#intending for me to do the thing In The Near Future

[novemquadragintillion]

.

[synthshenanigans]

Okay so the words he mouthed in that one clip is "One day you're going to die" Which is a lyric to Memento Mori [another ww song]

Which first of all, means that Memento Mori is very likely one of the next songs in the power hour

And second, all the bits referenced in Nerd are fully there! Red being one he did in the past [or what he was doing at that moment with the Cage line] & Green being references to the next two power hours after it

But then like, whats the last power hour???? Cos there's no more lyrics that are referenced I don't think?

[Insane theory ramblings in the tags v]

[dreaisgrayte]

Half Blood | Muzan Kibutsuji x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, TW! YN does get assaulted, mentions of blood, drinking blood, gore, how many times do I mention claws? Oral fem!receiving, fingering, kissing, breeding kink, virgin sex, creampie, and overstimulation.

Word Count: 4.9k

a/n: guys this started off as a quick break from a Sanemi fic I'm working on (keep in mind I think short fics are no longer than 3k) and here I am... with a way longer fic than I intended and something I actually want to expand on in the future. It was a lot of fun to write this so I hope you enjoy it <3

“You,” His pink irises are illuminated by the moon high in the night sky. The blood within your body cools as you stare back at the man who stored your fate. His inky black hair flows down his shoulder in waves. A deep blue yukata loosely hung on his frame. “I’ve been watching you.” Muzan growls, edging ever closer to where you stood. His pointed canines glinted in the light, his nails sharp and ready to claw at your jugular. The demon king rolls his tongue along the tips of his teeth, studying you carefully. Was he deciding whether or not to feast upon your flesh?

He had never seen such a creature as yourself. Your skin was glowing, soft, and supple. The lavender color yukata covered most of your body, a delicate pattern of white flowers spanning the kosode fabric. Your obi was white with purple vines flowing around it. You wear simple white tabies paired with purple strapped zori. Elegance and grace radiated from you. He could smell the wisteria perfume in your hair. 

It was strange, you were a confrontation to the world he wanted to live in – yet something he could not tear his eyes away from. Here you were, standing in front of him without fear. He rather thought it would be better fun if you were afraid, he did so enjoy the chase. Though, there was – of course – a reason you relented in running away from him. Your eyes were stormy, eclipsed by thousands of emotions. That’s when a different smell, that had not yet hit him, tickled his nose. Blood, and not just any blood. You had the blood of a demon in you. Your stern, furrowed brows, with the revolting smell of wisteria burning his nose. You confused him. “What are you?” He purs out, not sure if what would come out of your mouth would be a lie or truth. He could always figure it out for himself one way or another. 

Your lip ticks, a show of annoyance you’d yet to master. The man in front of you knew, he could smell it, of that you were sure. Yet, he dared ask. What are you? You’d been told many times what you were. An abomination. A curse. A monster. “Are you not the demon king?” You spit back, growing angry. Would the other half of you reject your existence as well? You had hoped at least the demons would have the scarce bit of comradery running through their systems. Muzan’s brows lift, then knit together. Did he need to answer you? After all, he could easily swipe at your neck to kill you for being so insolent. The eager need to hear what you had to say captivated him though. 

When the man does not answer you tut, crossing your arms over your chest. “Here I thought the mighty demon king would be able to tell me apart from the rest.” You shake your head, laughing stiffly into the night. In a flash Muzan has you pinned to the trunk of a tree. Splinters etch toward your face from the very force of his hand. His muscular body cages you in and it takes you a moment to realize how your body aches to be near him. 

“I can smell you,” He mutters, squinting his beautiful eyes like he couldn’t quite distinguish what he was looking at. “You assault my senses, it’s driving me mad. There’s something different about you.” Muzan had first observed you walking in your village one evening, the way people sneered and cowered at your presence intrigued him. He found himself looking for you every night, wondering what your story was. These villagers were shunning you. He wished to know why such a pretty thing as yourself would be outcasted in her own village. “You smell like me, yet you are not. So I ask you again, what are you?” His voice is low, edging on the precipice of anger. 

You do not yield in holding his gaze. “I am you, yet I am not. Born of the sun and moon. A half-blood.” 20 years ago your mother found herself in the entertainment district, serving the pleasures of others. A man came to visit her on multiple occasions. Eventually, the two ran away together. Sharing in love and secrets. Your mother was a demon and your father a local carpenter. How you were able to be conceived was a mystery, even to them. They lived in peace, until one night. The villagers had finally seen through your father’s lies, storming their house. They slaughtered both of them and assuming you were a child taken captive, they whisked you away to a widowed mother. As you grew it was obvious where your origins lay, yet no one in the village dared to lay a hand on you. 

Muzan lets his gaze drop to where your heart pulsed, bouncing the skin of your jugular. “You are human and demon?” Something pulled tight in his chest. Could you walk in the sun? Did you regenerate? Were you the answer to his plight? “You are radiant.” He cannot stop the words from falling past his lips. Your eyes light up with recognition, acceptance, and for a moment your past falls away. He had the ever-growing urge to sweep you away. Your very existence was tantalizing to him in the least. He tilts his head, wrinkling his nose at the obscure way you smelt. 

Your eyes settle on the way he reacts to you, wondering if he’ll take you away someplace. Some place away from these villagers who had slaughtered your parents who just wanted to live in harmony. They did not deserve to die and you did not want to live one more second with their murderers. Muzan wanted to take you, but he couldn’t. Not yet. You were so fragile. If he were to touch you he would fear you would break on the spot. “Are you going to take me away from this place?” You whisper, hopeful tones floating to Muzan. He swallows something deep and thick. 

Muzan backs away from you, eyes tensing. “No.” He replies softly. He could not take you into his den, the other demons were too stupid to realize how precious you were. You would be dead within seconds. The line between your brows hardens again as his words hit you. 

“No? Why not? Am I not good enough for you?” Your voice is rising. You sound like a whining child who hasn’t gotten their way. Muzan winces at the obvious pain seeping into your voice. You were nothing like he’d ever seen before. Something beautiful, a miracle in his eyes. Therefore, he did not answer you. He simply faded back into the shadows. With his disappearance, your hopes and dreams faded as well.

—

The next time you see Muzan is two years later. His hair is shorter than you last saw it, the curls kissing the nape of his neck. This neat look couldn’t contain the loose curls that framed his face. A starched white collar shirt was tucked into an ornate waistcoat. He looked utterly different, yet he was your Muzan. He had the same eyes, the same far-off look, and on top of that, you could practically taste his scent. It was overwhelming, crushing even, but in a way, you enjoyed the rush. 

It was also a fact that you had escaped your village after one of the men tried to see how strong a half-blood was. He told you he was turned on by how revolting you were and he would take you as his wife in duty only. Until then you had never seriously thought about killing a human. The realization was both terrifying and freeing. So you fled to the entertainment district, living off of what you could at the Kyogoku House. There were so many smells here. Food, humans, sex, and demons. 

You worked under a beautiful oiran, and you could tell… she wasn’t human. Part of you wanted to become friends with her, but if she hadn’t reached out for the sake of commonality, you didn’t think there was a chance of any other relationship than servant. 

Muzan’s brows furrowed. He had come to visit Daki and yet your scent prosecuted his brain. Ever since he left you in the forest that day he had been thinking of a way to retrieve you. You were too precious to let out of his sight again. This time he would secure you. He could feel his blood boil at the thought of you living in the Ukiyo. Kyogoku House was well protected, but anywhere without him wasn’t safe for you. Were you being used by men far beneath you? Muzan had never felt such rage toward the thought of men touching a woman. He often indulged in watching, humans were ever so entertaining – but you weren’t human. You were one of his and he swallowed harshly at the fact that you weren’t only his. 

He brushes past some of the lower-ranking courtesans, his eye twitching at their giggles. You watch from afar, the familiarity of his back etching a cold ache into your heart. He would leave again, of that you were sure. You hug the fresh sheets to your chest, making your way to the linen closet down the hall. “Ah, YN, I’ve been looking for you.” The Okaasan Omitsu stands before you. She has a cunning sneer behind the kind smile she wears. 

You bow, storing the sheets away before turning your full attention to her. “Yes Okaasan?” You can smell the evil intent behind this woman, it makes your stomach sink. 

“You wouldn’t mind doing me a favor would you?” She uses the word favor like you’d have a choice. She is the Okaasan after all. It’s like she thinks you’re some stupid girl that will follow whatever she says. Using the word favor is a manipulation tactic and if you were a naive girl, you would be eating out of the palm of her hand. 

You tilt your head to the left, plastering a fake smile of your own onto your lips. You knew anything out of your mouth except ‘yes Okaasan’ would make things harder for yourself. So with all your better judgment pushed aside, you say exactly that. 

Her eyes gleam. “Thank you, my dear. If you will kindly follow me.” She walks back up the hall, toward one of the private Ozashiki rooms. You glance around, nerves settling into your bones. You couldn’t be headed into one of these rooms, you weren’t even a kamuro. You were just an older shinzō. 

She stops in front of the panel, a cruel smile lifting the corners of her mouth. No, please, not this. “You are very blessed my dear, one of our chūsan is interested in you.” She slides the door aside and sitting against a wall smoking a pipe is a middle-aged man. Cushions are scattered around the floor and a twisted smirk plays with his mouth when he sees you. Okaasan bows then slides the door shut behind you. 

The room was stifling, the smoke choking out any of the senses you had. It was dizzying. “Mmm, you’re a lot older than I thought.” The man sneers, setting his pipe down. The fog of opium seemingly wraps around your throat, making it hard to breathe. “But you’ll do.” He laughs, patting the cushion next to him. “Why don’t you come a little closer?” He offers. Your body tenses. You were in danger, of that you were sure. You were not willing to give your virginity up to such a man but if you denied him the right to your own body, there would be outrage. You swallow, tentatively kneeling on the cushion next to him. 

He leans over you, sniffing the area around your shoulder. You stiffen. “You smell so good, better than all those flora bitches.” He growls. “I like your natural…musk.” Oh Gods did this man – who probably has a wife and children – just compliment how you smell when you’ve been working all day? “What do you like about me?” What a loaded question. 

You smile, one that shuts your eyes – if he saw the look in your eyes he’d be sure to know you were lying when you said, “I appreciate your generosity.” You bow your head and the man laughs heartily. 

His tongue darts out to coat his lips. “I can be more generous if you’d like?” He moves himself closer to you. “I was blessed with wealth, good looks, and a tool to make women scream.” Please let the tool be an ice pick so you can lobotomize yourself. “Whad’ya say, darling?” He coos, going in for what appears to be a kiss even though you hadn’t been given the time to answer him. 

You grimace away from his advance, shoving at his chest. The eerie playful tone in the room suddenly seems to vacuum out. The fog is still thick from the burning opium, but you don’t miss the way the man before you lunges for you. He’s panting above you with a charming pointy sneer. “Ah ah ah, not so fast. You haven’t serviced me, whore.” He digs his nails into your shoulder, pinning you to the wooden floor. “Look at you, begging for my cock with your eyes, ooohh you want it that bad you slut?” He hisses, fumbling with the buckle of his Western-style pants. You squirm wildly under his grasp but it’s like he’s infused with superhuman strength. “I’m gonna fuck you and then, as your reward,” His face is next to yours now, eyes glowing an electric yellow, pupils in slits. “I’m going to kill you.” His hand is on your throat, crushing your windpipe. You choke on what little air you were able to breathe earlier. 

A demon, this man was a demon. One of your kind. No… he wasn’t. He was something else. He was driven by the carnal desire to fuck and kill. You were too weak to push him off, your internal forces constantly warring against each other. You had always presented as human, meek, malleable, and obedient. What you would give to have your demon side come forth, bite this fucker’s head off. You want to scream – but on account of his claws sinking into the back of your neck – if you even moved that would surely be the end of your life. 

He tears your yukata to shreds, ripping the soft skin of your stomach open as well. Your mouth opens the pressure of a scream pushing against his hand. Blood mixes with the tattered cloth, the cotton dying red.

Muzan pauses, Daki grumbling about some inferior human drama. His eyes search the room, this time Daki taking notice from her self-indulged rant. Where was that smell coming from? He stands, silencing Daki before she can start whining again. The potent smell of blood was swirling to the top floor, but not just…any blood. “YN,” He hisses, the annoyance, rage, and blood-boiling sensations he felt earlier returning tenfold. Why were you bleeding? This was fresh cut blood, not from the dues women endured every month. He needed to find you, or he feared the worst. “I need to go.” He barely says to the demon next to him. Her face morphs into one of anger, and before she can hurl anything at him, Muzan slips out of her room. Where were you? He follows the pungent scent, clambering down the stairs and rushing down the hall until he’s in front of a private room. He’s sweating, for once fear is humming in his ear. He shoves the door to the side, witnessing a demon hunched over your body. 

Your blood is pooling around you dying the wonderfully blue yukata you wore earlier a sickly brown color. The demon doesn’t have time to look up because Muzan is already crushing its head, slashing its throat to shreds of what it once was. 

The room is covered in blood but the demon is dead. Muzan slides to the floor, cradling you in his lap. “YN, no, no please don’t die.” You were his miracle. You were his hope. If anything could save his damned soul it would be you. His arms are trembling as your stomach bleeds out, the skin marred, and…God the smell of your blood was driving him mad. It was something he shouldn’t be thinking about as you bleed out under him. You needed to regenerate. He wasn’t sure if you could so maybe your demon just needed a little push?

With his free hand, Muzan tears the flesh from his arm, bringing it down to your mouth. His blood trickles onto your lips, sliding into your mouth. After a few silent beats, your eyes shoot open. Muzan has never felt such joy as this very moment. Your arms wrap around his, bringing it into your mouth. Muzan hisses at the way your tongue dances around his wound, lapping up the blood he shed for you. You’re panting, gasping for more. Your eyes glow as you drag your tongue up the muscle of his forearm. His blood flows through you like your own life force, strengthening your nerves, hardening your muscles. He has made you stronger. 

It sends a pinch of desire through Muzan. He hadn’t felt the heat of wanting to sink his cock into the warmth of a cunt in decades. You were mouthing at his arm, wounds healed on both ends, but now that you were moving the once whole yukata falls off your shoulders. Blood trails from your lips down your chest, between your breasts. Muzan was never one to fend off his desire to want. He took whatever he wanted, without a care. He wanted to take you without a care. Fuck you senseless into the floorboards, claw at you, feed on your blood while you fed on his. It was ecstasy just imagining driving his cock into your pretty tight pussy. 

“I should’ve never left you.” He whispers and it sends a rolling wave of want through you. You move to straddle his lap. 

“Then don’t leave me now.” You could both smell it, the heat and arousal in the air. “Take me, my Lord.” He smirks, holding onto your thighs. 

He hums, enjoying the way you’re bare in front of him. You were a sight to behold. “Mmm, such a smart girl.” A portal opens underneath him, the wooden floor sinking into an expanse of rooms, platforms, doors, lights, and endless corridors. The sheer speed whips your hair around your face until – it doesn’t. You’ve stopped in the middle of whatever this place was. “Welcome home,” Muzan’s pink eyes darken to a deep crimson as he sits up straighter, pressing himself into you. You moan in delight as his hands work their way up your hips, sitting you down on the stiff part of his lap. 

You tilt your head, peeking at him. “I’ve never liked pants,” you mumble, playing with the hem of his. He chuckles his smirk growing. 

“And why is that?” He inquires, moving his tongue to lick up the blood that has traveled toward your navel. You choke out a moan as he makes his way between your breasts. You can feel his teeth against your skin and it’s a wretched thought. “Aheh,” He swipes at the crest of your breast. 

“H-hard to get off.” Muzan hums against your skin in agreement, but he’s too preoccupied with the way you tremble with untapped pleasure. 

He wants to tear into your flesh, mark you as his, burn only his name onto your tongue. “Such an eager kitten,” He licks his lips, capturing the back of your neck in his hands. “You want me bare that badly?” All you can manage is a small nod as he gingerly moves you so that you’re laying down. Your hips are still lined up with his as he gazes at you. “I can promise you I have a similar urgency.” He grins, pulling the belt from his breeches with a smooth movement. He tosses it to the side, but doesn’t make any more movements to pull his pants down. Muzan notices your heated gaze pointed toward his hardened groin. 

Did you know nothing about the workings between a man and woman? His eyes trail down your body, stopping at the apex of your thighs. He wraps his arms around the bend of your knee, smirking when your eyes widen in surprise. He tugs you upwards, to where your legs are over his shoulders. Being this close to your glistening pink cunt made his groin stiffen even more, if that was possible. The smell of you was intoxicating. He couldn’t help himself. “What a fucking view.” He growls. 

Muzan buries his head between your thighs, latching his mouth onto your swelling clit. You gasp in pleasure, breaths turning into ragged moans as he plunges his tongue deeper into you. “O-oh my God, f’ck, ngh.” With the way his tongue his twisting and sucking inside of you, breathing seemed impossible. His claws dig into your outer thigh, scratching red trails to your knees. He devours every bit of you he can reach, crazed by the tangy sweetness of your arousal. Your walls were squeezing around his tongue, heat running through your body. 

Your own hands find your stiff nipples, rolling them around in your fingers. You couldn’t get enough, it was the same feeling you received from drinking his blood. Heat rolling around in your veins as his eyes take in your puffy cunt and how your eyes roll to the back of your head. He maneuvers one hand from under your knee to the one place that was being ignored on you – your entrance. It was like the gate to a shrine and he wanted to worship there for eternity. “Look at how fucking wet your cunt is.” His pointed nails shape into shorter rounder ones, he dare not damage this holy place. Then, without warning, he presses two fingers into you. A yelp echoes across the void of the infinity castle. “Ahhh, shit,” You huff, tensing from the sensation of your pussy being stretched. 

Muzan knew you were a virgin, he would be lying if the fact didn’t make him grow more feral to have you sit on his cock and take his seed deep within you. He wanted you. He wanted you. He wanted you. That was all he could think about while lapping up your wetness. 

The slick from your cunt was sucking his fingers in, a growl rumbling around your clit. This makes you scream out as a shockwave shoots through you. Your thighs are shaking and every once and a while – as Muzan still selfishly fingers you through your climax, sucking on your clit – your body will twitch. Heavy and heady moans fall from your lips, breaking into whines as you come down from your high. 

“You did such a good job my sweet,” Muzan lowers you gently back to the floor. Your neck is sore from being at an awkward angle for so long, but you would give anything to see the disheveled man before you with your arousal still on his lips. “That’s it. Prefect. You’re so perfect.” He mutters, licking his lips and watching you still play with your nipples. 

Though you feel like you’ve just ascended, you crave more. You want Muzan to breed you like his own personal slut. “M-more,” You gasp. “I feel so empty my Lord.” You huff, the edges of your voice bleeding to a whine. Muzan’s eyes widen. He hadn’t intended to fuck you just yet. Give you some time to grow accustomed to sexual things so it wasn’t rushed, but your eyes are pleading him to continue. He’s… nervous, which isn’t like the demon king. He’s so eager to please you. Make sure you’re comfortable. He wants to give you hell, heaven, and the earth. 

“You’re practically begging me.” He chuckles, unsure if you really knew what you were asking. There was no way that once Muzan slid into your heady cunt that he would not ravish you. There was no way to tell time in the infinity castle, so there was no way for him to know when to stop until he was satisfied. You squirm to get closer to him, spreading your legs wide for him. His gaze drops from yours to your center, whatever shred of humanity that was left in him suddenly flying away. “Such a filthy slut. You’re already hungry for more? You want me to fill you up? Then beg for it.” His eyes narrow into slits, the magma growing in his belly. 

Your body cools with a shiver of excitement, as you reach down in between your thighs. You purse your lips and then spread your labia apart. The cool air tickles the sticky wetness but you can tell it’s doing something for him. “Please, my King, I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t think. I want you to take my virgin pussy and make it yours.” 

The corner of his mouth ticks up in a smirk. “As you wish my Queen.” He frees his cock and you have to take a moment to gulp at the sheer size of it. The head is leaking precum and bruised a red color from the lack of release. The shaft is a pale pink, a thick vein running down the underside. The muscles of his hips also catch your attention. They were unlike the drawings some of the courtesans had shown you. His were muscular, ready to thrust into you for hours. 

Muzan lines himself up at your entrance, this time with the head of his cock. The idea was thrilling, finally pushing into your pussy and breaking the barrier of your womanhood. He hisses as your slick coats him, making it easy enough to start entering you. Your face contorts with a mixture of pain and pleasure. “Shhh, you can take it.” You want to wiggle away from him, the pain of his member stretching you out is enough to break you. “Ah ah ah, you’re not going anywhere pretty girl. Remember you asked for this.” Muzan leans over you seizing your mouth with his own. You share a leisurely kiss as he swallows your moans. 

He feels the head of his cock hit your hymen and with a wince he thrusts past it. He can feel the rush of silky blood around his cock, but he tries his best to divert your attention with heated kisses. You break free, a long drawn out moan gasping out of you. “Ahhh, oh my, hngh nngh yes!” 

Muzan nuzzles into your neck, the feeling of your walls clenching around him driving him practically insane. “Yeah? Tell me how good I am. Tell me how good I am at fucking you.” He hisses out, desperate for your compliments and approval. 

“Nnnggh, s’good, f’ckin’ me s’good.” You slur, drunk on how he guided a new path into you. You pant and writhe under him, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Not yet my love, I want you to watch.” He starts to move his hips and you wince in burning pleasure. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.” He grunts, snapping his hips back into you. The wet slap of skin hitting skin sends shivers down your back. 

You’re straining against the build up in your stomach, a pit of coils wanting to spring forth. “Mmm, harder.” You huff, reach out to grab the back of his neck. He shakes his head, a playful smirk on his swollen lips. 

“Use your manners.” He teases, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Please fuck me harder.” You mewl just as he starts to thrust into you with a quickened rhythm. Your breath is sucked away by the pure bliss aching from the friction. 

Muzan bites down on his lip, brushing a few curls that had come free from behind his ear. “You like it when I do that?” He quizzes, fucking you harder. You can only manage a nod.

Your voice has grown hoarse from moans breaking into screams and whines. You buck your hips along with his as you arch your back, tumbling over your peak. “F’ck, haa haa hnngh,” You squeeze his cock and release his neck, breathless from your second orgasm. 

“Cum all over my cock, fuck,” Muzan growls, the feeling of your slick cum coating his length. He was gliding into you with such ease. He would apologize to you later for this. He pounds into your sensitive cunt, overstimulating you as you cry out. He rams himself into you and stays deep within your pussy. Panting heavily Muzan finally crashes over his own wave of pleasure. Splurting his cum around the walls of your pussy. He doesn’t want to pull out – for one fact he wanted all of his cum to stay within you – and for another fact, you were all the salvation he needed. He could find redemption with you. He rolls you both onto your side, hiking your leg over his hip to make sure he can stay inside of you. 

This was it, you had driven him to the edge and he would make sure to never let anything else touch you. As he gazes upon your soft features drifting off to a satisfied slumber he feels what once was his heart ache. “We should get married.” He blurts out.

[seresinhangmanjake]

His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Words: 2600

Notes: Possessiveness. Grumpy Feyd. I know it's similar to another one of my fics, but I realized that after the fact, so...

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You didn’t sleep. Not a wink. You laid in his bed all night, waiting for the man who never came, and your heart didn’t cease its ferocious beats for a second. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Is he ok? What happened? The sun rises without answers to those questions. 

You shoot up in bed when the door eases open. Expecting to find him, you’re disappointed to see instead his harpies enter one after the other. They don’t look at you. One goes about riffling through your dresses in the closet, one heads into the bathroom and you suddenly hear a rush of water filling the tub, and the last of them goes to the vanity Feyd brought in for you, lining up makeup and hair pins that she intends to use on you. 

The air about them is poised—an echo of who they used to be before they were turned into pets—as, for the moment, their vile, more carnivorous side lies dormant. 

Feyd only allows them to near you a couple hours after they’ve been fed; the peak time between their hunger sated and their bellies rumbling. At any other time, your uniquely foreign scent wafts to their nostrils and they are incapable of holding themselves back. More than a handful of instances—when they’ve managed to manipulate the guards to open their cages with their seductive smiles—they’ve gone on the hunt for you; one time in particular, sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night and yanking you from Feyd’s arms with the intention of sinking their teeth into your flesh. Feyd had been so furious he’d cut a finger from each of their hands. 

Still, they don’t scare you. You see in them women not entirely unlike yourself: owned, and therefore, changed. Soft are the women who have had the luxury of marriage and child-rearing in the comforts of wealth and beautiful homes—and good for them; how lovely to be soft—but it is the women who have not a choice in their existence that develop a steel shell. And you and the harpies have steel shells. In that way, they are your kin, and you try to subtly express that when you can, even though their allegiance to Feyd can make that quite difficult.

“Where is he?” you ask. 

They ignore you, continuing with their tasks, and you huff. Yes, sometimes they refuse to speak with you, and always it seems when you need their words most. In the past, you’ve been tempted to dangle your arm in front of their sharpened fangs in the hope that the offering will encourage their cooperation, but you’ve yet to find the bravery for that. Plus, Feyd would lose his mind. Well, he would lose the rest of it. 

“You’ve spoken to me before,” you continue. “Why not now?”

One of them stops and faces you. She glances at her sister who shakes her head. 

“Tell me,” you plead. 

“We are not permitted to speak with you on the matter,” the other says to your frustration. That is not good enough. Regardless of how he sees you and how you feel, he is the one thing keeping you alive on this lifeless planet and you refuse to go about your days worrying over his safety and what his disappearance means for your fate.

You throw the sheets off your legs and stand. 

“I don’t care,” you spit as your silky nightgown falls at your ankles, but then you reconsider your tone. The harpies do not do well with aggression. Being so animalistic, their instincts are easily drawn out, and they tend to attack when attacked, which is not a fight you would win. 

You take a calming breath, placing a hand over your heart. “We are the same. He owns us, he clothes us, he feeds us,” you remind them. “On this planet, I am as much your sister as you are each other’s. We all care about him in a way and if I knew what happened to him, I would have the decency to tell you.”

The harpy who drew your bath returns to the bedroom. Having overheard your words, she crosses her arms and says, “With respect, my Lady, we are not your sisters,” she says. “We have never had him the way you have, and he does not feel for us the way he does you.” 

Your clenched jaw loosens, lips parting. If you had assumed anything about the relationship between Feyd-Rautha and his harpies, it was that they had once been where you are; that when you came along, they lost their rank and became something alike the handmaids from your home world. You’d assumed that when they warmed his bed, their handmaids were the women who entertained him before them, and so on like a disgusting, perverted pattern. But if that is not the case, then your sense of identity is even more confused. Not to mention, nary a soul has referred to you as ‘Lady’ since you were taken from your family. So why show that respect now when Feyd practically stripped you of the title months ago? 

You look to the only one of the three who seems unsure of the situation. She’s biting her lip, worrying the fabric of your unworn gown between her fingers. 

“What about you?” you ask her and her head lifts to meet your eyes. She’s the smallest of them—pixie-esque, like you read in fairytale stories as a child—and despite the core of their primal nature, the gentlest. “You want to tell me.”

The harpy by your vanity hisses, but the gentle one does not shy away at the warning. “She has been kind to us,” she tells her sister in the most self-assured tone you’ve ever heard leave her mouth. 

The sister snaps back. “He instructed us to do one thing: get her ready for the day and act like nothing is wrong. It was not to tell her what happened.”

You lightly gasp. “So something has happened,” you state, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Your chest begins to rise and fall to match the rapid rate. “Is he ok?”

There are a few seconds of silent pause before Pixie stands a little straighter, setting her shoulders in a strong line. “Our Lord na-Baron was answering for the death of his brother.”

Your head jerks back. “Rabban?” you question, your brow pinching. “Rabban is dead?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And Feyd is the one who killed him?” That doesn’t make any sense. While Feyd has complained enough for you to know Rabban is a bumbling idiot, he eventually found a way for his brother to serve a purpose. Why would he kill a man when he is no longer the nuisance he once was, you wonder, so you ask, “Why?”

“The Lord Rabban…made suggestions,” Pixie tells you. One of the harpies groans as the other shakes her head.

“What suggestions?”

She bites down and swallows hard, then she says, “He suggested that the na-Baron share you for his own pleasure.”

Instantly, you’re hit with a wave of nausea. Share? Share you? The concept of a foreign woman hopping between men of status is not unusual, but at this point, you assumed if Feyd were going to participate in something like that, he would have sent you off already. Not doing so didn’t even surprise you. He’s too possessive. 

“You said he was answering for Rabban’s death,” you say, but answering for that surely wouldn’t have taken so many hours, not when the Baron saw Rabban as a waste of space. “So where is he now?”

—

He doesn’t notice when you step into the training room and you’re thankful for that. You came on a mission to extract more answers out of him, but you don’t mind having a second to admire him sparing against his trainer. 

He’s sweaty. You like him sweaty—sweaty and bare-chested and perfectly, effortlessly mesmerizing as aggressive grunts leave his lips. You silently watch their violent dance, your form mouse-like by the door until his trainer looks up and halts to stare at you. Feyd whips around to follow his line of sight, then he sighs and turns back to the smaller man. He mutters something as he grabs the rag at his belt and runs it down his face. 

The trainer leaves and Feyd places his knife back on the table among many others. “I told them to keep you away today,” he says dully, monotone, not meeting your eyes as he runs his finger over the blade and fiddles with the hilt. “Incompetent brats.” 

“You didn’t come to bed.”

“I was busy,” he responds without letting a beat pass. He continues to avoid your stare and mess with the knives as if he’s never wielded them before.

You slowly step down the stairs into the pit of the room. “Busy killing your brother?” you ask. The muscles in his back twitch and flex under pale skin as he grips the hilt harder. 

“That is none of your concern.” The distance between you lessens until you’re a foot from his back, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Even though you killed him because of me?” you ask. His neck ticks and his head tilts and shifts to adjust to the tension. When he still doesn’t respond, you try another angle. “Why are your harpies referring to me as their ‘Lady’?”

That seems to do it. Feyd faces you, crosses his arms, and leans his lower back against the table. “You think spending one night without me gives you permission to be nosy?”

You don’t give in to his method of shutting you up by aiming to make you feel silly and guilty. Instead, your eyes narrow and you mirror the crossing of arms. “Why am I a Lady again?”   

“You just are.”  

“Are you sending me home?”

His eyes flash. Blue irises darken a shade. “Don’t be stupid.”

“So I’m a Lady on Giedi Prime?” you ask, dropping your chin to emphasize how ridiculous that sounds. 

The edge of Feyd’s jaw sharpens as he clenches his back teeth. “Stop asking questions.”

“Then answer one,” you say. 

It’s a shot taken by an untrained hand, as he doesn’t enjoy demands, especially not from you, but you figure you have nothing to lose in the attempt, so you don’t cower under his menacing glare. You wait. And much to your surprise, he surrenders. 

He blinks, and when his eyes open, they have softened ever so slightly. Then he says, “You’re marrying me,” and everything from your lungs to your limbs freezes in shock. 

“W–What?” you stutter. That makes less sense than Rabban’s sudden death. 

Feyd groans and stands straight, his arms falling at his sides. “See what being nosy gets you?” he snaps. “I wasn’t going to tell you immediately, and you had to go and ruin it.”

He grabs a fresh knife and stomps his way over to a dummy, ready to attack something other than you for the insecurity that he can’t completely contain. You’ve never witnessed him insecure, but you know the feeling when you see it—the defense mechanism, the distancing himself, the grumbly attitude. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” you press as he slashes and stabs at the soulless victim. “I’m marrying you because you killed your brother for wanting to fuck me?”

With a grunt, the dummy’s head severs from its torso and flies off in your direction. It rolls and rolls and stops just before hitting your feet. The dead eyes stare up at you in silent amusement. Now you’ve done it, they mock.

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you understand me?” Feyd growls.

Your eyes shoot to his. “The marrying you part or The your brother fucking me part?”

He tosses the knife aside. It clatters against the ground as he closes in on you. His hand wraps around your neck. “Don't test me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I will sew your damn lips shut if I have to.”

An empty threat if you’ve ever heard one. He would never harm you, but even if he were going to try, his fingers would need to be squeezing much tighter.

You roll your eyes. “Well then how am I going to suck your cock?”

Something about the tease stuns him. His tense features immediately settle and his whole body eases with his exhale. Glancing at your lips, he licks his own, and you think he might decide to kiss you—after all, it’s been a good twenty-four hours since the last one—but he doesn’t.

You snort. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.”

Long fingers unwrap from around your neck. “You’re not funny,” he mumbles with an odd sense of shame.

“If you don’t find me entertaining, can you maybe take the time to explain all of this better?”   

Feyd considers keeping his mouth shut. You know him well enough to know that. However, it’s ridiculous to contemplate since he’s already spilled the bigger news. Nothing could be more shocking than you, after the bed-warming position you’ve held for months, becoming his wife. 

“My uncle was going to take you away from me for killing Rabban,” he finally says. “So I told him I've had plans to marry you for the alliance and that's why I refused to share you. Rabban wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he had to die.”

Raising a brow, you say, “The Baron accepted that explanation? My House may be one of the Greats, but we do not offer much for Giedi Prime.”

Feyd shrugs. “My uncle enjoys anything that causes upset. Marrying me means we will always own something very valuable to your family.���

It would likely offend another, but you don’t mind being owned. While the Baron may believe the Harkonnens as a whole will own you, you belong to Feyd and Feyd alone. He’ll never allow anyone to hurt you and now he’ll never have to fight or argue with anyone to stake his claim, which works for you just fine, to say the very least. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

Your head tilts as you smile. “Caring enough to protect me.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” he says. “I didn't do it for you, I did it for my own benefit.”

Your sweet smile morphs into a smirk. “The benefit being that you get to keep me all to yourself…for the rest of your life.”

With a scoff, Feyd rolls his eyes and crosses his arms again. “Whatever.”

“Feyd…” you sigh, leaning into him.

“What?” he returns in his snarky tone as if he doesn’t want you near, but he doesn’t step out of the bubble of your space.

“I'm happy.”

A pink tinge sneaks onto his pale skin, and he quickly looks away. And before he has a chance to come up with some witty remark to smack you with, you grab his face and press your lips to his. 

You hold on to him until he starts to kiss you back, and then he's reaching for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, and you know you won't be going anywhere for a good long while.

[eroselless]

LAY UR HANDS ON ME

Summary: You and Lando have been friends for years, dancing around your feelings and avoiding the tension between the two of you. What happens when there's only one spot left in the car? [1.7k]

[lando norris x reader ]

MASTERLIST | Part 2 - I LIKE THE WAY YOU KISS ME

Warnings: 18+ for explicit language and smut, sorta dry humping, light fingering and cursing. If there's any I missed let me know!

Note: as the poets say, i’m a slut for Lando <3 

I was inspired by this tik tok and this fic by uluvjay

Anywaaays, let me know if I should do a part twooo

Lando's eyes can't help but wander over your figure as you sit next to him at dinner. His gaze traces the curves of your body accentuated by the dress you mentioned to him just the week before. The fabric clings to your body in all the right places, exuding an allure that is both captivating and refined. He notices how the colour of the fabric makes your eyes look brighter and emphasizes the features of your body that he always finds himself drawn to. You look completely at ease in your chair, a half-empty glass of wine dangling casually from your fingertips.

He's pulled from his thoughts by a voice across the table. "What's the plan?" Carlos inquires, his hands clasped together in front of him as he gazes out at Lando. He blinks, processing what his ex-teammate just asked him. He hesitates for a second.

"I think I'm ready to head back to the hotel," he replies, meeting your eyes briefly for confirmation. You nod in agreement, your silent support bolstering his decision. A chorus of voices clamours at you, George, Alex, and Pierre opting to go out for a few more drinks and dancing. You shake your head, swirling the glass in your fingers.

"I think I'll head back too," you say, setting the glass down with a decisive clink. Max nods in agreement, Pietra clinging to his arm as they prepare to leave as well. You all begin to file out, congregating in the foyer of the restaurant for some quick goodbyes.

Lily wraps her arms around you in a farewell embrace, a pout evident on her face as she whispers promises of future hangouts before hurrying to rejoin her awaiting boyfriend. Alex gives you a wave from afar, a gentle smile playing at the corner of his lips, and they join the rest of the group as they make their way towards their car.

You walk out, trailing close behind Lando. Your hand is tucked into the pocket of his blazer jacket, a silent yet comforting gesture that keeps you near him. The air is filled with conversations as you make your way to the car that awaits you. Everyone begins to pile into it, Max taking his place behind the wheel with Pietra by his side while Carlos sits in the back with Charles.

"Oh, shit—" you hear Lando mutter suddenly as he scans the remaining space. There's only one spot left in the car, next to Carlos. With a slight grimace, you watch as he waves his hand in the air as if to say, no mind that. Lando takes his place next to his friend, ushering you into the car as well. Your eyebrows furrow together as he gestures for you to climb in his lap.

You hesitantly sit down, pulling the door closed behind you. You had always been rather close to Lando, even going past the confines of friendship, blurring the lines. You'd always be stealing his clothes, his t-shirt, sweatpants, sweaters. He'd always find comfort in your body heat, curling up at your side to sleep or have a cuddle. You were essentially attached at the hip.

You'd grown accustomed to the flashes of cameras and the photos circling online on social media. Often, people would question if you were dating, but the answer would always remain the same—no. Not that either of you didn't want to, but you'd been friends for a few years, and Lando intended to keep you by his side as long as he could. He prioritized your bond over potentially complicating things by introducing romance to the mix.

This feels like entirely new territory, sitting in his lap with his hands hovering above your thighs, the faint scent of your perfume teasing his senses as you settle in. He can't help but feel a flutter of excitement surge through him. If you leaned back, he feared you'd be able to feel the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat underneath the layers of muscle that encase his chest.

As you lean forward to grasp the seat in front of you, Lando can feel his breath catch in his throat as he becomes hyper-fixated on your movements. He can't help but bite his lip as a flush rises to his cheeks, struggling to take his eyes away from where your figure is nestled in his lap. The softness of your touch sears through him.

His eyes dart nervously to Carlos, hoping to find some reprieve from the intense feelings brewing in him. The Spaniard raises an eyebrow at him in silent amusement, a smirk playing on his lips before turning back to Charles and resuming their conversation. With a gentle shake of his head, Lando tears his gaze away, opting to watch the lights go by outside.

He watches as the pavement gradually gives way to rougher terrain beneath the car’s tires, signaling the road to their hotel nestled on the outskirts of the city. Max turns the music up, trying to muffle the crunch of the wheels on the gravel. The transition is palpable, the rumbling of the road sending vibrations through the vehicle. Your position suddenly feels uncomfortable and you begin to shift in your spot, momentarily forgetting that he can feel your every move.

A sudden bump jostles you from your spot and you can feel Lando’s hands tighten slightly over your skin. You try your best to stay still, only shifting again when the car goes over another bump. A whispered plea cuts through the tense air, sending a tingle down your spine.

“Please stop moving.” he murmurs, voice strained. The heat that spreads through you only intensifies as you feel his grip on you tighten, your hands clenching onto Pietra’s seat in response.

“Sorry,” you whisper back, trying to sound as sincere as you can, to sound like you weren’t thinking about how hard he was beginning to feel under you. Lando’s fingers press harder into your thighs. The bumps keep coming and you struggle to keep from moving. The air around you feels as if it's getting hotter as you continue to move against him. Next to you, Carlos and Charles are dozed off, completely unaware of the tension rising just next to them.

You can feel Lando breathing down your back, having placed his forehead at the nape of your neck. It sends a shiver down your spine, right to your core. He’s breathing in your scent, burying his nose in your skin. His breath is coming out in broken fragments as he struggles to keep it under control. His fingers are now fanned out on your thighs, just inches from the hem of your dress. He’s almost tempted to slip his fingers under it. He bites down on his lip, a futile attempt to hide how much he’s enjoying the moment. The bumps in the road continue to make his heart pound, freezing his hands in place.

Desperate for some relief, he tries to lean back into the seat. The ache building in his cock is almost unbearable. He pushes his hips forward, inadvertently bucking them up and now it's your turn to try to keep quiet. You feel yourself hang off of the seat in front of you, back arching slightly.

His gaze is now trained on the curve of your ass in his lap and he can't help the sigh that falls from his lips. He so badly wants to surrender himself to the allure of the moment, so many years of yearning for you building up to this very night. 

You reach a hand down to grab one of his, intertwining your fingers in a silent plea for more. You feel as if you are skating on thin ice as you encourage his hand to move under your dress. A gasp threatens to make its way past your lips as he follows your lead and dips a hand between your legs. Pushing your knees out ever so slightly, his fingers delve deeper, and you find yourself teetering toward the edge of ecstasy.

You both begin to shift in time, the pad of his thumb just barely pressing into the button of your clit and your ass rubbing perfectly against his cock. With each subtle movement, your senses ignite, the friction sending waves of pleasure rippling through the both of you.

“Oh god…” Lando’s voice is a mere whisper, hardly reaching your ears over the hum of the car and pounding of the music. His fingers move in slow circles, you feel as if the pleasure could consume you whole. With every flicker, your teeth dig harder into your lip, and you swear you could draw blood.

You can see the hotel lights from here, light seeping into the car. Panic sets in as you freeze in the seat, hands and hips coming to a complete halt. You can feel Lando shaking underneath you, his cheeks a bright pink. His chest is heaving as he tries to take shallow and quiet breaths. You each try to compose yourselves and you lean back in his lap, pulling his hands out from the fabric of your dress.

The tension in the air is palpable as the car comes to a stop, Max putting it in park and announcing to the sleeping men that you’ve arrived. You bite your lip at the innuendo that goes over everyone’s heads. Not quite, Max.

Lando’s hands take their spot on your thighs again, just as they were at the beginning of the ride. They stick slightly to your exposed skin, a testament to the desire that simmers between the two of you. You can see them twitch as if they’re still itching for more. He smiles weakly at you as you step out of the car, blaming the tight confines of the car for your flushed cheeks.

You don't miss how he gingerly sticks the pads of his fingers in his mouth or how he shoves his hands into his pockets, adjusting his pants as he does so. You blink away the last of the haze in your eyes as you quickly and quietly follow him up to your shared hotel room.

[jaestrz]

𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 - 김민규 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐦

A/n: this is not proofread, it’s been a while since I last posted so my writing skills are rusty ㅠㅠ. Enjoy!!!

• Husband!mingyu x wife!reader

Mingyu know for one fact, he would do whatever he could to guide you and his daughter to the path of joy.

He wanted to give you the whole world if he could.

So when he happen to talk to an old friend of his during high school at an event. Most of the questions caught him off guard- yet, put him in a confused position.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve last seen you Mingyu! I never knew I could see you at an event like this in the future!” Hyunwoo chimed, extending a hand for Mingyu to take. To which he did.

“I didn’t know I could see you at a place like this as well. Heard you were settling in France, how’s life there?” Mingyu asked.

Hyunwoo smiled from ear to ear when Mingyu mentioned about his current home. “It’s been wonderful. In fact, I flew to Korea with my girlfriend. She should be here somewhere. I was hoping you two would get to know each other. ” Hyunwoo said, lightly placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Mingyu didn’t really know much about Hyunwoo. Perhaps it’s been years since he last talk to his friends, he didn’t bother to dig much information about Hyunwoo.

Back then Hyunwoo was amongst the richest kid in school. Everyone seemed to know his father as the CEO of a famous company. Other than that, how he and Hyunwoo had become acquaintance seems to be blurry in his mind.

A few minutes have passed with catching up, Mingyu came across a blonde haired girl in red who interrupted the conversation between him and Hyunwoo.

“Oh Jung eun! This is Mingyu, Mingyu this is my girlfriend Jung eun. Babe, can you believe it? The last time we met was back in high school!” Hyunwoo laughed, snaking his arms around his girlfriend’s waist when she got closer.

“Nice to meet you Mingyu, I heard a lot about you just now from my friends. You must’ve been an amazing person to everyone.” Jung eun complimented, Mingyu on the other hand could only force a smile.

It was different from what Mingyu had expected. He remember Hyunwoo dating a girl named Areum but it didn’t last long before they broke up on their 2 months anniversary.

And he couldn’t keep track of who Hyunwoo dated because really… there was just too much.

There was a moment of pause, as if he was running out of ideas to continue the conversation.

Until Jung eun asked.

“So… how about you?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?

He didn’t intend to laugh but he didn’t expect her to ask such things.

Hyunwoo eyes lingered towards the metal ring wrapped around Mingyu’s ring finger. It was a simple white gold band. How come he didn’t know Mingyu was married.

Hyunwoo looked surprised. And he spoke faster before Mingyu could answer.

“You didn’t tell me you got married recently. I thought you would at least have a girlfriend by now? You should’ve invited me, I would’ve love to see who’s the lucky girl.”

Mingyu smiled, shaking his head in denial. “Actually I got married before graduation.” He confessed, making Hyunwoo more confuse.

Hyunwoo thought Mingyu was joking. There was no possible way.

“But you were in a such tough position… How- it’s impossible. You know you can just tell me you got married recently, it’s not something to be ashamed about. Since- you did grew up with nothing.” He nervously laughed, trying to cover the shock impression. But when Mingyu didn’t seem to be kidding, he grew more furious. “You were going through a financial crisis even when you were in school. You were the quiet kid back then.”

“I didn’t know there were girls who were interested in you. Until now?”

To Mingyu, of course there was.

He wouldn’t think he would reach this far if it weren’t for someone’s support.

*

Mingyu didn’t have a lot back then like he has now.

A week before graduation, the both of you got married at a church near your hometown. Wearing a $20 cheap silver band as the rings. Although he had warned you many times that you shouldn’t be expecting too much from him, you were unbothered by his warnings.

You two were just two fresh young adults, living in a rented single room while Mingyu balanced his work and study life. He would work 4 different jobs while attending university. Same goes to you except he didn’t allow you to work like him.

It was the time where you and Mingyu would prepare budgeted meals together. Talking about what you two would want in the future.

A house.

Maybe kids.

Even a vehicle was something you two couldn’t afford to own.

“I have something for you love.” Mingyu said while you two were on your way back home. Both of you shared an umbrella (he was lucky enough to bring one when he went to fetch you) so there was such limited space for you both to not get wet.

A slight confusion planted on your face when he took out a snack from his backpack

It wasn’t much but it was something that could lit you up after a long day.

Pepero.

But back then it was considered expensive so you and Mingyu tried to avoid buying it and bought a cheaper version. Nonetheless, you wouldn’t know the real taste of pepero anyways.

“Gyu but I thought-” your words were cut when he pecked you on the lips, his hand intertwined with yours.

“It’s yours. Take it okay?” He smiled.

“But will you share it with me?” You cautiously ask.

A chuckle left his lips.

“If you want to, then yes love.”

*

“Sorry, am I interrupting?”

The three heads turned their heads towards you, the corner of Mingyu’s lips formed upwards. Taking your free hand and bring it up to plant a kiss on your ring before taking Minji from your hold.

Mingyu shakes his head no. “You’re not, I was just talking to an old acquaintance. From our high school actually, if you remember.”

Judging by Hyunwoo’s expression, he feel like his head could burst from the amount of questions he’s been holding to ask.

You?

The girl who he had been taken an interest since your sophomore year.

Turns out to be a mother and Mingyu’s wife.

But you had gotten more prettier. More mature looking and not just some girl who would open her locker to find dozens of gifts and letters from boys like him.

He was too lost to even speak his mind.

“Hello y/n it’s been a long time since we saw each other.” He extended a hand but you politely bowed as an exchange. “Do you remember me? Hyunwoo?”

And it took you a while to answer because you kept looking at Mingyu.

And he didn’t expect the answer either.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I do…” you replied and the pure disappointment just flushed over his eyes. Silence filled in the gaps. “I know it’s terrible of me but I believe it’s been 8 years ago? Were you someone important?”

“Not at all! Like your husband said, we were just acquaintance,” he said with a forced smile.

And before it started to get awkward, Jung eun quickly changed the topic.

“Well! It was nice to see you two. If you were ever to plan on traveling to France, we should see each other there.”

Hyunwoo coughed. “We also have to go now. Or else we might be late for our flight.” He kept his tone cool, before politely excusing himself and Jung eun.

You give it a few minutes when the couple left before turning over to a furious Mingyu with an eyebrow raised. Minji in his grip was playing with the two rings on his finger. You were holding in your laughters, it was possibly hard to breathe anymore.

“Cut the acting sweetheart, you’re terrible lying in front of me.” Mingyu stiffled a laugh when you let out the biggest exhale.

“There was no such thing as acting.”

“mama lie.” Minji murmured before rubbing her face in Mingyu’s neck.

“Even our daughter said so.” He grinned and you playfully rolled your eyes. “But why didn’t you admit it? Hyunwoo was hoping you would remember him.”

Mingyu was a nice person. You remembered back then when Hyunwoo looked down on Mingyu for being financially broke. He didn’t treat Mingyu like today.

You despise him more than anything.

“Because he used to be mean. Even if it’s not to me, he was mean to someone I love.”

You watched his eyes softens, his expressions turn into somewhat concern. It was something he didn’t want you to remember nor reminisce. It was something that he wanted to keep it away forever.

“Hey, I thought we agreed to move on sunshine?”

“We did.” You replied, watching his free hand tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “But then I saw you talking to him today and I remember all the mean things he said about you. How you were just some kid working a part time job to earn a living and you wouldn’t survive the outside world.”

And everything is true, Mingyu can’t find a single false in your words.

He wasn’t someone popular to begin with. Neither he has any knowledge on business. He was never trained to do those things.

Seeing Hyunwoo today took a big toll on you.

“But I just need you here beside me y/n. If you didn’t then maybe I’m nothing according to him.” Mingyu alleged. “We still have to be nice about it hm? I’m sure my princesses are such sweet girls.”

He got closer, planting a kiss on your cheekbone. Minji on the other hand was trying to adapt what was going on.

“Daddy, mama sad?” Minji asks, looking at you.

Mingyu put on a soft smile, planting a kiss on her temple.

“Mama is just a little tired. But she’s okay.” Mingyu assured.

“Uh oh, mama have to sleep!”

“Not a bad idea, maybe we should all go home and cuddle together in bed. How does that sound?” Mingyu suggested and Minji’s eyes lit up from the idea. “Should we ask mama if she’s okay with leaving early?”

The toddler turns to you, gripping onto your arm to get your attention. The satisfaction in her eyes when you said yes was heartwarming.

Mingyu’s gazed burnt your skin, as your eyes met with his, it was like he was asking if you were okay.

“Don’t worry anymore okay?”

Your lips formed into a thin line. Nodding.

“I love you.”

“I love you much more than you could possibly imagine sunshine.”

[quitealotofsodapop]

So how does courtnapping work??

"Courtnapping"; a mix of "courting" + "kidnap", is basically the demonic version of a proposal.

When demons were still scattered clans/prides across the mortal realm, it was very difficult for clans to interact without a lot of violence involved. Either because of competition for food, or because someone mistoke a glamoured demon for a mortal animal and starting biting.

What's a prospective lover to do if their beloved's family won't let them near without a fight? Easy; steal their lover away so that they can court them (among other things) in private.

As society grew; "courtnapping" became part of the demonic consciousness as a legitimate dating strategy. It was a loud way of announcing your intentions to the intended's family that you wanted them as a mate, whilst also showing off some muscle/magic.

However, demons are not animals. And if the kidnapped party rejects their captor's affections, it is considered polite to let them go. Only *uncouth* demons dare to lock their beloved away without contact with their family. And only truly vile ones (like Kui Mulang or Sai Tai Sui) keep them as forced spouses.

It's downright expected that a demon whisks away their future spouse - after all, who doesn't want to be swept off their feet?

Among wealthier Underworld clans who've adopted celestial/mortal practices, courtnapping isn't as common. Imperial China-style arranged marriages were the norm for the longest time up until a certain Bull Prince fell in love with an Iron Fan warrior, changing the desire among noble demons towards love matches. Courtnapping is considered a legitimate way of declaring "I object!" to an arranged marriage by giving the bride/groom a second option and a moment to rethink the arrangement.

Some wedding parties even hold a mock courtnappings between the new couple so that they can run off from the festivities and enjoy their honeymoon. Think how Spartan weddings involved the groom "kidnapping" the bride from their own ceremony.

Also because of some hilarious idea sharing with @soniclozdplove, we agree; People were kidnapped by demons so frequently in the Imperial era, not because of demon's eating them - but because of *marriage fraud*.

Think of it like this:

China is under strict Confucian and filial piety ideals. If your parent wants you to marry a specific person, you have pretty much no say in the matter.

Unless.

You just so happen to be kidnapped by a demon who wants to keep you as their legally binding spouse.

Human: "Oh no~ I'm captured by an hunky demon who wants to marry me! Guess I'm going to have to stay here and miss out on my arranged marriage." ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Demon: "And we can no-fault divorce at any time!" Human's Family: "We'll just take them back!" Lawyer: "Actually you can't. It's a legally binding marriage. Unless the captive expresses their rejection or wants to leave; it's legitimate." Human's Family: "Crap. Well, we'll just hire a mercenary or warrior to reverse-kidnap them back!" (*Later...*) Mercenary: "Avast foul demon! I have been sent to reclaim your stolen bride/groom!" Demon, turns to "captive": "Yay or nay, hun?" Human, looks at mercenary: "Ew. Nay. He's older than my dad." Demon, turning on dramatics: "LEAVE THIS PLACE YOU SOLIDER OF FORTUNE! ONLY ONES WITH PURE HEARTS SHALL TAKE THEM BACK!"

Heres a PortSherry comic I feel is very appropriate.

In more serious scenarios, a courtnapping can be faked to safety remove a person in an abusive home. Abusers can't control you if you're behind a giant lumbering demon with a prenup.

DBK got into this in the Tang-era when he and Princess Jade Face were "married". He was just helping her claim her inheritance, since her dad's will would only pay out if she was married (the Underworld Earth-Fox Clan are the "mimicking human/celestial"-trends types). PIF knew of this arrangement, but was still jealous af and nearly blew the whole of Thunder Mountain in her rage (it was how they learned she was pregnant with Red Son).

Zhu Bajie is an odd duck in this case; since he married Gao Cuilan the normal human way, but his instincts told him to steal her away when her family suddenly became hostile towards him. Cuilan didn't really object because she truly loved him, but was upset that contact between her and her family was cut. Even after the couple are legally divorced; Bajie still considers Cuilan his wife - because in a demonic sense, she's still his willing mate. Lots of stories written about the Pilgrims post-Journey have Bajie go back to her so that they can (in human sense) remarry.

Courtnapping still occurs in the modern day; just with a lot of pre-arranged consent involved. Racing, mock-battles, and the spat with between the lovers' parents - demons do love the thrill of the chase after all. But unplanned kidnappings of desired spouses do still happen.

In Red Son and MK's case; they've accidentally been courting each other for a long time. Mostly because they're dorks who don't realise what their rivalry looks like from the outside - especially during the Season 1 era.

Red Son, showing off his plans: "Here is my current brilliant idea for reclaiming our power! Step 1; We engage Noodle Boy and his friends in battle. Step 2: While you two are occupying Dragon Girl and his fathers, I capture Noodle Boy. Step 3: I keep him hidden in my old base in Fire Wind Cave. Step 4: I have full access to the Staff and all of Noodle Boy's magical abilities! It's foolproof!" DBK & PIF: (*share knowing smiles*) PIF: "Dear, I'm glad that you've finally developed an interest in romantic matters - but our current goals do not align with planning a marriage just yet." Red Son, confused: "Huh?" DBK: "And while it would be advantageous if you married Sun Wukong's heir, I feel that tensions between our families are too high to consider even a superficial union." PIF: "It's really sweet that you considered it though." Red Son: (*turns back to planning board, realises that his plan to capture MK resembles a traditional courtnapping*) Red Son, nearly magenta from embarrassment as he tears up the plan: "Err... never mind then."

In season 3 when Red Son saved Mei, Sandy, and MK from the dessert; DBK & PIF weren't mad that they had enemies at the dinner table - but because at a glance it looked like Red Son had stolen himself a spouse without warning them! And he brought some of his spouses family members to hammer out the details!

If the gang hadn't immediately brought up the Samadhi Fire; DBK's next sentence would have been asking them; "What are your intentions with my child? Do we need to provide a dowry? Is there plans for grandchildren?"

Red Son might have died on the spot. XD

[blekitnyzamek]

Illustrations from "Blue Castle"

In Poland we have 5 translations of "Blue Castle" (and in the 1st one Valancy is not named Valancy but Joanna (Joanne); and I think it's funny enough to dedicate separate post about that in the future) and one of them has such a magical illustrations, that I need to share them <3

All of them are from this edition of "The Blue Castle"/"Błękitny zamek" (which was translated by Jolanta Bartosik) and were drawn by Katarzyna Karina Chmiel. Cover too, just look at it! I love this artstyle.

I will add quotes adjacent to the illustrations above them. That one is on title-page, gorgeous<3

Valancy went home by the short-cut of Lover’s Lane. She did not often go through Lover’s Lane—but it was getting near supper-time and it would never do to be late. Lover’s Lane wound back of the village, under great elms and maples, and deserved its name. It was hard to go there at any time and not find some canoodling couple—or young girls in pairs, arms intertwined, earnestly talking over their little secrets. Valancy didn’t know which made her feel more self-conscious and uncomfortable.

She [Valancy] had flatly refused to take either Purple Pills or Redfern’s Bitters. She had announced coolly that she did not intend to answer to the name of “Doss” any longer. She had told Cousin Stickles that she wished she would give up wearing that brooch with Cousin Artemas Stickles’ hair in it. She had moved her bed in her room to the opposite corner. She had read Magic of Wings Sunday afternoon. When Cousin Stickles had rebuked her Valancy had said indifferently, “Oh, I forgot it was Sunday”—and had gone on reading it.

Cousin Stickles had seen a terrible thing—she had caught Valancy sliding down the bannister. Cousin Stickles did not tell Mrs. Frederick this—poor Amelia was worried enough as it was.

Valancy had walked out to Roaring Abel’s house on the Mistawis road under a sky of purple and amber, with a queer exhilaration and expectancy in her heart. Back there, behind her, her mother and Cousin Stickles were crying—over themselves, not over her. But here the wind was in her face, soft, dew-wet, cool, blowing along the grassy roads. Oh, she loved the wind! The robins were whistling sleepily in the firs along the way and the moist air was fragrant with the tang of balsam. Big cars went purring past in the violet dusk—the stream of summer tourists to Muskoka had already begun—but Valancy did not envy any of their occupants. Muskoka cottages might be charming, but beyond, in the sunset skies, among the spires of the firs, her Blue Castle towered. She brushed the old years and habits and inhibitions away from her like dead leaves. She would not be littered with them.

“We’ll just sit here,” said Barney, “and if we think of anything worth while saying we’ll say it. Otherwise, not. Don’t imagine you’re bound to talk to me.”

“John Foster says,” quoted Valancy, “‘If you can sit in silence with a person for half an hour and yet be entirely comfortable, you and that person can be friends. If you cannot, friends you’ll never be and you need not waste time in trying.’”

“Evidently John Foster says a sensible thing once in a while,” conceded Barney.

“There’s our island,” he said gloatingly.

Valancy looked—and looked—and looked again. There was a diaphanous, lilac mist on the lake, shrouding the island. Through it the two enormous pine-trees that clasped hands over Barney’s shack loomed out like dark turrets. Behind them was a sky still rose-hued in the afterlight, and a pale young moon.

Valancy shivered like a tree the wind stirs suddenly. Something seemed to sweep over her soul.

“My Blue Castle!” she said. “Oh, my Blue Castle!”

Valancy and Barney turned under the mainland pines in the cool dusk of the September night for a farewell look at the Blue Castle. Mistawis was drowned in sunset lilac light, incredibly delicate and elusive. Nip and Tuck were cawing lazily in the old pines. Good Luck and Banjo were mewed and mewing in separate baskets in Barney’s new, dark-green car en route to Cousin Georgiana’s.

[moonchild9350]

Lavender Fields-Chapter 2: Observation

Summary: Your journey continues, this time with a new technician Hyunjin. You meet him for the first time, and he introduces you to something new while explaining how things will go from here on out.

Pairing: Hyunjin x humanoid fab!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, sci fi au, romance au

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: verbal/physical violence, mention of blood

Notes: the second chapter is here! Writing some of this made me feel fuzzy inside hehe

Taglist open-comment or message me to be added! (age must be in bio or pinned)

Series Summary: You, a humanoid from a different planet, was born within a lab here on earth in the near future, your days filled with servitude and testing within the labs to learn more about your kind as your kind are not able to feel emotion. you had nothing to look forward to until you met Hyunjin, a technician assigned to you. you learn much at his hands and invaluable lessons, enlightening your once purposeless life.

If you enjoyed, please consider a like, reblog, or comment as it keeps me motivated ♡

Divider by @cafekitsune

Please do not copy, translate, modify, or repost elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

Series Masterlist

Prev | Next

Hyunjin sat in his office, thumbing through your file as he nursed a cup of coffee. It was early in the day, the other orderlies and technicians slowly arriving after him.

Your file wasn’t big as you mainly kept to yourself, following whatever orders you were given. He turned page after page until he got to your story, his eyes raising at your traumatic beginning here on earth.

Hyunjin drummed his fingers on the desk, his mind racing. Is this how all of your kind started here on this planet? Born in captivity essentially and ripped away from your mothers at such a young age?

He felt his eyes sting, tears forming in the corner of his eyes at the thought. However, he must stay focused. He needed to come up with a game plan for your sessions.

He decided to make today easy, starting off your relationship by simply meeting each other. He had special permission to use the facility as he sees fit and he definitely intended to do so.

Sighing, he closed the yellow file and gazed upon your picture on the cover. He frowned as he took in your face, expressionless, but if he took a closer look, he could see melancholy in your eyes.

Taking a final swig of his coffee, he set his mug down and stood up, straightening out the lab coat he was wearing. He carefully stored your file away, placing it on top of some other important documents in his desk drawer.

Today begins your new journey he thought. Hopefully a good one at that.

--

You awoke with a start, gasping as your eyes snapped open. You stared at the ceiling, taking deep breaths as you cleared your mind.

You seemed to have been awoken by a dream, images of Raoul dancing around your mind as he screamed at you. You yawned and rolled over, pulling your blanket closer to you as you had every intention of going back to sleep.

However, not even a second later, a lady’s voice resounded on the loudspeaker, signaling it was time to wake up. You stared at the wall for a moment, a heated feeling within you as you realized you’d be getting no more sleep that day.

Sitting up, you stretched, the pull on your muscles nice after being cramped up in a curled position all night. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you pushed yourself up, blinking away the rest of the sleep.

You continued your routine, making your way to the dressing rooms to change, to the rec hall where you ate breakfast, and then onto completing your tasks for the day.

Following the orderly, she guided you to the laundry room, the scent of fresh soap permeating the air. You breathed in the scent, your body relaxing at the scent of lavender.

You were led to the clean clothes, the orderly ordering you to separate the clothes and sheets and fold them.

You began your task in earnest, a strange feeling bubbling within at the feel of the soft fabric against your skin. Your quickly fell into a trance, as you rhythmically folded each gown and each sheet carefully and neatly.

There was silence in the room, no one daring to talk with the orderly pacing the room. However, you were so engrossed in the work in front of you, you didn’t catch the glances your peers threw you, their eyes wide as they watched you work.

Time passed and before you knew it, the buzzer resounded over the speakers, signaling work time was over. You carefully stacked the clothes you had finished folding, dusting your hands off on your dress.

You were about to follow the others out of the room when Raoul entered, his gaze trained straight on you. He walked with purpose as he pushed your peers out of the way to get to you.

As he approached, his eyes narrowed and he reached out to grab your arm, his fingers tightening around the flesh.

You winced at the pain, your eyes wide as you stared at the man in front of you.

“You’re coming with me,” he sneered pulling you after him, causing you to trip over your feet.

You followed the man, wondering where he was taking you. You passed corridor after corridor, the people you passed glancing after you both.

Raoul finally stopped in a narrow hallway pulling you in with him so no one could see. Raoul stared at you with furrowed eyes, his grip tightening so hard you could feel thousands of little zaps of pain shoot down your body.

You stared at the man in front of you, your heart beating faster by the second. You felt hot and clammy, something telling you within to run. You were unsure of this feeling so you just stood there frozen.

“You little shit!” Raoul spit in your face, as he dug his nails into your arm.

“You think you’re something hmm? Think you can get away from me?”

Get away from him? Think you’re something? What is he talking about? You frowned, your brain a jumbled mess as you tried to make sense of his words.

Raoul continued to dig his fingers into your arm so hard that trickles of blood started to drip from the wound. He looked down at the liquid that stained his fingers and scoffed.

“Look at that seems like you do bleed, just like us.”

You winced as he twisted his fingers in your arm, your eyes darting to your wounded limb and then back to his face.

“You haven’t seen the last of me, don’t worry y/n.”

He said this in such a dark tone, you tried to step back unsure of why you wanted to turn on your heels and run. Before you could do anything you would regret, an orderly passed by, shock plastered on her face.

“Ahh perfect, Grace! Please take y/n back to her room please until her next session and dress her wound. Seems she got hurt.”

The orderly whose name seemed to be Grace nodded and motioned for you to follow her. You ducked slightly and scampered away from Raoul to the safety of Grace.

You both walked to your quarters quietly, other orderlies nodding at Grace as they passed by. Once at your door, she pressed a white key on the keypad, the silver box turning green in acceptance.

She ushered you in and stepped in behind you, softly closing the door. Gesturing for you to sit, she reached in her pocket and pulled out a blue item that looked almost like a pen.

“Let me see your arm dear,” she said, reaching her hand out for you.

You presented your arm, watching as she examined the wound. She tsked as she shook her head.

“You need to be careful around that one.” She said, her voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“No worries though dear, your new journey starts today,” she said, her mouth turning up and her teeth showing.

You felt yourself relax in this woman’s presence, her words and tone posing no threat. She clicked a button on her pen like item, the object emitting a series of beeps. Once it quieted, she pointed the item at your wound and pressed the button again.

You felt a warm sensation underneath your skin followed by a rippling sensation, almost as if there was something crawling there.

Your eyes widened as you watched the puncture wounds slowly close up and disappear until your skin was blemish free and clear.

“There, all better,” Grace said, storing her pen like item back in her pocket.

“You’ll have to stay here until your sessions I’m afraid,” she said as her eyes turned downcast, “someone will come get you.”

At that she turned on her heels and walked away, shutting the door softly behind her. Once she was gone, you sat frozen on your bed.

You knew what the sessions were, having attended them daily since you could ever remember. However, what did she mean this would be the start of a new journey?

You got up and started to pace, putting one foot in front of the other counting one, two, three, four, five, until you reached thirty, just to turn around and repeat the same process.

You paced the floor you’re not sure for how long until you heard a beep, your head snapping up to look at the door.

The door opened and a man dressed in a white coat walked in. You eyed him as he came to stand in the center of the room, a smile on his face. His hair was pretty, the brown waves settling nicely on his face. His eyes seemed to sparkle as they took you in, a little brown mole perched perfectly beneath his eye.

“Y/n?” The man asked as he looked at you.

“Yes, that’s me,” you slowly responded as you stood in front of the man.

“My name is Hyunjin, I will be your technician going forward,” he said gently, the smile returning to his face.

You stared at him for a while, unsure what to say. Even though Raoul hurt you, he’s still your technician and you’ve grown used to him and his antics. A thought flashed across your mind, wondering what happened and why you were assigned a new technician. Maybe that’s why Raoul pulled you aside earlier today.

“Y/n…?” Hyunjin asked.

He was cautious, making sure he did not scare you. Yes, your kind didn’t have emotions but he knows you know what fear is as Grace noticed it on your face when she caught you with Raoul.

Hyunjin wanted to make sure you perceived no threat from him as he wanted this to be a positive relationship. He watched as your eyes refocused, almost as if you were elsewhere.

“Yes…, nice to meet you,” you politely said.

You watched as Hyunjin pulled out a folder, opening it to look at something before closing it back.

“Well, shall we proceed?” Hyunjin said, gesturing toward the door.

You nodded and followed him out of your room and down the hall. You both walked in silence, but you were attuned to his steps, they almost sounded more gentle than your previous technician.

You arrived at the labs and expected to settle in one of the rooms, however, Hyunjin continued to walk. You hesitated for a moment before scrambling to catch up.

Hyunjin looked over at you, smiling as he noticed the expression on your face.

“We’re going to try something different today. I’ll explain more once we get to our destination.”

You nodded and continued to walk until the hall ended and a door appeared. You watched as he put in a code, listening to the beep as it was accepted.

Hyunjin pulled on the handle and what was beyond slowly appeared. You had to shield your eyes as a bright but warm light started to filter into the hallway, blinding you for a moment. You hadn't noticed, but you had moved to hide behind Hyunjin, his body shielding you partially from the light.

He chuckled and lightly placed a hand on your lower back, guiding you to the world beyond the door. You noticed your eyes getting used to the light, the feeling warm on your skin.

You looked down to see if anything changed, but noticed your skin looked the same as ever. As you walked, you didn’t know where to look, trying to take in your surroundings as best as you could.

It seems that you were in a dome, the clear covering spanning from one end of the room to the other. The light was shining through illuminating everything within. You looked ahead and saw an area with a green floor, orderlies and technicians leisurely sitting around.

Hyunjin guided you to a spot on the green floor, smiling as he sat down on a blanket that had already been placed. His smile remained as he watched you sit, your eyes continuing to roam the space you were in.

“Impressive isn’t it?” Hyunjin said, gesturing around the room. “This is the atrium, where we come and take our breaks.”

“Atrium?” You responded, cocking your head to the side. “ you looked to the ceiling and pointed , “and is that…”

“Yes, y/n, that’s the sun and this all around us is the grass.”

You read about the sun and grass in some of your books, but you had never actually seen them. You looked up at the ceiling, your eyes on the blue beyond. If that big ball of light is the sun, the blue expanse must be the sky.

You stared, your mouth open as you continued to look up. You held your arms out, allowing the sun to beam down on you. Your eyes closed, your mouth turned up as you felt the warmth on your skin. You relaxed further, you body slightly slouching as you felt relaxed, the tension leaving your muscles.

Hyunjin watched from next to you, smiling as he watched you experience the sun and sky for the first time. He could tell you were enjoying it too as a look of happiness was on your face.

As he gazed at you, he couldn’t help but take in your face, completely unblemished, to your long eyelashes that graced your pretty eyes. Your brown hair seemed lighter in the sun, the locks shiny as they rested on your mid back.

“Y/n?” He whispered, not wanting to completely break you out of your reverie.

You opened your eyes and stared at him, the orbs shining in the afternoon sun.

“Yes?” You responded softly, leaning forward slightly so you could listen closely.

“Is this too much? I know it can be overwhelming to experience such a thing as this when you’ve been inside your whole life.”

You considered his words, your eyes taking in his facial expressions. He had a frown on his face as he watched you. You’re not sure how you knew, but before you could stop yourself, you reached out to lightly touch his hand.

“I’m okay,” you said, keeping your hand on his.

“Good! I’m so glad! I hope you like it. I thought it would be good to let you get some sunlight.”

You stared at Hyunjin, listening to his words as he pulled a basket closer to the center of the blanket. He opened the lid, peeled back a checkered towel, and began to pull out assorted foods.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, looking up to see your response as he continued to pull food out of the basket.

You were hungry, as you skipped your normal lunch time since your wounds were being tended to. You felt your mouth water at the sight of the delicious sandwiches, fruits, and cookies that were now laid out on the blanket.

“Go on, pick whatever you want and dig in,” Hyunjin said, grabbing the sandwich that was closest to him.

You hesitated for a moment, as you’d never had the opportunity to pick out your own food before.

As you eyed the sandwiches, Hyunjin watched you, taking a bite of his own. He knew you’ve never been able to have the freedom of choice, always being given your food, drink, and clothes. He smiled as you picked up a ham sandwich, decked out with lettuce and tomato.

You both ate in silence, listening to the quiet chatter of those around you as they enjoyed their breaks. You felt warm with the sun beating down on you, the feeling not unpleasant.

As you ate, you stole glances at Hyunjin, studying his every move. He seemed ok, better than Raoul. He filled the time with chatter, asking about what your hobbies were, in which you couldn’t answer, not understanding what he meant.

He seemed to be thinking at that before clearing his throat and rephrasing his question.

“What do you do when you’re back in your room?”

Your eyes widened at the question as your heart beat faster.

“I read sometimes or draw. I also paint. I’m painting what’s called lavender fields on my wall now.”

“Lavender fields?” He questioned.

You shook your head yes. “I like the flowers…at least that’s what the book called them.”

Hyunjin nodded, fascinated by your choices at spending your time alone. He knew you were different but you had to be smart too and just not understanding the potential you had.

“I will have to see your painting one day,” he told you smiling.

He took a moment to pause, his brow furrowing in thought. You wondered if he would continue or if he’d send you back inside. You were growing rather fond of the sun, sky, and grass, the scenery much better than the drab, gray walls inside the lab.

“I suppose you want to know the plan going forward correct? Well as I stated, I’m your new technician. I will be handling all our your sessions from now on. I thought we’d take a different approach, something you might enjoy instead of sitting at a table going over cards everyday. You seem too intelligent for that.”

He paused to make sure you were catching on, smiling as you nodded that you were with him.

“We will start session one tomorrow. I won’t go over what we’ll discuss. I’ll let that be a surprise ok?”

“Ok, understood.” You replied as you sat straight up.

“Oh! Another thing. You don’t have to be so formal with me ok? Let’s speak normally as you would with friends.”

“Friends?” You questioned, unsure at what he meant.

“Ahh we’ll get to that another day,” he chuckled running his hand through his wavy hair.

“I guess it’s time to get you back, it’s getting late.”

Hyunjin stood up and reached for your hand so he could help you up. You accepted his help and stood, dusting off your dress in the process.

You followed Hyunjin away from the sun, away from the sky, away from the grass, back into the dark space of the building you grew up in. You felt a heaviness on your chest and water prickle your eyes.

Hyunjin noticed and frowned, “don’t worry, we’ll be back.”

You shook your head understanding. You just met him but something told you within that he would bring you back.

You followed him down the winding corridors until you reached your door. Hyunjin keyed you both in. The room that once was somewhere you liked seemed gloomy as the four walls enclosed upon you.

Hyunjin watched you from the door before saying goodnight, carefully shutting the door behind him.

You stood in the middle of the room for a moment, just breathing as you blinking away the water from your eyes. You carefully reached up and dabbed at the liquid, bringing it to the front of your face so you could examine it.

You curiously stared at it, wondering what it meant. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but your mind seemed to have flipped since experiencing the sun, sky, and grass.

You smushed the water between your fingers, flicking it away as it spread on your fingertips. You began to get ready for bed, feeling sleep threaten to take over any moment.

You crawled into bed, your head lying onto the soft pillows. Your mind immediately went to Hyunjin, remembering how he looked sitting beneath the sun, as he gazed at you.

Hopefully your session tomorrow would be different as Hyunjin said.

For the first time in your twenty-five years of life, you fell asleep with the thought of wanting to start a session now rather than wait until the next day.

And that was definitely different.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground @frehyun @seungminsbest @nightmarenyxx @linocvp1d @ddroh @redlightsallnight @eastjonowhere @stayjinnie @techsgoggles @puccaaak @krayzieestay @skzfelixlove @amenabiii @qwonyoung23

[rebeltarot]

CAREER ➕ Blessings coming toward you in your career

"I still remember the nights I wished for the things I have now."

[3 piles] ・ [5 decks] ・ [8-10 cards for each pile] ・ [letters, signs, songs]

Hello friends! As we are nearing the end of this quarter I wanted to create a reading all about blessings coming toward you in your career. Please remember that a “blessing” can be anything that protects us, makes us happy, or points us in the right direction. What are your hopes and dreams regarding your career? Do you have any goals you want to achieve in this area this year? Definitely let me know. Regardless of what you are hoping for, I wish you all the best and lots of luck. ♡♡

Painting: Dancers, Pink and Green by Edgar Degas (ca. 1890)

Helpful Links: How to choose your pile ➕ Request a reading

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© rebeltarot 2023-2024 - all rights reserved ・ do not steal, copy, change, or redistribute my content.

PILE 01 ➕

Disclaimer: All Tarot readings on this blog are meant for entertainment purposes only. My Pick-a-card readings are based on my knowledge of the tarot and my intuition. Tarot is a divination tool and should not be considered a replacement for medical or professional guidance. It is not intended to be used as such, and any choices made in response to my readings are your own responsibility. All interpretations are speculative, and whether you believe in it is your choice. Readings are for self-reflection purposes only; take what resonates, and leave the rest. My readings are timeless unless stated otherwise.

CONFIRMATION

Signs and confirmation that this is your pile. This can be anything from your initials, astrological placements, significant messages or signs, places, songs, etc. Please use your discernment.

C, A, R, E, E, I, 3rd House, Mercury, Scorpio

Song: Mother's Daughter (R3HAB Remix) - Miley Cyrus

BLESSINGS COMING TOWARD YOU IN YOUR CAREER

Tarot: 5 of cups, 10 of cups, the sun, the devil rx, 9 of pentacles rx

Oracle: the dragon, the king, emotion, imum coeli, moon in leo

Hello, Pile 01, and welcome to your reading. Please remember that a “blessing” can be anything that protects us, makes us happy, or points us in the right direction. With the 5 of cups, it feels like for the longest time you were struggling in your career. This does not necessarily mean that there was no progress, but it was not emotionally fulfilling for you. This could also talk about a lack-mindset in terms of your career, i.e., not feeling worthy of it or not seeing a future with it. Some of you might feel like an imposter in your current position. Yes, you are wearing the title, but you do not feel like you deserve it. This is where your blessing is happening. It's going to address your hustling mentality and your superficiality in your career. It feels like you might have given more than you were able to, pouring from an empty cup just to feel like you deserve to be where you are. Whatever you were doing, it's unsustainable. I feel like you were once very passionate about your current career but fell out of love with it because you were overworking yourself too much, nearly burning out. What I see coming towards you is something that most would consider extremely lucky, as we have the ladybug in the imagery of this card. 10's in tarot talk about an excess of energy; in this case, it's positive energy. Something significant will happen that will indicate the end of one cycle and ring in a new one of abundance and emotional fulfillment. Your cards are not saying what is going to happen, just how it will affect you, and my god, pile 01, you're going to be so happy with this change. The sun is following the 10 of cups. You will experience a lot of success in your career, which will bring you lots of abundance. There is a sense of alignment and harmony. This most likely refers to your mindset. I feel like you are going to check yourself, and seek out an environment that fulfills you. Implementing the changes that need to be made to end this cycle of adversity and struggle. This is truly a positive spread, especially with the devil reversed ending this. You will step into self-empowerment. There is a sense of breaking free from things (be they people, situations, or mindsets) that held you prisoner. I see you freeing yourself from this hustling mindset and stepping into a deeper understanding of your wants and needs. It feels like you will pay attention to more than your salary in whatever you are doing next. You won't just be swayed by a fancy title and a big paycheck; you are digging deeper; you are looking for and finding something that is truly fulfilling. This does not mean that we are talking about a new job here or a new position. Not necessarily. But rather, I see this as you taking on a new perspective and thus realigning yourself with who you are, including your values and your desires. I see you detaching from superficial aspects of your career and digging deeper into what you need to feel fulfilled. 

The dragon and the king are both confirming what we have already seen with the devil reversed. You are stepping into your power and taking charge instead of letting superficial aspects control you. It never brought you any satisfaction. I see you taking charge, especially in terms of legalities. Maybe you are renegotiating your contract, or you are signing a new one, but either way, it's all happening because you wish it to happen, meaning you are initiating it and taking charge of it. This pile is mostly about emotional fulfillment and not so much about the superficial aspects of your career, because it feels like the majority of this pile is already well-established in their career. This is a change and a blessing happening at the root of things. It's about values, fulfillment, alignment, and resonance. I feel like you were growing a massive tree on shallow roots, and your blessing is that you are accommodating your tree and allowing it to grow sustainable and strong roots. Again, it's not necessarily a career change; this might only apply to a very small percentage of this group. For most, this talks about working with what you have, not uprooting your career, but nurturing the soil and foundation that you hold. As I have said, for most of you, this is a mindset shift followed by minor changes, maybe in terms of working hours, etc. I feel like you might bring new ideas into your career, expanding what you are already doing and incorporating a more creative element into it. Others might share an idea, be it for a project, etc., which will allow you to turn your dreams into reality. Either way, needs that have not been met before are now being met, and whatever you wish for will find solid footing soon. It will manifest in your life. Fulfillment is coming.

Your reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank you so much for supporting my work!

© rebeltarot 2023-2024 - all rights reserved ・ do not steal, copy, change, or redistribute my content.

PILE 02 ➕

Disclaimer: All Tarot readings on this blog are meant for entertainment purposes only. My Pick-a-card readings are based on my knowledge of the tarot and my intuition. Tarot is a divination tool and should not be considered a replacement for medical or professional guidance. It is not intended to be used as such, and any choices made in response to my readings are your own responsibility. All interpretations are speculative, and whether you believe in it is your choice. Readings are for self-reflection purposes only; take what resonates, and leave the rest. My readings are timeless unless stated otherwise.

CONFIRMATION

Signs and confirmation that this is your pile. This can be anything from your initials, astrological placements, significant messages or signs, places, songs, etc. Please use your discernment.

O, blank, G, A, K, E, 6th House, Mercury, Gemini

Song: All for us - Labrinth

BLESSINGS COMING TOWARD YOU IN YOUR CAREER

Tarot: the emperor, ace of cups, 2 of wands, king of cups rx

Oracle: trust, healing, midheaven, solar eclipse

Hello, Pile 02, and welcome to your reading. Please remember that a “blessing” can be anything that protects us, makes us happy, or points us in the right direction. It feels like you are feeling overwhelmed, my dear pile 02. When it comes to your career, it seems like you are feeling quite anxious and detached. You might even be withdrawing from it in one way or another. I heard "quiet quitting" while writing this. Whatever the current situation at your work is, it's far from ideal. It feels like you are holding back anger too. This is a very specific thing I see, but I feel like some of you might have felt betrayed. You are not showing it, but you are also not ignoring whatever has happened and led to your feeling of turmoil. You are actively taking away your effort to balance the scales quietly. Again, this might apply to just a handful of you, but the King of Cups, as our bottom deck, is looking upset and vindictive. The good news is that you are taking charge, my dear pile 02. Your blessing is that you take authority over this situation and maneuver whatever has happened that led to you withdrawing from your career into a success story for yourself. It feels like you are taking the cup you are holding, and instead of withholding it from everyone, including yourself, you are pouring your energy and your efforts into yourself. You are "upgrading" yourself, is what I heard. Interesting; this pile is very vocal. So maybe you are speaking up for yourself. Whatever it is, it's been a long time coming, and it relates to something you have held on to for quite some time. Your blessing is that you create stability. A new beginning is awaiting. It can relate to a brand new position, a job at a new company, or even your own business. Whatever the case may be, I see you in a leading position. And you are comfortable there. Maybe the King of Cups, in reverse, talked about suppressing your leadership talent and making you uncomfortable and upset. Either way, this new position of leadership will give you a whole new beginning, especially emotionally. I am hearing "clean slate." This is such a vocal pile! Someone might be giving you their scepter; for some, it might not be a voluntary handoff, but either way, it will be fulfilling for you. I see you climbing the ladder. Whatever your goals are in your career, you are getting closer to them. Plans are being made. For some, it might even relate to a position overseas. For sure, big decisions are made relating to the future. Both for you and for your career. 

Trust is your next card. With the King of Cups reversed, this is slow-moving energy. It's not something that happens overnight. Especially since for some of you, the handover is not made willingly (i.e., the person leaving said position does not want to do so). Your guides are asking you to trust the process. Trust that what you are going through is meant to happen and that what is promised to you will happen. You are currently in the healing stages, but your career journey (your negative experience right now) is soon coming to a pinnacle. You are going to reach your goals faster than you might have anticipated. A solar eclipse might be significant. This could be an indicator of timing. Either way, this new beginning, this rebirth of yours, is your blessing, and it will come with a handful of opportunities. I see you regaining your passion and your inspiration, and you will feel at home in this position of leadership that is soon to come. 

Your reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank you so much for supporting my work!

© rebeltarot 2023-2024 - all rights reserved ・ do not steal, copy, change, or redistribute my content.

PILE 03 ➕

Disclaimer: All Tarot readings on this blog are meant for entertainment purposes only. My Pick-a-card readings are based on my knowledge of the tarot and my intuition. Tarot is a divination tool and should not be considered a replacement for medical or professional guidance. It is not intended to be used as such, and any choices made in response to my readings are your own responsibility. All interpretations are speculative, and whether you believe in it is your choice. Readings are for self-reflection purposes only; take what resonates, and leave the rest. My readings are timeless unless stated otherwise.

CONFIRMATION

Signs and confirmation that this is your pile. This can be anything from your initials, astrological placements, significant messages or signs, places, songs, etc. Please use your discernment.

O, B, G, A, 8th house, Uranus, Virgo

Song: Only You - Eddie Benjamin, Alessia Cara

BLESSINGS COMING TOWARD YOU IN YOUR CAREER

Tarot: 6 of wands, wheel of fortune rx, the star, King of swords rx, judgment

Oracle: the wasp, energy, jupiter, lunar eclipse

Hello, Pile 03, and welcome to your reading. Please remember that a “blessing” can be anything that protects us, makes us happy, or points us in the right direction. Wow, this is a pile with a bunch of major arcana. Whatever is happening for you, it sure is significant. Your situation is not easy, and it seems complicated. Interestingly, your tarot cards are telling a story and leading into your blessing. You are someone who is established, successful, highly regarded at work, and known for the great results you bring. Your peers do not doubt your skill set. However, it feels like whenever you hit a goal or whenever you experience a win, the wheel is turning sharply for you. Every hit of luck is met with a hit of misfortune. It does not have to be major, though it feels this way to you. It's something you might already be anticipating. However, your prospects are bright, my dear pile 3. How about a mindset shift? Instead of the bad following the good, how about the good following the bad? It's so interesting, your pile. Your blessing is your faith and your hope. This might sound anticlimactic, but it's the most powerful blessing one can get. Luck is unpredictable and unreliable. But hope and faith in yourself and your abilities? Confidence? That's something that can get you places. It's something that leads to intrinsic motivation and actions being taken. Your hope means pouring into yourself, tending the garden of your soul, and allowing things to sprout and bloom for you. Again, bright prospects for you. You will be blessed with an idea and inspiration. This vision will fertilize your soil, and it will allow you to make your wildest dreams come true. Your pile is so interesting because we have a good card followed by a challenging card, and so on, but eventually, we are ending your spread with a positive one. It's reminding me of a seesaw, and I swear it's giving me whiplash. You might feel this way. Having a bad thing leads to a good thing, and vice versa. But again, your ability to keep your head held high and your ability to still believe is a true blessing in and of itself. I feel like you are lying to yourself with the king of swords in reverse. You might feel like you are crumbling under all this pressure and under all these changes that seem to follow you around, but you are not. You are growing in your power, your ability, and your adaptability because that is the skill set that you need. That's the skillset that will bring you far and eventually to a lot of abundance. Your blessing, ultimately, is a rebirth of the self with the judgment card. You will receive an idea, an epiphany. This will lead to you finding your purpose and a renewal of your career. This seems to be such a common theme across all piles, but to me, in your pile, this sounds like growth. It sounds like a level-up. In your pile, especially, we can see the impact that it will have on your life with those three major Arcana cards. It's the birth of something. This is my entrepreneurial pile. I feel like most people in this pile either run their own business or want to do so at some point. Either way, you are birthing something, and it will lead to you having people against you. It's not an easy journey, but it is very well worth it.

The wasp is confirming the king of swords, Rx, in its message. Someone will not be happy about your wins. Do you know what is so funny in your pile, though? The wasp card is followed by the energy card, which has oranges depicted on it. And you know what repels wasps? You are right about citrus fruits, which oranges are. Your energy, the essence of who you are, is so strong and so powerful that those people just cannot touch you even if they try. Your ability to believe and to push through adversity makes you unstoppable. Whatever path you are choosing to walk, it's less traveled, one that is hard, and that takes a lot of power and will. Not everyone can achieve what you set out to achieve, leading to people envying you. But again, these people are an annoyance at worst; they are unable to touch you or your bag. And abundance is waiting for you, for sure. All your hard work and all the adversities you are facing are eventually there to help you grow and lead you toward success. Yes, it might feel like whiplash sometimes with all those huge wins being met with huge obstacles, but what is waiting for you is unmatched my dear pile three. Eventually, you will get whatever you desire, and then some. For that to happen, you have to go through a transformation, and we all know that growing pains hurt. But you will come out on the other side as a winner. Remember that you are always protected.

Your reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank you so much for supporting my work!

© rebeltarot 2023-2024 - all rights reserved ・ do not steal, copy, change, or redistribute my content.

[shares-a-vest]

Pineapple Breath & Onion Boy (Read on ao3)

wc: 1.2k | Rated: T for Flirtatious Banter/Suggestive Language | cw: Mild reference to Period-Typical Homophobia (if you squint - Eddie is just conscious about being affectionate with Steve in a public space), Food Mention, Inferred Smoking (Eddie is playing with a lighter)

Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Pizza, Contemplating the Future, Side Clarkson, Pet Names, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Domestic Fluff, Lightest Angst in the first half

Note: Working on my drabble yesterday had me rudely confronting myself with a Drafts. Buuut it gave me the motivation to come back to this one! Yay writing!

-🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕-

Eddie leans back on one of the faded red plastic chairs outside Gino’s Pizzeria and flicks his cigarette lighter.

He then turns it off, then back on again. Then off again… Anything to distract himself from the desperate grumbling in his belly – a feeling that has grown painful now that he can smell pepperoni wafting outside.

The chair gives a warning wobble beneath him, the back legs of the thing holding his weight as he looks up at Steve, who looks all cozy in his cream-coloured corded sweater and maroon jacket. Even if he is standing there with his arms folded and a frown knitting his brows as he looks on down Main Street.

Wayne and Scott had disappeared in that direction a few minutes ago, trekking down the block to fetch their Chinese takeout, while Eddie and Steve waited for their pizzas.

Pizzas plural. Because Eddie refuses to partake in Steve’s new and frankly, disgusting preference for pineapple.

It has been their little quartet’s Friday Night routine for a couple of months now and Eddie thinks he must end up looking the same each and every time: staring up at his boyfriend. Steve looks pretty as a picture as his eyes glisten under the streetlight and his breath puffs out in a feint cloud in the crisp night air.

He looks a dream, really.

Not that he ever looks anything less, thank you very much!

Eddie knows Steve is lost in some thought, the kind that pinches his brows together and downturns his mouth into a mindless pout rather than one that is truly grumpy.

At least Eddie thinks it’s all that before Steve sucks in a breath and sighs, deep and wistful as his beautiful hazel eyes grow bigger.

That look makes Eddie tip forward in his chair with a sharp snap. He shoves his lighter back into the breast pocket of his leather jacket, frowning himself now as he tilts his head to the side, hoping to catch his boyfriend’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

He is met with silence for a moment before Steve gives a soft and wistful sigh.

“You think when we’re old, we’ll be like Wayne and Scott?” Steve asks, still looking down the street.

“Jesus Christ, no!” Eddie scoffs, “I don’t plan on gettin’ old.”

Steve whips around and looks down at him with an even deeper frown and, yep – that’s a Worried Pout.

“What?” he near whimpers.

Eddie jumps up, groaning a little as his back pangs with deep regret over him tilting back on that stupid rickety chair. He waves a hand nonchalantly.

But Steve doesn’t budge. He looks hurt.

Eddie steps into his personal space and offers a small smile - one that he knows will showcase his dimples and make Steve melt like mozzarella cheese.

“Y’know what I mean,” he clarifies, “I do not intend to become some old fart, whose idea of a good time is going on a fishing trip while his boyfriend collects frogs.”

Steve somehow tightens the fold of his arms as he looks him over.

“Eddie, you like looking for frogs,” he retorts, his brows easing up a little, “Anyway, don’t you think they’re cute?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “Oh, here we go.”

“I mean it,” Steve defends, “Scott gets home from school and putters about for a while. Then, he finishes up some work exactly one hour before Wayne walks in the door. And then, they go about deciding on their takeout order – even though they always get the same thing! And when we get home, they’ll eat in front of the television, Wayne will clean up and then they watch the TV until Wayne starts to doze off and they go to bed.”

He finishes up with a sigh and looks back down Main Street again, appearing a little sheepish now as if he got a little too carried away with his longing there for a moment. It’s a look that tightens something in Eddie’s chest – one that makes him step even closer.

Or at least as close as he should get to his boyfriend out on the main thoroughfare of Hawkins.

He sucks in a breath and looks ahead too, wanting to kiss that look off Steve’s face.

But for the moment, he settles for a bump to the shoulder.

“We’re gonna be all that one day, aren’t we?” he says just above a whisper.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, upbeat but nonetheless quiet.

Eddie leans in, “Follow me, sugar.”

He tugs on Steve’s jacket sleeve and promptly spins on his heel to disappear around the corner of the building. The dumpsters behind the local pizza shop aren’t the most romantic of settings – but sue him for having a Rolodex of potential public makeout spots at the ready.

Eddie can feel Steve’s warm breath on his neck as they reach the far end of the building, sending a shiver down his spine. He turns to lean against the wall and palms around for any part of Steve to come along with him.

Steve crowds him against the building and as soon as he pushes them flush together, Eddie becomes all too aware of how whisps of his hair stick to the cool brick behind him. He gasps.

“Oh, no! What if I lose my hair!” he shrieks.

Steve grumbles, insulted, “What if I lose my hair?”

“Wha-cha – Stevie!” Eddie splutters, “My hair is just as important as yours!”

Steve smirks and reaches for his hairline, brushing back his bangs. He scrunches his nose.

“Hmm,” he hums with closer inspection, “It’s looking okay… for now.”

Eddie hisses at him.

“Get your damn dirty paws off-a me,” he grouses. Eddie flicks his bangs back into place with an exaggerated hmfph before he straightens up and snakes his arms around Steve’s middle, pulling him tighter still, “Steve, I promise as I stand here before you, behind the hallowed halls of Gino’s Pizzeria – ”

“ – Eddie, the owner’s name is Frank.”

“Fine! Frank – he of bountiful cheese and delicious tomato sauce. I do declare that I will still love you, even if I turn into a balding old grump with a permanent frown and bad knees.”

“And will you still love me if I become a middle school teacher, all chipper and cheery?”

“Meh, that wouldn’t be so bad,” Eddie shrugs.

“What if I grew a moustache?” Steve grins.

“That’s taking it too far!” Eddie practically shouts, squeezing the air out of his boyfriend in the process.

Steve gives a wheezing giggle as he runs his thumb and index finger over the soft stubble he has above his plush top lip. Eddie captures the mocking digits in his own hand and bites down, earning a wicked whine.

Steve shivers and gives a warning, “Edward…”

“Now,” Eddie begins, lowering the register of his voice, “Ravish me!”

Steve leans forward and presses the most chaste of kisses to the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll ravish you later,” he pulls back and winks.

But Eddie recoils, nearly knocking his head back against the pizzeria’s brick wall.

“When you have pineapple breath?” he spits with a dramatic grimace.

“Says you, Onion Boy.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, “We’re both stinky.”

The rusty bell of the pizza shop’s front door sounds and Eddie is sure Wayne and Scott have already made it back, always more efficient in calling ahead with their own takeout order.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Steve smiles, lacing their fingers together.

[w0rmm1lk]

May I request the class 1A boys (if u write for multiple in the same fic) reacting to their gn! S/o (who’s normally insanely calm and patient) finally snapping and ends up nearly killing a villain? Like reader snaps during a fight against a villain or smth because the boys (seperate but yk) got hurt and stuff? Sorry if this doesn’t make much sense, I suck at explaining things 😭

hi! i didnt end up doing all the boys but I did the ones I think I would b able to write for best hehe, for future posts probably gonna limit it to 5 characters per post!

characters: Tenya Iida, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Mezou Shoji, Shoto Todoroki, Katsuki Bakugo, Izuku Midoriya.

reader: Gn

summary: the very well known 1a student (reader) who is known for being calm and understanding almost fucking kills someone.

warnings: blood mentions, near death experience, swearing, injuries.

other details: 1A!reader, reader quirk not mentioned but they use their bare fists to beat the shit out of the villain, villain is not any specific one.

👓Tenya Iida👓

👓- Iida was fast but damn the villain was faster.

👓- this resulted into iida now basically completely motionless on the ground yet still concious.

👓- usually if it was any of your other friends you would just take a deep breath and anylis whats going on to make sure things are delt with properly.

👓- but that iis not the case this time.

👓- it was almost like something snapped.

👓- nobody could actually figure out how you managed to catch the villain, especially with their speed.

👓- but bystanders were more focused on the fact that you were now repeatedly slamming their face into the sidewalk.

👓- honestly a miracle the villain survives that shit, but they 100% had brain damage afterwards.

👓- normally iida would step in but he could only really stare at you.

👓- partly due to the shoock, but also the fact that he straight up couldn't move from his injuries.

👓- after everything calmed down and iida recovered he gave your ass a huge lecture.

⚡Denki Kaminari⚡

⚡- he was shocked.

⚡- pun intended but also he was just straight up in shock.

⚡- first off, surprising he got these many injuries without short circuting.

⚡- guess his training rlly payed off.

⚡- well at least his quirk training.

⚡- thinks its sick as hell how you just beat the shit out of the villain.

⚡- their face will never be the same again.

⚡- hes kinda into it tbh.

🪨Eijiro Kirishima🪨

🪨- literally just makes the :o face

🪨- this man got one hit that actuqally injured him at you just cut loose.

🪨- he felt like not even he could do that much damage in unbreakable. (he totally could do worse but hes just having a moment leave me alone.)

🪨- aftwards will literally beg you to spar with him.

🪨- unfortunatley never gets to fight you while ur that pissed off.

🪨- honestly when he saw how beat up the villain was he thought that it was bakugos doing for a hot second.

🐙Mezou Shoji🐙

🐙- the way you reacted to him getting hurt lowkey reminded him of dark shadow during the training camp.

🐙- very similar situation tbh.

🐙- it was just one of his extended limbs that got injured, yet you reacted as if he had just been decapitated.

🐙- froze up for a second when he watched you just immediately run up to the villain you have been fighting for at least an hour and just absolutely demolish then within a few minutes.

🐙- had to restrain you a bit to stop you from actually murdering them.

🐙- was a little shocked at the sudden swap oof personality for that short time but was more focused on stopping you from being charged with murder.

❄️Shoto Todoroki🔥

❄️🔥- ^that face.

❄️🔥- like that is just his reaction tbh.

❄️🔥- i mean its not everyday you see the person thats just a slightly more emotionally available version of you almost kill someone.

❄️🔥- especially over a small cut.

❄️🔥- the cut wasnt even caused directly by the villain, it was a broken piece of glass that was flying around with other debri./

❄️🔥- i mean-- at least you caught the villain?

❄️🔥- and almost killed them.

❄️🔥- along with free medical debt.

❄️🔥- or no medical debt?

❄️🔥- idk how that stuff works in japan bruh.

💥Katsuki Bakugo💥

💥- fight me all you want but

💥- he just straight up finds it hot.

💥- like if you look close enough this mf is blushing.

💥- who knew that the one time someone makes bakugo blush is his partner attempting murder.

💥- originally wasnt going to hold you back.

💥- the longer he watched you beat the shit out of this guy he started to genuinley think you were going to kill them.

💥- once everything settles down you started back to you normal calm persona.

💥- bro was just like ????

🥦Izuku Midoryia🥦

🥦- panic.

🥦- like you dont even have to look at him, you just need to be near him and you can basically feel how panicked he is over this.

🥦- lots of panicked words, you can barely even tell whats he's saying through the rage but also the pure speed he's speaking at.

🥦- few words that were mostly intelligable you could tell he was saying you should stop.

🥦- even if you wanted to stop your body wouldnt let you.

🥦- ended up needing to use blackwhip to get you off.

🥦- not that it did much being the villai already had a broken nose and multiple broken ribs.

🥦- probably missing teeth aswell.

🥦- izuku is lowkey terrified to somehow piss you off now.

theyre all a little short but i think I slayed

[merakiui]

me & you, beyond a horizon so blue.

scaramouche/wanderer x (gender neutral) reader cw: slight angst, brief and vague mentions of scaramouche's past and the shouki no kami fight, you and wanderer have adopted a child together, this fic takes place before scara tries to erase himself in irminsul note - after he's defeated in a fight against the traveler, scaramouche wakes up in the distant future and learns a few things about an emotion he's always felt undeserving of.

It’s dark until he has the courage to force his eyes open.

Immediately, he wants to shut them. Near-blinding, the afternoon sun beams into his room through a part in the curtains. If he were human, it would have caused some sort of irreversible retinal damage. He’s not—though he isn’t spared the impending irritation—and so he’s able to adjust with relative quickness, his indigo eyes soon finding comfort in the brightness. It means a new day has dawned. He’s not dead—if that mortal concept can even apply to a puppet like him.

With a weak groan, Scaramouche drags a hand down his face and, like a sluggish, reanimated corpse, sits up in bed. The sheets are clean and soft, a soothing balm amidst the unrest that vibrates through him. It has been a long while since he’s slept through the night, preferring the shadows over the sun. Nocturnal like nature intended. A creature created in gloom can change and adapt, but it will always seek familiarity no matter what. 

Intrinsically like a rooted habit.

It’s only natural he would be forced into sleep, considering the fall was not pleasant, nor was the inevitable impact. He brings his fingers to his cheek, presses against the area, and assesses for injury. Nothing is damaged.

But then nothing is fixed. Not internally.

Having expected the dreary interior of an infirmary, he’s struck with bewilderment when he makes note of the bedroom he’s currently confined to. It’s furnished like a typical residence, unlike that of any inn he’s ever known, and there is a strange sense about this space. As if he’s always known about it and has just recalled it, destined to wake here one day and submit himself to its simple charms.

This can’t be right.

He’s never seen this bedroom before, let alone slept in it. Until now, that is. Perhaps a part of him has subconsciously willed it into existence with all of his fruitless wishing, the result of some illusion weaved from the intricacies of hopeful dreams.

Scaramouche glances at the bedside table, his brow furrowed in the beginnings of a wary scowl. Something is so obviously, painfully not right. He knows it has something to do with this room and the fact that he’s alone and unguarded. Lesser Lord Kusanali is not a fool, no matter how much he’d like to comfort himself with that delusion, and so he knows there should be no reason why he’s here instead of where he’s meant to be. 

And then he hears them—voices. Three of them, actually. One is high and giggly. It’s a little girl. Judging by the intonation of the other, an adult. Her guardian, to be more exact. He can’t place the third, especially since it’s one that sounds so grossly affectionate. He’s never heard anyone, human or not, speak with such tender warmth. 

He’s never known such a thing. Not in a long while. 

Scaramouche throws the covers off at once, stumbling from the bed in a panicked flurry. Watching it like it’s a threat, he clutches his chest. He doesn’t feel a heartbeat; rather, it’s the crackle of Electro deep within the core of his being that resounds, fizzling like snapped, angry circuitry. His fingers dig into wrinkled fabrics and he takes pause, realizing his actions.

To think something as mundane as a bed could startle him.

To think comfort would feel like a curse. 

What a joke. Even here, I’m not allowed the peace of a lonesome parting. 

He walks on intact legs, bidding the room a final glower before throwing the door open and stomping outside. Wherever he’s found himself, whether the mortal coil or a place beyond, he’s determined to get out. He pays no attention to the picture frames on the wall as he stalks down the hall, his mind working twice as fast to conjure a plan. If this place proves to be foul, there will be casualties. Three of them. 

Bloodshed is nothing new. 

What is new, though, is the scene he walks into when he approaches the kitchen, stepping through the threshold and immediately stopping short when he sees himself. 

Only…he’s different.

“You’re in poor shape,” his other self comments, almost conversationally, as if this sort of talk is casual. He’s dressed in breezy colors: whites and blues, the prettiest of hues. It’s a color scheme he would never entertain at present, but it sings of free skies with fluffy cumulus. An unburdened soul, light as a feather. 

Scaramouche opens his mouth to retort—so are you—and shuts it because that’s not true. His other self looks better than ever as he sits at the table. He looks healthy. 

He looks happy. 

“Whoa! There are two Papas?!” 

He flinches, horribly rigid, every sense on high alert. His gaze pans over to the little girl peeking out from behind your legs. She looks at him like he’s a wonder to behold—like he’s someone worth adoring. 

It’s different. It’s not the fondly fearful gaze of a devout follower, nor is it the clinical stare of a mournful creator or a deranged doctor. It’s something else. 

It’s…

What is it? What is that emotion—the one that has evaded him for the entirety of his existence?

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead. We were beginning to wonder when you’d wake up.”

He turns to look at you. A smile softens your features. Coupled with the glorious sunlight filtering in from the window, you are the most seraphic creature he’s ever seen. Horrified at the development of his thoughts, he hardens his face into a vicious glare and tamps down the weakness that rises to the surface.

“You were expecting me?” he asks, but it sounds like a demand. “What’s the meaning of this?” 

“Why don’t you take a seat? I can fetch you a cup of tea,” you offer, your voice gentle and coaxing. He glances at the little girl. Her gaze is worn down with worry.

“I will do no such thing,” he snaps, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no authority over me. I’ll sit if I so please, and I do not please. So I will not sit, nor will I indulge in tea.” 

His other self barks out a laugh. “To think I was like that… I was intolerable.”

“Still are,” you reply with a cheeky grin. 

“You’re just as bad,” he snipes back, but there isn’t any heat to the remark. There’s that emotion again, reflected so clearly when he’s looking at you. His other self smiles—genuinely smiles—and then addresses him next. The smile tightens into something serious. “Relax. We’re not going to bite.”

“No, but I can and I will. Don’t think for a minute that just because you’re me I won’t—” He stops himself when the little girl tugs on his shorts, peering up at him with more wide-eyed concern. Rather awkwardly, he does his best to bring his attitude to a child-friendly level. “I… I’m fine.” He searches the silence for her name. 

“Aaliya! Nice to meet you, Papa Number Two!”

Scaramouche nods mechanically, moves to bend down to her height, and then straightens again, thinking better of it. “What is all of this?” His hand sweeps across the room. “Just who are you?” 

Like clockwork finely tuned, you and his other self exchange a furtive glance before nodding. It’s some unspoken language Scaramouche can’t decode. He frowns as he watches this interaction, even more suspicious than before. 

“Aaliya, could you draw something for me?” you ask, guiding her from the kitchen towards the neighboring sitting room. Aaliya grabs a notebook and pencil from the countertop as she goes, humming her compliance. “We need another masterpiece to hang up, and you’re the best artist we’ve got.”

She giggles. “You can count on me!”

The sound calms him. He almost allows his shoulders to drop. Almost. 

Scaramouche watches from the doorway, observing the way you interact with the girl. It’s parental and adoring. You care for this child, and she cares for you. 

Just what is that elusive emotion? Why can’t he place it?

Once Aaliya has been successfully distracted with the allure of art, you return to take your seat beside his other self. Scaramouche stares between the both of you, utterly lost. 

“You don’t have to sit—not like I could get you to after you’ve made up your mind—but, at the very least, let’s talk.”

Scaramouche’s eyes narrow. “Speak.”

“So entitled…” His other self sighs. “I shouldn’t expect anything less. I am you, after all.” 

“Was,” he corrects astutely. “This isn’t the present day, and it can’t possibly be a dream.” He scrutinizes his surroundings, slowly fitting the pieces together. “It’s gone on for much too long.” 

His other self tilts his head, playful. “Are you sure you’re not just stuck under Buer’s thumb?”

Right. Dreams. Lesser Lord Kusanali can poke her nose in and out of dreams as she pleases.

“Plausible, yes. But this is too detailed. And you—” he gestures to Blue Scaramouche— “are different. I wouldn’t dream of something so inane. Something like…this.” 

Something so carefree and content, he almost tacks on as an afterthought, but he refrains. Weakness. 

“Oh, but of course. You’re too good for good things,” his other self jeers, sardonic in a way that incites violence. He pushes that urge away. There’s a child nearby. “For what it’s worth, we’re still the same person.”

“Do not compare me to a weakling like you.”

“Hah? You think I’m the weak one? I’ll show you—”

“Wawan, relax,” you say, moving your body to obstruct his view. 

Both look on, horrified. 

“Wawan?” Scaramouche ventures, brows furrowed. 

“You…” He turns away with a huff. 

“What? It’s cute! You like it!” You smile and nudge him.

Scaramouche is in awe, nearly slack-jawed from witnessing such a bold display. If anyone were to do that to him—to the fearsome Lord Harbinger Scaramouche—they would not get away unscathed. In fact, he’d subject them to a death so brutal they’d beg for release even in the afterlife. No one lays a finger on him unless they’re actively seeking a bloody finale. More importantly, no one reduces his being to such flowery nicknames. 

Disgusting. 

His other self—this Wawan fool—recovers from his flustered state and clears his throat. “Wanderer,” he says, hurrying the syllables before you can make any more comments. “The name I go by. You should know it because you’ll use it one day.”

“I will do no such thing.”

Wanderer’s expression softens at that—out of sympathy, he realizes. Uncharacteristic, Scaramouche thinks. I do not soften, nor do I sympathize. 

“You lost, Balladeer. There is no future for the god you hoped to become because he doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

He bristles, suddenly defensive. “And who’s to say I haven’t already achieved godhood? Your claims are as useful as a corpse. You have no valid proof.”

“But I do. I’m you.”

“Even so, you’re woefully uninformed if you can so carelessly prattle on about—”

Wanderer sighs again, and this time you offer your hand. He hesitates, looking between Scaramouche and you, before his hand slips into yours, holding tight. Scaramouche’s face twists. 

Foul. 

“You failed, and this is the result of that—the future neither of us could have foreseen.” 

“Failure is a strong word,” you chime in, running your thumb over the top of his hand. You look at Scaramouche next. “You didn’t succeed, yes, but you can learn from your mistakes and grow.”

“And grow I so apparently did,” he mutters, bitter and resentful. “Into a weakling who…” He pauses, his tongue heavy in his mouth, eloquence escaping him. “A weakling who… Who shackles himself to idyllic nonsense with nothing but…” His fingers curl into tight fists. “Nothing but filthy weaknesses to show for it.”

Nonplussed, Wanderer submits to temporary silence, to the comforts you provide. There’s a feeling sprouting between the both of you. Neither of you says anything, but you understand regardless. It’s a silent sort of communication, an undeniable connection. An understanding fostered from that despicable emotion. 

With an offended scoff, Scaramouche turns swiftly on his heel and freezes when he finds Aaliya standing there. She peers up at him, studies his poker face, and presents him with her drawing. 

“Papa tells me love is hard, but it comes easy when you’re with the right people. You need to be willing and accepting. When you are, love will find you and you’ll find love.”

She presses the parchment into his hands. Shakily, he beholds it. It’s a poorly drawn family portrait, but Aaliya’s artistic talents mean nothing to him. It’s the first time he’s ever been willingly included in a portrait. A family portrait. The only time someone has bothered to document a side of him that isn’t the vindictive, villainous, ever-raging tempest he’s known for. The one time he’s ever known what it means to be loved. 

Ah. There’s that emotion. That temperamental, difficult, stormy emotion. It’s love.

In this future, he is treasured and cherished. He has a family. He has love, and he feels it and it’s reciprocated. Or Wanderer feels it, that is. But Scaramouche can see it: the quiet intricacies of your relationship—it’s all the result of love. You love him. Him—a being who was never created for the sake of loving. A being who has always been undeserving, unfit for the burden of divine admiration and reverence. You love him, and he loves you. Godhood and power and control—none of these things matter when compared to love itself.

Scaramouche stares at Aaliya next. He folds the drawing into a neat square, clutches it in a trembling fist, and—

And he cries.

Silently. His shoulders do not shudder. He does not gasp and wail like a newborn. It is entirely soundless, a reaction delayed by years. Tear trails streak down his porcelain cheeks in steady streams. His lip wobbles.

And he cries. 

He cries as he brushes past Aaliya, ignoring her protests and your mumble of, “Let him go. He needs space,” while he flees, beelining for the bedroom. He cries when he unfurls his fingers to cradle the folded square in his palm. He cries when he thinks of the life he’s lived—the suffering and the lies and the tragedy and the backstabbing and the manipulation. He cries because he can’t hold back anymore. Because he failed. Because he will never be a god. Because he is inadequate in the eyes of the divine—as unsubstantial as a common pest. 

He cries because he’s loved. Because someone has found something within his fractured being that’s worth loving. 

He cries into the night, curled in on himself to protect what’s left of his exposed weakness.

It’s dark when he closes his eyes, and unlike before they remain shut. Because if he opens them—if he doesn’t patch up the damaged floodgates—he will cry. 

And it hurts to cry.

And Scaramouche, for all of the pain he’s dealt, has never enjoyed being on the receiving end of agony, self-inflicted or otherwise.

It is a long, sleepless night punctuated with the soft pitter-patter of rainfall.

He’s lying sprawled like a defeated starfish when the first few rays of sunshine poke through the window. Groaning, he slides his arm over his eyes. He knows himself, even if Wanderer is a version of himself he has not yet experienced, and so he doesn’t expect to be checked on. The silence is both a comfort and a curse, smoothing his nerves and chewing through to the core of his being. 

He thinks I’ll come to him first. How utterly foolish.

Scaramouche turns his back towards the sun and presses his face further into the sheets, drained of energy even though he’s just woken up. His ears prick at the sound of a girlish giggle and he lifts his head slightly, his eyes sliding towards the window. Aaliya skips down the pathway, carrying a basket in one hand and holding another girl’s hand with her other. 

A friend, Scaramouche observes, watching the girls until they’re out of sight. He hears you call out to them even though they’re already long gone: “Be back before dinner and don’t get into any trouble!”

He peers at his own hand and flexes his fingers experimentally. Is everyone this feeble in the future, or am I just too strong?

There’s a knock on his door next. He intends to lie back down and block the world out, but instead he sits up and stares. 

“Balladeer, I’ve put a pot of tea on. You’re more than welcome to have some if you’d like.”

He won’t dignify you with a reply. Or that’s what he initially thinks, but then he’s covering the distance to the door before he can stop himself. He yanks it open, much to your surprise. 

“I—” he starts, his scowl mellowing into a reflection of the cold and cruel Fatuus he’s known to be. “I…will have a cup,” he finishes, oddly subdued.

“You don’t have to force yourself to talk. You can glare at us if it makes you feel better. Just make sure to take care of yourself, okay? We’re here for you if you need anything.”

He scoffs, straightens his posture into something regal, and pushes past you. “I was feeling much better until you opened your mouth and spat that irritating dross.”

You exhale through your nose, tentatively stepping into his path. For a minute he considers sweeping past you, but deep down he knows that he—the one he supposedly becomes in the future—would regret it. He would hate to push you away when you’re making an effort to be close—an emotional proximity he’s so clearly avoiding.

“You’re always welcome here.”

“Considering the circumstances, you have no choice but to be hospitable. It’s pointless to feign sincerity just because I’m here. I’m not fragile. Do not treat me as such.”

“You’re right. You’re far from fragile.”

He opens his mouth to argue that point and then pauses, absorbing your words with a dubious frown. 

“You may not believe me, but you’re very resilient and so strong. I should know because I wake next to him every morning, and his existence is enough to remind me that he’s come a very long way.” 

Smiling, you continue onwards. Scaramouche stalls, wondering what that could possibly mean. A very long way from what?

He’s not sure he wants the answer to that.

As if it matters.

“Without spoiling too much, I’ll say you’re in for a world of development,” Wanderer says once Scaramouche has graced the kitchen with his arrival. He’s sitting at the table, which is set for three people and adorned with the usual Sumerian snacks. The scent of tea hangs in the air, fragrant like perfume. “Lots of fun things.”

“Fun,” Scaramouche parrots, his nose scrunching. “What an unconventional way to refer to countless days and nights of agony.”

“I never said it’d be easy.”

“You never said it’d be difficult either.”

“Both of you,” you cut in—vocally and physically, you’re standing between the two of them— “no fighting at the table.”

Wanderer takes your hands in his when you lower into the seat beside him, his thumbs tracing delicate patterns into your skin. “Do you see how troublesome he is? Did you really have to put up with him all those years ago?”

“He’s part of you, Wawan.”

He scoffs. “No part I particularly care for anymore.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest so the couple in front of him won’t pick up on his discomfort. “I’m not asking to be cared for or coddled. Hate me all you want. I don’t intend to like either of you.”

“Well?” Wanderer raises a brow, a smirk lazily tugging at his lips. “Insufferable.”

“Bitter like your tea,” you agree, to which Wanderer and Scaramouche huff in unison.

They glance at one another, searching the other for an indication of mutual tolerance, before turning away.

“I suppose,” Scaramouche says after a beat of silence, “I shall indulge. Be grateful.” He steps closer towards the table, lifts his cup from its saucer, and brings it to his lips. It’s lukewarm and just as bitter as the tea he’s enjoyed in the past. “It would be a shame to let tea go to waste after your efforts to prepare it.”

He nods in your direction and you beam under his approval.

“Thank you, Balladeer.”

His brow raises, but he doesn’t ask. You fill in the blanks yourself.

“This is the current you. Right now, Wanderer and I, this entire home, the life we share, and even our dear Aaliya—none of it exists in your present. If anything, we’re just a dream to you. So who else are you if not The Balladeer?” 

Who else…

“Obviously I’m no one in this…reality.” He frowns. “If I’ve become that, there’s no need for any of my current aliases.”

“Perhaps not, but you’ll see for yourself when you get there.”

“I’d rather not. I’ll simply shut my eyes.”

“Avoidance is a common symptom of unresolved trauma,” Wanderer oh-so-helpfully adds.

“Oh, you’re a comedian now, are you?” But he isn’t laughing. 

“Just passing on a fact I learned. You’ll hear it for yourself one day. Why not share it in advance? Soften the blow a little.”

“And you’re so perfect?”

“I have no intention to be.”

“Sure.” Scaramouche sips his tea, swallowing the torrent of insults weighing heavy in his mind and on his tongue. “I suppose all of this just fell into your imperfect lap then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before they can continue their petulant bickering, you gaze sharply at Wanderer and then at Scaramouche. He’s never felt compelled to obey anyone; he’s never needed to heed those who have always sat below him on the hierarchical pyramid. But for some reason he shuts his mouth and lowers his gaze to the floor.

This is pointless. I must find my way out of here at the earliest convenience before he drives me into the ground with his irritating sentiments.

“Arguing isn’t going to solve anything. He’s our guest, first and foremost. We should treat him like one.”

“I guess it can’t be helped. If this truly is our reality for the next few days, there’s no point in living in denial and self-loathing,” Wanderer concedes with a huff.

“Which is precisely why we should welcome this opportunity. It might not come around again.”

“Let’s hope it never does,” Wanderer and Scaramouche admit at the same time.

That elicits a giggle from you, and they turn on you with disapproving glares. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not funny—I know. I just couldn’t help it. You’re the same person, yet so different. Even your stares hold different feelings.”

Scaramouche won’t acknowledge your observations with a response. Instead, he watches his reflection as it warps and wavers in the tea. And then he drinks.

This is by far the most excruciating dream I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

There is no pain or death in this dream. No power tantamount to that of a god. He may as well be an apparition without an apparent place in this world. But there is domestic bliss and that is by far the most torturous aspect of this dream.

To think anyone could look upon my visage with such tenderness… You must be out of your mind.

“It’s not like I particularly care, but you seem to lead a quaint life.” Scaramouche sets his empty cup down and leans against the wall, his arms folding impetuously. “Why?”

Wanderer, troublesome menace that he is, bats his eyes and pulls you against him in a possessive half-hug. “Difficult to believe, isn’t it?”

Scaramouche wants to scowl, but he refrains. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“It’s mostly quaint,” you cut in, smooth as alabaster. “Life is always busier when you’re with your loved ones and there’s plenty to do—never a dull moment, as they say—but I don’t mind it. I like busy days.”

The delivery sounds rehearsed, but Scaramouche suspects it’s the truth. Your eyes soften and your smile mellows into something adoring when you nudge Wanderer. He almost retches outright when his other self nudges you back, discreetly reaching for your hand beneath the table. He won’t comment, but it prickles his skin with disgust when he watches this display. His other self fancies you so openly… The current Scaramouche would never.

Could never.

“Also, busy days prevent useless idling.”

“And keep boredom at bay,” Wanderer finishes. He assesses Scaramouche with a fleeting once-over. “You’ve always been a sad, lonesome existence. Your busy days were but minor distractions meant to fill a bottomless void that could never truly be filled.”

“What of it? I prefer solitude.”

He exhales a humorless breath. “Centuries of solitude and all it took was a single vase of flowers… Neither of us could have guessed.”

A vase of flowers? he wonders, bewildered, but too prideful to ask for an explanation. When will I ever receive flowers?

“You don’t need to worry about that right now,” you say, sipping at your tea with a cryptic smile. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “I’ve had enough ‘good things’ for the rest of my life.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Even if you don’t think so, you’re deserving of good things. Everyone is, even if they’ve done something bad.”

He waits for the gutting punchline. It never comes.

He watches the world beyond the window: fluffy clouds, grass rustling in a breeze, a bird hopping about on the ground. His reflection frowns back at him. “I don’t agree.”

Wanderer shrugs. “If you say so.”

“That’s okay. If that’s what you think, who are we to judge your opinion?”

Briefly, Scaramouche wonders how you can have the patience to put up with him. With Wanderer, he thinks, even though he knows he’s just as troublesome, if not more.

He finishes the rest of his tea and then rises from his seat.

It’s not as if it matters. He doesn’t fit in this family portrait. He never will.

But he does in some distant future.

How peculiar…

Scaramouche wakes on his third day in a rather pleasant purgatory. As it happens, he’s still stuck in this unusual cottage with a bizarre doppelgänger.

So be it, he thinks, sitting up in bed. It occurs to him that he hasn’t been very resistant since he was plucked from his timeline and dropped here. But what is there to resist? You and his other self? This comfortable home? Family? Happiness? Love?

I should get back to my world as soon as possible. That’s my priority. Do not get distracted.

Ideally, he’d like to imagine that’s where he belongs, but he knows there’s no place in this world—or any other world and timeline—where he’s wanted and accepted. At the very least, there’s some semblance of home in his timeline. Even if it isn’t the most welcoming.

When he wanders into the kitchen, he finds you standing over the stovetop. Strips of meat sizzle in a pan. Sitting at the table, doodling on a blank page, is Aaliya. He hasn’t spoken much to her since his first day, and she hasn’t come to his room to pester him. 

“Let him settle in,” you and Wanderer tell her whenever she stalks past the closed door. 

Still, he feels the beginning of a smile pull at his lips as he watches her kick her legs to and fro to an imaginary tempo. 

I’m looking after a child in this timeline. Me. A parent…

He struggles to fathom it.

“Oh, Papa’s back!”

“Already?” You whirl around, a greeting on your tongue. “Ah, no, honey, that’s our visitor. The Balladeer is his name. He does look like Papa, though, doesn’t he?”

“B-Balla… Ballaba… Babadeer?” She scrunches her face up, perplexed.

Scaramouche offers her a gentle, understanding smile. “You may call me ‘Baba’ if it’s easier to pronounce.”

She lights up immediately. “Okay! You’re Baba and Papa’s Papa!”

He finds that the term is more endearing than any alias he’s taken on in the span of his lengthy existence.

“Speaking of, where is he? I would assume he’d be smart enough not to leave me by my lonesome.” 

“He’s out for the day. Won’t be back until later.” You lift the pan from the stove and proceed to distribute breakfast between two plates. He shakes his head at you when you attempt to fix him a plate. With a shrug, you add, “You slept in. How was it?”

“Acceptable,” he admits, lowering into the chair beside Aaliya. “I suppose it’s better than most places.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” You place a cup of tea in front of him. “Bitter. Just how you like it.”

Scaramouche eyes it like it’s poison. “Your hospitality is…appreciated.”

“What do you think?” Aaliya lifts her drawing, proudly showcasing the portrait she’s sketched of you.

Scaramouche is a critic of many things. Art is not one of them. Still, he takes the page in his hands and spends a moment admiring the shaky linework.

“Very wonderful,” he praises, and he means it. “You should become an artist.”

“I want to, but I also wanna be like Papa. He’s really smart.”

“Is he now?”

“Mhm! He’s studying at the Akademiya. My friends told me only really smart people go there.”

I’m a scholar? Truly? He looks to you for confirmation. The proud smile on your face is answer enough. To think this is what becomes of me in a distant reality…

“A commendable occupation. You should always do your best in your studies. They’re very important. But most of all…” He hesitates. Thankfully, his other self isn’t here to listen to his encouraging words and ridicule him. He’s certain he’d never hear the end of it. “You should pursue what you enjoy.” He reaches out to pat her on the head. “Always dream, Aaliya.”

“I will! I promise.”

Scaramouche doesn’t do promises, but somehow he’s convinced by this one.

You sit across from him. “Time to eat, my dear. You can finish your pretty drawing later.”

She nods and pushes her pencils and crayons away in favor of focusing on her plate. Scaramouche watches, stiff and awkward. Family meals are not an unusual occurrence, but it’s been so long since he’s spent quality time with another living creature. With humans.

Am I really so foolish that I’d willingly indulge in a life with humans? Don’t I know better?

“Wawan told me your arrival might be linked to a faulty Ley Line. We’re not sure when you’ll return to your world—if that’s even a possibility—but until we know more you can stay here with us.”

“If I must. Although I assumed that was already established.”

You chuckle. “Is that right? Then it looks like you’ve gotten comfortable in the three days you’ve been here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your singular deeds are not enough to earn my veneration.”

“I’m not trying to.”

With a huff, he averts his eyes. An uncanny feeling crawls up his throat and settles on his cheeks. You hide your playful grin behind your utensils and eat alongside Aaliya in peaceful silence.

If only everyone could see him: a puppet now named Wanderer, who attends the Akademiya and has a family of his own. A puppet who seems complete when he surrounds himself with his loved ones. It’s impossible to live in denial when all of it is unfolding before his eyes like a fantastical tale in a storybook. He really can’t believe it.

“Tell me—am I fulfilled in this reality?”

You blink back at him, and suddenly he regrets asking. There’s vulnerability in a question like that. An open wound waiting to be exploited.

“Will knowing put you at ease?” Before he can snap back with a defensive reply, you add, “I suspect you’re already aware of the answer.”

He stares at the amber-colored tea in his cup. “I am,” he confesses quietly.

“And do you feel any better?”

“Am I supposed to feel that way?”

“I can’t tell you because there’s no right or wrong way when it comes to emotions. You just…feel them.”

Just feel them?

“I’m more conflicted than anything else. That Wanderer fool… He can’t truly be me. I would never allow myself to grow so weak. To surround myself with weaknesses… How utterly thoughtless.”

“What you see as weakness is his strength.”

Scaramouche’s gaze slides from the tea to you. “And he… And I… I’m happy here? This isn’t a grand farce?”

“As absurd as it seems, this is to be your reality. You’re not always going to be happy. Sometimes you’ll dwell on the past. Sometimes you’ll feel angry and upset. It’s all part of existing.”

“That sounds horrendous.”

“What does?”

“Existing. Isn’t it tiring? I’ve never understood how humans do it.”

“It’s tiring, yes. But it’s also very rewarding. To exist is to cherish happiness and weather hardship. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. Sometimes all you need is enough.”

What if I’ve never had enough? What if I’ve never had anything?

He shuts his mouth. So many questions flit around in his head, but he already knows the answers to most of them. He just doesn’t want to hear it from himself.

To have enough when you’ve never had anything—when you’ve never felt like anything substantial—he surmises Wanderer can sympathize.

The first few drops of rain patter dry earth. Like dolls moved with wire, you and Scaramouche turn towards the window to watch water beads pearl on verdant fronds.

“Oh, it’s raining!” Aaliya exclaims with a delighted giggle. 

Scaramouche reaches to touch his cheek. A single tear wets his fingertip.

“Huh,” he mumbles. “So it is.”

Sitting on the stoop, watching worms wriggle in wet soil, Scaramouche sighs.

“Did you know the worms sometimes lose their way when it rains?”

“Is that right?” he murmurs, glancing at Aaliya who scoops one up from the stone path and places it in the grass. He smiles at her kind impartiality. “It’s very admirable of you to help them.”

“Mhm! Papa tells me even worms need homes, so it’s important to help them when the rain washes them away.”

He breathes a laugh that sounds more like a scoff. “I really said that? That’s difficult to imagine.”

Ironic, too.

“If no one helps, how will they find their homes?”

“They’ll find their way. Everyone does eventually.”

“Even you?” She blinks at him from where she stands in the grass, worms held in her palms.  

He exhales slowly and gazes skyward. The clouds have opened to let in the tiniest peek of sun. “If worms can find their way, then so, too, can I.”

He’s not sure he trusts it. Not now, at least. But it’s just as inevitable as the shifting seasons—an undeniable, irrefutable fact. He’s changing, if only slightly, and soon he’ll be in Wanderer’s shoes—a puppet with a home and a family. With all of life’s greatest joys and sorrows at his fingertips.

Aaliya sets the worms down in the grass before meandering over. She lowers to sit beside him, resting her head against his arm. “I believe in you, Baba.”

“Thank you.”

Soft as rain, subdued like a snuffed candle, his voice doesn’t waver. For the first time in a while, Scaramouche is defenseless. He’s not so sure he believes in himself. Wrapped in waning sun, listening to the hushed sway of grass, he tries on a smile. Albeit awkward, it fits.

He knows why his future self has become the wind, free and flowing, gentle and tumultuous all at once. Liberated from the past.

Even though he has his doubts, he knows he’ll get there soon.

The sky clears up just as Wanderer’s form comes into view. At first, he’s an insignificant pinprick against a blue sky. Aaliya jumps up from her spot on the stoop to run the rest of the way, calling out to him in an eager voice.

“Feeling any better?”

He keeps his eyes pinned stubbornly ahead. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

“You’re our guest, silly. Of course I’m going to be concerned if you’re not comfortable during your stay. Ah, but I expect you’re coming up on the end of that, aren’t you?”

He blinks at his hands and realizes they’re transparent. “So it appears.”

“Does it?” you tease, patting him on the shoulder. Or you try to, at least. Your hand goes through him. “Guess it wasn’t very funny.”

“Not in the slightest,” he snaps with a scoff. He checks to make sure Wanderer isn’t within earshot. He’s kept occupied with Aaliya, who jumps around him like an energetic bunny. “But… Thank you…for everything. I’m aware I wasn’t the most grateful guest, nor the kindest.”

“You don’t have to be. As long as you felt safe and secure during your time here, despite everything that’s happened in your timeline, that’s all that matters.”

Scaramouche stares at you. I suppose it was a worthwhile escape. Unnecessary, but worthwhile.

“It wasn’t as hellish as I thought it’d be.”

“I’m glad. It was nice having you.”

Just then, Wanderer approaches. Aaliya sits proudly on his shoulders, her fists in his hair. “Glad to see everything’s still in one piece. No atrocities today?”

Suddenly, any sort of security Scaramouche might have been feeling evaporates. He’s reminded that it’s impossible to endure his other self for more than a few minutes. It’s actually impressive you’ve put up with him for this long.

Love is weird like that.

“Go back to the Akademiya and maybe you’ll learn a better sense of humor.”

“Aren’t you a bundle of joy?” Wanderer chuckles and levels him with a playful smile. His next words are tender and truthful. “Good luck on your journey. Have lots of fun.”

What sort of fun could possibly be found in pain? I don’t want or need your sardonic optimism.

“Oh? Baba’s leaving already?”

Scaramouche and Wanderer share a look. You smile behind your hand.

“Baba?”

“P-Pay it no mind!” He reaches for his hat in hopes of relieving everyone of his flustered expression and stops short. He’s not wearing his hat. He hasn’t had it this entire time. Refusing to admit he forgot such a crucial detail, he turns away and folds his arms over his chest. “It matters not.”

“Sure,” Wanderer concedes, but Scaramouche can tell he’s thinking something snarky. “We’ll go with that.”

“Thank you for visiting us,” you interject before the two of them can argue semantics. “Even though our time together was short, it wasn’t any less enjoyable.”

“I’ll miss you, Baba!” Aaliya extends her arm for a high-five.

“Careful now,” Wanderer warns, steadying her on his shoulders. “I suppose, though you’re more trouble than anything, it wasn’t so bad seeing my past self again.”

“You’re a welcoming lot,” he says with a curt nod. “It made this entire debacle slightly tolerable.”

“Only slightly?”

“Your presence didn’t add anything of substance. Don’t get it twisted.”

“Hmm. Perhaps not. At least I get to say I saw you once more.”

At that, he rolls his eyes. Am I supposed to feel flattered?

Wanderer smiles, but Scaramouche can’t place the authenticity. Maybe it’s there and he just doesn’t want to confront it.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know the feeling well enough.”

“And live every day one at a time. There’s no rush,” you advise, sweet like a real parent. 

“I believe in you, Baba! You’ll find your way just like the worms.”

Wanderer raises a curious brow, but instead of ridiculing him he takes your hand in his and squeezes. Aaliya giggles and pats Wanderer’s head. The three of you make a family. Togetherness. Love. It’s everything he’s never had.

Now he understands. When Wanderer is with you and Aaliya, he’s whole. He’s happy. Free. He’s turned a new leaf. There are still so many apertures and questions—so much he’s missing from a puzzle not yet pictured to completion—but he isn’t worried. Equipped with this new information, he finds himself at peace with the present situation.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever have the chance to meet again in this timeline, but if we do let’s not dwell on the past.”

Scaramouche can feel his consciousness slipping from this realm, every sense pouring in like light through the gaps in trees. Just before he can make sense of it all, he notices the pendant glowing just above Wanderer’s chest.

Impossible… Is that what I think it is?

“You have a lot to look forward to, so next time let’s talk about the future.”

Suddenly, he’s not so sure he wants to leave. Scaramouche steps towards his other self, hand splayed, and wants to say something. Anything. A million words and phrases stick to the roof of his mouth.

I’d like that, he thinks just as the rest of his corporeal form vanishes in a blip.

Scaramouche comes to in the infirmary. He lifts his arm towards the ceiling, observing shattered fingers and broken joints. Thin cracks run along his arm—surface injuries as far as he’s concerned. They’ll be gone within the day, a testament to his self-sufficiency.

You’re very resilient and so strong. Someone once told him that. But who? And why does it warm him so?

“Oh, you’re up!”

He gazes sidelong at Lesser Lord Kusanali, the God of Wisdom, past the wellness bouquet on the bedside desk, and his features harden with antipathy. “Buer.”

“Did you have a nice dream?”

“Dream?” He scoffs. “I don’t dream. Not anymore.”

But it feels like I’ve been asleep for ages… Just what have I been doing all this time?

“Everyone dreams—even when they’re awake. Dreams are what give us hope.”

“Not me.” He turns on his side and shuts his eyes to block her out. “I have no need for childish dreams and misguided hope.”

What does it matter? I have nothing. I am nothing. There’s nothing for me in this rotten world.

Her hum of acknowledgment reaches his ears. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Scaramouche scowls. Stop poking around in my head. You have no authority over my thoughts, Buer. Get lost.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m here to give you a second chance.”

“I don’t want it. It’s pointless to put me on the path to redemption. Inane, even.”

“Redemption starts with recognition. If you realize that what you’ve done is wrong and are willing to change, redemption will find its way to you.”

He inhales a long, weary breath. “What more is left for me?”

Scaramouche, despite his grandiose title, feels small lying here and contemplating the worth of his existence.

“Plenty of things—good and bad—that you’ve yet to experience.”

He tries to envision what these things could be and turns up blank.

Strange. I was so certain… He sits up in bed, clutching the space where his heart would be if he was human. I could have sworn there was something…

He gazes at his palms next. What happened while I was unconscious?

Surely he witnessed a joyous scene. Otherwise why would he wake feeling so…hopeful?

Inhaling a resolute breath, Scaramouche decides it doesn’t matter.

“Why don’t you take some time to think about it? I may not know the full extent of the turbulence in your mind, but I do know it’s not something to treat lightly.”

The void is both loud and quiet when she departs, and now he’s forced to come to terms with his reality. He lost. Even as a manufactured deity, he was still unfit for godhood. It was a moment so short-lived it was practically a blink—insignificant in the colossal tapestry of time.

“What a joke,” he spits, glaring at the wall ahead. “All of that for nothing…”

He sits back against the cushions and drowns in the silence. It doesn’t comfort him.

Don’t be so hard on yourself. Where has he heard that line before?

Perhaps it was just another delusion.

Scaramouche’s gaze is drawn to the bouquet next. The flowers are fresh and vibrant, each blossom a representation of good health and happiness. Someone placed these here. Someone went out of their way to assemble a bouquet in his honor and then send it over. He wonders if this is the work of Lesser Lord Kusanali.

Who else could muster the empathy for a sorry creature like him?

Will knowing put you at ease?

He thinks it might. At the very least, it would soothe a restless part of his being—the part that craves a connection and yearns to be wanted despite everything he’s done. He wants a heart and a home. He wants to feel the rays of the sun stinging his skin and bathe in the exhilaration of being alive and in the moment. He wants to finally know all of the sweetness he was deprived of in life. The sweetness that comes from love in all its many shapes and forms.

Scaramouche reaches for the bouquet and pauses. He could swipe it off the table and watch rumpled petals scatter amidst shattered glass in a puddle. He could ignore it and pretend it’s not worth his time or attention.

He wants to act like it doesn’t matter, but something’s nagging at him.

For once, the feeling isn’t terrible. For once, he has something to look forward to—an anchor to cling to in this vast, wild sea.

And he isn’t going to let go.

[themoonsbeloved]

I still need help

Its now the 8th of January and despite being told by my friend who spoke with her boss 3 weeks ago during their meeting that he was to hire me in the beginning of January and would reach out to me, he hasn't. I'm hoping somehow, eventually, when this man finally bothers to, he will contact me for a job offer since he reassured me back in november that he still intends to hire me. But since I have no idea when that will be, that means I'm left hanging completely.

long story short I am mentally ill and disabled who was dismissed from my last and only job that I struggled 2 years to get, only to be fired in 2 months in June because of my chronic fatigue and abusive managers. I rely a lot on my henna but bookings are not consistent enough to make regular income, and majority of the money ends up going to contributing to house bills for my family.

My therapy picks up again this week, very honestly been the only thing keeping me from harming myself at this point with how painful life has been and I want to be able to continue getting it low cost (£25 per session), my therapist is so amazing and we recently came to the understanding that I have complex-PTSD, and plan to look into it more this year. I'm too mentally ill to try and look for jobs right now and am basically doing 3 jobs already (one being joint caring duties with family members for my grandparents since I live with them, which I'm not paid for obviously) with inconsistent money coming in/sessional work that I will be paid for once completed further into the year.

I have so many other costs that are coming in the near future, like paying for more medication, and for more lazer hair removal sessions for my severe hirsutism, which usually is around £300 if I'm lucky to catch offers. This is another I thing I mentally can't afford to stop doing, struggling with severe hirsutism and the trauma of it all my life means its important I can feel and live somewhat comfortably in my body. Lazer hair isn't permanent and I'm looking into electrolysis, but again, I don't have that money yet and would prefer to not leave a huge gap where I don't do lazer and the mental torture of watching my body hair grow back. I also haven't gotten my eyes checked in over 3 years, and know I will need a change in perscription and need new glasses. I hate nothing more than what its come to. I'm just exhausted and burnt out from the constant anxiety and depressive episodes, I'm barely eating or sleeping, I'm sick of everything and everyone and I just wish god would give me a break.

With all of the above in mind I'm aiming for about £600. This is all basically to help me just function and continue getting the things that help me not succumb to my mental health issues. If anything, my birthday's coming up in feb so I would appreciate it if folks gave some money if they have the means to. Anything is fine at this point.

Thank you so much

https://paypal.me/iffiia?country.x=GB&locale.x=en_GB

£0/£600

[oakskull]

I wanna see your pony moshang 🥺🤲

ask and you shall receive!!

my drawings do come with worldbuilding rambling, terribly sorry (not sorry at all)

Side note: "windigos" are creatures in My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (FiM) and I am using them here, but I am changing the name to frost spirits and changing some of their behavior, they look the same.

Design Notes:

SQH has ink stains on his mouth because non magic users write like that. He was a unicorn pre-transmigration and mourns his loss of unicorn magic and technology regularly. The world he transmigrated from is like the far future of FiM, with modern technology and the internet. (not the latest gen, I honestly remember jackshit about the lore in that movie...)

I've seen Earth pony SQH and I get the appeal. But here me out: Pony maigu ridge needs Qinghua to fly! And he's literally a flight risk!

His cutie mark is a brush and a paper airplane, because its his pen name (get it?). PIDW (mlp ver) has a level of technology more similar to SVSSS, but instead of flying swords there's trains. Im taking away xianxia flying swords and giving you trains. Ponies on swords just look too silly! they'd be unstable! (not that this whole AU isnt very silly >w<)

The Northern Kingdom in this au would be the Crystal Empire equivalent, except there is no crystal heart. The Northern desert is kept in a perpetual blizzard by the frost spirits (there is a barrier against storms around the capital created by the northern kings, redone as part of the ascension ritual but otherwise free standing) Instead of love and light protecting the kingdom, the crystal ponies use the power of incredible violence to keep the umbrums at bay.

Additionally, the crystal ponies of PIDW (mlp ver) are physically stronger, have higher base levels of magic, and are generally more cold resistant, due to living near the frost spirits for so long. They are still flesh creatures; the crystal skin is more of a replacement for their coat rather than the skin itself. Crystal ponies are also hypercarnivores, whilst regular ponies are omnivores (this isn't FiM also the horses are magic. they have basically human diets)

I also couldn't decide on a coat color for MBJ so there's two versions. I'm leaning towards the white fur for contrast reasons. And yes, I Did forget to render the crystal part of crystal pony on MBJ, thank you for noticing (lmao)

MBJ's cutiemark is the flag for the crystal empire, because he's part crystal pony, he still has a cutiemark, but all direct descendants have the same cutie mark after they absorb their ancestors power. Before this, they do not have cutiemarks, and gaining a different cutiemark means the frost spirits didn't acknowledge them as a potential decendant, and they can no longer become king.

Pre-Asension Mobei-Jun:

In PIDW (mlp ver) MBJ is a crystal pony decendant of the frost spirits which keep the Northern Desert perpetually cold. They gave the first northern king their power in the war against the umbrums (the things that made King Sombra in FiM). There's no friendship fire to chase away the frost spirits because this is PIDW (mlp ver) it's a stallion novel (pun intended); Instead, the frost spirits are sated by the constant war. There was an umbrum unicorn created to infiltrate the Crystal Empire like in FiM but they just became a regular pony instead of trying to take over and basically just created a new clan of ponies with shadow powers. MBJ's mother was part of this clan, and the abyssal shadow pony ancestry cobined with his frost spirit ancenstry gives him the ability to shadow step/ teleport through the shadows.

MBJ didn't get his pretty hair until he absorbed his ansestors power, which works similar to SVSSS canon. The previous northern kings die and pass on their power to the next generation because they are technically still frost spirits, and not really alive in the same way that regular ponies are.

SQH in an MLP style coat:

Ponies in FiM don't really... wear pants, even when it's cold. In Airplane's world they definately wore pants, and SQH will never go back (like the opposite of SVSSS LOL). In PIDW (mlp ver) ponies don't wear pants for bad porn reasons, Airplane justifies this by pulling the history card (peerless cucumber is not impressed)

Also! you can see SQH's mane better because its profile view, he's not a crystal pony, but he wheres the crystal pony hair bands as an homage to a bun without me actually having to give him one. Because ponies have ears on their head it always feels to me that a bun takes up too much visual space, thus, fancy hair bands.

Moshang flirting:

SQH can dish out flattery all day but he absolutely does Not know what to do when MBJ returns the favour (lol)

Alicorn Shang Qinghua:

In PIDW (mlp ver) I like to imagine that Airplane cut out alicorns because acending through nice things like friendship and love did not fit the vibe. Alicorns were instead like, the old gods who controled elemental stuff, like Celestia and Luna (renamed in PIDW (mlp ver)). Ponies don't control the weather or sun and moon and have less inate magic (earth pony magic, pegasus magic, and unicorn magic), instead, all the alicorns dispersed into spiritual energy that controls the elements and weather and stuff. Ponies cultivate this spiritual energy to gain a golden core of their inate energy, and eventually immortality, but they don't get the trappings of an alicorn.

So, like there aren't really any gods in SVSSS, there aren't any (living) alicorns in PIDW (mlp ver) they're more like myths than anything, and reside in the heavenly realm. I won't be getting into this AUs binghe/ heavenly demon equivalent because this is a moshang post, but Heavenly Demons are changling royalty, which have their FiM powerset on steroids and are sort of corrupted alicorns.

So alicorn SQH is bascially this AUs equivalent of God!SQH. It's not nessisarily canon to the AU but this mostly exists for me and I really like God!SQH so it basically is. Schrödinger's canon.

("Small Matters" style is a reference to the series by Coffeetailor on Ao3)

[multiversediaries]

enough.

klaus mikaelson x reader

summary: caroline has always been the one everyone prefers and chooses over you. how dare you think klaus would be any different?

warnings: small angst!!!

part count: 2/2

a/n: hi! sorry it took me a while for me to write the second part, but i really hope you guys enjoy it!!! i loved the plot for this, but i truly had the biggest writers block on it, hence the long hiatus :3 but i’m officially back~ please enjoy and take care of me again in the future ^-^

part one

you hugged yourself, as you walked back home from the convenience store near your home. it was a chilly night. mystic falls has always been a cold city, but lately, for you, there hasn’t been a warm day. not ever since your break up with klaus mikaelson.

thinking of klaus was painful, as you remembered that night at the ball. the night you caught him lovingly staring into caroline’s eyes, and kissing her. you both ultimately broke up. well, you decided to call things off. you just couldn’t forgive his betrayal. he knew. caroline has always been a worry in your life. from past relationships to your career, everything was a competition and you always lost. klaus was no exception. it seemed klaus and caroline had actually became a couple after your break up. it was heartbreaking to say the least.

“y/n, please wait just a second. listen to me, dear.” klaus asked desperately, his eyes slowly but surely watering at the realization of what was happening. you held your suitcase close to you, your hand tightening around the handle, trying your hardest not to give in to klaus anymore.

“let me go.” you repeated once again, not daring to meet his eyes anymore.

“y/n, please.” klaus pleaded. “i’m sorry. i truly am. i never intended for this to happen.” he said, his hand trying to hold yours, but you pulled away again. apologies meant nothing. you had nothing else to say. you were done. your relationship was done.

“darling, please, just—” klaus pleaded yet again, his hands now laid on your soaked cheeks. the nickname tugging at your broken heart. a few tears left your eyes in pure anger and betrayal.

“no!” you raised your voice, your throat aching as you continued. “you kissed her!” you said, as you forcefully removed his hands from you. klaus stared, sorrow in his eyes, shaking his head.

“y/n—”

“do you love her?”

“what?” klaus asked, taken back by the sudden question. you wiped your teary eyes and spoke again.

“answer me. do you love her?” you asked once again, terrified of the answer. but needing the response.

“please..” klaus begged, not daring to respond. but you knew the answer. after all, who were you next to the caroline forbes?

you nodded in response, understanding. you weren’t her. you would never be as special as her. who were you to think you could be appreciated and loved? how naive. you sniffled, placing a few strands of your hair behind your ear, ready to walk out of his life for good. klaus looked for your eyes, worried about you, and about the hurt he has caused you. but you never met his eyes. you completely ignored his existence, and left.

you shivered gently, as warm air left your mouth. you held the grocery bag, that contained a few snacks, headache pills and a bottle of wine, to continue to drown your sorrows in. you were over him. you swore you were. but from time to time, you couldn’t help but hurt. you have never loved anyone the way you loved klaus. not matt nor tyler. no one ever came close, not that it mattered anymore.

the streets were empty, probably due to all the werewolves and vampire attacks in the city. this was no surprise to you, you were used to it. werewolves and vampires just didn’t scare you anymore. who would even try to lay a hand on you? you were klaus mikaelson’s ex girlfriend, and a close friend of the mikaelson family. the brothers and rebekah had been taking great care of you. they knew more than anybody what happened between you two, and understood your need for space. kol and elijah were very fond of you. rebekah believed they were in love with you, often joking about another love triangle. the mikaelson family has helped you so much through all of this. it has been a year. you healed, but you never wanted to see caroline or klaus ever again.

you pouted a bit, as you realized how quite far the store was from your place. you wanted to be home already. times like this is when you wished to be a vampire. the speed would really help you right now. you smirked at your dumb thoughts as you fixed your airpod, continuing your walk home. you took out your phone, wanting to skip a song, when you heard a familiar voice call out for you.

“y/n?” the voice asked, making you almost freeze in your tracks. please don’t let this be who you thought it was.

your eyes looked up from your phone screen and met his. your past lover’s eyes. the eyes of the man you so desperately loved, but you felt nothing but sadness for. you took a deep breath as you took a look at him. he looked good. healthy.

“it’s—” klaus started, before looking down at the watch in his wrist, his eyes full of worry and confusion. “it’s two am, love… why are you wandering around so late at night?” klaus asked gently, scared to anger you, or sadden you, but so worried about you.

it was very late already. it had been dangerous around town. he knew you were an easy target to hurt him. you were human, and had no protection around you. klaus lived in constant fear of waking up with the news of your death or kidnapping done by his many enemies. you tilted your head at his soft tone. you sighed softly, shrugging your shoulder.

“it’s alright. just needed something from the store down the road.” you replied, signaling at the plastic bag in your hand. he tilted his head in utter confusion, why wouldn’t you wait until morning? regardless he nodded slowly.

“i see…but why must you walk all alone at this time of night? it’s been dangerous lately.” klaus said, you furrowed your eyebrows and and looked up at him. he sounded so genuinely worried and you couldn’t understand why.

“why do you care, niklaus?” you asked, your tone tired. klaus looked into your kind eyes, and felt a rush of sadness wash over him, as he remembered his time with you.

the truth is… caroline wasn’t you. she really wasn’t, and klaus despised it. caroline was kind, but not as kind and selfless as you. she was loving, but he didn’t feel as alive with her as he did with you. she could offer him eternity, but he realized he would prefer spending a limited lifespan by your side. it wasn’t that you were caroline, it was that caroline just wasn’t you.

“i just— you do know i care so deeply about you, right? i just wanted to check up on you.” klaus half lied, he just missed you. he missed you like crazy and it was eating him alive. the big, bad original vampire was nothing with you. you chucked under your breath, not wanting to offer him a reply to his cheap excuse.

“let me walk you home, won’t you?” klaus continued, real concern in his voice, and you heard it. you bit your lip, hesitating.

“i beg. i just want to be certain that you got home safe and sound.” klaus said softly, as you started fidgeting with your hands. you sighed, nodding your head after a few minutes of hesitating. he seemed so genuinely worried, a little company wouldn’t hurt anyone after all.

it was silent most of the time. you wanted to ask. how everything was with caroline, but why would you want to hurt yourself even more? why would you care? so you didn’t ask. and wouldn’t even talk if he didn’t start a conversation first. klaus could feel his heart breaking as the silence broke out yet again. you always had something to say, something to tell him, but now you were dead silent. it pained him.

“i miss you.” klaus finally confessed, your heart stopping at his sudden words. for the first time, you looked at him, in utter shock. but klaus continued looking upfront, terrified to meet your expression. after a few minutes of thinking, you spoke up.

“you don’t get to do that.” you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear. he nodded in agreement, biting his red lips. you were right. he has no right to even miss you at all. he was the one who caused this.

“i acknowledge that, believe me.” klaus said, a sigh leaving his lips mid sentence. you could sense the honesty in his voice. “i just wanted to tell you.” you nodded, your eyes now locked towards the floor you both walked on.

“caroline…” klaus continued, the mention of her name felt like a knife to the chest. you swallowed your hurt and continued to listen to klaus mikaelson pour his heart out for you. “she’s lovely. she’s sweet, delightful and kind…” klaus said, every one of his words deepening your wound.

“but she’s just not… you.” klaus said, stopping his walking and turning to face you. “i realized how big of a mistake i made. i knew of your past with her, and i still did it, and i want to apologize.” klaus spoke, as you listened.

“in this past year, i have done nothing but miss and love you.” klaus confessed and you felt your skin turn pale. “you are the one made for me, y/n. and i was incredibly foolish for even doubting it.”

“klaus..”

“please— let me finish.” klaus begged, his strong, big hands reaching over to hold yours. “she’s not you. she is just not the woman i am so desperately in love with. she is absolutely no one and nothing next to you. and i feel so miserable for adding onto your pain, and self doubt.” klaus continued.

“klaus—” you tried saying once again, only to be interrupted.

“i was wrong.” klaus whispered softly, his right hand now resting on your soft cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. “my biggest mistake to day is hurting you.” klaus confessed, his eyes slowly watering, to your surprise. you heart was being shaken by his broken expression, the way his eyes were filled with pure regret and sadness, and how his mouth frowned at you. it took everything in you to not wrap your arms around him and console who used to be your gentle hybrid. after a while of staring into each other’s eyes, klaus spoke up again.

“would you please give me another chance to redeem myself? let me make this right, my love, please.” klaus finished, his eyes full of sincerity. the nickname he used to always endearingly call you taking your breath away instantly.

you stood in the middle of the street, with the man of your life holding you, and pleading to have you back. you bit your lip, holding back the tears that threatened to run down your cheeks. he wanted you back? he realized he was wrong? he regrets everything? you don’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry.

you wanted to give in, and be his again. you adored him. you were sure he was the love of your life. but could you even trust him anymore? after everything he put you through? after all the turmoil, heartbreak and self distrust you felt for yourself? he was part of the cause of your low self-esteem, and lack of self confidence. the person who used to be the main reason for your confidence and self love, was now the reason of your infinite sadness and self loathing.

“i can’t…” you started, your hands rushing over to remove his from your body. klaus looked at you, shocked by your actions. “i won’t go back to you, klaus.” you replied gently. even if he broke your heart into a million pieces, you wouldn’t want to hurt him. he mattered to you. the only way you were going to hurt him was by not going back to him, and letting caroline have him. that would be your revenge for everything she has put you through. letting her believe the man she wanted most loved her, when in fact, he adored you.

“darling…”

“no, niklaus.” you said gently, shaking your head. “you and caroline are perfect for each other, can’t you see?” you said, his heart tightening at your words.

“you’ve hurt me enough. how sure can i be that you won’t change your mind like you did before?” you asked, and klaus shook his head, refusing. his hands ran to your cheeks again, his forehead now resting in yours, eyes closed as he begged you. klaus mikaelson was begging you. a mere human.

“i will never. i will never commit the same mistake as before, my beloved.” klaus whispered to you, his voice breaking. you fought your tears, breaking the contact between you two.

“and what if you do? what if this happens again? i won’t put myself through this again, klaus. i deserve better.” you said, finally putting yourself first. you mattered, before anyone else. even before the man you loved.

“i just can’t find it in me to trust you again.” you said, taking a few steps back, ready to continue walking home, and leave all this behind. you wanted to start over and regain the love you once had for yourself. klaus stared at you, as tears now ran down his cheek. it took everything in you to not kiss him and forgive him in that instant.

“then please.” klaus spoke again, raising his voice, so you could hear as you walked away from him. “please keep your heart open for me.” klaus spoke for the last time, desperation in his voice. a smile creeped up in your lips, as you continued walking him.

—

taglist <3

@filternini @mjpark15 @regulus-black-223048 @vickymendes30 @angelinevalentine89 @arcticseasemeseeds @jorjakal1905 @xoxo-shy @kissforvoid @kindaslightlyacidic @wrxting