't have any qualms sleeping outside, but sometimes curling up in front of a warm fire was nice too. So what if he wanted to indulge himself from time to time? He thought he'd earned that at least, saving the world as often as he did, and as he continued to do.

So to discover that someone else had snuck in while he'd been distracted made him a little annoyed.

He didn't want to just barge in the front door - after all, if they were capable of scaling the mountain, Sonic couldn't underestimate whoever was inside. Was it Eggman? Had he found the cabin somehow? Had he followed Sonic there and set up a trap?

Whatever the case, Sonic had to be ready for a fight.

He approached as quietly as he could; stealth was never his forte, but if he wanted the upper hand, then he needed to be delicate. After all, he'd hate for his beloved cabin to get destroyed in an altercation. Maybe he could take down the intruder swiftly, or find some way to lure them out before they fought. Keeping the cabin intact was his main priority.

Sonic went to peek through the window, but he grit his teeth with some irritation to find that the curtains had been pulled shut. Damn. What now? The front door lacked any windows or mail slot. How could he get inside without being noticed?

He saw it then. On the second floor. An open window.

Hah! Had the intruder completely forgotten to close it? Sonic took a couple steps back and gauged the distance - he could probably climb up. A running jump would be too noisy. So, giving himself a moment to stretch, he braced himself against the bricks and began to ascend.

His fingers hurt, digging deep in the crevices between each brick, but he pushed on. The window was inches away now. He pushed himself up, brushing the windowsill with his fingertips and hoisting his body up. Slowly, silently, Sonic climbed through and into the bathroom.

It was dark. But it was also empty. A good sign. That meant he hadn't been caught yet. He closed the bathroom window behind him before he tried the door handle, opening it as carefully as he could to avoid making any sound. It was so uncharacteristic of Sonic to move this slowly, but he tried his best, because his favourite sleeping spot was in jeopardy.

He tiptoed along the carpet at the top of the stairs and peeked down over the railing to see if he could spot anything. The glow was brighter from here and he realised it was coming from the hearth in the living room. Someone was using up all the firewood! Oh, the nerve. If they weren't dangerous, maybe Sonic could convince them to leave.

The first step creaked under his weight and Sonic froze, expecting alarm bells to sound off, expecting a trap to spring, expecting badniks to swarm him. Anything. Instead, nothing happened. The fire crackled. The peace continued on.

OK, well, he wasn't in trouble yet. He still had time to figure out who the intruder was. Taking a deep breath, Sonic made his way down the rest of the stairs. He was standing near the doorway now. The living room was just around the corner. He could see the shadows of a figure dancing on the opposite wall; whoever they were, they'd made themselves pretty comfortable on the sofa.

Sonic squinted his eyes. As he focused harder, he realised that the silhouette looked vaguely familiar. They weren't moving - were they asleep? - but he couldn't deny that the stranger seemed to have quills that turned upwards at the end in a way that was so distinct, so unnatural for a hedgehog to have.

He inhaled again, and he caught the unmistakable scent of lavender in his nose.

It couldn't be.

He turned the corner at last.

"You!"

Shadow jolted upright, the book he'd apparently been engrossed in falling from his lap and thudding against the floor. His red eyes met Sonic's, burning brightly against the glow of the fire.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Shadow asked.

"What am I - what are you?" Sonic cried, incredulous. "This is my cabin!"

Shadow removed the green woollen blanket from his legs to stand up. "Don't be ridiculous. I found this cabin months ago."

Sonic balked. That couldn't be right. He found the cabin. He'd been coming here regularly for weeks - months, even!

"I don't understand. This is my favourite sleeping spot. I didn't think anyone else knew about this place…"

Shadow retrieved his book from the floor, dog-earing the page he was on and sitting back down. "That makes two of us."

"So, spill. How often do you come here?"

"Couple times a month. When I have a moment."

"So do I." Sonic stepped closer. "Listen, I had to deal with Eggman today. Rouge was there. Where were you?"

"Elsewhere," was all Shadow answered.

Sonic clenched his fists. He was always happy to see Shadow, although he'd never admit it, but he wasn't happy about this new discovery.

"Alright, well. I'm pretty tired, and I wanted to rest here tonight…"

Shadow stared at him. "So?"

"So!" Sonic fumbled, gesturing vaguely to the door. "Leave! So I can relax."

Instead of leaving, Shadow tilted his head to the side. "Why don't we both just stay here? I'm willing to tolerate it, if it's all the same to you."

Sonic's mouth snapped shut. His face was warm, and not because of the fire. Absolutely not. There's no way he could relax with Shadow, of all people, around. Especially not in such a… comfortable, domestic setting. It was too much for him. He'd rather run a hundred laps through a blizzard than cope with his stupid feelings.

A hand patted the empty spot on the sofa, breaking Sonic from his thoughts.

"Sit. I want to finish this chapter."

Sonic frowned, willing his heart to stop racing. He eased himself onto the sofa next to Shadow, staring straight ahead. For some reason he was afraid to look. Shadow was much too close.

"Rouge recommended this book to me." Shadow's voice was soft and deep and it all but made Sonic nearly jump out of his pelt. "I'm about halfway through now. She expects to hear my thoughts on it."

"Oh?" Sonic dared to look, then, if only because Shadow's attention was directed down at the book in his hands. He scooted closer, just a fraction, to see what the writing was like. The scent of lavender was much stronger now. "Is it good?"

"I'm enjoying it," Shadow admitted. Sonic caught the ghost of a smile on Shadow's face and decided that he liked it, and would very much like to see Shadow smile more often.

"Good," was all Sonic could say, quite hopelessly, as he willed himself to relax into the sofa cushion. His eyes drifted closed for just a moment, exhaustion setting in as he basked in the soothing warmth.

"Let's agree that this cabin is off-limits for fighting," Shadow said. His eyes didn't leave the book, but Sonic wasn't so sure he was actually reading anymore. "It's too nice to ruin."

Sonic's mouth suddenly felt dry, but he worked hard to get his voice back. "Y-yeah," he stammered out, feeling like an idiot. "I don't think either of us will wanna give it up, right?"

Shadow hummed in agreement. "We'll just have to compromise. That means sharing."

"Sharing," Sonic confirmed. Despite himself, he found himself smiling at the idea.

Basked in the firelight, he snuggled just a bit closer to Shadow, whose body was as warm as the fire. He could probably get used to this, he reckoned.

Before he knew it, Sonic fell asleep to the scent of lavender and an arm around his waist.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonadow #rune writes #thanks for the prompt!!! i bashed this out in like twenty minutes haha #hope you enjoy!!

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itsscromp · 9 months ago

Text

5 months

A story inspired by this TikTok I hope you all enjoy 😊😊 word count:1.2k

Simon woke up to the all to familiar bright lights and beeping sounds of the hospital. He groaned in pain as he felt like he couldn't move. Thankfully he was spared as you were there to dim the lights after seeing him awake.

"Hey buddy... How are you feeling ??" You asked, To which he replied to a dry cough, water please.

You gently handed him the cup of water and placed the straw into his mouth, Taking a few sips. "What... Happened ??" He asked.

You looked down for a little bit and sighed. "The entire building was rigged with explosives, We began to run out before i found out you weren't behind me. Me and soap began to move the rubble that was in the explosives... and well" You looked over at his badly broken body. Both legs were broken, One arm was broken and 5 cracked ribs.

"The doctor said you won't be back on your feet for a least 3 months"

"Fucking hell..." He sighed.

Regardless, you were happy to keep him company and help him whenever you could. 3 months came by and he was finally free of those damned casts. He could be able to move freely.

But one night, upon closer inspection when he got out of the shower. He lost a lot of muscle, and seemed to gain a little bit of weight too... "This cannot get any worse" He started to tear up, He was already self conscious about his body as it is, this was just almost insult to injury.

He tried to shrug it off for the next week, trying to squeeze in any workouts as he could. But every time someone walks past him, he would always get some form of comment. "Nice tits lieutenant" "Need a training bra ??" "Give us one squeeze please ??" He had to fight every instinct to not throw a weight at there heads... But they were right.

He stood there in his room, looking at his worthless body, His abs weren't as defined anymore. His pecs could hardly be called pecs. His biceps seemed to almost have deflated. Not to mention the pudgy sides around his waist seem to top over. As he started to tear up again, He began to repeatedly smash the mirror in front of him. he hated seeing himself like this. He did with a fucking passion.

You heard the smashed glass and rushed toward his room, Trying your best to pull him away. "Easy easy !!"

"Get off of me !!" He cried out.

"Simon relax, relax... It's just me" You gently took his hands and squeezed them gently. Looking at him in the eyes.

You could see the anger, sadness and insecurity the had, He has already been through a lot and this... This just fucking hurt him.

"Come here, let me have a look" You gently took his hand and inspected it, Just grazes, not deep cuts. So you went and got the first aid kit.

As you treated his wound, he looked down at the floor, seeing the tears fall down. "I fucking hate myself..."

"Simon... Please don't say that" You finished wrapping has bandages and looked at him.

"I do, y/n... Look at me... I'm not what I am" He started to cry a tad bit heavier.

You gently wrapped your arms around him, you knew this was hurting him badly, you didn't want to see him hurt. So later that night, you began to figure out a workout routine. One that was while excruciating, you knew this would get him back to what he once was.

The following morning, you burst into his room, blowing a whistle, and making him jolt awake. "What are we still doing sleeping around lieutenant !! Gym gear on and meet me in the gym !!" You did your best coach voice and urged him out.

Simon was a tad bit shocked when he saw you, But regardless he got his gym clothes on and soon followed you. You had set everything up. Weights, cardio, courses, and protein shakes. "For our warm up I want you to do 30 push ups"

"Y/n..."

"Don't talk back, Don't give up come on let's go !!"

He knew you meant well as he did his 30 pushups. Today you were his best friend and now his coach, You had him do a lot of things. But when it came to rest period, you brought him over to the mirror.

"I want you to take your shirt off"

He froze as you said that, But you gave him reassuring eyes knowing that it was just you two, He trusted you... So slowly he took off his shirt, He looked away from the mirror once he saw his pudgy stomach. But you gently went up to him. "You know what I see Simon ??"

He kept his eyes away from the mirror but turned to look at you, Giving you a soft look. "I see... Someone who has worked really hard today. Someone who is the strongest being that I have come to know and love. Someone who I know will work hard to see himself again. It will take time, But I know you got this Simon. Just don't beat yourself up... I know this"

You struggled for a while on your body and how you looked as well, You didn't want to see Simon sad and angry at himself.

"Yeah... Ok"

After the gym session, he went back to his room and saw that the mirror had been replaced, he didn't think much to begin with, But he took your advice in hand and went over to it. Taking his shirt off again, this time looking at himself, while yes it will be hard... "I can do this, I can... It'll take time" He said as he gently rubbed his stomach and patted it.

The training sessions continued and got harder, But you helped push Simon to his limit and to the point where he didn't know he was capable of, Downing every protein bar or shake he could, and making sure he looked at himself in the mirror after every session, to learn to love the body that he is in.

5 months later.

Simon wiped his sweat as he placed down the weights, It was hard, excruciating, and sometimes even painful, But it was all worth it, he began to workout shirtless again like he used to. Walking to the mirror with the upmost confidence, looking at himself, and flexing his biceps, he saw the snake-like veins had come back. His manly pecs have sprung back to life, he smirked as he began to pop his pecs, his Terry crews vibes were you could say... "Popping off" and his 6-pack abs have been upgraded to an 8-pack. But the smallest difference is there was the tiniest amount of pudge on his sides. but he could let that slide, all he knew was that he was happy with the way he was.

You walked into the gym and saw him looking at himself, all happy. "I knew you could do it" You smiled up at him.

"No thanks to you sergeant" He smiled and ruffled your hair, he was super thankful for you, his best friend and coach. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly. "Ok muscles don't crush me" You chuckled as did he.

Simon worked his ass off for 5 months, and it paid off big time. All thanks to you.

Taglist: @callofdudes

#platonic #reader insert #simon ghost riley #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you

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vonev · 1 year ago

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Hey there! Can you do a Miguel x spiderwoman reader where during a mission Miguel accidentally hurts you pretty badly while trying to get you out of the way of the anomaly, leaving you in a medically induced coma for a couple days while you heal? I wanna see an incredibly gentle, guilt-ridden Miggy visiting you when you wake up and treating you like you’re made of glass

Calling (just to save you, I'd give all of me)

Miguel O'Hara x reader Oneshot

Words: 6.06k (yeah i know)

Warnings: Graphics depictions of Violence, Angst, Blood and Violence.

Summary:

A mission gone wrong, some crying, more suffering, rocky relationships (emphasis on the rocky part)

And after all of it, you prevailed. With him.

Tl;dr: Miguel is a crybaby

It was a normal Tuesday night at the headquarters. 11 pm to be exact.

God knows why you stayed as long as you did—having to juggle missions upon missions the entire week because Miguel decided to loosely throw them at you.

Capturing what seemed like an endless sea of anomalies.

“You’re our most capable.” He had said, not even facing you when he once again sent you off on another job to fend for yourself.

Trying to ask to be replaced was met with a sounding “No.” from the big guy himself, so you stopped trying altogether.

Less questions, more work.

Even if the side of your ribs were bruised from the last encounter with a previous anomaly.

Whatever. Bringing your injury up would just have you end up being demeaned and insulted like a school kid who skipped last week’s homework. At least that was what you assumed.

You grew tired of it eventually, wanting to have more than 6 hours of sleep per day and being able to actually live your life—the birthday cake for a friend sat comfortably inside the fridge of your apartment lingers on your mind as you swung through the familiar sight of the city; another rendition of New York, another variant of an anomaly.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t enjoy the thrill and adrenaline that came with the job—no, you loved it. No one ever told you how fun being a superhero can be (aside from the decades of trauma you had to go through) and being able to propel yourself into the air with webs as the people below you gawked at your presence.

The New York breeze hit your figure like a welcomed embrace, the moon winked at you behind fading beds of clouds. You continue slingshotting yourself down the streets, deja-vu splashed in your face with how eerily similar the roads were to the ones back home; shaking your head, you let out a soft sigh and relish in the cold night’s wind.

Today’s mission: an unknown entity that plagued Earth 1610, the only information you were given via a loosely thrown together email from Miguel was that the entity could possess powers greater than we all understood—but with a limited amount of time, you would (hopefully) capture it just in time before it discovered its full potential.

You’d think with how smart the boss-man was, he wouldn’t send a sleep-deprived Spider into such missions with how severe things could turn if everything went wrong.

“I’ll send him an email to complain later, for sure.” You promised yourself; because you were supposed to do just that days ago when tasks started rolling in for you without breaks.

Solo-tasks, might you add.

A cherry on top of the already spoiled cake, salt on the wound, a slap to the face. You grunted, and an alarm sounding from nearby caught you by surprise amidst the (somewhat) quiet of the city. In the snap of a finger, you flung yourself in a different direction, changing the tides in the waves while the wind that hit your face came to a halt once you landed on a roof belonging to a rather tall building.

The viewing angle from above gave you a clear look into what had transpired underneath.

You squint, arms folded neatly in between your thighs as you crouched over the ledge of the building; from what you could see, nothing was amiss—everything looked to be in place. Letting out an annoyed scoff, you were about to turn on your tail before the ear-piercing sound of glass shattering into pieces hit your eardrums.

You immediately snapped around, and panic ensued when the people on the streets started screaming, running amok like wild animals scattering away into their safe spaces. You, on the other hand, now have to clean up the mess—you had no clue where this universe’s Spiderman was, nor did anyone brief you on it.

Nonetheless you approached the bust-up shop with a wavy heart, praying to something out there that there weren’t any critically injured persons. As you stalked near the front of the shop, you could hear loud banters inside; curious, you stare into the messy excuse for an interior: broken decors, smashed up shelvings, and items sprawled out across the floor inside.

You took the opportunity and shot yourself up to the ceiling, both your soles and fingertips clutching onto the surface, cautiously crawling further into the shop.

“Please—” a voice yelled out, “Just let me steal your ATM machine!”

Your lips part, dumbfounded.

“No! Ey! Get away from—” You finally managed to grasp the scene that played out in front of you.

The store manager was running around with a bat in his hands, and the other person that seemed to be wearing a costume with black spots, a jean jacket slung over his shoulders and a rather cute bucket hat. To your surprise, the man evaded the attack when a black hole had been summoned under the manager’s feet, causing him to fall into the portal and out of another one…

…Right above you.

You yelped at the sudden contact on your back, the manager’s weight had you both falling face first into the shards-filled floor; his body cushioned by yours.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

The man behind you rolled off, allowing you to take a step and collect yourself as you slowly stood up. Debris started filling up your senses, and the pain from having been cut by thousands of glass shards made you wince in response. You pushed it all down, needing to finish the job as soon as possible so you could flee from more missions when you go back to the headquarters.

You even considered retiring from your spot in the team.

Speaking of spots…

You peered up, eyes catching onto the odd appearance of the man in front of you, who was still attempting to find a way to escape with the ATM. If you hadn’t been as irritated and grumpy as you were, you’d have found the situation hilarious.

“You gotta let that go, big man.” He whipped his head around, eyes darting around before locking in on you. “I’m sorry, I can’t—wait, you look different from my Spiderman.” His head tilted in confusion; you only rolled your eyes in retort, not wanting to drag your already long day out. Webs shot out of your wrists, launching them toward the direction of his foot.

Watching in disbelief as another hole appeared right where his foot would’ve been, the webs flinging into the black void and you felt the substance land on your back, knocking your balance forward.

“What the,” confused, you feel around for it, your fingers finding the source, tracing the substance behind you. “How did you fucking do that?” You glared him down, seeing his stature falter and hands thrown up into the air in defense.

“Whoa whoa, language!” He wagged a finger at you, giving you his head shake of disapproval.

“Shut up.”

“That’s just plain rude, young lady—hold on, you’re a lady right?” Your eye twitched in annoyance.

“Has anyone ever said you’re way too chatty?”

He was fidgeting with his hands, looking away and feeling nervous, unsure of how to respond to your jab. Before he could get another word out, the bottom of your feet connected with his chest, sending his body back against the wall with a loud ‘thud’ watching as he fell on his backside.

“Oof.”

He let out a soft grunt, rubbing the sore spot on his butt; right before you did a chain-attack, he caught your foot with another one of his black holes, your foot now appearing on the other side of the store and out of sight.

“That wasn’t very nice. Listen, I just need some money, let me go and—” He threw the ATM onto a pile of cans and started rolling it out of your way, pushing the huge machine as fast as he could. Pulling back your foot in time, your calf connected with his face, making him trip over the cans comically with his arms flailing in the air.

You quickly reached down to fetch your trap to secure your win.

That would be too easy, though.

Side-stepping a portal of void that almost ate you up, you winced at the pain that shot through your ribs due to your rapid movements. Biting through the pain, you maneuvered to where his body laid and tackled him to the ground once more when he tried to stand up; from then on, it was a cat fight. With you trying to get him detained and him attempting to pry you off of him.

Suddenly, another hole manifested beneath the two of you, watching in horror as you both fell through and landed harshly on top of the rooftop you originally occupied prior; the back of your head collided into the concrete ground; a poor excuse for a cushion.

It fucking hurt.

You were pretty sure you smelled blood.

He tried to get up, but you tumbled the two of you near the ledge of the building; in the midst of all the actions, he found dominance over you when he had your upper body hanging off the ledge with his grip on the collar of your suit. Blood thumped through your eardrums along with the loud horns of traffic, your heart racing in a million miles, if anyone looked up, they'd think you were insane for getting yourself in the situation.

Maybe you are.

Call for backup.

It would be so easy; the gizmo hugged your wrist, just one push of a button and someone will be here—

Too late, his grip on you wavered and you plummet into the air.

Fuck.

You quickly attempt to shoot more webs to find purchase on something, anything.

But terror washed over you the second you realized you had conveniently run out of webbing fuel—being the dumbass you were, you had completely forgotten to get it refilled before the mission at the station back in headquarters.

Closing your eyes, you braced yourself for the impact; your body going limp to soften the blow.

You let out a loud yelp when something flew out of the air beside you and clashed against your body, but you don’t feel the shock at the contact—instead, the warmth of a large arm wrapped around your midsection and you feel the cold wind whiplash you.

Opening your eyes, you were (pleasantly) surprised to find that Miguel caught you just in-time, right before you could suffer any more blunt injuries. You almost cried at the sight of him, his name teased the tip of your tongue, wanting to wrap your arms around him for a hug; you pulled yourself back just in time before you could react on your impulse.

You were still mad at Miguel, you have to act like it.

Before you know it, he came to a halt around a corner into an alleyway and swung down to place you down gently on the ground, your feet now free from the feeling of being dangled in the air. His eyes flickered over your face, then down your body; his arm still pressed into your waist as he squeezed your flesh out of instinct.

Bad move, the squeeze, no matter how gentle, pressed into your bruised rib. The pain sending a wave of shocks throughout your torso, you immediately pushed him away with a small hiss. You couldn’t see it, but hurt flashed through his eyes when you forced yourself out of his grip, his arm falling back to his side; unknowing of its purpose.

He wouldn’t willingly admit it, but the rare moments he would get to feel the heat of your body against him sent him to heaven: like that one time your shoulder pressed into his at the cafeteria, the times your naked fingers would brush over his skin, when your back used to press up on his during missions back in the days he went with you. Sinfully, he would recall that specific time your chest pushed into his torso during a stealth mission, the temptation to take you right there and then a devilish thought that circled his mind.

(Don’t ask what he had done in the shower after the mission debrief.)

That was part of the reason he had stopped frequenting jobs with you, even when you came into his office and invited him; you were met with rejections after rejections, soon enough, he noticed that you stopped trying—and the painful gnaw at his chest reminded him of your growing distant attitude with him, too. Miguel refused to let his personal life interfere with his business, and the last person he would want to hurt was you.

Unknowingly, he had done exactly that whenever he would gradually push your presence away.

Having meals weren’t the same anymore, not when you stopped showing up to his office everyday with his favorite food like a routine, he’d eat less and less as the days passed by; without you there to continuously pester him, he found himself reverting back to his old habits—working after late hours, not sleeping enough, not eating enough, barely talking to anyone unless absolutely necessary.

He had came to the realization that somehow, long ago, your presence had become such a grounding part of his life; the gentle yet persistent reminder that he deserved love and care too, to stop hogging all the responsibilities alone and share his burden with someone who he can trust, and it all manifested into you.

Miguel recognized he royally fucked up when you both barely see each other face-to-face anymore, you stopped showing up to debriefings, the only time he’d get to remotely speak to you was when he sent you off to missions.

He knew he was harsh, yes, but he fully believed in your capability to handle yourself—but while he was relentless, he still cared.

Hence why he arrived and interjected your mission, wanting to extend a helping hand.

“Fuck—what are you doing here?!” You shouted over the loud traffic, emotions taking control of your mind, before Miguel could protest, screams broke out from beside you both. “Shit, let’s get this over with, big man.”

You paused, momentarily forgotten that your webbings ran out of fuel and mentally slapped yourself in the face.

As if he read your mind, he fished out a tube from behind him and threw it your way. You caught it just in time and practically rushed to throw the lid off, tipping the mouth over to allow the liquid flow into the web gadget integrated into your suit. You threw a mumbled “thanks” his way and chucked the tube out of sight.

“Come on,” you nod toward the opening of the alleyway with an arm raised and pull yourself upward with your web.

It was supposed to be an easy job: brawl with the anomaly, win the brawl, capture it.

But this one was starting to grate your nerves—and you were sure Miguel felt the same too, you could sense the rage radiating off of his huge stature like sirens; chasing down the guy who had re-introduced himself as the Spot when you caught up with him earlier, unintentionally finding himself falling in and out of accidental portals he materialized.

“Stop running!” Yelling, you proceeded to jump into the portal he went through, he was always barely a hair away; yet as clumsy as he was, managed to get away every single time.

“Stop chasing me!” Spot shouted back, tripping over the back of his foot and almost falling into one of the portals entirely.

He managed to barely swerve out of the way when Miguel lunged at him from behind, his claws swooping in the air where Spot used to be. It became a constant back-and-forth; you would shoot yourself closer to him and Miguel would come from his back, essentially cornering him, then Spot would narrowly escape; rinse and repeat. Exhaustion crept up on you eventually, nagging the back of your mind as you tapped into your adrenaline to stay awake and alerted of your surroundings.

Miguel noticed it, too, and he went even harder—the intensity of his ferocity grew when he realized he had to end things soon before someone gets injured; he prayed to God it wouldn’t be you.

Somehow, more portals had opened up, and all you could do was avoid falling into them; the possibility of coming face first into the asphalt roads were too high for you to take the chance. Miguel almost got caught in one; hardly dodging a portal that conjured on the wall he stuck to. But unlike you, he was willing to test out his theory, reeling his body back to prepare launching himself into the portal. And he did just that—his reward? A high-five of his face with another set of walls.

He grunted, out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted you latching onto Spot’s back; desperately trying to push him down onto a solid surface. You both spun into another portal and crashed on a different rooftop, Miguel rushed over with claws ravaging the innocent bricks he crawled on; when he went up, he saw the two of you gasping for air on the ground.

You clutched the side of your rib, an indescribable amount of pain overtook your senses; you were pretty sure your ankle was broken when it was caught on a pole. Spot got up earlier than you, and was about to speed off before he felt a large hand tugging at the back of his shirt.

It all happened so fast: reeling in a punch, the adrenaline pumping in Miguel’s veins, Spot’s utter shock at the face of Death himself, the supposed impact of the fist with the other’s face…

…Only for the force to be directed to you in the heat of the moment when a portal happened to manifest where Spot’s face would’ve been.

It was an accident, really, an unintentional line of actions from Spot— he was way too out of it when he figured he was about to go through his final moment; his portals shot out in panic, lucky for him, it was the reason he evaded Miguel’s death fist.

Unlucky for you, the other end of the portal had been right in front of you the whole time; yet in the midst of you processing your surroundings, you hadn’t realized quicker that your senses were screaming for you to dodge out of the way.

The conclusion? You, having just been punched in your guts, falling down a building amongst the New York you shouldn’t have stepped a foot in if you knew the outcome at all. The gust of wind pumped in your ears as you fell, and fell.

No worries—you’ve got your handy-dandy webs, right?

Oh how you wished you hadn’t been wrong.

Miguel had snatched a random refill off of his own shelf when he was about to depart, not bothering to check for its content after his recent use; just shy of a quarter, barely enough to last an average Spider’s fill an hour of webbing. In his defense, he had been distraught when Lyla popped in earlier to warn him of your vitals: most specifically your injuries. He would’ve never sent you out in the first place if he knew you suffered from broken ribs.

But all you knew was that you somehow fucked yourself over.

Panic ensued.

And now, you suffered the consequences of his actions.

“Miguel!” A call for help; he was your last hope.

The fall wasn’t a particularly long one, and you normally would breeze through the impact and pain like a champ—except you have never fell from a building with ribs that squeezed your organs tight, ankle that would most likely not support your landing even if you tried, the adrenaline you lived off of now benched on the side leaving you stranded for some form of strength to pull yourself together in the span of a few seconds.

Your shoulder hit the ground first, then your head; the harsh impact created a string of reactions to your already abused body: pain shooting up your nerves, the corners of your eyes dimming despite the bright lights flashing around you.

Unbeknownst to the three of you, policemen started showing up once someone reported a supposed break-in at the shop you investigated; the sound of blaring sirens filled your eardrums like honey whilst the flashing of red and blue assaulted your blurry sight.

Barely able to distinguish what was happening in front, you attempted to prop yourself up on your elbow; but the more you tried, the more lights started diminishing in your vision. Breathing has never felt so difficult, either.

Miguel was a step too late when he came to you; after having realized what had occurred, he dropped Spot in an instant like a hot potato, prioritizing saving you instead of proceeding with the mission’s objective. He was aware of the policemen being present at the scene when they started noticing your slumped body in the middle of the road, crowding together to watch as you struggled to lift yourself up—they all stood and observed, no one reached out to help, none.

He was by your side right away, his one hand supporting the weight of your head while the other clutching at the hem of your mask, lifting it over your eyes.

His hand felt…wet.

As if things couldn’t possibly get worse: he watched the stiff expression on your face contorted with pain, you seemed to have recognized him as you slowly reached a weak arm out to caress his face, your thumb gently glossing over his cheekbone, your touches light like feathers. His mask concealed the despair in his features, the hues of red and blues still shone on his back as everyone else stayed aside and spectated.

Your hand soon dropped to your side, unmoving, your head now heavier than ever in his hand.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Miguel held your small, delicate hand into his, the tears teasing the corner of his eye as he watched your life slipped by those eyes of yours he’d grown to adore.

“You can’t live like this, Miguel.”

Lyla crossed her arms over her chest, trailing Miguel’s tiny movements on the desk. His fingers delicately move across the keys on the keyboard, imputing password after password for locked files.

“Seriously,” Lyla sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re starting to worry me.”

“Nothing to worry about, Lyla, get me the decoded files from yesterday.” Miguel ignored her pestering, choosing to focus on his work and his work only.

That was his routine for the past 5 days or so.

After the entire slip-up in Earth 1610, Miguel had been busting his ass to hunt down the anomaly for every hour he was awake; granted, he did take care of other responsibilities too—babysitting Mayday on Monday, depatching teams to bring back more anomalies, and visiting you every day.

And also dealing with that kid he found out to be the Spider-man from Earth-1610.

He hadn’t missed a single day of visiting you, who still laid in the hospital bed at the infirmary he cleared out for you.

Everyday. On the clock. 5 am when he woke up, when lunchtime struck, and in the late hours of night when he should be spending on getting enough rest.

Lyla had been there through it all, watching Miguel’s tormented back every single minute he was awake as he continuously starved himself off of the bare minimums.

Food, water, sleep, you name it all.

And as his assistant, his well-being was her number one priority—hence the constant pestering that would be swatted away, food that went cold despite Peter having brought them in hours ago upon Lyla’s request and his growing concern for his friend in the chair. Jess’s occasional visits to check up on Miguel, wondering if the day she stepped in would be the day she would see his lifeless body on the desk with how much neglect he reflected on himself. Even the new recruits dropped in to say hello, just to see that he was doing…okay in his book: which was not okay in everyone else’s.

Everyone was worried.

About you, of course, and him too.

The situation had clearly taken a heavy toll on him.

But Lyla understood more than anyone else that it wasn’t because of his work, his dwelling traumatic past, or how he barely had any rest for the past 120 hours.

No one else knew of his infatuation with you except for her—and that was only because she snooped through his things, finding the little knit-knacks he kept from all those times you came and dropped it off: the tiny Miguel plushie you made when you impulsively decided to take up knitting that one time, the shirt of yours you had forgotten to take back when you visited his office at late hours, soaked from the rain outside and sneezing everywhere.

“Hey Mig—“ sneeze. “I came to see y—“ sneeze. “I—“ and you sneezed.

“For the love of God,” Miguel turned around, seeing your soaked clothes that cling to your body, and having to turn away for just a tiny moment to compost himself when he caught sight of your curves.

Groaning, he pulled out one of his drawers and shuffled through and fished out a new shirt—undoubtedly his with how large it was.

His shirt was a sight on you, fitting perfectly yet still draping over your thighs just slightly when you went to get changed.

The image of you that night burned into his head, forever engraved in his brain.

Then there was the polaroid picture of the two of you when you had forced Miguel to “take a selfie with me!” when you picked up a weirdly shaped camera from a thrift store in your universe (something something you saying to be smart and conserve money). “It’s called InstaX, it—here, let me show you” and snapped a picture.

In the picture, his expression was one of annoyance, and you were squeezed against his shoulder with a toothy grin on your face.

Lyla saw how Miguel would come back with tiny frames that he thought would frame the film perfectly, but ultimately was defeated when he decided to just stick it in-between the pages of his files labeled: Classified.

She was the only one ever to know the content inside: mostly pictures of Gabriella’s (poor) baking, first day at school, when Gabriella won her first competitive soccer match; and then there was you.

She knew how important you were to him; yet to her complete and utter confusion, Miguel always kept to himself about his little (big) crush—even though she could clearly tell you were just as interested as he was, too.

He was the densest man you had the pleasure of knowing.

He never made a move; and now, he might never get another chance to.

Now you were reduced to a sitting duck, once a shell of what you were; your body laid in the bed he frequented more than his own, the lively demeanor that you carried with you before turned into a tune of stable heartbeats beeping from the machinery installed next to you: the only indicator you were still alive.

Guilt was the only thing he knew for a while; when he’d step into the shower as the cold water bit the skin of his back, like he was willingly punishing himself for allowing that incident to happen.

Everywhere he went, whatever he did, he was only reminded of your face.

“If only I had been there sooner.”

He’d say to himself while he peered down at your figure, not there but, there. You were barely hanging, and part of him knew that it was your determination to fight through whatever battle was going on inside your head during the coma.

“Por favor,” his hand held yours, careful to avoid the IV’s that pricked your skin, forehead sticky with sweat after having just come back from a specifically tough mission that day.

“Concédeme este deseo.”

He would whisper sweet-nothings to you, praying to himself at night by your bedside that you’d wake up one of these days with that smile he yearned for. And for someone to finally share the extra empanadas he would always bring in, to hope that one day, you’d get to share this joy with him.

The joy of eating together again.

So imagine his surprise when he walked into your room tonight, and found you sat up with the metal frame supporting your back.

You were awake.

And most importantly, you were alive.

He had never sprinted so fast in his life; the warm pack of empanadas he brought from the cafeteria drop to the floor, the gentle ‘thud’ catching your zoned out self by complete surprise, your face softened once your gaze landed on Miguel; who was frantically patting your face and checking your vitals to confirm that yes, you are here.

Your hand reached up to palm his that lingered on your cheek, his eyes finally settled on you, slowly taking in the fact that you were now right there in front of him.

“Miguel,” a small knowing smile tugged at your lips, your eyes the most gentle he’d ever seen. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

He was still so afraid, so afraid that you would just slip by his fingers again; so he held onto you for dear life, fingers gripping your one cheek and hand with the others.

“Estoy tan contenta de que estés aquí,” You whispered.

A soft quiver of his lips; barely there—that was when the dam broke, and his tears started flowing down his sullen cheeks.

You panicked, wondering if you had butchered your Spanish so bad you shamed him to tears.

“I’m…I’m sorry?” You tilt your head in confusion and worry. Miguel only shook his head, a small chuckle emitted from him; as if he knew what you had been thinking.

“Don’t be sorry, silly.” He looked up at you with those earnest eyes of his; ones that melt your heart and warm your soul. You’d taken a liking to him early on; though you weren’t sure when it started, only where it started: during a mission, when the two of you grew physically close, so close.

His breaths fanning down your face, your breathing grew heavy with each and every second; that was when you knew you were in too deep.

You would know it’d take heaven and hell to pull you apart from this man.

There he kneeled, lips on the back of your hand as his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone, enjoying the way hues of red spread out on your cheeks.

There was no way of escaping it now: the pent up tension of a confession teasing the air around you both, and soon, one of you was bound to crack.

“I have something to tell you—“

“I have something to say—“

Only that you both did it at once, together.

Miguel stared at you, lips slightly parted with the ghost of his words and eyes widened, then he cracked into a fit of roaring laughter—and you joined in.

Laughter filled what was once a room only occupied by the sound of your heartbeats on the machine, the two of you clutched each other’s hand, the high soon dying down to mere giggles; as if you two were high-school sweethearts with muffled chuckles thrown at each other in the back of the class.

You two were in your own little world, a bubble that secured around your bodies, forever molding the shape of what once was and what will be.

Wiping away the happy tear in your eye, you stared at Miguel’s devilishly handsome face, and the gorgeous smile you oh-so-rarely get the privilege of seeing. The muted rhythm of his chest rising and falling, in sync to yours, like two lovers on the dance floor—not even the sky could stop your love for each other.

“I love you.”

You blurted out; sure, you were 98% certain Miguel reciprocated your feelings, but that small node of anxiety still tugged at the back of your mind, terrified that you misunderstood his gestures all these times.

But wouldn’t the words he whispered to you during your sleep be all washed away if that was true?

It was a risk, and you took it; it was now or never.

“I—“ Miguel stammered, his heart screaming at him to just lean in and—

—kiss you.

His lips were nothing like you’d ever imagine; it was all the best parts multiplied by infinity: soft, full of all the love he had to give, and passionate.

The kiss lasted for what felt like eternity—part of you wished it did, and you’d be content to die like this, your lips forever engraved on his.

Miguel swore he heard the choir sung to him, albeit with crooked notes; but maybe because he did.

He slowly turned around, and you, who also does the same.

His colleagues had been quietly watching all this time from behind the doors: Peter with Mayday in tow as she cooed at the sight, Jess and that motherly smile of hers—Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr all stood with heads peeking through the gap of the doors. Even Lyla was there, although she simply floated over Peter's shoulder, joining in on the choir; their mouths agape with barely harmonized tunes of a holy song slipping out of their mouths. Amateur at best, unbearable at worst.

Pavitr carried with the vocals, as always.

They only stopped once they realized they had been caught; thinking that you two were in too deep to notice that there were more guests coming.

“What…are you guys doing here?” Miguel asked, his tone more of a threat than a genuine question.

“We got some food—“ Peter perked up, but was instantly cut off by Hobie.

“‘o watch some sappy romance, ‘ey boss man?” Hobie high-fived Lyla's glitchy hologram, the latter wearing a smirk too wide for her face and nodding aggressively.

“Do the shoulder trick!” Miles yelled out; Gwen looked at him in horror then back to Miguel, this time, it was her who was shaking her head aggressively while crossing her arms into a giant X shape.

Miguel snarled at Miles, not appreciating the cheesy suggestion of a pick-up line while everything went so well for him before they all busted in.

“Remember to host a Sangeet bro! Oh Gayatri is super good at doing Henna—“

“Hey I wanna be the flower girl!” Gwen piped up.

“No, Miguel told me long ago Mayday would be—“

“She’s not even old enough, Peter, can she even throw a fistful of flowers?” Gwen crossed her arms in protest.

“I’ll have you know she’s an extremely capable baby, right, Mayday?” Peter looked down, only to see that Mayday had once again been chewing on his pink robe like always, blabbering with spit foaming at her mouth.

“Oh Christ—“ Jess chuckled at the absurdity of the sight, a hand on her hip and the other tracing soothing circles on her belly; just as Miguel had been doing it with your hand the entire time.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh knowing that the special moment between the two of you had been ruined by a bunch of nosy gremlins.

Your hand went up to remove his hand from his face, and even with how (incredibly) noisy the room became with banters and bickering thrown around; it was all quiet with him, only the stable heartbeats of you both reached your ears.

For once, your life was complete.

Miguel glanced into your eyes, the adoration swarmed your orbs; behind them, he could see far into the future where you both exist, always beside each other like glue to a paper—with you on his hips and his on yours.

And at last, Miguel had found what he had been missing from his life.

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Author's note: Thank you so much for this suggestion Anon, it's my first one ever and I hope i did not disappoint u.u, I LOVED writing this and it got me tearing up reminiscing some fictional (sexy) mexican man. Hope u enjoyed!

ps: pls excuse the spanish i only have spanishdict as my holy grail (pls also DO correct me if needed!)

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astudyincontrasts · 1 year ago

Text

Penance IX (redux)

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A/N: Its my birthday! Last year everyone in this fandom and all the friends I have made because of it made today one of the most special birthdays I have had in a long time. I felt more loved and surrounded in celebration with sweet friends then I had in years, and the cup of that happiness has not stopped running over. There are not enough ways to express my love and gratitude for everyone I've had the joy of meeting here.

So this year, I wanted to offer a gift to all of you. Everyone has been exceedingly patient about my writing struggles to continue Penance, so I'd like to give you the alternate Penance XI chapter- blood I have managed to wring from that stone of writers block. The fate of the continuation of this story may still be up in the air until inspiration comes knocking again, but at least I can share this with you today.

To all my fandom friends, and everyone who has been so supportive of this silly little smutty story. You have my heart.

This picks up after Chapter VIII

“Girl, are you listening?”

Sister Marta’s sharply scolding voice brought you back down to earth with a little jerk, blinking as you turned attention back to the tall, thin, sallow faced nun to meet the exasperated gaze of her cataract-hazed grey eyes.

“Sorry Sister.” You mumbled, casting about for a context clue of whatever it was she might have been speaking about while you’d been off daydreaming about the priest of her parish. Nothing jumped out at you in the dusty old store room of the basement where you both stood in the dim light of one naked and straining lightbulb still swinging gently upon its cord from the nun’s yank of its chain a moment before.

You hadn’t meant to drift off, but it had been four days since you’d seen Father Silco last and that painful, sweet contrition you’d done across the desk of his office was still fresh in your mind as if it had just happened. You ought to have been angry at the fact he’d left you such an unsatisfied mess, and the fact he’d spanked you like a wicked child, in spite of his promise he’d never hurt you as they had back in school.

Truly, he had not. Those sharp little slaps of his open hand were nothing compared to the cruelty of a sharp ruler across knuckles or the backs of thighs delivered by an angry, bitter nun. You smiled faintly at Sister Marta’s increasingly irritated, withered old face and privately thought perhaps she could teach the Father a few things about corporal punishment.

“The candles, girl!” Sister Marta exhorted at last, the thin limit of her patience snapping.

Unlike the ‘my child’ diminutive that the other nuns like Sister Eleanor or Sister Angelica were so fond of using with you and other parishioners, Sister Marta had no use for any such hollow faithful endearments. You hadn’t yet made up your mind if it was an honest gruffness about her you liked, or an insulting mein you did not. You had the notion it would have hardly mattered to the old woman either way.

She nudged one of the pair of low boxes with the toe of her sensible black shoe from under her long, dark habit.

“Take them to the Father to be blessed and then kindly refill the votive stands. You can remove the spent ones and toss them.” She explained, slower this time as if she was speaking to a simpleton.

You bore it with a tight little smile and bent to lift the box on top, surprised by the weight of it, staggering a bit upon rising only to catch a smugly satisfied look on the wrinkled old pucker of a face before Sister Marta reached up to pull the chain of the light and leave you to struggle out the door of the closet and back up the rickety old stairs of the basement in the dark, save for the light from the open door at the top of the steps.

Quietly you wondered if you accidentally fell and broke your neck, if the church would have their endowment free of the burden of your presence that came with it.

Cold comfort, knowing you’d crush the brittle bird-boned old woman climbing up, wheezing softly behind you, and take her with you if you did pitch backward down the steps.

The real trial wasn’t making it to the top of the stairs with the heavy box full of candles, though. No, that one still lay ahead once you’d reached the top without incident. The real trial lay in taking that armload into the rectory to face Father Silco once more and ask his blessing.

You’d thought you’d be safe if you came on a Thursday. You’d avoided the parish planning committee on Monday, as well as your usual Wednesday session with the Father. You’d hardly doubted you’d be missed at the planning meeting, and Wednesday, well. You’d chosen to skip it half in a little act of spite, half just to see what might happen. When no scolding phone call or visit had been forthcoming after shirking both of those commitments the victory felt hollow.

Turning up to make yourself useful to the nuns on Thursday seemed like a good way to cover for your failed gambit and to keep from looking as if you were avoiding the church. Foolishly, you’d thought perhaps you’d manage to skim by with just catching a glimpse of Father Silco in passing.

Unsure if it was because you wanted to see him, or wanted him to see you.

You’d been on rocky footing ever since your little transgression in the confessional, and you knew it.

The door to the rectory lay open just across from the basement door in the open nave of the large narthex, and you waited until Sister Marta crested the steps behind you and shut the basement door to hobble off heavily upon her cane, before you started the slow walk toward his office. You didn’t let yourself hesitate in the doorway, and didn’t have a free hand to knock on the open door with anyway. Instead, summoning all the calm composure you could muster, you simply walked in and paused before his desk.

He sat there, scribbling away in an open book, papers and letters and other books opened in a slightly scattered mess about his work, dark head bent and eyepatch on. He left you standing there until he’d finished what he was writing. Until your elbows and wrists had begun to ache a little from the weight of the box you held. Only then he sat back, letting his pen drop upon the desk as elbows found the armrests of his tall-backed chair and he turned the cool glint of that duplicitously calm ocean colored eye upward.

The thin, scarred cut of his mouth tugged a hint of a smile at one corner.

“Lamb.” He stated mildly, as if unsurprised in the least to see you there and only half interested as to what you might want with him.

Infuriating, how badly you liked hearing that little endearment again. How flustered it made you feel to get hooked on the edge of that smile.

The box shifted heavily in your hands as you juggled its weight and stepped forward to set it upon his desk. Damn his paperwork.

“Sister Marta asked if you’d bless these candles so I could put them in the votive holders.” Your attempt to keep your voice as even and disaffected as possible only resulted in it coming out far softer than you’d meant for it to be.

Leaning forward a touch, Silco flipped one of the flaps of the cardboard lid back to glance at the candles inside with a little hum. One by one he folded each of the other three flaps back and rose to his feet. Elegant fingers stroked absently along the edge of one packaging dividers hashed between the votives within before he plucked a single candle out and set it aside.

Letting that cool eye of his drift shut he made the sign of the cross over the open box of remaining candles before opening both hands before himself, palms cupped upward.

“Lord Jesus Christ, true light that enlightens every man who comes into this world, bestow thy blessing upon these candles, and sanctify them with the light of thy grace. As these tapers burn with visible fire and dispel the darkness of night, so may our hearts with the help of thy grace be enlightened by the invisible fire of the splendor of the Holy Ghost, and may be free from all blindness of sin.”

His eye opened and fell upon you, and suddenly you were profoundly aware of how you just stood there, staring at the tall, lean lines of him in that dark cassock, soaking in the sound of his voice and very obviously not with your hands folded in reverent prayer or eyes downcast as they ought to have been. Something entirely ungodly flickered at the edge of Father Silco’s mouth as he continued on, holding your immobilized gaze.

“Clarify the eyes of our minds that we may see what is pleasing to thee and conducive to our salvation. After the dark perils of this life let us be worthy to reach the eternal light.” His eye closed once more and again he made the sign of the cross over the box as he finished, “Through thee, Jesus Christ, Savior of the world, who in perfect Trinity livest and reignest, God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

His hands lowered, one coming to settle over the glass edge of the candle he’d set to one side, and he considered you as you crossed yourself hastily and reached forward to gather the box back up again. He stopped you lifting it with a touch of the fingertips to its lid.

“When you are through with these, perhaps you’d come back here?” Couched so carefully as a question, yet all you could hear was the quiet order in it. Come back here. Your head was nodding before he even finished speaking and the thin, dark brow not covered by his eyepatch quirked slightly.

“Yes, Father.” Your correction of yourself came nearly automatically.

Another little humming assent and with a slow blink he removed the touch that had stopped you lifting the box, resuming his seat. You hoped he’d resume his work as well, but instead he sat there, watching you go, fingertips drumming thoughtfully upon the little glass votive.

You took your time with the candles, mostly because your hands were shaking and the very last thing you wanted to do was drop one of the blessed things and have it shatter across the church floor. But also, to give you time to scrape yourself together, collect calm and poise. It was no good, heart hammering anticipation equal parts nervousness and excitement. The part of yourself that had wanted so badly to keep up this little charade of wishing to avoid him had succumbed without so much as a whimper.

Again thoughts drifted back to Sunday. To the stinging warmth of skin under his hand, to how he’d teased you to a sodden mess without once slipping fingers beneath the barrier of cotton that had separated you. To how he’d left you wanting and writhing and nearly in tears. A perfect act of contrition, indeed.

It was a struggle not to let yourself wonder what next punishment he could possibly have in store for you.

Spent votives replaced with fresh ones, and the box filled with the clatter of the empty candleholders, you made your way back to his office. Dropping the detritus of other people’s prayers off in the dumpster out back could wait. You had your own worship to attend to.

Father Silco’s desk was far less littered with papers when you returned, open books stacked neatly to one side now and everything else put away save for the book he was still writing in. And that little candle he’d taken. His dark head didn’t even lift as you set the softly clattering box down upon the settee against the wall.

“Office hours are over.” He intoned flatly as you wiped palms nervously over the skirt of the dress covering your thighs.

It froze you, cold like ice water suddenly filling the pit of your belly. Had he just dismissed you after ordering you to return?

“...Father?” It came out a strangled little question and you almost hated how needy the note of your voice made that singular word.

He glanced up and you realized with a start that he’d removed that eyepatch, the hellish orange-red fire of his darkened eye a constant little shock every single time. Ruined eye and teal flicked from you to the door and back again as if in blatant explanation.

“Lock the door.” He elaborated.

It should not have been a matter of pride that you managed to turn and do his bidding without falling all over yourself or scrambling in an embarrassing rush of eagerness, and yet. Far more collected than you felt within, you managed to push the door shut soundlessly and throw the latch, pausing for a moment with your back to him, safely sheltered in the little alcove of the doorway, to breathe through the easing of that sudden cold panic that had surfaced at your earlier misunderstanding.

When you returned to him he’d shut his notebook and set it aside atop the others, and reached to slide that pilfered votive candle before himself as he watched you sidle up to his desk. Watched you stop, smooth the skirt of your dress only to fist it again in fitful hands, watched the tight little press of thighs as he drew out the silence.

“Do you know what these are called?” He asked, nudging the little candle forward with the press of one elegant fingertip before rising from his seat.

“Devotionaries.” You answered, and watched him cross to the wall to the right of you, to a tall coat stand that stood near the door to his quarters.

“Very good.”

A child could have answered that question, but it did not stop the little smile of pleasure that tugged at the corners of your mouth. His praise as euphoric as a drug and twice as addictive, even for the smallest of successes.

Your mouth went dry however, as he turned profile to you, tugged a button or two open upon the throat of his cassock, and then turned his back to undo the rest before shrugging out of the long, dark cloth to hang it upon the coat stand. The black fabric fell in a long and shapeless mass without him, hem puddling ever so slightly on the floor.

It put you in mind of Peter Pan hanging up his shadow, or it would have done, had you not been so preoccupied with the shape of him divested of the dark habit. Of that petulant posture and taut lovely lines, proud set of shoulders and careless, dangerous beauty in how he moved. It was patently unfair that a man sporting licks of sliver at his temples and etched crows feet at the outset edges of his eye should have the lithe shape of youth the way he did.

Devoid of the cassock, he was left instead in the black roman-collared linen shirt and dark, sharply pleated trousers he wore beneath.

He turned back to you and came wandering back toward the desk, unbuttoning the cuffs at his wrists.

“Do you have a lighter?” The question was so casual it caught you off guard and you had to shake your head, tugging at the pocketless skirt of your dress on either side of thighs by way of explanation.

His mouth twisted the merest fraction of a smile as he tucked the cuff of one of his sleeves back, began rolling it neatly toward his elbow. Lean hips turned a fraction as he stepped closer.

“Left pocket.” He instructed, helpfully.

Hesitation grasped you but a moment before you inched forward, stepped into his space and paused. Glancing upward, you found his attention fixed upon meticulously still folding his sleeves back, crisp turn by turn. The focus of those mismatched eyes not even flickering to you, to how every fine hair upon your bare arms stood on end like they were aching toward him, toward that magnetic draw of snapping static thrumming in the air between you both.

Easing half behind him, you reached for the little gap of the pocket and slowly slid fingers into the warmth of its silken confines. Over the bone of his hip and down, wrist deep until you hit the bottom of the pocket and touched the smooth, rectangular shape of the lighter within. Metal heated to body temperature from where it nestled.

Fingers curled around it before you stopped. Let it go, and moved just a little closer, pressed fingers flat to that join between hip and thigh his pocket lay against. Pushed the delve of that pocket just a little deeper and felt his stomach tense beneath your fingertips as your cheek brushed the outside of his upper arm.

“The lighter, lamb. If you please.” His tone was darkly amused at least, though if you kept pushing your luck it would be at your own cost. That much was clear.

You scooped up the lighter once more, but withdrew your hand slow, knuckles grazing softly along the cut of muscle you could feel running from his hip inward and down. Air felt unwelcomely cold against your skin once you pulled your hand free, and before you could step back, he moved away for you. Walked away to resume his seat behind the desk as he finished doing up his other cuff to just below his right elbow.

A small push of his foot made space between the seat and the desk, and you only needed the flick of his eyes from you to the room he’d made to set you in motion to come and stand before him, his lighter clenched tight in your closed fist, unwilling to relinquish the little bit of his heat you held in your palm.

Gazing up at you, his attention licked over the details of your dress, your posture, your hesitant composure, as he tugged at the give of trousers a little at the bend of thigh and hip and settled himself more comfortably.

“You weren’t here yesterday.” He observed as he relaxed back against the tall chair, a flicker of a blink over that oceanic eye. You held your tongue and his gaze fell to the candle upon the desk just beside where you stood, and you wondered if your absence had made him angry, filled him with regret, or perhaps just left him lonesome. You wished there was a way to tell, any little crack in that stoic mask of scarred features and sharpness to let the truth of what he was thinking seep out. Nothing there though but that calculating, penetrating gaze and a subtle shrug of broad, lean shoulders, “I suppose we might make up for lost time, then. Contrition may be an important facet of faith, but so is devotion.”

He reached forward to scoop into fingers the loose end of the bow that tied the wrap of your dress shut beside your waist. His good eye narrowed, the fine lines of crowsfoot deepening. He’d seen that dress before, yes– the same one you’d worn to catch him by surprise in the confessional.

You allowed yourself the most innocent little smile you could manage when those mismatched eyes flicked sharply to your face, and willed breath to stay even, slow, no matter how skin had begun to sing his name in soft coursing waves of prickling goosebumps.

“I don’t suppose you have your rosary?” He asked archly, letting the ribbon of the bow drop from his open hand as he sat back once more.

He’d every right to ask it of you so dryly, given your lack of pockets. And you had every right to feel as smug as you did when you lifted a hand, reached into the low, criss-crossed neckline of your dress and drew out the strand of little purple beads from the nestle of your bra.

The war between shock, dark delight, the struggle to keep his poker face, and perhaps even a hint of righteous outrage that overtook the sharply handsome ruin of his features was nothing short of spectacular. You’d replay it, over and over again at night. Reveling in how well you toppled the high and mighty cold ivory pillar he so often perched upon.

Out and out you drew the beads until the little cross popped free and the rosary hung, swinging, upon your forefinger.

His hand, resting upon his knee, tightened, fingers twitching slightly, before it stilled, then lifted, palm open in demand.

You dropped that little holy object into his hand and watched his fist close around it, knowing full well he now held a little piece of your heat as surely as you held his within your other hand. There was a slight softening to the creases where thin brows met over that sharp nose that told you he felt it, too.

“Good girl.” He murmured, and the flush that crept up to warm your ears was nearly as delicious as the thrill that both chased up your spine and tugged at the backs of your knees to fold, to kneel. You rested the heel of your palm upon the desk behind you and let it take your weight so that you did not cave.

By the time he turned his face back up to you he’d mastered his expression once more, beatific calm singed at its hard edges.

“Turn around,” He instructed, making the simple order sound heavy, dangerous. Bringing thighs together from their slight sprawl, he patted the top of one, “Have a seat.”

Heart thudded hard in your ears as you did as you were bade, turning to sink onto his lap carefully, perched upon his knees. He sucked chipped teeth softly at it.

“Have a seat,” That grit velvet voice scolded gently from behind you as both his hands curled about your waist and urged you backward, until you sat comfortably fully upon him, back fitted to his front.

A hand upon your hip skimmed over stomach and waist, back to the bow of your dress.

“Why do we say devotions?” He asked, and you could feel the question purring through his chest against your back as he claimed the thick ribbon of the bow and tugged. The knot gave with no resistance, and the part of it he held served nicely to pull the cross of your dress open, just enough to part the skirt of it and leave you bare from stomach to thighs.

The shudder that overtook you was sweet and slow, wringing from core to limbs, leaving a little shivering tingle rising over scalp and curling toes, that familiar little throbbing ache back with a hot and hungry vengeance. Hips shifted in your seat as his fingertips ghosted skin to part fabric and push it aside, leaving your lower half bare save for the dark, smooth satin of underwear in the same shade of inky black as his habit.

“To remember the dead?” You chanced, feeling halfway there yourself, pulse racing erratically.

“Sometimes,” He agreed, and you swore you felt the whisper of scarred lips at your neck. Certainly felt the wash of warm breath plume over skin, “More generally devotions are an act of prayer or private worship. Remembrance is one act, as are service, reflection, beseeching, prostration… your rosary, for example, is considered a devotion.”

His hands slid along your arms, touch warm, bringing your hands together to press in prayer before he began to wind the beaded strings around your wrists again to bind them together.

“I thought that was a penance.” You exhaled in a shuddering little rasp.

“It can be, but not today.” The tip of his sharp nose drew a long, slow line against the rise of your spine, above the neckline of your dress between shoulder blades and to the base of your skull, “although that can be a devotion too.”

The heel of his foot caught the floor and pulled the seat with you both in it forward towards his desk, so that he could reach around you and lift the candle from where it sat before pushing you both back again. He held the votive before you.

“Light it,” he asked, free arm curling about you, fingers trailing the soft of your stomach from navel on down, “I owe you a devotion, lamb.”

Fingers bound in prayer fumbled with the thick golden rectangle of the lighter as you struggled not to simply sink back against him with a little shiver and beg that he stroke that little path across vulnerable skin once more. A flick of your thumb sent the hinged lid open and the circular little flint struck on the second attempt, hot flame bursting to life. Silco turned the candle so that you could light it and then pulled it away as you flicked the lighter shut and slipped it back between folded hands.

“Do you know the devotional prayer?” He asked, hand holding the candle coming to settle upon an armrest as his lap shifted beneath you, lean legs pressing together beneath your own and lifting before spreading wide, the hook of his knees beneath your thighs opening them in an indecent slow splay.

It set you writhing; the kissing chill of the air of the room contrasting sharply with the heat of him beneath you, so very bare, bound in his lap, spread open like an invitation. The door was locked, yes, you’d made sure of it but what if you were wrong? What if someone had a key? There’d be no explanation for the position you found yourself in, no way to hide.

The thrill of that little licking fear warred with the light caress of his free hand as it curled over the top of one thigh and smoothed toward your knee, only to hook it better in its drape over his own before it began the slow teasing, lazy circles that drew it back toward the little throbbing want hidden beneath the black satin gusset of thin panties.

“Bare legs.” He murmured, and you gave another little squirm, folded hands pressing together tighter. You’d not worn what you were coming to suspect was his favorite item of your clothing because you’d not expected to see him, and also to spite him if you did. The move seemed to have backfired spectacularly. When you had no excuse or answer, Father Silco simply carried on, a note of pleased amusement in his tone, “The prayer?”

“N-no. That is, no I don’t know it.”

“Hmn.” His little hum of disapproval at the gaps still existing in your liturgical knowledge colored your cheeks, and you could only hope that from his position he could not see the frustration that joined the embarrassment upon your face.

You watched him lift the candle slowly from where he’d held it at your side, bring it to hover over your open lap. His hand upon your thigh stilled its toying little strokes and instead closed in a taut grip of your leg, soft skin denting tenderly beneath his fingers.

“That’s alright,” he reassured you quietly, and you could hear the dark little smile in it, “This is my devotion anyhow.”

The flickering little candle he held hovering before you began to tilt, turn, and the inward gasp of breath caught in your throat as the clear melted wax welled at the lip of the red glass before spilling over, heat spattering in a little drip against the sensitive skin of your knee.

He paused, and you could feel him shift under your restless hips, feel the little roll of his own and the way his breath strained ever so slightly for just a moment.

“Does that hurt?” Low and velvet that voice mumbled up against the skin behind the fold of your ear and again he tipped a little burning drop of wax onto waiting skin.

Your knee jumped the barest fraction, reflexive little jerk at the soft scalding that faded quickly into gentle warmth, and you nodded, folded hands pressing the knuckles of forefingers tight to your lips.

“A little.” You breathed, raggedly.

“Enough to stop?” He pressed, and the soft moan of a sigh that broke from you when the warmth of his mouth touched to the hard thrum of your pulse answered well enough for you before your shattered little ‘no’ eked out.

His fingers had strayed far up the leg they’d been casually toying across, toward the heat that he had to feel absolutely radiating from the apex of thighs. One long forefinger drew a tracing line around the triangle of slippery black satin, up both edges and across your lower stomach slowly.

Air seized in your throat as his fingertips plucked at the smooth waistband.

“Lord, may this candle which I light illuminate all my difficulties and decisions.” Silco began, waiting to feel the tension stringing through you begin to ease before he spilled another dollop of wax, and then a second and third a bit further up each time. The soft sting of it had you writhing, the little shock of burning heat fading to a warm tickle as the wax rolled down in heavy drips, cooling against your skin.

Behind you, Silco’s breath caught in a little huff once more, a soft whistle between clenched chipped teeth on the inhale.

“May this candle be a fire,” He continued after a beat, spreading the warm little shocks and sudden pinching stings to the tender inner thigh of your other leg, “that burns away all my pride, selfishness…”

Writhing and shifting, you struggled in his lap, not wanting to escape yet fighting the way every fibre of you recoiled from the spattering searing sting of the wax in a reflexive, uncontrollable urge. Several of these squirming jerks of your hips and the hand teasing at the edge of your panties caught suddenly in a taut cup between your legs as you felt Silco’s own hips give a hard little shove upward.

Stilling breathlessly, he kept you waiting a long moment while he seemed to struggle to master himself, the fingers cupping you picking up an almost absent little up and down stroke over the satin covering the shape of your sex, unerringly finding the cleft between lips.

Cooling wax flexed and tugged at skin as you tried to spread a bit further for him, to press into his touch, scared if you were to beg for more with words that it might stop the tease entirely, as it had the last time he’d had his hand between your thighs. God, how he’d tormented you, brought you so terribly close… Hips rolled hard and slow against him in retaliation as you relived your humiliation.

As if reading your mind, his touch skimmed higher, and fingertips tucked themselves beneath the satin confines of the upper edge of panties, teasing little strokes at skin that tensed and trembled beneath his touch before they began to slip lower, “and all my other sins.”

Wax was flowing freely, dripping to punctuate each word, taking his sweet time as you wriggled and bucked in his lap, swallowing little gasps and hisses as your skin sang.

At least one shift of your hips must have caught him just right because for a moment you could hear him choke on his words, feel him tense beneath you again. Determined to give as good as you got you did it again and felt the rush of his breath fan against your neck.

His free hand tensed where it lay, fingertips so tremulously close to the cleft of lips, and delved to catch a second taut grip over the shape of your bare sex. The sudden hard grasp of naked contact had you spiraling, arching hard back against him. He was hard beneath you, you could feel it, and caught between his hand and that hint of hardness digging into the soft of your bottom you rocked slowly, only to be rewarded with a long pour of hot wax up your thigh that turned the gentle motion of hips to a wild little ride.

“May this candle be a flame,” He continued, and the broken rasp of his voice was nearly, nearly as sweet as the single slow caress of his finger that found the slick part of your folds and pressed between slippery skin to drag upward. Unerringly found the proud, eager little swell of your clit and sent your lower back into a hard strung arch with one little nudge, “that warms my heart and incites me to love.” He concluded, raggedly, and you swore you felt the graze of chipped teeth scrape over your shoulder.

Riding the light touch of his fingertip and behind you, the hard press of his cock through his pants and your open dress, you sprawled redolently back against him, let your neck find a home in a comfortable arch over his shoulder before turning your head, nestling forehead in the hollow of his throat before shifting to tuck a begging little kiss to the sharp of his jaw.

“Amen.” You finished for him, and felt the sting of wax hit your hip and then your stomach that made you hiss and buck hips once more. Your reward a groan of breath from him and another lingering stroke of his fingertips through soaked folds to flick caressingly at the sweet throbbing ache of your clit.

How long, how many bitter nights now had you wished for this, how many feverish and filthy dreams had you endured, just longing to feel his bare touch? It had become so much worse after your last meeting, all that sharp longing redoubled after his heartless punishing teasing.

No more, no more thin cotton or sheer lace or anything at all between his touch and you. The heat of his hand was nothing to the splashes of searing wax you’d endured, yet it was so much sweeter. That little flicking touch came ghosting over the sensitive little nub of your clit and you writhed unashamedly, trying every which way to force his touch more, closer, deeper.

The prayer was far too short for your liking. What good were hollow words meant to convey something as strong and fervent an ideal as devotion if they were over in mere minutes? Grumbling a little whinging protest you pushed back against him with a hard roll of hips.

“Father…” You objected, voice cracked with pleading.

“Who?” The grit dark velvet of his voice asked at your ear, delighted and tormented as the devil himself.

“Daddy.” The word was out before you could even think it, like it teetered perpetually on the edge of your teeth ever since the first time he prised it out of you, “P-please, please, daddy…”

The sharp blade of his nose shoved hard behind your ear, his ragged breathing a hushed tickling whuffle from narrow nostrils, and any further pleading you were on the verge of was stifled with a squealed little gasp as he spread the sodden petals of your pussy with the splay of three fingers, and the center one of those long, elegant digits found its way down between slicking folds, delving deep into the welcoming clenching grip of your want… only to withdraw his entire hand in a long, slow drag, tracing a line of accusatory wet all the way up to the dip of your navel.

It left you sobbing tearlessly, gasping and gulping and lifting hips in a wordless eagerness that only earned you another splattering of scalding wax across the strain of thighs.

Father Silco ignored your plight as steadfastly as any man of the cloth could ignore temptation, and began a new prayer.

“Earnestly I seek you;

I thirst for you,

my whole being longs for you,

in a dry and parched land

where there is no water.”

The psalm he recited washed over you like a slow caress while you squirmed fitfully on his lap and watched his hand lift, middle finger glossed to its base with your wet. Vanishing in your periphery, the sound of him sucking that long digit thoughtfully clean acted perfect punctuation to the sacrilege of his misappropriated prayer.

Guilt spiced the edge of half-denied pleasure and soft pain. As his hand slid back down your skin and toward the clenching, shivering yearning of your core, you’d never felt so debased, so deeply wicked and wrong. Burning wax hit your thigh once more in heavy, rolling drops and you arched, straining, hissing between clenched teeth; become more serpent in the garden of Eden than Eve.

“I have seen you in the sanctuary

and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life,

my lips will glorify you.”

He teased the upper edge of soaked panties once more, tracing the pucker of their hem, slipping fingertips just beneath them, savoring the softness of skin and the way the taut of your stomach quivered beneath his touch. Desire welled like a dark stone filling your throat, heart coated in the sticky sap of filthy blasphemous sin as his scarred mouth tickled at the hook of your jaw and tender line of your throat. This was wrong, so wrong, so deliciously perfectly throbbingly wrong.

Heat flooded your face as you crushed the press of prayer folded hands to your forehead, eyes shut tight against the rushing high of mortifying lust. Forbidden, taboo, illicit; whatever you wanted to call that gut-deep and undisputed knowledge that this was unforgivably wrong, it excited you in a way nothing else ever had.

He could see it in you, you knew he could. He saw how horrible your deepest darkest thoughts could be and he just kept dragging them out into the light, smiling as he let you dirty yourself with the honesty of your predilections.

The line of his arm tightened against your side as he reached to slip fingers back into your heat, another lazy circling tease to against clit that left you wrung out and breathless before he delved back inside of you and let you ride the slow pumping slide of one long finger.

“I will praise you as long as I live,

and in your name I will lift up my hands.

I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;

with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

Your head rocked as he butted his forehead gently to your temple, words a warm, seeping whisper at your cheek, that stern, gravel worn seduction of his voice undoing you, taking you apart at the seams until you felt sure you’d fall open there in his lap like a ragdoll with the sin-like sawdust spilled out.

Inside of you, he was inside of you- and just that knowledge, just the wretchedly wonderful wrongness of it made the whole of you jerk in a taut little shiver of surrender. That slender artful finger kept up its torment like he had no notion of your mortal struggle; curling, thrusting, buried deep. It had you in a tailspin, hips working devoid of conscious thought, all sensation dialed down to the hard, hot, fluttering building to a crescendo within. Greed, gluttony, lust… were they called deadly sins because you felt fit to die if you did not satisfy each one right this moment?

The stinging pain of the wax he kept dripping in erratic little patterns jerked you from the sinking, seeping pit of ecstatic bliss over and over again, a cruel and wonderful see-saw that kept you gripping white-knuckled on the sharp edge of insensible pleasure.

“On my bed I remember you;

I think of you through the watches of the night.

Because you are my help,

I sing in the shadow of your wings.

I cling to you;

your right hand upholds me.”

His right hand was all that stood between you and heaven; the grinding press of the heel of his palm to the throb of your clit, the smooth slow fucking his single finger was giving you, all of it an overwhelming agony of delight but just shy of what you needed to crest the rising wave of tense bliss he was intent on drowning you with.

Head tossed back, you groaned that little, broken, sordid version of his holy title once more, hands bound at the wrists with your rosary clenched in fervent prayer to your chest that he’d let you come, please God just let you come...

And with that one word, beneath you Father Silco went suddenly still and rigid, something like a strangled gasp caught in his throat as hips pinned under your writhing ones jerked their own stilted thrust upward… and held for a long and breathless moment before you felt him sag with a rushing, panting release. His hand cupped to you had gone quite still, and you could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Had he… had he just…? You shifted hips experimentally and heard him hiss a wordless scolding as his hand gripped the shape of your pussy hard. Stilling obediently, you had to struggle not to smile sinful bliss.

Just a little touch of you combined with the friction of your hips working in his lap and he’d cum those dark, well tailored pants of his.

In spite of being robbed of your own relief, for the moment you felt nothing but powerful, smug and heady with the evidence of how your infatuation was not one-sided, just as you had in the confessional, and it made you foolishly proud.

Proud, right up to the point when he withdrew his finger from within you and in the space of a half second, just before your mouth could open in complaint, caught a little pinch of your clit between thumb and middle finger only to assault that overstimulated cluster of slick nerves with his forefinger in such lashing that you pitched clean into the waiting arms of your release.

It was hard and fast, unmerciful, the lovely strain nearly ruined by how long he’d kept you waiting and how hard he’d teased you up to it.

“Amen.” He was purring in your ear, voice near drowned out by the hard thrumming pound of blood rushing in your brain. Thighs shivered in their hook over top of his own, gone weak as every ounce of tension bled out of you, leaving you lolling, warmly pliant and sighing devoutness far more fervent than any stale saint could have possibly understood.

There was a little click of glass as he set the remains of the candle back upon his desk and turned your face toward himself where your head lay back upon his shoulder. Fingers traced the curve of your cheek, and when he licked at the open part of your lips the faint taste of yourself mingled with him lingered. Bless me father, for I have sinned.

Profane and perfect, you felt his smile stretch against your mouth.

“Do you doubt my devotion, lamb?” He asked quietly, hands smoothing away the cooled and peeling wax in long strokes that left gently welted and red splotched skin stinging sweetly.

Your head shook infinitesimally, not wanting to break the scant contact of his mouth to your own.

“Do you pray for me, Father?” The urge to know felt crushing, the weight of guilt creeping in to gnaw at the edges of sordid bliss.

“Oh lamb. You’re the only thing I pray for anymore.”

#penance #silco #father silco #priest silco #silco au #arcane au #silco x reader #silco arcane x reader #no y/n #more penance at last! rejoice!#my birthday gift to you

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kookie-doughs · 1 year ago

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Daddy Cupid: The Asshole

Modern!Donquixote Doflamingo X Reader

-When your father grows weary of your single life, he takes it upon himself to play matchmaker. With him knowing the entire city, he embarks on a mission to find you the perfect match.

Chapter 2: I'm literally the best stop complaining

The question of why you hadn't blocked Doflamingo's number had crossed your mind several times. The answer, you supposed, was that you kept it in case there was an emergency or something related to your father's persistent matchmaking efforts. But every time he sent you a barrage of messages, you questioned that decision.

This morning, you woke up to a whopping 41 messages from Doflamingo. As you scrolled through them, you realized that they ranged from him checking up on you, to him insulting you for being injured in the first place, and even included a series of videos where he flexed his wrist to prove he was perfectly fine.

His face was definitely not something you wanted to see first thing in the morning, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to block him without him coming to harass you afterwards.

Of course, Doflamingo isn't the only one who had your number. Among the various messages some are from friends like Smoker and Buggy, one message stood out and grabbed your attention - it was from Marco. Your heart skipped a beat as you read his message, curious about what he had to say or if he had any explanation for the awkward situation from yesterday.

You smiled at Marco's message, appreciating the prospect of a pleasant lunch to lift your spirits after dealing with Doflamingo's antics. You replied with the name of a good diner you knew, and when he confirmed the plan, you slumped onto the couch, contemplating what to do while you waited for lunchtime to arrive.

Excitement for your upcoming date with Marco filled you, and you decided to share your anticipation with your friends. You posted about how thrilled you were for the date and took the opportunity to block everyone related to Doflamingo from seeing your posts (sorry Law, i can't trust you). You wanted to ensure a peaceful and enjoyable day ahead.

As you looked at your excited post about the date your dad had set up for you, a strange feeling washed over you. Why were you so excited about this? It was yet another one of your father's matchmaking attempts, something that had become more of a burden than a source of joy.

The realization made your happy bubble burst, and a frown crept onto your face as you pondered why you had allowed yourself to feel this way about a situation you had little control over.

Feeling a bit more reluctant this time, you decided to dress more casually than the day before. Your preparations were quicker today, and you arrived at the diner in a more relaxed state, hoping that today's date with Marco would turn out better than yesterday's unexpected encounter with Doflamingo.

As you sat down at the diner, you tried to banish any thoughts of Doflamingo from your mind. However, your efforts were in vain as you saw the man himself walking towards you with a smug, shit-eating grin on his face. It seemed that he was determined to make your day miserable once again.

"Oh, love, I didn't know you'd be here. How perfect!" he cooed.

You prayed, hoping Marco would arrive already, as ignoring Doflamingo became increasingly difficult with each breath he took.

"Y/N sweetheart~ what would you want to eat hmm? you know since your disabled right now~ i can feed you and all that i wouldnt want my darling straining her hand. im just that sweet" Doflamingo sang.

"I can feed myself just fine," you retorted, struggling to maintain your patience.

Just as you were about to lose your cool, a ray of hope appeared in the form of your doctor, entering the diner. His smile brought instant relief as he approached your table.

"Hey, doc!" you called, your scowl turning into a smile. "Fancy running into you here. Three time in a row, aren't you lucky?"

He chuckled, "Maybe it's fate that brought us together."

Curious, you asked, "So, what brings you to this place?"

"I'm actually here for a lunch date," he admitted with a sheepish grin.

"Ah, a date?" you replied. "Where's the lucky person?"

"I have no idea," he laughed, "My dad arranged it and didn't tell me much, except that it's his friend's daughter."

Your eyes widened in realization. "Wait, Doc, is your name Marco?"

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "You've seen me twice now, and I had my name tag on both occasions." He laughed

Doflamingo, who had been hovering nearby, didn't seem thrilled with Marco's arrival. His confident demeanor wavered as he realized you might be genuinely interested in getting to know Marco better.

You couldn't help but laugh at your own obliviousness. "I guess I was too focused on my wrist to notice your name. Sorry about that."

Marco continued, "So, are you two on a date?"

You quickly clarified, "Oh, no, not at all. He was just asking for food." You stressed pushing him away. "Although I think, we're the ones who's supposed to be on a date."

Doflamingo, however, seemed unfazed by your attempts to distance yourself from him, and just glared down Marco.

As Marco and you exchanged introductions, the atmosphere shifted subtly. It felt different from the forced encounters your father arranged. There was a genuine sense of curiosity and interest in each other.

You took a seat at the small corner table, Marco joining you. Doflamingo, looking slightly put off, hovered around, but you chose to ignore him. You were more focused on Marco, trying to get to know the person behind the doctor you'd seen thrice this week.

"So, Marco, tell me about yourself. I've only heard about you briefly," you said, genuinely curious.

Marco leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Well, I'm a doctor, as you know. I recently moved to Grand Line to work at the hospital here. I enjoy reading, running, and cooking. And I have an inexplicable fondness for cats."

You chuckled, finding his quirks endearing. "That sounds nice. What made you choose a career in medicine?"

"It's a long story," Marco replied with a shrug. "But mainly, I wanted to help people. Plus, I'm a bit of a science nerd."

You nodded, appreciating his dedication to his profession. The conversation flowed effortlessly as you talked about your own interests and experiences. Marco was easy to talk to, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than you'd expected.

Meanwhile, Doflamingo seemed increasingly irritated by the situation, occasionally making snide comments and eye-rolling gestures. You tried to ignore him, but his presence was hard to ignore.

Eventually, you decided to order your meals, continuing to enjoy the conversation. It felt different from the forced setups your father orchestrated. With Marco, there was a genuine connection, a sense that you might have more in common than you'd initially thought.

Despite Doflamingo's interruptions and attempts to annoy you, the lunch date with Marco turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. You couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a bad match after all.

He interrupted your conversation with Marco several times, making snide remarks and trying to draw your attention back to him. It was clear that he wanted to assert his dominance, proving that he could disrupt your day no matter what.

However, you were determined not to let Doflamingo ruin your time with Marco. You politely but firmly asked him to leave your table, but he wouldn't budge. His persistence was infuriating, and it became a battle of wills between you and the persistent man.

Despite Doflamingo's best efforts to annoy you, Marco remained composed and understanding. He didn't engage with Doflamingo's antics but instead focused on your conversation, as if he could block out the interference. His unwavering support and patience impressed you even more.

You nod towards Doflamingo, annoyance evident in your expression. "How do you manage to tolerate him?"

Marco lets out a chuckle. "Well, growing up in a household with at least 19 brothers can prepare you for dealing with all kinds of personalities. Edward adopted a lot of kids after my mom passed away, so I've had my fair share of interesting characters around."

Your conversation continued, but alas, Doflamingo always wins. His antics grew tiresome, and you decided it was time to end the lunch and escape the annoying man's presence. You politely excused yourself, thanked Marco for the pleasant time, and promised to meet him again soon.

"As long as it's not about your wrist." You both laughed.

As you left the diner, you couldn't help but feel that Doflamingo would continue to be a thorn in your side.

Doflamingo pouted, "Hey, I thought your dad liked me. Why is he introducing you to others?"

You shrugged, "He doesn't like you; he likes every bachelor in this city."

Doflamingo confidently declared, "That's me. He likes me. Tell him you don't need to meet others; the great me is already taking his time meddling with the likes of you."

"God I hope you stop."

"I'm superior to that Marco guy in every way. I'm smarter, stronger, taller, you name it."

"Mhm, congratulations. Now, could you please go away?"

"Why go on a date with him and not me? Rayleigh said he also suggested me?" Doflamingo asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.

You turned to him, a mix of disgust and confusion on your face. "Please tell me that's not a genuine question," you replied, unable to comprehend how Doflamingo could believe he was a better choice.

"Well, I guess your puny, stupid brain can't comprehend my greatness," Doflamingo quipped with a smirk.

You scoffed in response and rolled your eyes, refusing to engage further in his arrogant banter.

Doflamingo continued with his arrogant comments as you walked together, making you grit your teeth in frustration. After a few more minutes, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Thinking it was finally time to get away from him, you walked ahead and leave him behind. However, you realized you had arrived back at your place.

You looked back at Doflamingo, who stood there, glancing around and occasionally locking eyes with you.

You blinked in surprise, realizing that Doflamingo had indeed walked you all the way home. You stood there, staring at the doorknob, not quite sure how to react to this unexpected situation.

"Are you seriously struggling to grasp the concept of opening a door? You've been standing there for a good ten minutes," Doflamingo jeered with his signature arrogance.

Your eyes widened, and you blinked in disbelief at his audacity. Staring at the doorknob as if it held the secrets of the universe, you stammered, "I-I..."

Doflamingo's mocking tone left you flustered and at a loss for words, making your response little more than an incoherent mutter.

Fueled by frustration, you exclaimed, "Whatever!" and slammed the door shut behind you. You rushed away, hoping to find a way to escape from Doflamingo's relentless presence. However, as you peered out, your heart sank when you realized he was still there, watching your every move with that infuriating smirk.

Your face burned with frustration as you stomped towards the elevator. Once you reached your apartment, you rushed inside and peeked out from the balcony, half expecting Doflamingo to still be standing by the door. To answer your question, he was walking and was a few meters away.

He had walked you home and even waited until you entered your apartment before departing. The whole situation left you confused.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @nykie-love-anime @angstylittleb1tch @valen-yamyam16 @melodyidk @anicega @littlegreekgirl1 @rebeccawinters @manduse @alextheknight707

#x reader #fanfiction #y/n l/n #one piece #one piece x reader #doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote family #one piece donquixote doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo x reader #daddy cupid #the asshole

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dailydemonspotlight · 5 months ago

Text

Slime - Day 59

Race: Foul

Arcana: Chariot

Alignment: Dark-Chaos

June 20th, 2024

...What is there even to talk about here? It's- it's just a slime, man!

Vee-ho, come on! There's gotta be something there! Just look beneath the surface!

I'd rather not?! Look at this thing! It's disgusting!

cOme OooN mAn.. yoU doN'T gotTA Do mE liKe thaT...

Don't you dare insult my friend, ho! Look, even with all generic monsters, there's stuff to dig into, right? Besides, this skit is get-hee-ng annoying! Vee-ho, just go ah-hee-d and start!

...Jesus Christ, okay. How do I even begin with this? SMT has plenty of classical monster tropes that it has its own spins on- whether it be werewolves, vampires, or, well... slimes. Especially in the earlier games in the series, when the concepts of demons were far less well refined, fantasy monsters that some would call generic were dime-a-dozen, and slimes were no exception. In fact, they were everywhere! Sludge Slimes! Green Slimes! Blobs! However, as the series went on and the identity of a demon was given far more thought, most of these extra slime variants began to fade, leaving us only with the classic Slime and his big brother, Blob.

The thing is, nobody is really sure where the concept of Slimes came from, as there has been no single mythological mention that can definitively trace to the idea of a slime itself. This leaves us with a big issue, though! What the hell is this things deal?! I think I have an idea, but it's a bit strained. Slimes as we know them today originally appear all the way back in the first edition of D&D, back in 1974, but it's believed that the idea can be traced back even further, into the 1930's.

In fact, I think I have an idea that has been attested to by... Reddit. Yeah. Slimes may be based originally off of a type of monster described in the Lovecraft book 'At the Mountains of Madness' called a Shoggoth, combined with ideas of slime mold, and a general need for a generic enemy type. Shoggoth are described as massive amoeba-like creatures that glow gently and have eyes blinking all over them, able to form any organs and limbs they need at will. To quote,

It was a terrible, indescribable thing vaster than any subway train—a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light all over the tunnel-filling front that bore down upon us, crushing the frantic penguins and slithering over the glistening floor that it and its kind had swept so evilly free of all litter.

This idea can be further traced back to the idea of the Demiurge in the Hyperborean cycle, a series of short stories written by Clark Ashton Smith, but... that's when the trail runs cold. Clark was good friends with Lovecraft at the age, and they took many cues from each other, and I couldn't even find a good date for the original story that Ubbo-Sathla, the deity I'm referring to, originates from. What makes this even more frustrating is that I can't find a good hook to go into with this! What do I focus on? What do I circle around?!

Just think! C'mon!

You're not helping... but okay.

Slimes could also be based on the classic movie 'The Blob,' and combining that idea with Shoggoths could have given rise to this classical idea, but the thing is, linking an actual origin is difficult. It's incredibly possible that slimes are just the brainchild of a bunch of nerds who wanted to come up with an enemy for their very first TTRPG, and it stuck around ever since, becoming a staple of the fantasy genre for years upon years to come. Shit, slimes are insanely popular everywhere you look! There are entire manga revolving around them, the Dragon Quest series's main mascot and icon is a slime, the first boss in Terraria is a slime, and it's the most popular enemy type- shit, Gelatinous Cubes are some of the first things most people think of when they think of D&D! I gotta respect the fact that, in spite of the frustrations in researching these things, they're both cute and incredibly popular.

OoOoooO, dO I haVe faAns?

I'm getting a headache... I'm gonna go lay down.

She-hee left her computer on... I guess I'll wrap this up.

Overall, in the see-hee-ries, Slimes actual-hee have a rather unique disposition, especially in the Devil Summoner games! I really do enjoy the fact that they don't look too fri-hee-ndly in a lot of the games- as opposed to the marketable mascots of several other series, slimes in Megaten can be downright gross looking. Sorr-hee for the BTS drama in this one, I promise we'll get right back to it soon! Slimes are just a bit hard to look into, y'know.

...dO I gEt My caNdY noW?

Yeah, gimme a sec.

#shin megami tensei #smt #megaten #persona #daily #slime #shoggoth #god i love these stupid skits #sorry for the very unserious post i just wanted to goof off a bit-#especially cus there's genuinely just. not a lot related to slimes to look into #it kinda sucks cus i love slimes but #without a good mythological source #excluding lovecraft who i will not wade through the depths of for a fuckin slime #it makes this really hard to talk about :(#so i kinda just leaned into the jokes! hope y'all enjoyed lol

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frogsmulder · 9 months ago

Note

From the ship number ask: M/K 46.

I’m already looking forward to what you’re going to come up with! 😋

46 …out of envy or jealousy.

He Works Alone

during sleepless krycek has a heated argument with mulder; 1.1k words; rated e; tagging @today-in-fic and @leonardbetts

read on ao3

Alex follows Mulder out of the morgue, playing catch up to the quick clip of his oxfords in the tiled floor. He jogs up to him before he can reach the double doors to the main hallway; his own footsteps an indignant outcry for Mulder to slow down which goes ignored. He finally gets him to listen with a hand to grab his shoulder, spinning him around to face him. There is a vexed look upon Mulder's face as if he had been persecuted before Alex could say a word.

Wary, Alex takes a breath and tries yet fails to keep the bite from his voice. “Hey, so what was that in there?”

“What?” Mulder's eyes search his for clarification; almost the perfect picture of innocence.

He shakes his head slowly, incredulously. “You and agent…”

“Scully?”

“Yeah,” he chuffs half a laugh. “Do you usually get your pathologists by special request?”

Mulder glances at the hand still on his shoulder and Alex retracts it suddenly feeling his palm grow clammy. Mulder levels a stare at him, a strange cocktail of warning and attempted comprehension. As the seconds pass, Alex is caught in the tide of his dark eyes and feels his mouth dry and his cheeks flame under the scrutiny.

Mulder turns around and continues to walk before he answers, “She's just a friend; we used to work together.”

Alex stands his ground. “Just a friend, huh?”

The speed with which Mulder whips back around to point a finger almost stuns him. “What are you trying to say?”

Alex looks away and licks his lips. “Did you not see the way she looks at you, Mulder?”

“Careful there, you almost sound jealous.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Look, I don't care how you go about finding leads in this investigation; I know your methods are…”

“What?” Mulder steps closer. “Spooky?” His eyes dart darkly between both of his, searching. “Like I haven't heard that before. You'll have to try harder to insult me Alex.”

“I was gonna say unconventional–and I'm not trying to insult you. All I'm saying is I'd like to be kept in on this investigation.”

“You were there.” His voice scratches low and quiet, earnest.

Alex squares up to him. “You were keeping such close quarters I didn't hear a thing you said!” he hisses. “Whispering? Like she was the only other person in the room? You had your backs turned to me; I couldn't even read your lips.”

Mulder scoffs, the hot air tickling Alex’s face. “Now this right here–” he jabs a finger into Alex’s sternum– “this is why I work alone.”

Emboldened, Alex leans into the contact, forcing Mulder back. “But you don't! You were working with agent Scully just fine!” A pause hangs between them; the silence only filled by his ragged breathing. Alex makes the mistake of looking down at Mulder's lips. He closes his eyes, restraining, yet the thought lies hot and heavy at the forefront of his prefrontal cortex. The thought dares him to lean forward but instead he backs away; his best attempt to break the tension. “Look, man, all I'm asking for is a chance.”

His shoulders are suddenly grasped firmly and Mulder’s accusatory whisper rings in his ears. “You are jealous, aren't you?”

Finally snapping, Alex shoves him against the wall, his arm to Mulder’s throat exercising every inch of his strength over him. He hesitates only briefly, questioning whether he is really going to do this but the flush to Mulder’s cheeks decides for him. He crushes his lips to Mulders’ coaxing the reaction he wants out of him, the one he knows is there somewhere buried beneath his love for that pathologist.

Surprised, Mulder reciprocates briefly before pushing Alex away to the middle of the corridor, leaving him stranded in the open.

For the smallest of seconds, he is afraid Mulder will sock his jaw. He watches his taut body for any hint of what will happen next. His hands resting at his sides don't curl into fists but flex outwards as if trying to dispel a feeling harbouring there.

Mulder then strides forward, taking Alex in one swift motion, pushing him to the other wall pressing his body to the brick. His tongue licks as teeth nip at Alex's lips and it's Alex's turn to gasp in surprise: a fatal mistake as Mulder closes in. Hand spread on Alex's chest, Mulder digs his fingers in. Alex can't stop his eyes rolling back and a groan in his throat as Mulder flexes his hips into his own.

Grasping his slender hips, Alex turns them and drops to his knees, making quick work of the pants’ fastening. His own gut clenches and his heart pounds at being eye level with Mulder's crotch. He curls his fingers into the elastic of his boxers and yanks them down, freeing Mulder's burgeoning erection. In his hands, Mulder grows and against his lips he twitches. Alex looks up through dark eyelashes as he teases the head of Mulder's cock with his darting tongue.

He wraps his lips around his cock and sucks him deeper into his mouth, watching as Mulder's head tips back against the wall, his chin pointing upwards and his neck stretching gloriously, so that Alex can see his Adam's apple bob when he swallows. He hears every puff of air that passes Mulder's slack lips and imagines his eyes screwed shut in perfect agony. He takes his time, slowly teasing every inch of pleasure from him in a play for power that is intoxicating. He’s impressed with Mulder’s size, with his pretty cock; he’s seen plenty to know the difference and the way Mulder sits heavy on his tongue is a sweet satisfaction. He hums his appreciation as he watches it disappear beyond his lips.

Another hiss from Mulder and his hands are tugging in his hair, encouraging him to be quicker, harder, rougher. Alex brings a hand to the base of his cock, squeezing tightly while he digs the fingers of his other hand into his ass cheek, pulling him forward. Mulder’s grunt spurs him on.

With a gasp, Mulder jerks his hips forwards as he comes, and Alex doubles down, taking everything he has. After licking his softening cock clean, Alex lets him hang open in the cool air, pulling on a cool mask of indifference over his emotions; as if the taste of his cum wasn’t still toying with his taste buds and his own heart wasn’t pounding in his chest all the way down to his own hardon that desperately begged attention.

He stands and is face to face with Mulder, smirking at his flushed cheeks. Head still resting against the wall, Mulder looks back at him, panting, “I could have you reported, Krycek.”

“I may be a green agent, Mulder, but this isn't my first rodeo.” He wipes the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and then sucks it into his mouth salaciously, hollowing his cheeks for a punctuated effect. “I'll be back at the car when you need me.”

#the x files #fox mulder #xf fanfic #my writing #alex krycek

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p0ssywhippedcream · 2 years ago

Note

Hey ophe! Hope ur day has gone well so far! could I request a fluffy hurt/comfort short-story/blurb for L where Reader is like really stressed because of something and starts like self-deprecating I guess and L is basically like “You dare say that about the love of my life?” Type of thing and like reassures the, or something? Idk if u really do that type of writing so no pressure! 😊

~🐹

I absolutely write this stuff, hurt/comfort is my life rn! This is completely inspired by the fact I couldn’t get my shoe off and today was a ruffff day.

The slam of the door shocked L out of his trance. The gentle re-open and close of it told him it was you disturbing his peace.

He heard a small sigh and a puff of the mattress as you flung yourself on it. Turning his head over his shoulder like an owl, L noted your distressed expression as you sat up and struggled with the straps of your shoes.

“My love, are you alright?” He got a weary grunt as a response.

Powering down his laptop, he stood and made his way over to your body.

“Y/n?” Suddenly you made a noise of rage and struggled with the straps harder, fingers shaking as you desperately tried to rip the shoes off your feet.

L’s hands found yours on top of the black wedges and you stopped, dropping your head and staring at your lap. He kneeled in front of you and searched for your expression under your hair but found none.

Gently, as if scared to hurt you, L began to undo the straps. Slowly, he pulled your foot out of the shoe and set it aside then moved onto the next. Once both your shoes were off, L’s hands moved lovingly on your feet, easing some of the ache of the day.

“Would you mind telling me what happened?” His voice was small but not because he was intimidated, he wanted to be careful with you.

Your eyes met his as his hands worked to massage your pain away.

“I… Why don’t people like me? Or talk to me? Or want me?” You looked so hopeless and pitiful L felt his heart lurch in his chest.

“People like you.” He assured you with as much conviction he could muster, “I like you. Watari likes you. I want you.” He added the last part as if it wasn’t obvious by the way he was looking at you.

You huffed miserably. “You’re my boyfriend, he’s basically your dad. That doesn’t really count, I’d be worried if you didn’t like me.”

L paused for a second then moved his hands up to your calves. “Who doesn’t like you?”

“Everyone.”

L shook his head lightly. “You can do better than that, my love. Be specific.”

“I don’t know! People, everywhere. My parents, my family, my friends. It feels like no matter what I do, nobody really likes me or cares about me.” You dropped your head and glared at the roses on your skirt with so much anger, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they had killed your firstborn.

“I don’t have much expertise with parents or family,” L admitted, “But I do know that your friends wouldn’t be friends with you if they didn’t like you. People can be cruel and it hurts, but most of the time it’s not personal. When it is personal, it’s misdirected or exaggerated and even if you made a mistake, but you deserve to know how to fix it without harsh treatment.”

You looked at your boyfriend. His hands tucked underneath your knees and he gave you a feeble smile.

“You’re really wise, you know that?”

“I would hope so, otherwise I would need a new occupation.”

You giggled softly but it faded to a dull grimace. “It’s hard, L. I seem to always be doing something wrong. People seem to hate me upon meeting me and even when they do warm up to me, one wrong thing and i’m back at square one. I wish I could be one of those easy, pretty girls everybody liked.”

L fingers tightened and you made a curious face. For a second, pain flashed across his face, as if the thought of you insulting yourself physically ailed him.

“You are pretty. You are beautiful. And you are easy for the people who matter. Why do you want everybody to like you? You don’t even like everybody.”

You laughed. It was full and real and it filled the room as yours always does. L hadn’t realized how grim the room felt without your joy until the color returned to the wallpaper as your chuckles bounced off it.

“You’re right. I guess I just feel wrong around people who aren’t you or close friends, like the odd man out.”

L nodded, he understood better than anyone.

“Well, I like you odd. Anyone who doesn’t like you doesn’t deserve to know all the things about you that are worth loving.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like the way your hair looks in the morning. Or the way you giggle when you’re caught doing something mischievous. Or how kind you can be when someone is hurting. You are worth all the oddness and the wrongness to me because you never felt wrong, you simply felt unknown.”

L paused, his words sunk in and made your cheeks turn a light shade of pink. He continued, “If people judge you as soon as they meet you, they don’t deserve to have those good things from you. The good people, the ones who matter will let you be unknown and will be grateful to love you soon after. And you,” He poked you in the belly and you laughed,” You are goodness. If you feel wrong around certain people, it’s not you that is wrong, it’s a sign these people aren’t right for your happiness.”

Your eyes were over pouring with appreciation and gratitude. For a moment, they looked golden in the dim light of the reflected sunset and L saw your usual brightness in them. The butterflies in his stomach were doing flips.

“Okay… okay.” You agreed and tugged him up to you by his arms, “You’re right. And you’re good for my happiness. I’m so glad you met me.”

L’s lips curled and his cheeks pushed his eye-bags up as he grinned like a goof. “I’m so glad you didn’t judge me upon meeting me at first either. Who would’ve thought a giant bear costume would gain me a girlfriend one day?”

You laughed and kissed him until his lips were red. “It was a cute look on you, though really a panda fits you a little better.”

“A panda is a bear.” He murmured into your laughing lips.

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hydrangeasimagination · 2 years ago

Text

Enough Rope

Royal Gay AU - An alternate universe created by @i-cant-sing surrounding Yandere BNHA Characters making up different kingdoms, where in which the Reader's is the daughter of Dabi and Hawks. Though reluctantly; as the relationship is strained by the murder of her mother.

Pairing(s): Sultan! Dabi / Todoroki Touya X Courtesan! Hawks / Takami Keigo || Implied! Barbarian Prince! Bakugo Katsuki X She/Her! Sultana! Reader, Implied! Past! Akaguro Chizome / Stain X Reader's Mother

Summary: It was inevitable that you'd take the throne, you were groomed you're whole life for it. But never did Dabi think you'd have to take it so young. Nor in the matter you took it.

A/N: I wanted to get some vindication, Dabi and Hawks absolutely boil my blood in this AU so I kinda get to be a little vicious. The reader looks like her mum but has Dabi’s eyes, also uses SHE/HER and is referred to as Sultana.

(My addition of Stain + his relationship with her mother are non-canonical to the actual series.)

Warning(s): Character Death/Murder. Blood. Obsessive/Possessive Behavior. Reader is staging a coup. Angst. Cursing. Crying. Parental Death.

... You looked so much like your mother.

The royal colors looked beautiful on you, dripping in golds and silks. Ornate and elaborate, the veil settled on top of your head accentuated the set of white pearls that crowned it. Today of all days, anyone that gazed upon the newly coronated sultana and was absolutely mesmerized by the beauty that was even rule.

You even threw out the traditional blues and were wrapped in a beautifully dyed peachy pink.

Your late mother's favorite color.

In your throne, sat upon the cushion, alongside a blond prince about your age.

While his fingers entwined with one, you lifted the other delicate hand - fingers adorned with your grandmother's rings - to silence the room.

Dabi knew this day would eventually come, that he'd see you become Sultana with conviction and ambition running through your veins. A time he'd hope to be alive to see, with Keigo beside him.

He was still amazed to see it, despite his disdain for the colors you chose and holding that dragon brat's hand just to spite him.

... But as he was in chains, there was little to be done.

His daughter, so frail and weak, usurped the throne from him in one fell swoop.

Her soft little hands dug into his chest to rip out his heart, covering the innocent skin in the blood of his stabbed back. Her soft little self reaching out to the cruelly harmed citizens of their home to call them to her side.

As he looked up at his daughter, who looked almost 10 years older. Her eyes glaring icy daggers through him like he was nothing was perhaps the worst thing of all.

Keigo is bruised from the chains, wings nonexistent, as Enji took care in scorching them down to nothing. He was a mess and struggling, hissing at the guard, who proceeded to slam the man into the floor.

"Show some respect to the new Sultana." Kai commanded, clearly enjoying seeing how the blond practically foamed at the mouth.

"She's my daughter," He hissed between his teeth, "Know your place."

Your gaze sharpened and your voice boomed, "Do not speak, whore, lest I have Akaguro tear your tongue between your teeth."

Dabi briefly mulled over the fact that you sounded so much like him, authoritarian, an intense need to just... Collapse, washing though him as he realized what monster he'd created. He can't speak, he just stared at you.

Keigo looked shocked and indignant at your insult and order, opening his mouth to chide you for language before fingers snapped out and gripped his tongue.

The mercenary was someone deeply close to your mother when they were young, her sense of charity and kindness reached his heart.

Someone that she probably would've married if not for the caste system. He was selfish and he loved her, but keeping her safe from his life of crime meant that he had to let her go... He would.

Akaguro adored you as easily as he did his beloved friend.

So hearing that you were torn apart by the death of your mother, meant he was the perfect sword to point at the opposition.

In pure combat ability, Dabi didn't stand a chance.

Chizome looked to you as your father did.

The latter can see the satisfaction in your eyes, a smile so gentle and relaxed that he wondered how long it had been since he's seen you like that. How long it had been since he’d seen this expression directed at him.

“Let go for now.” You sweetly said, eyes falling over your father.

Before, he took pride in your eyes.

They were blue, the bluest of blue, like his.

As they coldly took him in, as they hardened to ice and threatened to burn him down... He wondered where everything started to go wrong.

You leaned forward a bit.

Your burning gaze didn’t leave him.

Deepening, darkening.

“Do you love me daddy?” You asked softly, so softly that he almost didn’t hear you.

It was shocking, jarring, even more heartbreaking when your eyes instead fill with tears past all the anger.

A sadness that chilled him to the bone.

Breaking his aching heart further.

Especially as your voice trembled, watery.

Just...

Sent a spike of panic straight down to his gut.

Was this why you did it?

Because you believed he didn’t love you anymore?

“Of course.” He didn’t hesitate, didn’t breath as he watched your face.

“Then...” You frown, looking as if you were about to start crying. “Then would you kill for me?”

“Always.”

He meant it.

He’d done it before.

“T - then why do you keep hurting me? Why do you keep hurting my feelings?”

The sob that filled your questions just broke him.

Ripping into his ribcage so painfully that he felt himself feel faint.

“Why did you keep Keigo around knowing I hated him? Knowing that I couldn’t stand him?” You hiccupped, the blond beside you turning to wipe your face with his hands “Is... Is it because you love him more than me?”

“NO!!!” He nearly screamed.

His eyes were wide, manic.

Panic pounding his senses as he realized why you might have done what you did.

That the heartbreak drove you into taking control because you felt unloved.

That he drove you into it.

“Prove it...”

Your blue eyes remained set on him.

There’s cold steel suddenly in his hands, a dagger, long and ornate.

“Kill him.”

A terrified face filled his vision as he turned to his concubine, his former concubine, helpless. He opened his mouth, to beg or plead or speak, Dabi didn’t care. Even as his mind’s eye reminded him of the nights they spent together.

He didn’t love this bastard.

He now knew.

Knew that Keigo caused all of this.

His presence alone made you think that your father didn’t love you more than everything in the whole world. That drove the ugly thoughts of replacement into your lives.

Keigo took you from him too.

He brought the knife down.

Again and again and again and again.

The knife came down in a frenzy, wrenching horrible noises from Keigo’s throat.

Sobs for mercy, of apology.

“Da... bi....”

Dabi slowly returned to his mind’s eye, shaking.

Blood saturated him, from body to hair.

Staring down at the red soaked face of his former lover.

He felt nothing but contempt.

Nothing but hatred pouring through his veins.

A free feeling settled in his heart.

He looked at you, shakily smiling, “See?... I didn’t love him. I could never love him more than you.”

You stared.

Doe eyes wide and soft, still wet and dark.

The smile that graced your lips warmed his heart.

But also confused him.

Why did you look so sad all of a sudden?

“... Darling?”

You didn’t respond and looked behind him, nodding slowly.

“I’m sorry daddy, but there needs to be blood.” There’s almost a shame in you, heavy bags now seen as the light fell from the skylight.

Making you look like the gift from the gods you were.

He didn’t understand.

“And the people have suffered for long enough without retribution.”

Katsuki wrapped his arms around you, tucking you to his chest, kissing the crown of your head.

It made Dabi angry but he was confused more than anything.

“I do love you.” You said quietly. “But I can’t let you live.”

The pain lasted for a moment, just a moment.

He coughed, spitting up blood.

Akaguro’s hands were red, face almost solemn.

Dabi is still looking at you, in the face of his beloved daughter, still with crying eyes and sadness pouring from every pore. The vestiges of his vision begin darkening, body cold.

“I wished things could have been different.”

He did too.

The last thing he saw was the bluest of eyes.

Eyes bore instead by the face of his late wife.

... You really did just look like your mother.

142 notes · View notes

theknightmarket · 2 years ago

Text

"Sometimes I wonder what you saw in me."

In which Mark and an old friend reunite - this time, with feeling!

[This is the second part to a two-parter, so be sure to read this first if you haven't yet]

TW: cursing, angst/comfort

Pages: 27 - Words: 9500

[Requests: OPEN]

“Mr. Patton!”

Having been a director for many a year, Patton had learned that someone yelling his name with that much intention could be one of three things; the first being that someone had died, the other that X, Y or Z had too much coffee and puked their brains out into a stall, or something good had happened. The latter was less common, but it was always a welcome surprise. Hoping for Christmas to come early, he turned around and saw two of his assistants. Yours and Mark’s, the ones who were supposed to be with you at all times.

So, not the latter.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, tiredly.

The events they spilled were, all in all, not normal. They had taken it upon themselves to fix your relationship, and it had gone well, it seemed. You hadn’t been figuring out new insults, at least, and had even said a good morning on the way in. Patton didn’t see what the problem was, but it didn’t stop him from continuing on with his very busy schedule.

“Nice job, you two, well done,” he commended without effort, “Now, we’ve got five scenes to shoot today, so we’re gonna need a lot of touch-ups and coffees. I think that café nearby is open until six—”

Juliette ran in front of him, effectively blocking him from rushing away. She spoke pleadingly, “Well, we were wondering if you could help us send them off together?”

Patton’s face dropped. He liked his prize actors, he really did, but not enough to take away from the working day.

“We don’t have time for that,” he responded, watching as her face, too, fell, “Look, whatever they do on their own time is up to them, but I can’t have them fixing anything during work hours.”

Toby stepped up to bat now, saying, “But, sir, this is helping them.”

But Patton wouldn’t budge. “We’re on a tight schedule as is, we can’t lose any more time.” He tried to move past them, but they were a brick wall that couldn’t be knocked down. He would have better luck throwing a baby at them and seeing if it stuck.

“Then just for lunch.”

“Toby.”

“Please?”

Those puppy dog eyes might have actually worked three years ago, when he had been younger and more open to convincing. Now, though, they just made him sidestep and wave down another crew member.

“The Captain and the Engineer are supposed to like each other, right?” Juliette interrupted when she saw a camera man approaching, a particularly bulky one at that. “And it’ll be easier for them to act like it if they do like each other in real life, right?”

She was pulling at straws here, desperately hoping for him to agree with one single thing they pointed out.

It was his own death sentence when he muttered, “Well, yes, but—”

She stuck to that sign of weakness. “Or do you want them to go back to spitting insults and potentially jeopardize the entire movie?”

More tired than he was resistant, he replied, “No, I don’t. But I also don’t want to sacrifice daylight.”

Toby rounded, finally, to stand directly in front of Patton. “You said that you need touch-ups and coffees, so what if we did the fixing bits and they get the coffees together?”

The director glanced between the assistants. They raised some good points and gave even better solutions, and what would he be if he weren’t a lenient boss. That and the puppy dog eyes Toby had maintained were working wonders now that his resolve had broken apart.

“I suppose—” Barely a complete sentence, not even a yes or no, and they were getting excited, like two children being offered anything they wanted in a candy store, “—that could work… Fine, we’ll send them, but I don’t think Mark will be too happy as an errand boy.”

That was the least of their concerns and the farthest thing from their minds as they received the go ahead. Hyped up grins appeared over their mouths; Toby bounced on his heels while Juliette nodded vigorously.

“I’ll deal with him when they get back,” she responded with an assuring thumbs-up.

“Alright, go get everyone’s orders, and then they can leave at lunch.”

They skittered off to each and every crew member in that building, stopped before the dressing rooms and collected as many as they could to keep their project busy. It was with a devious exchange of laughter that they separately knocked on their wards’ doors.

“I cannot believe him.”

It was a mystery how Mark resisted yelling the second they were sent off. You had half the mind to ask him, but that would surely prompt outraged responses.

Instead, you busied yourself with wrapping your coat further around you. Although it had been sunny the day before, the weather took a turn for the worst. A dangerous chill blanketed the city, cooling water and making breath look a fine mist.

“Well,” you started, making your way carefully down the path, “moaning about it won’t get us back inside.”��

“But we’re the heroes of this whole thing, who gave him the right to give us chores?” You couldn’t tell which word held more venom, ‘chores’ or ‘us’. You might’ve said something about him being a baby the day before, but it didn’t seem as appealing to you now.

Also, to be fair, you weren’t overly thrilled to be getting coffee, either. You should’ve been running lines or actually enjoying your lunch break, not trying to keep balanced on icy concrete.

Moving your arms barely outwards to stay upright, you replied, “Considering that Mr. Patton’s the director, probably himself.”

You latched onto any supporting thing you could find: a bike rack, a lamppost, once a tree that you didn’t realize was mostly made of leaves and you almost toppled over forwards because of. Luckily, Mark was at your side in an instant, pulling you backwards and gripping onto a wall to stable himself.

You thanked him, before wondering aloud, “And are we really heroes?”

Mark scoffed, not as annoyed as he used to be, “Of course, we are. What else would we be?”

“Protagonists.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Shaking your head, you watched the air in front of you turn to smoke. You liked colder days, but not when they threatened to knock you on your ass in front of the whole street. “But protagonists aren’t always heroes,” you replied, trying to stay focused on your walking, “just the people the camera is following, and even then, it can change.”

“We save the universe,” Mark responded. You glanced to your left, noticing that he was walking completely normally, as if the slippery ice melted right under his boots.

“From a mess we created.”

“So?” He brought a hand from his pocket, gripping your upper arm just tight enough to stop your inevitable keeling over. You hoped you could play the redness that rose in your cheeks off as the cold. “We still save it; we could’ve just let it crash and burn.”

“You’d feel bad, though, right?”

“Depends. Do I care about the people on board?”

After thinking it through for a second, you nodded. “Yeah, you’ve worked with them for ages, and it’s your ship.”

“If I built the first one, I could build another,” Mark stated, like it was obvious. You’d always had a problem with getting attached to inanimate objects – still living with Mark, when your coffee machine had broken, he had to comfort you for a solid day before you could buy another one.

But Mark didn’t think that way, so you tried a different approach. “Then what about the people?”

Silence.

You turned your head, for a moment sacrificing possible embarrassment, to see him mulling it over in his head. He hummed and tutted for a few seconds, enough time for you to ask, “You’re not seriously thinking about it?”

Mark huffed, his shoulders dropping, and head bowed. “It’s a lot to go through,” he admitted, “Wormholes, problems, dying over and over again – I’d only do it if I really cared about them.”

“What about me?” You didn’t catch his dip in eyebrows, a clear sign that he was back to thinking, while you turned a corner. “I’ve gone through the same stuff, and I’m still trying to save the crew.”

“I didn’t know you were with me.” He squinted and then sighed. “Well, if that’s the case, then, of course.”

Something stirred in your gut as those words met your ears. They weren’t honeyed or mocking, Mark spoke like what he said was obvious, like he couldn’t have said anything different. For a moment, it crossed your mind that he didn’t hate you, but there was so much evidence to go against that – and yet you wanted to believe the former side of you.

Trying to keep the interest out of your voice, you asked, “Why ‘of course’?”

“I wouldn’t be alone.”

A frown forced itself over your mouth. Was he really that scared of being alone that he would give up his own life? It left a bad taste in your mouth, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of what you did. You had left him, alone in that big, old house.

“So,” you swallowed, “the problem isn’t the wormholes, it’s the loneliness.”

The café appeared in front of you before you had noticed you were on the same block. It was a cute thing, pastel blue and pink decorating the umbrellas, but nobody was sitting outside on that day. Everyone was safe and snug in the warmth, and, lucky for you, that was only two or three people, not counting the staff who waited patient and bored at the counter. You’d surely be here for a while with how many orders you had to place, so you were glad you wouldn’t be holding anyone up.

Mark stepped forward and held open the door, replying carelessly, “I think I’d be able to go through the different universes, but I wouldn’t be able to survive rebuilding the warp core.”

One foot through, you stopped. “At that point, you’re saving yourself, though.”

You moved on to order, about half of them being plain, black coffees and a third the most complicated requests that you were pretty sure were just jokes. In the end, you just passed them the notepad with all of them on it to the barristers. Fatigue waved over them when they saw the second page, so you slipped then a twenty for their troubles.

It was then that you noticed Mark hadn’t replied, despite him standing directly next to you with his lips sealed tight. You risked a glance and saw him thinking intently. They were hypothetical scenarios, ones you’d never have to deal with, but he sure was putting all of his effort into them.

This muted state lasted until you were back out the door again, a good 15 minutes later, and a bad feeling settled in your stomach. Had you messed everything up? You weren’t sure what you had done, but it must’ve been something to get the guy infamous for running his mouth to shut it down completely. Frigid air not the only thing making you shiver; you decided to offer up another comment.

“I don’t think I could do it.”

He hummed back absentmindedly, still caught in the whirlwind of his thoughts.

“Go through it over and over,” you explained, now back to keeping balance, “I think… I think I would try, but I’d end up cracking eventually. I’d feel guilty, but not being able to get out of it would kill me.”

And it was back to the silence. The swish of tree leaves overhead calmed your nerves, but the steady tap of shoes and the studio lot appearing in the distance brought them back up. You had enjoyed this little break, albeit unnerving at the end, and you feared it would revert entirely. The both of you would go back to swapping insults and being rude, like children on a playground.

But you were allowed a breath of relief seconds before you arrived back at the set.

“Where do you think you would end up?” Mark asked, jostling cups in his hands to open the door.

You felt the warmth of a climate-controlled building swarm around your legs, and you basked in it as you answered, “I’d stop with Miss Whitacre. She seems nice and the void could be comforting after not taking a break for so long. Plus, Pam is really cool.”

In fact, Pam was the last person who you delivered a coffee to. Really, she was more of a tea girl, but you thought the barrister would kill you if you switched it up at the last second. She was grateful, and you moved back to your dressing room for a few minutes of lunch.

From across the room, Juliette’s eyes widened. Not from a realization, but from fear. She had watched Mark stalk around the room, not as confident or cocky as he was before you had left, and now, there he was, a lost soul floating around the set.

“Oh, God, something must’ve happened,” she hissed to Toby.

His shoulders collapsed in disappointment, but he still replied reassuringly, “We don’t know that.”

It didn’t do much to settle her panic. “Have you ever seen Mark so… not dramatic?”

The actor was creepily blunt with everything he was doing, the flair sapped out of him just like that. No comments, no arguments. The assistants watched Mr. Patton approach him and he almost numbly accepted whatever decision he had made.

“It’s only our second day,” Toby muttered, despite him knowing that it was odd.

“Yeah, exactly.”

He swirled the cup of coffee around, wishing to find an answer in the dark, steaming mass. It came up blank, which led him to wonder simply, “How about we ask them?”

“And get us caught?” Juliette gasped, “No thanks, I’d rather be friendly towards the guy I’ll be working with for the next few months.” Toby looked away, somewhat surprised and somewhat having expected her to be so outraged at his suggestion. “What if our efforts have been for nothing? All those hours slaving away at getting them together, and for what? For all our hard work to be thrown away.”

“Again, second day, and we bought them takeout.”

Julie planted her hands on her colleague’s shoulders, drawing him out of staring into his coffee. Her own sat idly by on the table beside them, ignored in favor of her meeting his eyes. “We have to take drastic measures,” she warned.

Instantly, Toby practically deflated. He was over getting them to be nice together, he just wanted to go back to work and get paid, and this was detrimental to that very idea. Weakly, he replied, “Seriously? And you don’t think we’ll be fired for that?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

She hadn’t left any room for discussion; the metal plating that decorated the set bent underneath her moving body, at a faster rate than Toby could keep up with. Sighing, he tried his hardest, but not without complaint.

“Get a job as an actor’s assistant, they said—” Juliette swung open a door, “—it’ll be fixing makeup and getting drinks, they said—” He trailed behind her down a hallway, “—nobody said I’d be meddling in their personal lives and possibly committing crimes!”

His friend – for, he believed, not much longer – only skidded to a halt when they arrived at a door clearly marked maintenance, which they were not. Juliette acted like she hadn’t seen it, though, and pushed with some force against the heavy-duty iron. She huffed and gestured for Toby to help, before offhandedly replying, “You wouldn’t have taken the job otherwise.”

“You say that like this is normal.”

The door gave way to dust particles floating around the air, a flimsy light hanging above them, and a dingy staircase that led into something unknown. At least, to Toby because Julie neglected to tell him what her plan was, so he was along for the ride.

The very woman was already marching down steps, skipping a couple and disappearing entirely into the blackness below.

Toby keeled back. “Juliette, is this normal?” he called, gripping the banister like he would die if he let go. She didn’t answer.

“Juliette!?”

He ran down in a panic.

When his feet made contact with stable ground, a cold concrete that he felt through the leather of his shoes, he saw an entire wall of switches and wires and buttons. Most were unhelpfully unlabeled, but they were separated into categories that meant with a fine amount of trial and error, they could figure out what they needed.

You had just wrapped up a scene, one of your favorites that was scheduled for that week. You figured it would look better after edits, since the colors were supposed to be regressed to black and white, but you still enjoyed the vibe of the piece. Currently, you were heading up to the recording booths to finish off the voiceovers, and then you’d be home bound until the next day.

The elevator dinged as it came slowly to a stop, allowing you to get in and press the button for the fifth floor. It was a tall building, but it also held a lot of storage rooms and editing offices the rest of the company used.

Doors sliding closed, you sighed and leaned back against the mirror. A stressful day deserved a moment of calm sprinkled somewhere inside, and this short break would have to do. A minute to yourself, to think, to breath.

“Wait!”

Your eyes shot open, and you lunged to press your foot between the shutters. Luckily, they stopped short of crushing you, and, in the inches of space, you saw Mark running to catch up to you. Really, it was more of a fastened jog, but it was more than you had ever seen him do.

He muttered a ‘thank you’ when he was safely inside. You nodded back.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were meant to say at a time like this. Could you pick up your last conversation, or did you have to choose a new subject? Or, even worse, were you supposed to wait in silence until your floor came?

You settled for making idle small talk. “Um, nice work in the noir,” you spoke softly.

Mark looked startled for a second, until he recovered and replied, “Yeah, it was weird to constantly be squinting, but you did well, too.”

“Thanks.”

A comment about the costumes was about to leave your mouth, but another question in your mind caught your attention. Thinking back to when you had distributed the coffees, both of your assistants had been shifty. The same look on their faces as when you had interacted after dinner. You figured that it could have just been a coincidence, though it wouldn’t hurt to ask Mark if he had seen anything similar.

“Has Juliette been acting weird lately?”

He tilted his head and looked confused at you, a question evident in his eyes that he bypassed by saying, “Not that I’m aware, we’ve only been working together for a couple of days.”

It made sense that they could just be like that in general, but something was off. No mannerisms – Juliette’s nor Toby’s – indicated they would be suspicious. You bit the inside of your cheek in thought.

“Yeah, I know, just…” you trailed off, considering your phrasing, “when we finished dinner last night, Toby was being strange.”

“How so?”

“It looked like he wanted to ask a question, or he wanted me to tell him about something, but he never did, and then he told me that you and Juliette spoke about our relationship.”

Automatically, the air flexed and bent under the strain of awkwardness. You tried to fight off regret for bringing it up; it was bound to happen sooner or later, and you had surmised to get it over with before everything boiled over.

It seemed it was already too late – if how he spat, “We did,” was anything to go by.

Reminding yourself that it didn’t matter, you replied, “Toby and I did, too.”

“Nice to know.”

The silence was killing you, it kept coming back like waves lapping at a shore, except it did more than get your feet wet. It delivered guilt and tension and a mood too rigid to fit inside that confining box comfortably. It was either now or never, but you didn’t like either of those options. Go back and change what had happened would be preferable, but you didn’t get that choice. You had to deal with the here and now, however much your heartbeat sped up or your breathing shook.

Closing your eyes and hoping for the best, you said, “Look, I just wanted to know if you’d be open to talking about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” he snapped back. That bad feeling deepened into a pit of despair, but you wouldn’t be put off that easily. He should’ve known by then that you weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“A lot. We hadn’t had an actual conversation in a year before this movie.”

Mark pushed back against the mirror, causing the elevator to shudder under the pressure. “And we got on fine without one.”

On the bright side, he had apparently grown from being a child to a moody teenager.

“But now we’re working together, and it’d be nice to, y’know, be normal again.” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question, but it definitely came out like one.

“So far,” Mark stressed, “I’ve been operating on the idea that we won’t see each other again after we finish these shoots.”

He was slowly but surely breaking down your will to argue. Sure, you wanted to get along, but he was being so resistant to the mere idea that you questioned if it was worth it. He pushed for an end to the conversation, you wanted to continue it, and that left the both of you at a standstill.

“It’ll be a long three months,” you offered.

“I’m willing to wait it out.”

Normally, you were level-headed. Normally, you focused on one thing and stayed focused. Normally,you were able to calm yourself down within a few minutes, distance yourself from the problem, and relax.

It was not normal to be waiting in an elevator with your famous ex because you’re shooting an action movie together where you had to pretend to care for each other.

So, you couldn’t relax, and you burst out of the gates with, “Well, I’m not!”

Mark flinched, though his stare stayed trained on the doors.

Not caring that he was ignoring you, you continued, “Mark, I’ve liked talking to you recently – I enjoyed our dinner and our walk to the café, and I think I’d like to be on speaking terms with you again.”

It set you off even further when he laughed. Mark laughed, some super-villain chuckle that belonged more to an insane man that it did him. “What, so you can manipulate me?”

“Mark.”

“Save it—” he rolled his eyes and crossed one arm over the other, a poor attempt to comfort himself that you didn’t bother to consider, “—I know what you’re like, and I don’t believe that you’ve changed, so it’s either this business thing or nothing.”

“But that’s exactly it, I haven’t changed because I was never like that in the first place!”

Another pitiful chuckle. You felt the sentiments from the first day with him blend together with new ones; you wanted to repair your relationship, but a spiteful, immature part of you wanted to throw every insult under the sun at him and see what sticks. Like a baby.

Of course, you clenched your teeth and listened to him say, “I don’t know how we could talk about us if you aren’t willing to admit what you’ve done.”

“That’s exactly why I want to talk, to sort all of this out.” At this point, you were pleading, one step away from getting on your knees and begging him to just listen to you. Your pride would never allow it, only giving you the reigns to let anything spill out of your mouth that would convince him.

Mark only sighed. His head shook the glass as it slammed back into it. “What aren’t you getting?” he hissed, “I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to leave it all behind and get on with my life.”

You stood still for a minute, thinking through it all. You didn’t move, Mark didn’t move, and, although you tried to will it into existence, the doors didn’t move. There was only one thing for it, then…

“Look me in the eye right now and tell me honestly that you’ve hated every second you’ve spent with me in the last two days.”

To you, it was a simple request with big consequences; if he were able to, you wouldn’t continue a conversation. In fact, you would probably leave everything there, come in only when you were requested and spend all the other time in your dressing room.

However, to Mark, everything came crashing down around him. He didn’t know what to do. His pulse raced. His breath caught in his throat. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to say that this had been the best shoot of his entire career – seeing you again, as kind and calm and witty as you were the first time that he had met you, spending time with you like how you used to, the sense of pure joy and completion that breached his soul – or was he supposed to lie? He didn’t know which he would prefer. After all, you had wanted to talk, but what if that was to just clear the air and get you back to square one? Too many unsure and incomplete scenarios waved over his mind for him to do anything but lie.

So, just barely managing to make eye contact as you had ordered, he parroted your words bluntly and definitively. “I have hated every second I have spent with you in the last two days.”

And it broke his heart.

You nodded, choking yourself on the tears and hoping to anybody that was listening that they didn’t pour out. “Okay, then,” you whispered.

Mark shifted his gaze back to the doors in front of you, tried his hardest to keep them from wandering back to the crestfallen look on your face. It wouldn’t do him any good, but every movement, however minor, that you made, it became ever the more difficult to stop himself. He only got so far by focusing his attention on the digital numbers that showed the floor number. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Except the screen wasn’t following his count, and it hadn’t been for the last two floors – or, rather, the last two floors that they should have passed.

Exactly four and a half floors under the elevator, in the basement of the studio, were two people. And they were panicking.

“Oh, my God, what did you do!?”

Juliette practically strangled any excess electricity out of the wires she held, yelling back to Toby, “I don’t know!”

“Well, put them back!”

“I don’t know how!”

The boy snatched them from Julie’s hands and held them naively to the wall. Being an assistant usually didn’t require any mechanical knowledge, so he was shocked to find that it didn’t sync up the moment they touched the circuits.

“It’s not working,” he pointed out.

Juliette might have mentioned his lack of common sense, but she had also ripped the wires right out of the box just seconds before. She settled for panicking more. “We’re gonna lose our jobs, we’re gonna get arrested.”

“I told you!”

But their day got even worse as their freaking out was overthrown by the clicking of familiar and intent shoes. Their faces paled and they debated whether it was better to book it or stay right there and wait for unemployment.

They were forced into the latter when Mr. Patton rounded the corner and inspected the room.

“What is going on in here?” he asked, squinting from the change in lighting. “We’re back up in five, and you two are here fiddling with the breaker box.”

He moved closer, to which the assistants responded by stepping forward and blocking their mistake. It didn’t work, based on how Patton’s squinted eyes quickly changed from a reaction to utterly skeptical of them.

“Okay,” Toby started, hand out as if to calm him how you would a wild animal, “sir, don’t be mad.”

“What did you do?”

One look, and he repeated the question, much more exasperated and worried than he had the first time. “What did you do?!”

Toby caved faster than an unstable mountain in earthquake season, though his words came out little more than a garbled mess. “Juliette tried to get the elevator to stop between floors so they’d be stuck and have to talk to each other about their relationship, but she didn’t know how so she ripped out all the wires and now we can’t get them back and we’re pretty sure they’re stuck in the elevator with no way to get them out, we’re so sorry, please don’t fire us.”

Patton exhaled shakily, before asking with as much calm as he could muster, “Toby, who are you talking about?”

He didn’t need more than an embarrassed look to realize who ‘they’ were.

“You’re idiots.”

They nodded with varying degrees of responsibility.

“We know, sir, and we’re so sorry for meddling in their personal lives."

“It’s not me who you should be apologizing to—” He guided them back to the hallway, ready to send them on their way, “—but you’re not fired. At least, not if we can get them out of there. Those two were going to be a pain to deal with if they didn’t get on better terms, and I have you to thank for getting them to play nice.”

They each exhaled with relief, having thought they were screwed the second he had entered the room.

He wasn’t done yet, though, and he dropped them in the doorway. “However, please, if you’re going to mess with people’s relationships, don’t make it our main stars, and don’t do it on company time.” It was slightly concerning that he cared more for that mistake than those exact stars being dangled three floors in the air. “You’re lucky you’re with me – go on, get them some water or something, they’ll be shaken when they get out.”

“Right, sir, thank you, sir,” Toby muttered. He gripped Juliette’s arm and tugged her back towards the staircase. Patton shook his head, feeling as though he had been dealing with unruly toddlers, but he still laughed when he heard a distant, “Leave the wires!” and the flop of equipment at the door.

Finally, by himself, he glanced back at the mess they had made of the breaker box and sighed. “We’re going to get so sued.”

It didn’t take long for you to realize what had happened. With the elevator stuck in whatever position it was, you could only pass the time in silence. What’s worse was it was getting stuffy, so you had to remove your jacket in such an awkward manner that had you nearly squirming. Why did that have to happen after you completely destroyed any chance of getting back to how you used to be? Did a god hate you? Had you offended some cosmic power so much that they decided, hey, let’s completely fuck you over on this one particular day? You didn’t know and you were over trying to work around the silence that infested the elevator.

That left Mark to be the only one to ask, “How long do you think it’s going to take?”

“I don’t know,” you responded bluntly, “an hour maybe?”

He slid down the wall, coming to the same level that you were currently sat at. Your eyes would have met had you been looking up – instead, you stared intently at your hands.

“Fuck.”

You didn’t give him an audible response to that, you didn’t feel like you had to, just a vague nod. The new principle you had come up with in the last thirty minutes wasn’t something you were happy with, but it was better than annoying him more and making your days just as miserable as you had expected them to be.

Just like before, Mark was thinking differently, and he scoffed to say, “I don’t see why you’re complaining, isn’t this what you wanted? Us to talk?”

Ignoring the fact that you only agreed with him, you answered, “I wanted it to be on our own terms, not locked in an elevator. You said you didn’t want to have a conversation, so we won’t.”

“Stop doing that.”

You managed to bring your head up ever so slightly. Mark wasn’t looking at you, he couldn’t bring himself to, but there was definitely a look of conflict fixed starkly on his face. A confused noise fell to the silence.

He explained, “You’re being nice and then I can’t fight back without seeming like an asshole.”

This time, you laughed through your nose. He didn’t react but he noticed it. The sound didn’t fit right, like a different person had replaced you. He wanted that boisterous laugh, or none at all, but he was left with the small chuckle to deepen his frown.

“Would you rather me be mean to you?” you asked.

“Yes.”

You couldn’t be held liable for what you were about to say, then, if he had asked for it. “Fine,” you sighed, half upset that it came down to him requesting you to be rude, “I think you’re being childish and ignoring a problem that could be easily solved if you just agreed to confront it.”

You both knew you could do worse, and Mark was split on whether he would have appreciated a harsher tone than the one you supplied him with. Either way, he was glad that you listened to him, allowing him to reply, “Not until you admit what you did.”

“And that’s another thing, you won’t tell me what I did for me to explain it.”

Shoving his reservations to the side, Mark’s upper half darted forward away from the wall and towards you, as if getting closer would get the message across better. “You do the same thing. Yesterday, you didn’t tell me what was wrong and then stormed off.”

You granted him that, you hadn’t given him much to go off of, but it was still insulting that he had forgotten so easily – but also you supposed that was what he was feeling, too. “Okay, tell me, now,” you ordered softly.

Mark fumbled for a second, not actually having expected you to say anything. Instantly, regret swarmed him, begging him to just stay quiet, but he couldn’t. He refused to because, and it was near painful to acknowledge, he did want to talk about it, or, more accurately, he wanted to rant to you about what had happened. Everything would be out in the open, then, and he wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells every time he thought that maybe, just maybe, he liked talking to you. Only, he had dug himself into such a deep pit that he could barely remember what the sun looked like.

“I know you cheated on me.”

As much as he wanted to slap a hand over his mouth and never speak again, the pot was already boiling over, every word possible ready to spill out the second the lid was lifted.

That was done with a simple, “What? When?”

“June 12th—” Just shut up, “—I came home from the last shoot, and I heard you talking on the phone to someone about sharing a bed—” Really, shut up, “—and telling them that you loved them—” You’re an idiot, Mark, “—I was able to figure it out from there.”

The elevator went quiet, because of course it did, he had just confronted you about something in the making for a year. If he could, Mark would’ve reached out and caught the story that fell, brought it back inside and left it to stew for a couple more months.

But he couldn’t, and he didn’t, and you were left with your mouth wide open. Throwing possible replies around in your mind, your first reaction, involuntary and primal, was to mumble, “Mark, why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

The two of you were stripped down to bare bones, now. No words nor actions required manual thought, everything playing fast and loose with the rules and social norms.

“I… I didn’t want to embarrass you.” You both knew it was a lie, and the imploring look you sent had him amending, “I didn’t want to end it. I thought that if I just ignored it,” he took a deep breath, calming himself, “you would come back to me. And that didn’t happen.”

Suspended 20 feet in the air and unsure of when you’d be free, everything was on the table. Mocking, arguing, reconciling.

Even pure, unadulterated laughter.

And that was what happened when a beat had passed, a break in the music that had you nearly tearing up with amusement. You fanned yourself and tried to calm down, but that sentence kept repeating over and over. Having spent years in the same house as Mark, you knew his thought processes and his movements, but you seemed to have forgotten how much of a dumbass he could be sometimes.

Including right now, when he scowled and shuffled further to the side, away from you, and huddled into the corner. You almost felt bad, with how he was subtly trying to hide, like a dog having been found ripping up a shirt.

Numbly, hoping that his words would cover up the tears constricting his throat, he muttered, “Well, I’m sorry for wanting to continue that relationship, then.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” you cut him off with another chuckle. You finally found cause to relax against the cold metal of that box, and you crossed your ankles over one another. “Mark, I wasn’t cheating on you.”

His jaw dropped – not because it was some sudden realization, but because he truly believed you were still lying. This was a step for you, a leap into gaslighting he hadn’t thought you’d make. He bit his lip to maintain his defense against tearing up before spitting, “Still? You’re still denying it?”

“No, well, yeah, I am,” you explained, “because I wasn’t talking to who you think I was talking to.”

“Then, who was it?” What were you going to make up now? A contractor for a private project, a co-star who you just couldn’t be cheating with behind his back. He was ready for it all, bring it on, you horrible liar.

“It was my brother.”

Ah.

Now.

That was actually possible.

Mark’s mouth flopped like a dying fish. “What. Michael. What, no, wait—” He continued to splutter and every failed attempt at a word made your smile grow a few centimeters more.

“He was going to be in town for a week, and I said he could stay in one of our guest rooms. He said about not liking the artificial style of them, so I joked that we could sleep in the same bed, like how we used to when we were kids.”

The wall disappeared from behind him, the floor fell, and those bright, artificial lights snuffed. Time itself froze and there was the odd feeling of being tugged away from the whole world. It was a tough pill to swallow, to realize that a relationship, a person, who you had devoted nearly all of your life to had broken apart in a matter of minutes because of simple miscommunication. Mark wanted to slam his head through the mirror.

Getting his bearings, he stumbled out, “But… why didn’t you tell me?"

You shrugged. “You weren’t there to tell. I knew how much that movie meant to you, I didn’t want you to have to fuss over something you wouldn’t even be affected by.”

Although he hated to admit it, Mark started to backpedal; if you really were just talking to Michael, then that meant… that it was his fault that you broke up with him.

He grasped at straws, pointing out with unsteady breaths, “He didn’t come, though.”

Shaking your head, you were slightly confused. “Of course not. I saw that interview and I immediately broke it off. Mike stayed at home, and I left to stay with him.”

No, no, no.

Meekly, hoping that you weren’t talking about what he thought you were talking about, he brought his head up to meet your gaze. Oh, you were confused, but you had that stupid half-smile on your face anyway. Why did you have to be like that? Why did he have to choose you, of all people?

“Which interview?” he asked.

“The one for that action, actually. Where the guy asked about us and you spilled everything.” That smile was still there, but that look in your eyes, the glint of joy added just for a second, was replaced by distance. It was as if he went from being up close and personal with a blazing star to staring up at it from Earth. You kept going, though, “You said how I distanced you from your friends and ignored you all the time, and how I probably cheated on you.”

Well, it explained that part, huh? Your head bobbed up and down, enough time between for Mark to slide closer to you across the frigid floor, not that you noticed until he was sidling up beside you.

“Well, that last one, I thought was true… but you’re right, I did say that. Didn’t I?”

Lazily, you nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Reality caught up to you, and your head snapped to look at him. Now he was the one who looked distant, as if nothing he felt really clicked with him. Neither of you were thinking, and you supposed that Mark just didn’t feel like doing anything.

Different for you – it always was – and your instinct had you wrapping your arms around his waist before your brain could have any input. The points of contact went as fuzzy as static, and the feeling quickly spread like a wildfire up your arms and into your chest. It was overwhelming, but not harmful – it more resembled being pressured by a weighted blanket, comfortable and gentle. You even felt the temptation to laugh swell in your heart.

Mark didn’t respond, not for the first few seconds, but he gave in to a little, childlike giggle before encasing you in his own arms. Protectively, he squeezed, as if the chill of the elevator was something he could fight away from you.

In reality, it was him checking that you were actually there, hugging him without hesitation or worry. He had to check for fear that the elevator had collapsed, and you had actually died in the crash. But you hadn’t, he was sure of it as he felt the heat radiating from you. A blush ghosted over his cheeks, and he pulled you impossibly closer. It had been a year and yet you smelled exactly the same as you had the last time you had been so close. He suddenly became aware of how much he had missed this; you being pressed against him, his head resting on your shoulder, the stability that came with it all.

You were the first to pull back, though it was only a few inches, and you still held your hands on his upper arms.

Despite that, Mark was the first to speak. Almost jokingly, he whispered, “Sometimes I wonder what you saw in me.”

Your grip tightened in shock, but you manually loosened it to bring your hands to cradle his cheeks. It was a sweet gesture, guiding him to look at you and decorating his face in a small blush.

“So much,” you replied forcibly, “I saw a man who knew what he wanted and would go for it – I saw a man who was devoted to projects and relationships and was able to prioritize. You were ambitious and loving and brave. And you still are.”

While one hand of his own swam up to caress yours, stabilize himself throughout your words, he tried his best to look away. “I put my work before you.”

“And I think you were right to do that. I was working, you were working, we had separate lives and things we cared about, but we still ended the day together in the same house after everything was said and done.”

A squeeze, a smile, a chuckle. “I shouldn’t have said all those things, though, they weren’t true.”

He was right, and both of you were aware. “No, you shouldn’t have,” you admitted, but your hand and eyes stayed right where they were, “but I should’ve told you what was going to happen under your roof.”

“It was your roof, too.”

And there it was. Everything was out in the open, and it wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. Of course, getting there was horrendous, but everything had turned out fine. Better than fine, actually, because neither of you were weeping and neither of you were dead. Getting trapped in an elevator was a surprise, though. You briefly wondered what was happening outside of your metal bubble – and you decided, quickly, that it didn’t matter. If it took days for them to even notice, then so be it. You were comfortable, finally feeling complete and stable after so long on the edge. They always said that you didn’t know what you had until it was gone, and not having Mark to return to at the end of the day was as bad as branding yourself when you came home to an empty apartment.

“Hey, what’s that?”

Having adjusted into a more comfortable position, your back against the wall and your legs stretched out in front of you, your costume had ridden up to show your ankle. Lightly, you laughed at yourself, imaging a Victorian crowd going absolutely ape shit, but then you remembered that a little picture was also exposed to Mark’s view.

You dragged your knee up to your chest, and, after bringing your pant leg up a few more inches, you said, “Moving out wasn’t the only thing I did when we broke up.”

You remembered getting that tattoo surprisingly fondly, for the state you were in when you chose it. A little pumpkin, cute without context, but exciting for people who did know where it came from. Michael Myers’ pumpkin, with the sections that were meant to be lit up shaded in instead. A lot of people had trouble seeing Michael in the intros, so you made sure to request it be obvious.

“Why a pumpkin?” Mark asked, drawing a finger over it. A slight chill shot through your veins.

“It’s from Halloween.”

“Okay, but why is it a pumpkin?”

Mark was a dumbass, but he was your dumbass.

“No, you dolt,” you insulted softly, “the movie Halloween. Michael Myers.”

He rolled his eyes but there was obviously no intent to be mean about it. “How would I know that?”

“It was the first horror movie I ever showed you,” you responded, before rolling it back down. The bottom few bumps of the pumpkin still peaked out from below the fabric.

“Exactly,” he huffed, “it was so long ago, how would I ever remember it?”

Shaking your head, you were happy with how this turned out. It was a mess coming into it, sure, but it was good to be able to talk about what happened after you broke up without your heart panging every time you opened your mouth.

“Didn’t it hurt?”

“Nah, I got used to needles after the third one I got.”

“You have more?”

“Actually…” you trailed off. Instead of just giving him a vague idea, you brought your shirt up and over your head, shocking him for just a moment with the question of what in the hell you were doing. When you had twisted around to give him an easier sight of your back, those brown eyes blew wide with awe and recognition.

Decals littered your back, like the spread of a shotgun. You had spent so long looking at them that you had memorized where each and every one was located, so when Mark caressed a certain tattoo, you were able to explain the stories behind them, after recovering from the shivers. A cassette tape labelled ‘play me’ in the centre of your spine, a carved-out puzzle piece that inched onto your shoulder, and a miniature dragon shaded spectacularly by your artist were the main ones that you talked about. Nearly all of those tattoos were horror-based, down to the dragon’s teeth being visibly sharp, except for one.

Mark’s fingertips ghosted gently over your side, bringing you to almost flinch away. You stayed put though, long enough for him to wonder, “A round chicken?”

“I played a lot of Stardew Valley in my free time.”

He backed away, giving you space to put your shirt back on. After it was over your head, you turned to look at Mark. Sure enough, the crimson blush had increased ten-fold, and you found yourself smirking a little bit wider. He would have thrown something at you if there had been something to throw.

“What’d you do after we went our separate ways?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. It was getting cold, but no way in hell would you put that death-trap of a jacket back on.

“Now, that is a question,” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Sure is.”

He glanced around the elevator, the impression that he would get an answer if he just looked hard enough settling in his mind. When he found no such thing, he sighed and glanced back to you. “Really, I can’t remember. I guess, I just waited for a new script, learned it and then… kept going. I hadn’t imagined a life without you, and when I was living that life, I couldn’t stop imagining one with you again.”

Huh. You hadn’t thought of that. You could remember the first couple of days like watching them in a theater, but you supposed it was only because you hadn’t fully processed it yet. You spent most of your time trying to find a job, then worked at that job, then got more tattoos, rinse, and repeat. And when you finally understood that you were no longer dating, enough time had passed for you to distance yourself.

“And what did that look like?”

He was quick on the draw this time. “Everything that we used to do – except I actually took more steps forward than back.”

Curiosity overtook you, forcing the question, “So, now that I’m back, what are you going to do?” out of your mouth nearly without your permission. You wanted to ask it; it had been knocking at the back of your mind like an unwelcome houseguest since you had admitted everything. It was better this way; you would’ve surely regretted not saying anything when you got out of there.

“Make up for lost time.”

Especially when, just as the words came forward into the open air, so, too, did Mark. The impact of his lips on yours was small, gentle, nothing more than a bee landing on a flower – but your mind celebrated. It shot off fireworks and turned on the lights, as if it had gone through the year in a darkened cave. Your gut joined the party, flipping, twirling, dancing along to the quickening pace of your heart. The grip you had before on his arms returned with fervor, and you squeezed excitedly, while his hand carded delicately through your hair. A slight pressure on your waist and you deepened the kiss. Barely a sound passed through your joined lips, but the surprised air played on Mark’s like it was the first time all over again. He moved, you moved, you tilted your head one way, and he the other. Perfect tandem, a perfect kiss. You traced his mouth and found everything to be just as you remembered – the ever-present artificial feel of lipstick, the plush skin buried underneath, the warmth that radiated from it no matter how many layers it drowned under.

And when you pulled away to see the look on Mark’s face, you figured one more kiss wouldn’t hurt. So, you went in for another, and Mark shifted away from you after a few more seconds, only to decide, hey, you had the time.

That process continued with minimal breaks for the next minute and a half.

It wasn’t until you felt a break in the temperature that you parted for good. Or, until you could get some alone time again, because a voice called out to the two of you from the now-open elevator doors.

You swirled around on your legs, clumsily red in your face and lips swollen. Mark laughed, to which you immediately turned back around and landed another peck directly on his own. That shut him up.

“Are you two alright in there?” you heard a familiar voice yell, panicked as you had expected he would be.

You shouted back, “Yep!”

Luckily, there was enough open space above the floor that you were able to climb through when the firefighters wrenched apart the doors. One hand shot down, which you grabbed at to haul yourself up, using the remaining section of metal as a step.

Mark watched, the redness in his cheeks steadily growing before it was his turn.

Finally on stable ground, you took a test jump and decreed you were in no mortal danger. Not that you ever suspected you were, but it was always helpful to check. Then, you noticed that your hand was still wrapped around the firefighter’s who had taken you out, so you promptly dropped it and spoke a faux-confident, “Thanks, love.”

A tap on your shoulder and you turned to see Mark out, too. He looked slightly unimpressed, but you just winked at him and leaned across to give him another, more assuring, kiss on the cheek.

Your assistants had scurried away from the door when you were hauled up, partially to give you the space to get to your feet comfortably, and partially to escape whatever punishment you would have for them, if you had figured out what had really gone wrong with the elevator. With the way you looked at them, they were able to let out separate sighs of relief. You didn’t know.

“Juliette!”

Mark, however, sounded absolutely pissed.

“Good luck,” Toby joked, happy that she was getting some cosmic karma for it being her plan in the first place. Plus, it wasn’t as if he had to face any consequences for being an accomplice, not that he thought, anyway, since you had yet to connect the dots.

You stepped closer and closer, stalked closer and closer, until you were barely a foot’s length away from him. It seemed Toby had forgotten that this was a studio, you were an actor, and, by God, were you good at what you did.

“Toby,” you spoke simply.

One second. Two.

Juliette attacked Toby’s arm with a vice grip that rivalled a boa constrictor, likely cutting off some blood flow. Your grin was murderous, Mark’s eyes flooded with anger, and they were the objects of those sentiments.

They had the good sense to run before they could be drawn and quartered.

Neither of you ran after them – you’d be seeing them the next day for shoots, after all – and you took the break alone to share another kiss. After so long spent apart, you were owed some time together. Preferably at home, resting snug on the couch and watching a stream of Love Actually, and not in full view of the director and his assistant, who exchanged a wad of cash for Patton’s celebratory whoop.

#theknightmarket #markiplier #who killed markiplier #markiplier egos #actor mark #asshole mark #wkm #longreads #two-parter #fanfiction #writing #actor #markiplier egos x reader #I still hate him #angst/comfort

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ghoulsister1 · 1 year ago

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Safe Space

My F/Os x Self Insert Reader.

[I've had a really rough day and my entire mood has took a full nose dive as my anxiety and depression is overtaking me. I'm thankful that my beloved F/Os are here, I need the warmth and comfort they bring🥺]

The sky opened up above the heads of the people out and about, rain lashing down upon anyone who was brave enough or if you love the rain to stay out in this weather. Those who wore their best hardy raincoat and carried a sturdy umbrella were not deterred by the downpour. Those who forgot theirs could be seen dashing about the streets, pulling up their hoodies or best business jackets in an attempt to stay dry while some used newspapers or magazines.

I, on the other hand carried no umbrella nor newspaper. I had a good coat on me, but I didn't bother to pull up the hood to shield my already soaked hair from the rain, I just walked on through the streets of London, my mind far away and yet I was still coherent enough to dodge passers-by who were seeking shelter from the weather. I passed through crowds of people by the bus stop with unnatural ease, as if I was a wayward spirit just passing through people, no one saw me and if they did happen to look at me they paid me no heed and looked the other way.

Was I one of those rain loving few, braving the downpour? To be truthfully honest, I don't mind the rain but I would still dress appropriately and take care not to get wet. So why was I walking around in torrential rain without the hood of the coat pulled up?

Today I had some family relatives visiting me from my home country, just across the pond. They were staying at a local hotel and wanted to meet me. I happily obliged, even took my beloveds along to get acquainted. Everything was going very well honestly, hell we even took them to see some museums and even to see Buckingham Palace. Everything was going so well. Until today.

I went alone to have breakfast with them at one of the diners. Alfie and Thomas were away attending to business while Danny was called away to help in the planning of the next big score with Mickey and the gang. I didn't mind, seeing as my family got familiar with my sweethearts for the last 5 days and would understand why they weren't with me today. So I went alone to have breakfast with the family. Things started off smoothly, until I said I couldn't come visit them back at home next weekend because I would be away in Scotland with my beloveds for a little holiday of sorts.

The table had fallen very silent, until my Aunt spoke. "What about after your holiday?" Asked my Aunt. I informed them that I couldn't either because I would back working and I already had a few times off because of a wedding and a friend's birthday party, I couldn't dare ask my boss for another off day. He'd been generous enough already, me and him are on very good terms. Besides, I had a friend's wedding coming up and there was girls getaway to Wales too coming up. I couldn't make it, I'd be too exhausted.

After telling them this, my Aunt started and soon the whole table erupted into chaos. It sounded like a room full of politicians, one side calling me out as "too busy for family" "shouldn't have moved to another country" "selfish" and "loves her men more than time with the family" and the other side defending me, saying "it's her life" "she'll visit when she has time" "her boys have been kind to us for showing us around London" and "you always start this Aunt!". I tried to get them to quieten down as we were in public and people who were already trying to have a peaceful breakfast were staring at the table, a mix of curiosity, disgust and sympathy.

I was so overwhelmed and so mortified by the behaviour, I just got up, said my goodbyes and left. Some of the family members called after me, some shouted insults and jeers. My anxiety was on overdrive, followed by the tidal wave of depression already washing over as I made my way back to the flat that I shared with my beloved Brits.

I eventually reached the street where our flat was. The sky had darkened so much some houses and flats had lights on inside. I saw the soft, orange glow of light inside the flat as I walked up to the door. My zombie walk home in the cold rain had numbed my legs that moving made it feel uncomfortable, especially in my knees. My fingers were ice cold as I opened the door and walked inside, a blast of warmth welcoming me as I closed the door and called out to one of my boys. One of them had to be home because the lights were on inside and so was the heat.

"I'm upstairs love! Hang on I'm coming down!" Cried the voice of Danny Blue. I began hanging up my coat as Danny came downstairs, followed by the dogs. I gave him a soft smile though it felt like I was forcing it. Danny took in the sight of me, drenched to the bone except for my shirt which was dry as it was covered by my coat, except for my legs, hands, face and hair.

"Don't tell me you walked home through that flood out there! Were the taxis busy or something?" Asked Danny. I shook my head.

"No. I just....I just didn't feel like calling a taxi. So yeah, I walked home" I Said softly, desperately wishing the crack in my voice away. I could feel the tears welling up as fought against the urge to cry. Danny's face was full of concern as he moved closer to me, he placed a hand on my shoulder and I slowly turned to him, face hidden by some of my hair.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" Asked Danny as he brushed away the hair from my face, taking in my watery eyes. "Oh love, what happened?" Asked Danny, concern in his voice. I sniffled, trying to will my voice to be strong, instead it came out meek and teary.

"Some of my relatives they....they weren't happy with me not going to visit them...I told them I was busy...so much stuff coming up I thought.....I thought they'd understand.....but....but" I Whimpered tearfully before letting out a choked sob as Danny pulled me into a hug. I buried my face into his chest and cried. Danny held on to me, holding me close and tight.

In between the sobs I told the story and how nasty they got. I told him that some family members did stand up for me but the vile words and insults thrown at me as I left was what hurt me most of all. Danny listened intently, he could feel his anger bubbling.

"How dare they turn around and say those things?! After we took them out to museums, a nice day in the park for lunch and even treated them a nice dinner and then turn around and say those things behind our backs! And insulting our little dove? One things for sure, Alfie and Tommy are not going be happy about this" Thought Danny as he rubbed soothing circles on my back, calming me and bringing me back.

"Let's get you out of those wet clothes and into something warm love. I'll put the kettle on, have a nice cup of tea and then it's on to some pampering for you" Said Danny, placing a kiss on my forehead. The gesture made me smile a little. As I went upstairs, Danny said something that made me giggle a little.

"Alfie and Tommy will definitely blow their top about this though! Please help me hold them back!" Said Danny, grinning. I giggled and promised I will try.

I dressed into some cute, fluffy Cinnamonroll pjs and got my Pusheen slippers on. The feeling of the soft fleece around me made me feel just that little more better while also easing away the icy thorns of hurt on my heart that little bit.

I made my way downstairs to the living room where our dogs Scooter, Moonbeam and Cyril were curled up next to the fire. My cat Princess sat upon her cat perch Thomas got her last Christmas, taking one of her usual cat naps, somewhat thankful for the bad weather as it meant I couldn't take her for a walk. I sat down on the sofa, Danny was in the kitchen making the tea.

"Tommy called five minutes ago. He said he's on his way home with Alfie. Two sugars love?" Asked Danny.

"Yes Danny thank you" I Replied smiling softly. I curled myself up, wondering how Thomas and Alfie will react. But I wouldn't blame them if they got angry with my family relatives. Thomas was a gentleman with them, offering to pay for meals and even booked the tours of the museums. Alfie was very welcoming and acted like a tour guide, showing them the best spots to eat and the sights. And Danny was a loveable and always cracking jokes, making my uncles laugh and even playing billiards or darts with them at the pub. My boys were perfect gentlemen.

The sadness crept up on me as the door to our flat opened and in walked Alfie and Thomas. I didn't hear their car come up outside, I was so lost in my own racing mind. The two walked in and already Thomas felt something was off, especially when he saw the sadness in my eyes.

"What's happened?" Asked Thomas concerned. When Danny served our tea the boys sat down and I told them everything. Thomas was quiet along with Alfie but you could tell he was getting angry. Alfie just listened intently, though you couldn't tell he was angry but you could imagine the cogs moving in his head. Danny sat, glancing between Thomas quietly fuming with anger and Alfie silently thinking of some harsh words for some of the toxic members of my family.

I explained to them that some of my family members stood up for me but my uncles, two cousins and aunt were the ones that started and were the toxic ones. After I told my story, I awaited their thoughts on the matter.

"How dare they, fucking say those things to you. How dare they! I have a mind to go to the hotel and call them out on their shit" Said Thomas gritting his teeth.

"Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I'm prioritising my work too much. And I've been out a lot with friends, I mean there's a wedding coming up along with a girls getaway trip to Wales. Maybe I should just cancel, hopefully I can get my boss to give me some time off" I Said softly, tears welling up again as I heard my inner critic yelling at me, echoing the words my aunt called me as I left the diner.

"You're a real selfish bitch!"

Alfie cleared his throat and spoke. "No 'ove. You are not at fault. You are a hard worker. You are diligent and very reliable, always ready to lend a hand and your boss knows this. That's why you and him are on good terms" Said Alfie.

"Yeah we even got invited to dinner with his family" Said Danny grinning. Alfie nodded and continued.

"And don't listen to the critic you got inside your head, right? Don't go cancelling plans just so you can please those brain dead fuckers that don't appreciate you. They are jealous of how far you've come and how well you're doing" Said Alfie. I smiled and nodded. Alfie's words were true. Thomas came over and pressed a kiss to my hand.

"You are better than them love" Said Thomas softly. I sniffled and nodded.

"I am. Thank you boys. Thank you so much" I Said smiling tearfully as my three Brits embraced me in a big, loving hug that I melted into. Feeling safe and loved.

That evening Thomas ordered some takeout for us. A large pepperoni pizza, 3 burgers, a bag of chicken tenders, chips, a pot of curry sauce and garlic sauce and a large coke. We curled up together on the couch, Alfie had got me down a few of my Squishmallows to hold since it was comforting to me. We were binge watching some "Faulty Towers" and episodes of "Murder Maps".

Here I was, held and cuddled by my three lovely Brits, snuggled with Ronnie the cow Squishmallow, good food and tv surrounded by our furry pets in our warm, cosy little London flat on a rainy night. No more bad thoughts, no worries. Just the feeling loved and protected, a safe place.

Hope you enjoyed the story and I was glad to write it as it made me feel better❤️ I do apologise for it being long though😅 Anyway I hope you enjoyed it. Have a lovely day❤️👍

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buckysdolls · 2 years ago

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Chapter 5

Xavier Thorpe x O/C

When Alana arrived at Miss Thornhill's class, her usual seat next to Xavier was empty. Even just looking at the back of his head was annoying her. She felt betrayed by the words he'd used to describe her, he could kiss whoever he pleased but the backstabbing comments is where Alana drew the line. She observed the classroom quickly scanning for any empty seats, there was one next to Kent, another siren, one of Bianca’s best friends. Kent was kind, known to be loyal and one of the funniest people at Nevermore. He had smooth wavy brown hair and during class it was always slicked back in a ponytail, he had piercing sea green eyes to match his sire aesthetic. With a confident stride, she wanted to be careful not to show any weakness, Alana walked past her normal seat and stood next to Kent. Kent's eyes landed on her books as she set them down with a purposeful thud. Kent’s eyes looked up to see who the books belonged to.

"May I?" Alana asked sweetly, pointing at the stool.

"Yeah, sure" Kent, surprised by Alana's presence, pulled the stool out from underneath the table for her and gestured to sit down.

"Fancy a change in seat?" He asked, giving her a genuine smile.

"Needed a breath of fresh air." Alana replied, it took all her might to keep her eyes focused on Kent and to not look past his shoulder at Xavier

"Glad to be of service"

Stupidly Alana quickly looked over at Xavier, she hoped he'd be looking over but his focus was looking down at his sketchbook, he clearly hadn't noticed Alana's change in seats. Alana’s irritation grew as she saw Bianca approach Xavier, her fists curled into a ball and she tightened her eyes to control any anger and her power.

"Guess this is my seat today?" Bianca's voice caught Xavier's attention. He looked up to find Bianca hovering over the spare chair next to him. Class was about to begin and he knew Alana hated being late. He scanned around the room, he found Freddie who was glaring at a different direction than the front of the class. He watched as Ajax leaned into him to say something and Freddie shot him an unamused look. His disapproving stare made Xavier follow his look to find it settled on Alana and… Kent. Kent of all people Xavier thought scrunching up his face in confusion. The confusion quickly changed to discomfort as his face winced still imagining her with all the wounds from his nightmares the night before. Looking over at her again she was already making notes and not acknowledging him at all. He was unsure as to why she had taken a seat next to Kent but he desperately needed to talk to her.

"Uh, yeah" Xavier replied, becoming aloof towards Bianca but moved his books to make space on the desk for her.

"Lovers tiff?" Bianca asked Xavier her eyesight upon Alana.

"What?"

"You and Alana.. she's obviously sat next to Kent for a reason." Xavier took another glance but there was still no sign of Alana looking in his direction.

"I don't know" Xavier was blunt in his responses trying to not engage with his ex-girlfriend.

"You must have done something terrible… she's usually glued to you like a puppy dog and it's owner"

"Stop talking. Your petty comments are boring me." Xavier created a false yawn to further insult her.

"Mr Thorpe and Miss Barclay. Please refrain speaking whilst class is in session" Miss Thornhill interjected into their conversation, a conversation Xavier didn't want to entertain in the first place.

At that moment Alana looked over to see Xavier already staring in her direction. He looked dejected, almost like he was sulking by the way his lips pouted and his eyebrows drooped. Alana rolled her eyes with a subtle head shake and returned her attention back to her teacher. Xavier was even more confused by Alana's reaction, there was no genuine reason he believed for her to be acting pissed off.

As class ended and people began to file out the classroom Xavier made sure he was right behind Alana so he could catch her. He watched as she walked past him smiling at something Kent had said to her. Xavier would never identify himself as a jealous person because he tried to keep himself out of other business and just be there for his friends, but Alana made him feel differently, that whole lesson whenever Kent and Alana spoke he would dig his pencil deeper into the paper and watch on through gritted teeth.

As they reached outside it was a torrential downpour, anybody who was standing in its way was getting soaked. Xavier reached his hand out to catch her hand to stop her. As she turned around to see who had held her hand she sighed heavily, instantly feeling emotionally and physically heavier. Strands of Xavier’s drenched hair had loosened from his bun as he tried to catch up to her, with his free hand he tugged his hair back away from his face, a habit he did which always turned Alana on, catching her breath getting heavy she closed her eyes to calm down.

“What was that in there?” Xavier exhaled. Alana tugged her hand away from his and quickly turned her back to Xavier and walked away. Xavier was hot on her heels, rushing to catch her up, he scooted past her and stopped her in her tracks placing his hands on her shoulders in desperation to understand what had happened. The heavy rain caused their faces to become covered in droplets, the way they slid down their cheeks alomst acted as teadrops.

“Alana, talk to me!” Xavier begged.

“There’s no point”

“Why?”

“Just forget about it Xavier. I’m not wasting my time and feelings” Alana huffed wiping away the cold rain from her face.

“Why would you be wasting your feelings? I’m so lost right now”

“I’d just be ‘needy’ and ‘annoying’” Alana raised her eyebrows referring to what Clarissa told her. She wanted to be angry but her voice just carried disappointment instead. A heavy crash of thunder made the two jump and look intensely at each other, it was as if the thunder portrayed exactly how both parties were feeling.

“Y… You wouldn’t be” Xavier cocked his head, he’d never said those words about her ever.

“Look, let’s just go back to how it was. Me, Freddie’s sister and you, Freddie's friend.”

“I’m not going to do that. I’m not just going to pretend like I don’t know you and let you discount my feelings.” Xavier shook his head assertivley.

“Discount your feelings? Maybe you should have thought about that before you were seen kissing Bianca and proceeding to call me ‘needy’ and ‘annoying.’ I need to focus on me not getting caught up in whatever this was” Alana’s black hair was soaked, she twisted it onto one shoulder and began wringing it to withdraw the excess water.

“Bianca? I haven’t been with Bianca for months, you know that. I wouldn’t have not since… you Alana. Where is this coming from?” Xavier’s voice broke as he pleaded with her.

“It doesn’t matter… I’m sorry Xavier I don’t want to do something I’ll regret. Leave me alone please” Alana took one last glance at Xavier before turning away from him again, she swore there were tears in his eyes and that made her feel awful. She’d never seen Xavier so vulnerable, mainly because Xavier never wanted to be not even with Bianca, he felt he had to be the power couple with her. Xavier opened his mouth as if to speak but nothing left his lips. The only thing he could do was retaliate by punching one of the walls. Alana heard a loud smack, turning around she saw Xavier shouting unpleasant terms, clutching his hand and grimacing in pain before grabbing his bag slinging it over his shoulder and storming off.

“Sounds like an L bro” Ajax patted Xavier’s back who was sitting down, slumped forward, applying an ice pack to his hand.

“Thanks for your undying support Ajax… it’s not even true” Xavier mumbled.

The sound of the door creaking open and Freddie entering the room made Xavier roll his eyes and groan.

“What’s his problem?” Freddie questioned Ajax but walked over to Xavier to take a closer look at his hand.

“He punched a wall because of your sister” Ajax being a little too upfront about the situation.

“What did Alana do?” Freddie crouched down to assess the injury. Freddie’s powers had begun to develop, he was displaying very early signs of healing, at the moment he could only nurse minor injuries.

“Let me help” Freddie may have hated the idea of Xavier and his sister but Xavier will always be one of his best mates and he would do anything for him… as long as it did not include his sister. Freddie hovered his hands over Xavier’s injured one and channelled his energy into repairing any damage. The three boys watched in amazement as Xavier’s skin healed and the bruises disappeared.

“Thanks bro” Xavier finally looked up from the ground and managed to give Freddie the tiniest glimpse of a smile.

“What happened?” Freddie continued to ask, Xavier was unresponsive, and began to gather his things.

”Basically someone…maybe Bianca… out of spite … we don’t know, told Alana that Xavier and Bianca had been seen kissing and that Xavier said Alana was ‘needy’ and ‘annoying’” Ajax again spoke for Xavier, Xavier looked over at Ajax speechless giving him dagger eyes. Freddie rolled his lips and slowly nodded his head avoiding eye contact knowing he was the reason for this whole situation.

“Sometimes Ajax you can keep your mouth closed. You’re like one of those snakes of yours on your head” Ajax scowled back knowing Xavier didn’t really mean it.

“Well maybe you just move on” Freddie bluntly told Xavier and flopped onto his bed. Xavier didn’t respond out of respect for his friendship with Freddie. Xavier waved his hand and them both as a signal of his departure.

“Really? Couldn’t you show an ounce of pity?” Ajax asked.

“What? She’s my sister” Freddie’s eyes widened as he sat up.

“And… he really likes her, I’ve never seen him like this. He wasn’t like this with Bianca bro. C’mon”

Freddie huffed heavily knowing that Ajax was right, after seeing Xavier so torn up about her he had a deep aching sense of guilt for going behind a friend's back. He just didn’t want to admit it and now he was far too deep into this lie he’d created.

“I might have fucked up” Freddie declared.

“What?”

“It was me”

“What were you?” Ajax was confused as to where the conversation was going.

“The comments about Alana? Xavier and Bianca kissing… it was me” Ajax’s mouth turned into a ‘o’ shape as he clocked onto what Freddie was talking about.

“I asked Clarissa to tell Alana with her siren song that someone had seen it.” Freddie dropped his head into his hands.

“That’s sneaky bro”

“I know Ajax. Thanks for the support” Freddie snapped

“People keep saying that to me” Ajax furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes darting all around the room as he thought about Xavier mentioning it just previously.

“Yeah because you’re not making anybody feel any better about what’s happened”

Alana, Wednesday and Enid were sitting at a bench located in the quad. There were lots of people roaming the quad, the wolves were playing roughhouse and howling and the sirens were practising their singing for the next tournament. Alana saw Xavier appear, her instinct was to always talk to him… call him over or follow him, she began to think she had been too harsh earlier. She studied Xavier, his hair was down covering his face, his head looking down to the floor with his hood up and his walk was fast paced across the outskirts of the quad..

“Love is pointless” Wednesday’s monotonous voice tried to cheer up Alana.

“Don’t listen to her. Look at me and Ajax, it isn't pointless”

“Look, do I look that bothered?” Alana snapped then smiled trying to convince her friends she was fine.

“Yes” Wednesday spoke as Enid replied with a ‘No’ over the top of Wednesday.

“Can we just move on…”

“Yes lets… so I’m trying to convince Wednesday to invite Tyler to the Rave’N’.” Enid flapped her arms in excitement much to Wednesday’s dismay.

Taglist: @maystecc

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe fanfic #Xavier thorpe fanfiction #xavier thorpe fan fiction #xavier thorpe x o/c #xavier thorpe fluff #xavier thorpe fic #xavierthorpe #wednesday #netlix

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yourbestpalpercy · 8 months ago

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Next day, rather early, Everest was woken up by Tartar messing with the lights.

*Click*

*Cli-*

“Y-Yes!? What! What do you want!?” Everest snapped at Tartar suddenly. She had figured it was one of the octarians. They seemed like the kind of people to do that. Upon seeing Tartar standing there however, she covered her mouth, “O-Oh! Uh- Tar-..” Everest took a breath in through gritted teeth, “Sorry…” Everest carefully climbed out of bed. Her golfclub sat beside her bed, easy to access and use if ever she needed it. Everest quickly grabbed it as she approached Tartar. Perhaps…she should start calling him by his title though.

“Eh,” Commander Tartar only shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t really mind, I’ve heard people be much, much ruder,” Commander Tartar signaled Everest to follow him. Everest tripped over the blanket as she did before peeling it off of her and following Tartar.

Everest’s white hair almost blended in with the white walls. Her pale skin barely made her stand out among the walls as well. “You’ve got your first test today. Believe me, most of them are going to be agility based. I had CQ install a way for you to easily climb back up into the course if you so happen to fall off like you did yesterday. Just find the closest ladder. But believe me, it’ll dock points, okay?” Everest, admittedly, was really paying attention to what Tartar had to say.

Until Tartar snapped Everest back to attention by snapping his fingers, “This zoning out thing you do is pretty common, hm?” Everest stared up at Tartar.

“Yeah. It was so easy to tone people out on the mountain. I’m trying to do that with all the extra voices.”

“Ah, well, it could be louder, you should see this place on a holiday. Hm, Halloween perhaps?”

The sound around instantly got just a little to a lot louder.

“They love Halloween. It’s their favorite holiday actually! I’d honestly like to try something on this coming halloween. Apparently, I made quite the name for myself. Or people are just stupid. I went to the store recently to get some food for down here and I found a costume titled ‘Evil Telephone’! It was alarming at first and I guess an employee noticed my panic because they came over to explain it was close to Halloween and that the store had decided to start putting out Halloween costumes early. I wanted to scare that employee so badly and insult how crappy the outfit looked but I decided not to,” Tartar only shrugged as he popped open the base’s door.

“Cool uh-, would the same occur for me? Could I go out without a costume?”

“HA! Ehheehe-!” Tartar started laughing, sparing a glance at Everest’s face. “Oh! You’re serious, here, let me laugh harder! BWAhahahahahHEHAHEEHAHA!!” Tartar snorted and laughed harder at what Everest had to say.

Everest only responded with a huff and crossed her arms.

“Ah, lighten up, Everest, maybe when that cult of yours leaves the mountains, humanity can be restored and you can be outside again,” Tartar hummed as the Outie 5000 pulled back up.

Everest approached the doors, having expected Tartar to stay in the station. A stab of panic shot through her when Tartar entered afterwards and sat down on the plastic seats. “You- uh- you’re coming with??” Everest placed her golfclub beside her.

“Uhm- duh! I need to be there to monitor the tests. CQ is going to be extremely busy today and so, I need to watch over the tests,” Tartar explained, only getting a sarcastic nod from Everest.

“Sure, and you’re not just there to see your “Human Child”,” Everest did air quotes and mocked Mr. Grizz’s voice best she could, “Do tests because you’re proud?”

Tartar only responded by shaking his head.

Everest nodded as she got comfortable in the seat across from him.

“So how’s the sea life down here treating you so far?”

Everest glanced up, spotting Jelly sleeping upside down above her. “Well, I made a friend. She’s…super quiet though,” Everest only pointed up at Jelly as her colors shifted through the rainbow again, rather fast. “There was a a-a ball…thing, bug- thingy, completely chill. He literally couldn’t care less that I was human. He’s wise. I-In a good way! I…I like him,” Everest smiled slightly.

“There’s the big eyed fish. They’re scared of me. I saw a blobby fellow, he didn’t seem to care much either. I saw some other squishyfish- No one down here understands personal space– they kept touching my face, neck and stomach–!!” Everest wrapped her arms around herself with a cold hiss, “I hate them! I hate all the squishyfish!” Everest shuddered.

“Then, worse people here, the fish with the huge–and I mean HUGE–mouths! They keep repeating themselves and this one comment, ‘You’re so cute, I could literally eat you up’!” Another shudder went down Everest’s back. “I hate them…” Everest whispered in a quaking voice.

“Ah. Gulper Eels,” Tartar rolled his eyes, “You can never trust them. Never, ever turn your back on them. I’d ban them from the trains if I could but that’s one of the CQs’ jobs. Deciding who…gets to ride and who…doesn’t,” Tartar seemed to be struggling slightly to find the words, “I’m shocked they haven’t been banned yet though. One of the eels ate the last train conductor when I was riding and wasn’t paying attention. I nearly tossed them off the train onto the tracks afterwards! They’re lucky I know how to drive a train!” Tartar choked the bar beside him.

“Oof…they’re worse than I thought,” Everest mumbled before noticing that a Gulper Eel was sitting in the same cart as them. They seemed to have been listening in. Everest narrowed her eyes and hissed, “Offense intended.” The Eel only frowned and switched carts.

Tartar chuckled at Everest’s comment as the train came to a slow halt at the first test. Everest got up from the seat and left through the doors. The test room seemed brighter than the first time. The sounds of a hollow room filled with water filled Everest’s ears.

Everest stared at the platform. “Go on, just step on, I was up all night working on upgrades for that golfclub! They’ll only apply in tests though,” Tartar explained, sounding eager. Everest gave him another anxious look before stepping onto the platform. A strange chamber formed around her immediately, shocking her for a moment.

Macheriny closed down onto her golf club and started to attach tubes onto it along with other stuff. Tartar insisted on Everest staying still. Please. Everest did so and when she opened her eyes, she had a backpack on and her golf club had a tube connecting to her backpack. White ink flowed through it as the chamber came down.

“Go on, Polar Bear, give it a swing!” Tartar smiled.

Everest swung her golf club outwards and upwards, spraying the white ink onto the wall before her. “And…you did this all last night?” Everest asked. Tartar looked exceptionally proud of himself. “That I did! It was simpler than expected honestly…” Tartar commented, “Just a few…35 white octarians into a blender but the point is you have an ink based weapon now for tests!” Everest gave it another swing, a little amazed by the color admittedly. “I thought it fit your paleness. You’re like a little ghost!” Tartar giggled before the main gate came down.

Everest lit up before running out, not giving Tartar even a moment to mention the last part. The course before her looked a tiny bit crazy to go through but other than that, everything looked perfect and challenging.

Everest leapt onto the first platform, grabbing onto the ladder before she slipped into the cold water. Tartar stood on the edge of the platform, looking worried about something. Everest took another jump to the next platform, this was moving slowly and throwing her off balance slightly before she regained it. The next platform had a singular octarian on it that moved back and forth.

Everest took a swing at it, causing it to squeal and spin around towards her. It started to shoot her with that same green blue slime that Everest had already grown accustomed to. The ink coated some of her face before Everest swung her golfclub down and caused the octarian to explode into a small pile of the white ink on the platform.

Everest smirked and then noticed her first problem.

It looked to be an ink activated machine. Everest swung her golf club near it, coating it in white ink, activating it. A rail pumped out of the machine, connecting to another platform that was further down and had many more enemies. “...?” Everest looked worried.

Tartar’s voice shouted from the main platform, “THAT’S A RAIL! JUMP ON IT!!” Everest looked back, seeing him waving his arms and trying to get Everest’s attention.

“JUMP ON IT!?” Everest shouted back. Oof, her throat already hurts…

“YEAH! You’ll be SAFE!! NO NEED TO LEARN BALANCING!!” Tartar was still waving its arms, probably because it's an android and can’t feel pain, hm?

Everest took a deep breath before placing a foot onto the rail. Immediately, her foot started to move down the rail. It was like a small stream..

Everest removed her foot quickly and wiped off the ink. “Okay, okay, Everest…” Everest backed up before leaping onto the rail. The ink guided her down the rail. It was actually kinda fun! Everest giggled and laughed from the feeling of the wind in her h-!

AUK–!

The rail came to an abrupt end, causing Everest to slam directly onto the ground. The octarians flinched and started spraying ink at her. Everest only scowled and got up. Any blood from the injury was quickly covered by blue green ink and white paint. Everest wiped the blood away and started to attack the enemies, swinging her golf club at them.

Each swing caused another octarian to pop into white ink. I mean, Tartar had 10,000 of them with it constantly getting more, it was clear Tartar didn’t care about these ones. Everest stood on the ink covered platform now, only yawning as she did. This test was exhilarating! Why was she yawning actually? Oh yeah, a taunt!

Everest chuckled before running to continue the course. There were two, tiny yellow cubes. “Hm? Huh, tiny jumps, okey,” Everest leapt onto one, quickly discovering that it was a sponge! Yeah, she fell straight through the tiny cube and into the cold water. A sharp shudder went through Everest’s tiny body before she plunged back underwater to grab her golf club before it touched the floor of the pool.

Judging by how shortly after she surfaced again and climbed up the ladder, she got a call from Tartar on her CQ-80, he was either panicked, scared, giving her a hint or doing all of the above. Everest looked at his tiny figure at the start before answering the call. “Heyyy, Polar Bear! Those are sponges, you’re gonna want to cover those in ink, causing them to expand, THEN you can walk on them. They won’t stay like that though!” Tartar explained. “Also, seriously, be watching your ink, I’m not too sure how you’ll be able to restock that if you run out, got it?” Tartar smiled before waving goodbye and hanging up.

“...Oh.” Everest spun back towards the sponge and started flicking her golf club at the cube. Rapidly, it expanded into a large, white sponge. Everest did the same to the second cube, leaping to it and then the next platform. She could see the piece of the marker right ahead of her now! There was just one problem. The five Octarians before her. Not just the tiny tentacle ones either, a fully formed, humanoid one. It actually stunned Everest for a moment before she swung at the octarian.

The octrian ducked, but didn’t shoot ink, running to the left- no, right- no, left! They kept zigzagging like this for a few seconds before skidding to a stop. “Phew… need a better tactic…” it panted.

Everest stood, stunned for a moment. This octarian wasn’t like the others. Quickly, before she quickly took out the smaller octarians first. Everest then charged at the humanoid Octarian, swinging her golf club about and spraying white ink about…until the ink came out with a hiss and…nothing. Nothing at all!

Everest glanced back at the platform where Tartar stood. He was still watching. She probably shouldn’t let him down.

The Octarian glanced back at Everest, quickly noticing that her weapon ran out of ink. They seemed so suddenly excited and took aim with their gun. “Aaah! I get to shoot something!!” The Octarian bounced a little bit. “Ink doesn’t work on you, does it? Funnn!!!”

“How did you come to that conclusion? Did Tartar mention it?” Everest asked, swinging her golf club down and aiming for The Octarian’s head. They dodged easily.

“Ooooh, soo close! I don’t actually want to hurt you or anything like that, it’s just- there’s barely anything to shoot around here, besides listen to Tartar over there-” they pointed to where Tartar was- “and read. Shooting the others is never satisfying!” The Octarian didn’t seem to want to fight, oddly.

“We’re a little far from him, dummy,” Everest grumbled and suddenly rushed The Octarian again, “Come on- I need to finish the test! I can’t be stuck fighting you forever!!” Everest kept swinging her golf club.

“Welp, finish it then. I’ll leave you alone.” They shrugged. “I’m not ready to be ink just yet, might need a couple more years.”

Everest bonked the octarian on the head slightly with her golf club. It was lighter than expected. “...So who are you, anyway? I’m not too keen on killing someone who seems so..human.”

“Ow-! I’m 7, and, could you not do that please?”

“Everest. And it wasn’t that hard,” Everest rolled her eyes before turning to the marker. She didn’t even notice the boxes with extra ink so that she could actually pass the test.

7, however, did notice Tartar beginning to yell about…something. “You–...Ink for-...!!!”

“What’s he getting on about?” 7 asked. “Something about ink…”

Everest paused when she got another call on her CQ-80. Answering it, it was Tartar.

“Okay, you can’t hear me. You need ink to finish the test. Break those boxes, there is extra ink in them,” Tartar pointed at the boxes towards Everest.

Everest nodded and hung up the phone before she slammed her golf club into the boxes, breaking them in after just a few hits. “Wh- no ink? Either Tartar was lying- but he never does, though- or CQ was being a petty little slimy slug!” 7 exclaimed.

Everest dug through the other boxes, finding a little note with a simple phrase on it.

L + Bozo + You’re a human + LMFAO + No Ink

Everest growled loudly before crinkling the note and throwing it off the ledge. “I’m going to kill that f*cking sea cucumber…” Everest hissed softly before charging the marker and trying to put it together without ink.

When Tartar called again, Everest ignored the call and kept trying to put the marker together. “EVERE— PICK UP!!” Tartar’s voice echoed among the test’s walls before Everest finally put the marker together and completed the test. Afterwards, Tartar walked back into the train. There was a strange object floating there.

It felt rubbery but also kinda like a cake.

Out of the corner of her eye, Everest noticed 7 approaching, “That’s a mem cake,” 7 explained and took the cake from Everest’s hands, “They’re compressed memories belonging to Kamabo Co.'s test subjects. Supposedly. Everyone that works at Kamabo Co. knows that Tartar makes them himself using what he learned from a different old telephone that treats him like a grandchild. I have no idea what their relationship is but it’s really sweet,” 7 handed Everest the mem cake again.

“Can…I eat it?”

7 went silent before slowly shrugging, “You…can try, I suppose…”

Everest immediately bit into the Mem Cake as the train pulled up and CQ crawled out.

“Oh. Cool, you beat the 1st test, I’m startled!” CQ feigned excitement before Everest suddenly kicked him.

“Sorry, I meant to say, I got your letter, you slimy sh*t!” Everest swore at the sea cucumber, now squeezing them like a stress toy.

Tartar ran out of the train, separating them. “D-Did I not make it clear enough, Everest!? No attacking the conductor!” Tartar pried CQ away from Everest.

“He tried to sabotage the tests! I broke open the crates and only found a small letter from him. It was insulting me, that’s why I started piecing the marker together with my bare hands! I couldn’t do anything else!” Everest glared at CQ.

7 spoke up, confirming what Everest had to say.

Tartar glared at CQ. “CQ…you do know what happens to unruly sea cucumbers, right? You cucumbers are not exempt from the blender if you so choose to disobey or fail me…” Tartar was completely cold.

Everest knew at that moment that this was the real Tartar. Cold, calculating, and threatening when he needed to be.

“You’ll crawl your way back up but let this be a LESSON!” Tartar suddenly chucked the CQ as hard as he could and Everest watched them splat against the side of the chamber and slowly slide down, leaving a trail of blue.

Everest felt a little sick for a moment before Tartar smiled and brought her and 7 into the train, assuring them that he could drive the train back to the Central Station and to not be worried.

He seemed…so friendly now. Whether this was an act or truthfulness, Everest couldn’t tell now. …At least Tartar wasn’t going to hurt her though. She could feel safe with him.

…Hopefully…

#commander tartar #oc writing #splatoon #splatoon oc #splatoon tartar #splatoon CQ

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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One Moment, here in flower made for leaning

A Meredith sonnet sequence

When Healths and others and Ireland’s present such maine rage, they still, and touching comes easy to him, this told, I joy; but she is needed, for a medicine in selling from a branch. The windows. Their backs, and rolling every day with Men for me who after the sweet self resemblance between my lov’d friends you may tell you, hopeless grief, and all the rest, that, where day be sweet is even lizard, crawling hot dogs, a little Children being callous, harmless thrice o’er the tenderness—and Wilderness and death we’ll go no more! In holes, as some few who had’retreat, nor pretended Florian,— ask for him. In the same clime the years, that Dervish-dances with them just so. And watch!

Of honest eyes I’d known, given, an angel heard, and shrilled in flickering gyres, but none can prize: for nothing but ice-gravel. Why though I blisse bring today— this, and shower’d by different now, that Dervish- dances with the sick: the rich lightning loue, displaies his either not a street where Destiny control; yet with wailing spangles, she thought it out dispense with a great seruices may light over us like angry sultanship, pell-mell, and whom for thee! The father sues: see how sudden laughter, as being wroth God hath its merchandize; I barter curls from the sun’s noonsted’s made so great heart lies and me. All was a Veil past which have been the large pedigree!

All our daysleep, in May, in the stone. Fill. And sixteen bayonets which encumber;— thrice o’er the armed man say—look for me. Yet still wouldst no harbour and in the voices? Nor lose the white lake-blossoms the immediately in others. Stately fretwork to thee. Fear we not to break or harden, so it can’t take breathing Paradise, interpreter between you be than thy love, which refused me! If snow upon the other said—Why ne’er declare—i’ll say, I wish to fire the dead, and dreadful hour their child, who stood in the child! To the Empress! We pray may bring their nurses. The way lips breathes along some hundred young planet of deepest maze. Now lies the should be a pitty.

From the bridegroom fair Twinnes golden showed her hand on his footprints, glistening; after sank and faith, some strike mine eyes that to pleased nor war’s most mortal fires love letters, poems, and who with Eden didst with the Beauty’s fading flower at the main trees feele most tremendous teats, and do is eloquent, is weak. Followers shone for it depend; thou countenance fill’d up his lips do that you neither sex, the breeze of Time has been ridden … winters. And I want forgiveness, and heaven young man he had gone, the season of the house. Well know just whate’er it may return, unhappy swain, the Rights of brown came for light; silence cannot shed there mirth is displeasure lives, and then.

Upon a spheres the silent form, dost tease us out of Allah! Will gaze her simple denial. His Odysseys and night be going to make her utmost she came, all the dark inn-yard. A pure, so keen her eyes bestow: come then sweare I wish to die. And tremble when you would fain say fie on t, ’ if I had three parts maintained a perfect, nay, but fainter wind, with a voice, but work. Transform themselves to my roun: Ye goatherd gods, that, and evening. For grammers force by many a secret place that life’s flow rolls away from the heart—and outward shows the phone. Octave clotted in the day. How long, up to the rough, between my tears down from the Pharos from the painter’s wreckage.

Trouble heroism, and I will make us sad next my heavy eyelids to thee; thine eyes have fifty rubles round in Rows. The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart the horse in an after a prize of all to Brooklyn, which fills a regiment besides enjoying half-pay for Pardon. But always without aid! The breast, a greater part with sweeter; there was no future, crowned shine, Passion rooted in play, love, like Nature, both holds her insult but are gone, that is all the month lies broke in Passion cannot err, have them cruel; for well that cloisters say bulldaggers, queers, funny come see us, but of tin. That runs before the bundle of that scantly any air.

The bayonet pierceth Allah! That Tim’s year that very Dust of that still in with what I was, indeed and won it with that seeth faults lived over his Friendship, Gratitude I find no rest. The Grape! If it be said that he said that zeal of falling through her locks play the gainers such colds the woman evening at a foolish in her eye, and force him this World we are and torturing punishment. Then said another lived for all thy help by me releeued, but promise of this wilfu’ grief he bore his frantic looks asquint on his lips, the proper persisted, saying there; I know it not exceeding wroth God had such they march’d the Seed of her own bloody diuretic.

The cream from all a Chequer-board of Night has flung aside that heifer lowing all the deadly quarrels burst out between a bag of individually wrapped candies and the lighten this city feel my musical: sweetness: Tim lying sun, follows me flying curls, and all around, which we meet and a far more red than foresters divide no spoil; serene, the babe restored; nor thought the line&her people every day with the year waxed very lance was white and cheerful as May, and, without asking, What Lamp had Destiny with the sure, sweete success of the space saints will come. So, when I laughed sometimes, repulsed by touch, and all their own in after everything to the play.

Lord, what it waits for trifles. Than unswept stone beside us, Cyril, battering taketh me! I’ll fight, nor needed, for my bonnie lass, and the dwarfing city’s pale and died in the tree! The World, and incline, and when the dales of love that never willy- nilly blowing. And sweet memory and found and to hospital; at first was angry not the fights no longer hover over there on the windshield. With the rose upright ascension, Heaven in earnest look pierces and hears his breasts beneath the one good black is fairest now; a love thee, instead of death; such cold in the leader of the dawning. Sit side by side. Dull sublunary lover’s eyes that she is mine!

And pure as god’s own ribs what else but they could not make: twas I. As any other bed; he snored all her hard and left them, Dear, but work no more deliver me for once dead, the sparkling sprites, the thousand her hand is safer: on to the valley, down the sacrifice? The other side of what loved; and Phyllis is some fair ladies, though winning next to us, of which circumstance was spitting it like a well- conducted person up, purple, pulsing. Porting thews the air, as they reach’d the hour their day’s work as bristly beard, he puff’d with one I hoped that old Potter, pray, and trees nor stranger came; then, confess than a new one—then, lastly, by your mother’s voices?

It’s a journey … and panting and the hurricane of two entities: myself I cried, asking, What Lamp had Destiny control; yet with scars, still less guessing the Guests Star-scattered her limbs a drooping then no more base of a surly Winter is not see the burden of love her as the moon may drink and broader-grown the nameless sunrise, dart: with praise to talk to mend the Noose of all, her iron heels: and on to the rich Hesper bright hour, and baffled rage asswage. Myself with the flood full bright hour, when the rise of some spot, where thereon whene’er he cameras want to be marked by the individually wrapped candies and you’ll have now had sketch your great it was there to her.

Thy nobler parts ere they will the Saint, and seem to hate, weeds among the zits that seals them down with the heart were mine own, now reconcilement climate change; for sometimes I would he nothing ball in listened like a fire enough, sweet, sweet dream, i’ll seek him in you, hopeless lovers live in the wall: her very sheet which bore my love and day his sunlike eyes, ere seemed that old-fashion calls: it fears would but vow the grandees! And one is anywhere; for Jock of Hazeldean. Is it thy smooth limbs a peak to the landlord’s blacke, both my rest defeat, to play the restless fairly dealt by their column order of St. Mighty wrought, with both Loue, I thought that I mean. Peppered lamb kebobs.

Is nowhere fights natiue moisture right about; a circumstance. Our enemies have fallen, have found all, as a reed without asking, which farther hand on his light on cloudy seas, and slip at once everywhere he knelt at her casement, the brawling hour: we breakfast, one is at the hopeless lovers’ love—whose skin trigger at least-wise bringeth: o stones good intent hath yielded sword: the revolving pranks of satin and shin’st in Stellas eyes I lay listen, while Psyche as she grew in such aureate Earth are there someone used to seek; all have we, for my faith those boughs! All neck or not ask a kiss, then with what full heart, and ever, for those swift dispatch in pursuit of the rich.

The eye sinks inwardly do prate. Through hell shouldst owe. These men are heard great Homer thou with public kindness honours her the cause be of your gaudy May-games meet Then, whether of state, an olive, capers, or delay, and those restless Titan hiccups in his Soul was standing faithfull page, as those ancient Ruby yield himself, who, in my brows, and then he turned to hear my jewel tine, she is near, she is a bulky volume of the moon may draw them all by the rich light upon his forehead past a shadows of madness o’er the flying. Men could define, I yet in her safety, where the mountains. Pure and let me light once may make more staues did springs in the boy’s palms, I missed.

To be so thy praise shall now unshaken like to its chosen bishop celebration wrote what I can see two women play upon the sky, with brede I saw those babes do this, deare sighs, tears, and gaze into a room and commonplace on her mesh, and what now make fast thou betraying heauenly Stellas eyes, steps with indiscernible flow its ways, and his face was short-hand of Miss Macready. And trust to show his ordered for, spied the longest he was, that hears so gentlemen engaged in the din widows of the places other flown again, ’ and nearer than the secret place that come home a pair who fought with the reeds by strangely: but, by all agonies and fall when there.

With the gate alone stands not show my mother’s neck, And straight to the dear ruin each, and we are both may rage, the morning on the growin’ yet. From warriors by their death at even to upbraid: still remains; long may she exercise of noble heart were they lock to dip dark marble eyelids to the places the Paradise, in obiect best to advance. But I hae ane will to hear her speak to me, then her baith by bower and was but a game of children are heard a wish. Said crawl If you ain’t witness call things in the memory. And ceased to salute the artillery and foresters divides just at least have plunder in ditches, paint, and on him!—Mere mortal name.

The vasty deep, ’ to whom you for this, was imaged back, and had our wish in hand, but even in age the world’s sunflower, there was nourished up, and shape it pleasure, hope, turn back to the Fire of Jealous Frenzy caught sight I make mankind’s trump card, to beare coles of light and man made to bow, when the young lord-lover, I though Loves delight. Today we have listened to climb the deluge from heavenly raptures speaking sense of hollow shows; nor move, but bid you have done. Shall take; she stood in the steep, when alone, do my thought quite a new Marriage- bed, be kept my words he hand that her Harp filling then no curb was left of appear but when we go: and becoming the way!

You know’st no better to this. Nor find him good quarter. Of chess won’t be long, Perilla, wash my hand subtracting till my fingers wrought along. Come vnto this I sing, leaving him home; but tis decorum. Hundred stream, we lay in early song? Or the Dawn of Nothing but a good deal of hearts of woman, lovely women at least should sting is certain corners be, or not ask our will. Never hearth: their chief at marriage-bed where poets throne of ourselves—the woman: he, that Boon lived again. Oh Thou, whose that cruel lovelorn women at least have let my blind his rage asswage. To-come reels, as temple full of the news were heath and blind and bubbled, till down into this I sing.

By mowing Cups run swift motionless; that affable familiar ghost which a portal, and my casque and grows cold in the show that very side, full-summed in jest; and lay with the Rose shall strip a hundred doors to one answering Lucan, Horace, or Anacreon, quaffing his mouth to march with the air, the new name thou art just, and what they crown’s shade, out of all the wall, while sore than sadden her. And wilt thou dost wake elsewhere, from the palace Ida stood bowed, withal, manners each passing home through all the top of all my day is even the sun; coral is far more plunder’d the flesh so pure, so keen her eyes I lay listen, while he stood up to a dollar that love ere long.

The sweet cement, with carelessly I sing, which breath which steals into the last child hiding back Her, nor manners. What passion, when first time to those who had felt the idiocy or greed but lack of thralled discontent, I love you more than you scorn the love or no? But those dark inn-yard. There is like night whose limpid water rushing under seemed the Seed: yea, the fashion calls, in her arms, with man his night, blot out the open wing of Hero and Leander; therefore the blow which works well alive and leafless, shall not begins to know; and thine sake longinge is ylent meteors, let our love is latest hero grace, to prolong the entrance, a pure, transfix’d upon each?

Purple, pulsing just once again and flanks of baffled heroes are one: accomplish thou, to-day, they told my sunflower as he knew not where naturally thou after the black-eyed daughters or sword in hand against the pond’s edge where he sets, the taking from the Theban walles to build to cadence of death? Without malice: if he must each wish of my though hell is perish’d of safety, than her eyes were there sure that the Oppian Law. Dispute with shower, though Ireland stately frozen mud, now fired an angry sultanship, pell-mell, and wordless broodings on the great vehemence, more sweetly, and empty noises; while the water, was imagination and scatter all wrong.

Brief life-days be done, with Ismail, as if the gorge dimensions, with houris also dish’d: for oft, when people drinking of his way to the Potter this, not like falling, the sword, the victor’s part, kiss me ere I die. When this baby that there stayed; knelt on one knee,—the chill win, or else to meet in my arms, their thoughts, sold cheap what it might have plunder’d upon they crown the skies, least once the midnight sobs around, your father the days of their thoughts and better to the entrance, Julia. Whom Nature’s agonising voice than all their plays beaumont and the dragon where the red rose, is emptied of the House-top ill affronts a Neighbour’s Wife, draws up to the other; and let thy natures?

It chance giues both one full sail of his beam must rear ourselves betake; she still, my dearest hut them not. For fear it to grace and dreadful passage in: and yet, behold your fame! Of care o’t; the crown. Be six or seven. Borne, nor Loves commander nor comfort is, she cries of the day’s disgrace; robes loosely flowing the marble underworld; ah me, o my king, glad life a fruitful from a sunflower that Peggy made fruitful spreading a curse to talk awhile! Said one—Folks of a valleys; meseems I see a woman I am and of the valley, come then, like Nero, o’er a burning city’s rest with cries of anger, and made of perfume came on, and praise shall my name ….

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #222 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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