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itsprashimusic · 4 months ago

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Monaco and Monza

Summary - Charles, his favourite person (and their puppy) before, during and after the most important race wins of his life.

Pairings - Charles Leclerc x fem!Reader

Warnings - no use of y/n, google translate French and Italian, r can make decent conversation in French and Italian, possible inaccurate timelines, it is hinted that R is not from France or Monaco, honorable louis tomlinson appearance bc I am a former louie girlie, R has blue light glasses, cuss words. Happy reading🩵

W/C - 3.9k

A/N - i write all my female Rs with a desi in mind. Written in 2nd pov. I wrote R with a mindset and likes similar to mine, you are free to skip this fic if you don't like it.

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Before Monaco

An hour had passed on the three hour flight from Imola to Nice. Charles was asleep and Leo was curled up in your lap. Sitting in an oversized top and sweatpants, you were quite comfortable while doing some work. You work for a company that allows you to work remotely, which is a huge blessing considering your longtime boyfriend travels the world every other week.

The tiny pup yawned big as he woke up from his nap. You scratched him under the chin. Leo moved around in your lap, found another comfortable spot and went right back to sleep just as Charles also moved to find another comfortable position to nap in. You smiled to yourself and continued working.

Soon the plane landed in a private airport in the French city of Nice. Your bags were handled by the hired help, and Charles insisted on carrying your laptop bag for you. This left you walking along his side with Leo in your arms, still sound asleep. The boat ride to Monaco didn't take long and the drive to your shared apartment went by in a blur.

It felt nice being home during race week. You left Leo in his bed and joined Charles in the living room. Coming up from behind you hugged him while softly asking, "Qu'est-ce que tu penses?" (what is on your mind?). Even after all these years you still cringed at your accent.

"The race" he replied.

You sighed as you remembered the dnfs, mechanical failures and team errors that Charles had to endure. Year after year, the pain just kept getting worse as you watched from the grandstands and eventually the garage.

"You should focus on the positives. The team has been performing well and this season has been different than the last 3, there is hope." you weren't sure if what you said was the right thing. You kissed him on the cheek and moved around the couch to come and sit next to him.

"It is not easy when every other time I have had hope, it has been ripped away and torn into tiny pieces," Charles said while looking defeated. You felt sad seeing him like this. You just held your arms out and let him fall into your embrace. With the couch being big enough for two people to sleep on it, soon you and Charles fell asleep, still in the hug.

During Monaco

Photographers snapped photos of you and Rebecca, Leo's leash entwined with your hand. The two of you were spotted outside the Ferrari hospitality an hour before qualifying. Charles was busy with his engineer and strategist and asked you to give him some alone time. So, you thought a small walk around the paddock with your puppy and good friend would be beneficial.

Eventually the crowd of fans surrounding you and Rebecca who wanted to see Leo was getting quite large, so you politely said goodbye to the fans, picked up the pup and made your way back to the Ferrari motorhome. You got a text from your boyfriend.

Can you come to my drivers room?

You entered the room and put Leo down, allowing him to calm down and drink some water from his very own water bottle and attached bowl. "Darling, do you need something?" you asked Charles as he looked tense.

You moved closer to him. Charles caught you by surprise when he pulled you even closer and hugged you extremely tight. "Je ne me sens pas bien," (i don't feel good) he whispered. "C'est bon. Tout ira bien. It's ok, you'll be ok." you quietly kept repeating to him until Leo began demanding attention with his big brown eyes and soft whines.

Charles wiped the few tears that escaped and picked him up with a new smile adorning his face. For a moment, it was just the three of you, your perfect little family. There was a knock at the door, followed by a Ferrari team member informing Charles that he was required in 5 minutes. Charles placed a wet kiss on your forehead.

"Thank you for supporting me the way you do. I love you so much, mon cœur," (my heart) he said, his lips still on your forehead. The pair walked out of the room and split ways. You had the hired help watch Leo for the duration of qualifying in a private room.

You sat with Charles' family just as the Sky Sports camera panned on you. You smiled when you saw yourself on the monitor and gave a small wave while sitting next to Charlotte.

Even though you knew that Charles would easily clear Q1, you could not help the anxiety that made its way throughout your body. He crossed the line and made it to Q2. With the next session, your anxiety worsened. But within 15 minutes your nerves eased.

Q3. This was it. As the minutes slowly turned from 12 to 2, you were feeling sick. Charles' sleek Ferrari flew over the finish line and your hands flew to your mouth. Pole Position. At his home race. At your home race. The cameras focused on you to get your and his family's reaction.

At parc ferme, Charles ran over to his team who hyped him up even more. He signed the wheel and posed for the photos, the smile never leaving his face. Even after finishing up his media duties and making his way back to his family and you in the motorhome, his smile remained ever present. You swore he never hugged you tighter than that.

Race day. The day that actually mattered.

You entered the paddock a few steps behind Charles, Leo once again in your hold. You didn't get a lot of time with Charles, considering he was the man of the hour after securing pole. The two of you shared a moment together before he had to head out for the national anthem.

"Comment te sens-tu, chérie?" (how are you feeling, darling?) you asked him while he changed into his race suit. He looked up and the look on his face gave you your answer. You smiled and he continued wearing his suit. There were butterflies in his stomach. That meant he felt nervous, hopeful, anxious and confident all at once.

Charles was out on the track, and you once again joined his family in the motorhome. At that point though, it would be more appropriate to call them your family. You and Charles have been together for a long time. The pair of you had seen each other at their lowest and highest. When Charles lost his father and when for nearly a year you could not get a job. When news of Anthoine's death reached Charles, he was on holiday with you and your family in another country. Your family gave him the comfort he needed. When you got news that your parents contracted covid, there was nothing you could do sitting in your apartment in Monaco. Pascale was like a second mother to you.

The race began. You found a place to sit and watch the race. Charles was in the lead. A huge crash. A totaled redbull and a red flag. You felt the butterflies creeping up from your stomach to your throat. The race resumed and continued. Piastri was close to Charles, but not enough to threaten his position. It felt like time slowed down during the final lap. You had an earbud plugged in one ear and could hear Crofty's iconic last lap commentary.

The number 16 Ferrari flew past the checkered flag and fireworks flew out from the sides of the track. Charles' family members were already hugging each other and some of the team members who were there. But you didn't move. Tears were flowing down your face and a smile was etched on your face. The first person you moved to hug was Charlotte, the older woman was like an elder sister to you.

The camera's stream kept cutting from Charles out on the track to you and his family in the motorhome. Everyone quickly left the garage and made their way to parc ferme. You saw Charles pull up and stop in front of the 1st place stand. You watched from the back as he ran to his team, Arthur and Lorenzo pushed their way to the front. After getting weighed, the team moved to allow you to come to the front where Charles walked towards you.

Normally, you and Charles would keep the pda on the lesser side when cameras were around, but not this time. The forever smiling face, messy-haired and slightly teary-eyed boyfriend of yours pulled you directly into a powerful kiss. His left arm was around your back while his right hand was half on your face and half on your neck. You could hear and feel all the cameras going off around you.

Charles broke the kiss but kept your foreheads connected. You held both of his hands. "Tu l'as fait," (you did it) you repeated in all the languages you knew while nodding your head. You could see the tears welling up in his eyes again. He quickly blinked them away, "L'ho fatto," (i did it) he said in Italian quickly kissed you once again before hugging you.

You stood below the podium and watched as he received the trophy he had been waiting his entire life for. You were still crying. The tears would not stop, and they only got worse when Charles made eye contact with you after he was presented with the medal. He mouthed the words I love you. So much. Thank you. You could only hold your hand to your heart in response.

After Monaco

Even after a full day, you could still smell the fragrance of champagne wafting off of Charles.

You and Charles had celebrated his win on Sunday night in a club. He was practically glued to your side the entire night. No matter who he was talking to, either he did it while having an arm around you or holding your hand. By the end of the night, you were left with a very clingy and very drunk boyfriend. With Joris's help, you got Charles into the car. He drove the both of you home.

Back at the apartment, Charles seemed to have sobered up a bit after you made him eat some food.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love you?" Charles was lying down on the bed and was lovingly staring at you.

"All the time," you answered while changing for the night.

You finished changing and joined Charles in bed. Leo who was previously perched near Charles' feet climbed onto you and snuggled up on your chest.

Charles got your attention by saying your name, "I want you to understand what I mean when I say this. I love you. I appreciate you so much, even I cannot comprehend it. You have supported me throughout my years in Formula 1 and Formula 2. You have stood by me all these years, even when you had to sacrifice your job and sleep schedule for me. Je veux que vous compreniez la profondeur de ce que je dis." (i want you to understand the depth of what i am saying).

His eyes kept moving around but eventually rested on your face. He looked into your eyes when he finally spat out what he truly wanted to say.

"Mon cœur, mon âme, ma vie, je veux passer le reste de ma vie avec toi. Veux-tu m'épouser?" (My heart, my soul, my life, i want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?)

I took you a second to process what Charles said. You looked down and saw him holding a simple gold band with three small diamonds set in it. His free arm was laid across your stomach under Leo, who woke up when he sensed his mom feeling strong emotions.

Tears filled your eyes, your heart began beating faster and you were sweating a bit. Leo moved to the bed and was now licking the tears that fell from your eyes. You felt like you couldn't speak, but you very much knew what your answer was.

Before Monza

The summer break was perfect. You used your paid leave and were fully able to enjoy your time with the entire family. The photos of Leo that Charles posted to his instagram were adored by the fans. Your insta account remained private, but you still posted the dog nonetheless.

Neither of you announced the engagement just yet, wanting to keep it to yourselves for a while. Fans got curious when they saw a new ring around that special finger after Charles' win in Monaco, but since it was quite simple and small, they thought nothing much of it. You were known for wearing many different rings on the same finger, so people thought it was just another ring you fancied.

Unfortunately, after your long break, you were required to come back to the office for a few days for important meetings with the higher-ups of your company. That meant you missed the race in Zandvoort and Charles podium. But you made it up to him by joining him in Monza, his adopted home race.

Walking in the streets of Monza with a loved Ferrari driver was always quite the experience. Leo loved the attention from all the fans, he was a born extrovert. You and Charles had lunch at one of your favourite restaurants. The both of you sat in a relatively private section of the restaurant.

"I missed you at Zandvoort," Charles said before eating a morsel of his favourite pasta. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there. I tried to leave as early as I could, but by the time the meeting finished it made no sense to come," you said wishing you could have been there for him. Ever since Monaco, the team had been struggling. It brought back painful flashbacks of 2022 and 2023.

Things were not the best between you and Charles during the week you were out for work. The timings never seemed to match, when he had the energy to talk you were too burnt out, and doing all of this while also planning a wedding was not easy. It put a small strain on your relationship which seemed like it was reaching its breaking point during this weekend.

During Monza

You spent the rest of the week working. In between the free practice sessions, you were spotted with a pair of blue-light glasses on and bent over your laptop and a notebook. Leo was either sleeping in his carrier by your feet or was with Arthur or Lorenzo.

You barely saw Charles the entire weekend. He was either busy with his engineer and strategist or was filming content. It only made the strain in your relationship even worse and left Rebecca having to hear your side of it for most of the weekend considering both the boys were quite busy.

It was only before qualifying that you managed to get a moment with Charles at all.

"Charles, I know this is an important race for you, but we need to talk," you sternly said leaving no room for arguments. Charles was about to protest but you simply pulled him by the arm to his drivers room.

"Pourquoi tu ne me parles pas?" (why are you not talking to me?) you folded your arms while facing him. "You have been avoiding me ever since Thursday!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were too tired and 'fagged out' to want to talk," he replied sarcastically and with air quotes. "Je ne comprends pas pourquoi tu dois te comporter comme ça!" (I don't get why you have to behave like that!) Charles started walking around angrily and went off rattling away in French at such a fast pace you could not understand what he was saying.

"Just stop!" you yelled. "Just tell me why you are angry at me," you said, softer this time, almost in defeat.

"I don't like it when you are so busy with your work that you do not have time for us," Charles whispered after a long pause.

"And how do you think I feel when you are so busy with your work? I am required to go to the office at least every six months. You travel around the world every other week. You have less free time than I do, but have you heard me complain? So, instead of getting angry that I had to leave for one week to discuss plans for the company's future with the CEO, you should be happy that it was only one week out of the 52 in a year."

By the time you finished speaking, Charles had his hands over his face and was standing quite far from you. He whispered something inaudibly. With a confused look on your face, you moved closer to your fiancé. Upon feeling your body heat in the cold room, he removed his hands from his face and repeated his words.

I'm sorry.

The both of you wrapped yourselves in an embrace and for 5 minutes were only apologising and promising to do better in the future. You left the room after giving him a kiss. You headed down to the garage wanting to watch quali with Arthur who was watching Leo while you worked.

The timer began the countdown into Q1. Normally you would've been feeling quite nervous, but you were distracted by the charming british singer sitting next to you. Being a young girl during the height of One Direction was something else entirely. Your childhood dreams of meeting your favourite singer from the famous boyband had now come true.

Soon it was time for Q3 and you got a photo with Louis who by the time Q3 began, just like the rest of the world, fell in love with Leo and his photos. Charles put in great laps, but ended up only p4 alongside Russel.

Charles finished with his media duties and met up with you inside the motorhome. You were on a work call when he walked into the room. Leo was in the corner of the room scarfing down his food as if he hadn't eaten in years, his ears flopping all over the place.

You cut the call frustrated, removing your glasses from your face and placing them on your head. "Est-ce que tu vas bien?" (are you good?) he asked while holding you from the side and kissing your temple. You nodded and just packed up your things while Charles gathered his things as well.

The grandstands were filled with a sea of red and occasional yellow. Your outfit consisted of only red, yellow and black. Charles had left for the paddock earlier, so you made plans to have breakfast with Rebecca and leave for the paddock together.

You walked around before the race with Leo on the leash in front of you, Rebecca by your side. "So, how is wedding planning going?" she asked, her beautiful scottish accent making you smile. "We are still looking at venues. All we know is that it's going to be sometime in August of next year."

The drivers would soon be called for the national anthem. So, you went back to the Ferrari garage looking for your soon-to-be husband. You found him sitting next to Arthur, water bottle in hand. Leo instantly ran towards him and began climbing up his dad.

"Just do your best. Give it your all. Je t'aime tellement." (i love you so much) you sent Charles off with a hug. Leo was fast asleep in his carrier, so you joined Arthur down in the garage. You put on the large red headphones and waved at the camera when you saw yourself on the broadcast.

Halfway through the race, it hit you that Charles could possibly win. It was a stretch considering he was attempting a one-stopper. But as lap after lap went by the possibility of that dream coming true seemed more and more likely. His tires were probably gonna look like chewed-up bubblegum by the end of the race, but if he managed them just right...

He did it. He fucking did it. The roar of the Tifosi was stronger than ever. Unlike his last win, this time you were not seated. You were jumping up and down, cheering as loud as you could, matching the energy of the Ferrari team members around you. Some of them hugged you.

While Charles was finishing his cool-down lap, the mechanics and other team members rushed out to greet Charles in parc ferme. You stayed close to Arthur, knowing that you could possibly get pushed in the wrong direction. With a hand around your back, he guided you to the front where you could see the beautiful red car pull up.

Charles came running toward the team, moving quickly to try and hug everyone possible. As he moved from Arthur to hug you, from the corner of your eyes you could see more cameras making their way towards you. FLASH! And that was how one of the iconic photos of Monza 2024 was born. Charles' arms wrapped around you and he had his visor up, his eyes filled with so much emotion. You were smiling widely in the photo and had your hands on either side of his helmet. But the part that made the photo iconic was that your left hand was facing the camera, and in that, you had tucked away all of your fingers except the one with your engagement ring.

Winning the Italian Grand Prix as a Ferrari driver is always special, so you watched the podium celebration from inside the motorhome, wanting him to enjoy the moment with the team and the Tifosi to the fullest.

After Monza

For the next two days, the streets of Monza were filled with Ferrari flags being either hung from somewhere or people waving them around. It seemed like every other Italian was asking for an autograph from Charles or a photo with him. But it wasn't just Charles and Ferrari who were the talk of town. So were you.

That photo of you and Charles just after the race had gone viral. At first, people were freaking out, wondering if the two of you were really engaged or if it was a joke. Only when Charles reposted the photo to his story did fans really start freaking out.

Congratulations were pouring out of everyone's mouth who had seen the photo or heard of the news. You didn't mean for the news to overshadow Charles' incredible win on 38-lap old tires. But it didn't. As a matter of fact, the win and engagement news gelled well together, neither taking away from the other.

The night before the team would be heading to Maranello you and Charles laid in the hotel bed, Leo fast asleep on his own bed. "I'm sorry for not asking if you'd be fine with me announcing our engagement," you said in a soft voice while drawing shapes on his torso. Charles, who had you wrapped around his side, kissed your forehead and said, "Je suis content que tu l'aies fait," (I am glad you did it).

The next morning Charles posted a photo of a formal dinner the two of you had with not just his but also your family where the engagement was announced. Of course, Leo was in the center of the photo.

A/n - honestly idk what i even wrote. i am tired af and just needed to get this out of my system. Hope you enjoyed reading🩵

#itsprashimusic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 #formula 1 imgaine #formula 1 x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 fic #f1 driver x reader #charles leclerc x desi!reader #f1 x desi!reader #formula 1 x desi!reader #f1 driver x desi!reader

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darksigns-exe · 4 months ago

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dors encore jusqu'au jour où tout ira bien* - noah sebastian x f!reader

*sleep on until the day when all is well

warnings: Swearing, discussions of mental health, depression, burnout and relationship issues

word count: 5.9k

note: This is a hefty one. It gets very angsty in certain parts, but if you know me, you know that I cannot bring myself to write a bad ending. Regardless of that, please think of yourself first and feel free to sit out on this one if you’re not in the headspace to dip into almost 6k of angst. Thank you to @deathblacksmoke and @circle-with-me for your feedback <3

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You’re not sure when it happened.

It feels like one day everything was fine and the next he’s pushing his dinner across the plate as if it’s the most revolting thing he’s ever seen.

You’ve never seen Noah like this.

Sure, he gets quite sometimes. He has days when he locks himself behind the door of the studio and only emerges to eat and to take a bathroom break.

This is different, though.

When you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him smile or heard him laugh. You’re sure that it can’t have been long, surely you haven’t missed him tumbling into his hole.

You don’t realise how bad it actually is until he starts to miss appointments, until you have to convince him to get out of bed just to have breakfast with you. He retreats back into the safety of your bedroom as soon as he’s finished with what you know to be too little food. You know that he’s only coming downstairs for your sake. And somehow that makes it worse.

You sit in silence for a long while on that morning. You’ve watched him wither for too long already. And maybe that’s why you call Nick that morning, hoping that he can give you some kind of insight. Nick has all the answers, he always knows.

He doesn’t this time.

All he can offer is what you already know.

Knowing Noah, he’ll be resistant to help until it's almost too late. Still, you make your way up the stairs towards your shared bedroom. They feel impossibly long today. It’s not like you’re going to break horrible news to him, but you know your boyfriend well enough to know that he’ll deny that anything is wrong. He’ll insist that everything is just fine, even when you both know that the exact opposite is the truth.

The worst thing, you think, is that you don’t know why he feels like this. You’ve tried to ask him if he’s looking forward to the shows, to playing the new songs, but all you ever got in response was a half-hearted shrug. Watching him lose all passion for the thing he loved had broken a little piece inside of you.

You knock on the door before you crack it open just a little bit.

“Noah?” you ask softly, not sure if he’s still awake or if sleep had already taken him over again.

No reply.

You force yourself through the crack in the door and close it as quietly as you can. He’s curled up on his side, turned away from the door. The sight breaks your heart even more. His body moves with slow breaths, and you’re still not sure if he’s awake or not.

You sit on the edge of the bed behind him. You place your hand on his back, and he jumps at the touch, shrinking further away from you.

“You don’t have to say anything. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, love, but I’m here.” you can’t stop the tears from falling as you speak, “I don’t know how to help you, but we need to do something. I’m worried about you.”

He stays silent, but you can feel him draw in a deep breath under your palm.

“Nick thinks that you should think about cancelling the shows.”

You regret it as soon as you’ve said it.

The look on his face when he finally turns to look at you hurts more than anything else. The anger that suddenly radiates from him makes scoot back from him instantly.

“And why the fuck would I do that? This is none of your business. I don’t go around telling you how to do your job, do I?” he seethes, “You have nothing to be worried about.”

“You’re obviously not well. I’m just trying to help.” you reply, feeling awfully helpless.

Noah sits up, his back still turned to you.

“If you think you know me so well, you should know that I’m fine. And I don’t need your help, either. Maybe you should find someone else to pity.”

He’s out of the room before you can say another word. Deep down, you know that the anger isn’t real. You don’t know what has its claws in him, but you know that it’s bad.

You don’t know where he disappears to after that.

The studio is empty, and his keys have disappeared from the little chest of drawers by the door. A part of you wants to abandon him then and there. If he wants to soak in his misery, let him. But at the same time, you know that he needs you more than ever now, even if he isn’t ready to see that yet.

You get a text from Jolly not long after that, letting you know that Noah showed up at his door looking all kinds of messed up. He lets you know that he’s out cold on the sofa for the time being, but that there needs to be a conversation before long.

Jolly drops of a clearly miserable Noah the following morning.

“You should shower before they get here.” Jolly says curtly as Noah disappears up the stairs once again.

You both watch in silence as he disappears into the bathroom, and you let out a sigh when you hear the shower turn on. Without asking, you’re wrapped into a tight hug and finally the tears you’ve been holding back all day break free from you.

“I talked to him.” he says, still holding you close, “I think he understood. The Nicks will be here in a bit, and we’ll talk about cancelling the shows.”

“Thank you.” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt.

He gives you another squeeze before releasing you from the hug, “How are you doing? I know this has to be hard on you too.”

You do feel a little bit bad for pouring your heart out to him like this, but it feels good to finally talk to someone besides yourself about any of this.

Before long, your conversation is interrupted by the bathroom door opening again. You think Noah resembles a wet puppy more than he does a man, and it makes you feel impossibly bad for him. He stands at the top of the stairs, wrapped into one of the hoodies you know he likes, watching you intently. His hands wring together nervously, brow furrowed so deeply that you’re sure that it aches a little. You excuse yourself and swiftly come up to meet Noah.

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly, barely managing to meet your eyes, “I want to apologise.”

You follow him into your bedroom.

Noah sits down at the foot of your bed. You sit next to him, a hands' width away from.

“What I said — that was not okay. I shouldn’t have said that.” he remains focused on his still fidgeting hands, “I’m really sorry.”

The way he’d looked at you a day earlier still lingered in your mind, and even though you know that he didn’t actually mean what he said, you can’t help but feel hurt.

“I know you are. I know you didn’t mean what you said. It still hurt.” you reach for his hands, interlacing yours with one of his, “But we’ll be okay. I just need you to talk to me. I don’t know what to do if you don’t talk to me.”

Noah squeezes your hand just a little bit, “I’m sorry that I let it get this bad.”

You pull him into your arms and Noah folds almost instantly. His head drops to your shoulder. The fabric of your shirt grows a little damp, and the silent sob that shakes through his body makes your chest ache.

The other two arrive within the next thirty minutes, with Folio running a little late because he once again misjudged the time it would take him to get to your place. You stay in the living room while they talk in the kitchen, despite Noah’s protest. As much as you want to sit with him and hold his hand, you know that he has to do this on his own. In the end, the conclusion is that the shows need to be cancelled so that Noah will have some kind of chance to recuperate. You overhear his quiet admission that maybe he has piled a little bit too much onto his plate, that he’s tried to do too much in too little time. You know that all he’s ever wanted was to see this band do well, and when they finally got that, he’d done everything he needed to make sure that they’d stay up there. And now, in retrospect, you know that you should have tried to do something earlier.

Hindsight is evil like that.

The three of them don’t stay for dinner. Nick stays for a while longer, but you can tell that Noah longs for the house to be quiet again. And he practically falls into your lap as soon as you’ve sat down next to him again. Your fingers card through his hair, just how he likes it, while you sit in silence. He falls asleep a little while later. His brow remains furrowed, and you can easily tell that he’s clenching his jaw. You let Noah rest like this for a while, before you carefully slip out from under him. He stirs a little, blinking up at you with drowsy eyes. You kneel down next to him, placing your hand against his cheek.

“I’m gonna order us something for dinner. How do you feel about Korean?”

His expression only changes minimally.

“We can get whatever you want.” Your thumb drifts across his cheek, “But you need to eat something, darling.”

You end up heating up a portion of frozen tomato soup for each of you. You’re sure that you see a faint trace of a smile on his face when you place the grilled cheese in front of him.

For the first time in weeks, you think that things are looking up.

Despite your best efforts, you watch him sink deeper and deeper into this hole. He’s distant, drifting along as days pass and turn into weeks, and you feel as if there’s nothing that you can do to make it better. You’ve managed to convince him to see Ash at least once a week, but even that had felt like an uphill battle. You feel awful for making him leave the house when he so evidently doesn’t want to do that. At the same time, it feels like the only thing you can do besides holding him close when it gets so bad that he wakes in the middle of the night, body shaking with bitter sobs that sear right through you.

You know that you can’t force Noah to talk. But at the same time you wish that he’d at least divulge a little bit of what is going on in his head, maybe that way you could do more.

You think that he’s coming up on the other side when you find him in his studio one afternoon. It isn’t until you actually step inside the room that you notice his face buried in his hands. In a split second, you find yourself kneeling at his side. At first, he doesn’t move, remains stuck as he is.

“Talk to me, Noah. Please.” You plead, placing your hand on him as best as you can with this weird angle, “I want to help, but I don’t know what you need if you don’t talk to me.”

Reluctantly, he swivels the chair towards you, allowing him to somewhat drape himself over you. The silent tears break your heart even further. You’ve seen him cry before, more in recent weeks than ever before, but this feels different. He sinks down in front of you, utterly broken down. And all you can do is hold him close, whispering soothing things to him. You don’t know if your words even reach his conscious mind, but maybe they sink into him somewhere, maybe deep down they find a home in him.

“It doesn’t work. I can’t do it any more.” He whispers after some time.

Your fingers card through his hair, trying to get him to look at you, but Noah resists, keeping his face pressed against your shoulder.

“What doesn’t work?” You ask softly.

Instead of giving you an answer, he throws a hesitant look towards the still opened editing software on his monitor.

“Oh darling.” You sigh, wrapping him even tighter into your embrace.

“This is all I have.” He says feebly, “This is who I am.”

“Noah.”

He pulls away just a little bit. The only way you can describe the look on his face is panicked.

“What am I going to do if I can’t do the one thing I’m good at any more? I — I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He hiccups in between words, and it’s evident that he’s barrelling towards a panic attack, “I can’t lose this.”

He descends into rambling, chest heaving frantically, and for a second you feel so very helpless. It doesn’t matter what you say, your words won’t reach him, no amount of it’ll be okay can fix this, and it hurts so terribly.

You place your hands on the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you as a last ditch effort.

“Look at me, Noah.” You’re not sure where you find the energy to be this firm with him, “I need you to listen to me now, okay? I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what happens. The guys aren’t going anywhere. The band isn’t going anywhere. Whatever happens, we’re all here. Your friends are here, and we love you so much. It doesn’t matter how much time you need. We’ll all be here when you’re ready. And even if that’s in a month or a year. And if it gets worse, and you never get there again, we’ll still be here. No one is going to leave. I won’t leave.”

He’s quieted down to sniffles by then. His cheeks are so awfully red and splotchy, and you don’t think that you’ve ever seen him look more exhausted before.

“I know this is scary. And I know that we can make it through this, but I need you to talk to me. Watching you suffer through this in silence hurts a lot. I feel so helpless watching you fall apart like this.”

“I’m just so scared of losing all of this.” The admission comes so quietly, “What if we can’t keep up with the demand? What if we can’t —“

“What happened to doing whatever you want regardless of how it’ll sell?” You reach for his hand instead, “I know this sudden rise felt good, but this is not sustainable. You can’t spend months on the road, barely sleeping, just so you can keep up with all of this. This — the band, the fans, the music wouldn’t be here without you. All of you.”

You squeeze his hand tightly.

“We’ll figure this out, Noah.” You press a kiss to the back of his still trembling hand, “I promise.”

He lets out a heavy breath, folding in on himself just a little bit.

“I’m sorry that you have to deal with this.” He sighs.

“I would do it over and over again. As often as I have to. And I know that you’d do the same for me.”

Noah’s the one who brings up the idea of a vacation. He doesn’t make a direct suggestion, but you find a print out of an Airbnb in Oregon on the kitchen table one morning, and that’s good enough for you. You’re glad for any kind of active participation he’s willing to give. It’s been a difficult few weeks, but you think that he’s starting to feel a little better. On some days, you think that he’s almost back on top. He’s all smiles and sweet words, just to fall back down the next day. It’s a slow climb, but you’re moving forwards.

Oregon will be nice.

The drive is nice, albeit awfully long. Noah had admitted that he didn’t feel good enough to drive, and you’re glad that he’s able to see what he is and isn’t ready for. He seems to be quite comfortable navigating and selecting music, though. You don’t say anything when you hear him humming along to one of the songs, afraid that it’ll make him shrink back into his shell. Hearing his dumb little laugh at a street sign reading Weed gives you a little bit of hope.

In the months since Noah had been at home, the intimate side of your relationship had been practically non-existent. For a while you’d felt as if you were living with a friend rather than your boyfriend of three years. Noah had never one to shy away from intimacy, your relationship had always been interlaced with soft touches and kisses. To watch him recoil at your touch had been incredibly hurtful, even when you knew - or rather hoped - that it was only a momentary thing.

By the time your first week in Oregon is almost over, you dare to let your hands wander across his chest once again. It’s strangely foreign. You’d been so used to touching him like this, and now it almost feels as if you have relearn everything again.

You’ve laid awake for the past hour. He looks much more relaxed now compared to some weeks earlier. The persistent furrow in his brow is slowly easing, and his sleep seems to be a little more restful.

You do feel a little bad for disturbing his much-needed rest, but you can’t help yourself. He looks so beautiful in the warm morning light falling through the open sliver in the curtains.

Your fingers trail across the streak of light that runs across his tummy and chest. The muscles twitch beneath your touch, but he doesn’t quite stir yet. You try to keep your touch as gentle as you can. Noah only wakes when your fingers brush against his hip. He stretches, letting you a soft noise as he does. There’s no protest when you trace up the length of his side. He’s still so sleepy, eyes all soft and warm, and you absolutely have to kiss him.

He leans into your hand when you place it against his cheek. You draw him in for a kiss for what feels like the first time in months. It’s so gentle and chaste, barely there, but it seems to ignite something in Noah. A second later you find yourself on your back, with him hovering above you. One of your hands drifts along his back, before it settles at his waist, guiding him towards you.

It’s over as quickly as it has started.

“I can’t.” He says quietly, forehead once again dropped against your shoulder.

“It’s okay, honey. We don’t have to.” You soothe, carefully threading your fingers into his hair, “We can just have a little cuddle instead.”

“I can’t.” He looks absolutely miserable when he detaches himself from you, “It doesn’t work. This is so fucking embarrassing.”

You realise then when he means. The agony and embarrassment on his face make you wish that you could just magic it all away.

You want him back, not just for yourself but because you can see that this is torture for him too.

“I’m sorry.” Noah adds quietly, “I’m — I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

You don’t let go of him though and his efforts to leave are quickly squashed when he flops back down next to you.

“Can you look at me for a moment, Noah?” He meets your eyes so hesitantly.

He almost looks as if he’s just waiting to be told what a disappointment he is and somehow that hurts even more.

“It’s okay. I’m not upset, and I don’t think less of you because of it. It’ll come back.” You say earnestly, hoping that he’ll take at least some of it to heart, “You’re still my boyfriend and I love you so much regardless of what you can or can’t do at the moment. I know you love me, you don’t have to sleep with me to show that.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes flitting across your face nervously, before he settles into the slightest hint of a content smile.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You do. You deserve to be treated with love and respect, especially when you need it most.”

“I just wish that I could give some of it back.”

“You have. And in time you will again. But right now, it’s my turn to make sure that you know that you’re safe and loved.”

His expression changes into something you can’t quite place yet. Maybe it’s realisation, maybe it’s relief, or a mixture of both.

Noah shifts a little closer to you, taking your hands into his, “Thank you. You’ve been so patient with me.”

“Of course. It’ll always be you and me, okay? We’ve gotten through so much, we’ll get through this, too. You’ve already come so far, and I’m so proud of you.”

At the end of your second week, you’d called the owners to extend your stay for another week. Being away from home like this was good for him and if he needed a little more time here then so be it. You could thankfully afford that luxury.

You find him furiously scribbling in a notebook when you come back from the store one afternoon. You couldn’t remember if he’d brought one of his or if he’d borrowed yours, but whatever had sprung into his mind was important enough for him to need to get it onto paper immediately. You watch him from the doorway for a moment, not wanting to disturb him just yet. Instead, you bring the rest of your shopping into the house as quietly as you can. Noah comes to meet you at the door just as you bring in the last bag.

“You’re back quick.” he states somewhat blankly.

“Didn’t want you to be alone for too long.” you reply, tossing the pack of toilet roll towards him, “Can you get one of the bags?”

His face turns down into a frown, before he reaches for one of the bags and marches off into the depths of the house.

As much as his overall mood has improved, it’s still so changeable. The smallest thing tips him off and you either end up at each other's throats or with you cradling him in your arms while he tries to quiet down his tears. You’re so tired of the fighting, though. You don’t mind doing this for him, in fact you do it gladly, but sometimes it exhausts you. The boys had been your greatest crutch, checking in with you once in a while to make sure you were also taking care of yourself, and you are more than grateful for it. All three of them had been so incredibly supportive in their own ways. As soon as you’d mentioned that you were heading up to Oregon for a bit, Folio had sent you link after link with recommendations of things to do and look at. You hadn’t had the heart to tell him that you were glad if you’d get Noah to sit outside with you in the evenings. You had eventually managed to convince Noah to go on little walks with you, just to get him out of the house and moving a little bit. In the end, he had been the one who had dragged you out of the door in the morning so that you could get to that one nice spot before the tourists got there.

Noah is nowhere to be seen when you enter the kitchen. The bags are haphazardly placed in front of the counter, with no sight of him anywhere.

Your call of his name remains unanswered.

When you don’t see him on the bench out on the back porch, you make your way through the house, checking various rooms until you find him once again sequestered away in the bedroom.

“Baby?” you ask softly, “Everything okay?”

Noah makes a somewhat indignant sound then, and you swear that you see him rolling his eyes.

“Noah.”

“You can stop babying me. I’m not incapable of living without you.” he shoots back, “You don’t need to hound me all day. I’ll be fine.”

“I just want to –”

He scoffs, “I know you just want to help. And why do you think I need your help? I’m not – I don’t need you to pity me.”

The first tears fall before your jaw has the chance to tremble.

You try not to listen to the bitter words he hurls at you. They slowly chip away at your confidence.

“I’m not some lost puppy you need to take care of.”

Somehow, that’s your last straw.

“You know what, Noah. I’m sorry for putting my life on the back burner for you. I’m sorry that I tried to help the man I love.” you turn on your heels, leaving the room before he can throw more vitriol your way.

Your feet carry outside and down the pathway towards the river. Your chest feels so awfully tight. There’s only so much you can take, and hearing him discredit everything you’ve done for him feels as if he’s struck a sword straight through your chest. You collapse on the low bench in front of the firepit you haven’t had the chance to use yet. As much as you try to convince yourself that he doesn’t actually mean what he said, you can’t quite bring yourself to do so. The anger on his face seemed so real. Maybe you had gone a little overboard with your care. All you had wanted was for him to feel better, you had never meant to overstep.

It feels so heartbreaking.

Out of all the fights you’ve had recently, this one feels the most devastating. Although, you’re not even sure if you can call this a fight.

You don’t know if you can come back from this.

The longer you sit in silence, the worse the feeling gets. Somehow, you had hoped that he’d come out and find you, that he’d try to fix it. Instead, you’re out here on your own, shivering as the air gets colder and colder. You’re not sure how long you’re out here, but no matter how much you try, you can’t will yourself to head back inside.

The call of your name barely reaches you, not even the orb of the torch you’d brought two days into your stay makes you look up. It’s only when his figure crouches in front of you, hands desperately smoothing along your shoulders and face.

“You’re freezing.” his voice trembles when he speaks, “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

His sweater is draped across your shoulders, his warmth sinks into you almost immediately.

Noah’s hands curl around yours, holding them just a little bit too tightly. He’s shaking like a leaf. It’s too dark to make out the intricacies of his face, but the fear is obvious.

“I– I couldn’t find you inside. I didn’t know where you’d gone.” the words rush from his mouth so quickly that he stumbles across a few of them, “I’m so sorry. Let’s get you inside. Please, my love.”

When you don’t immediately move, his forehead drops to your knees, hands tucked under him so that he can press his lips to your palms.

“I wish I could take it all back. I’m such an ass. Fuck, you do so much for me and I can’t even say thank you for it.” another kiss to your palms, “Please come inside with me. I don’t want you to get ill because of me.”

Noah rises to his feet, slowly pulling you with him.

His hand remains wrapped around yours, as if he’s scared that you’ll vanish again. Through the open sliding door, you can already smell what you think is a pasta bake. Nothing fancy, but he always manages to whip up something good and warming for you.

He ushers you towards the table, making you sit down on one of the chairs. Within a moment, he places a somewhat cooled cup of tea in your hands.

“I thought that you’d gone to the other bedroom and I – I feel so bad that I never checked. I just wanted to give you space after all of that and – and now this.” he sits on the chair next to you, hands writhing in his lap, “I don’t know how I can fix this. What I said – I keep fucking up. You’ve given up so much for me, and this is what I do in return. I can’t take it back. I said all of that, and I know that it was incredibly hurtful. But if there’s some way that you’ll forgive me – it doesn’t matter what you need from me – I’ll do it. But if you need me to –” he swallows back tears and maybe that’s when you realise how serious is about this, “If you need me to leave I will. I can be gone by tomorrow if you want that.”

“Don’t leave.” your voice feels so rough, so shaky, “Please.”

The tears that roll down his cheek feel so loud when then drop onto the hardwood below your feet.

“I won’t.” his hands find yours once more, “We can fix this. I don’t want to feel like this any more, but – I need you. I don’t know if I can do it on my own.”

You look at your joined hands. You’ve always thought that they fit together so perfectly, two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle made exactly for each other. There’s no one else who fits you like he does. Sure, you could try and jam two pieces together, but it’ll never be right like this.

“I told you that I’ll always be here, didn’t I?” you say, still looking at where his hands flex around yours, “I meant that. I don’t know if I could love anyone else.”

His lips press together so tightly that the colour flees from them.

“We’ve come too far to give up on this now, Noah. We’ll figure this out, but we need to be better – both of us.”

“I know.” he casts his eyes low, “When we’re back home I’m gonna get myself back into therapy. I promise you that I’ll get myself back on my feet.”

You free one of your hands from his grasp, so that you can bring it up to his cheek, “We can make it through this. We’ll be alright.”

Noah eyes you for a moment before he finally speaks up, “Can – can I kiss you?”

Even if you wanted to, you can’t stop the smile from breaking onto your face, “Please.”

He surges forward then, pressing his lips to yours so sweetly. He cradles your face in his hands, keeping you close to him until you’re both breathless.

“I love you, but I think your pasta is about to burn.” you whisper after a few more blissful moments.

Noah jumps up with a swear, and for the first time in months you can see his previous self break through this shell.

There’s a tentative plan for the band to return to the stage in late January, giving you another two – almost three months – of this quiet life. Sometimes you think that Noah feels quite comfortable being just a boyfriend and not a trillion other things on top of it. Every day he rises a little easier, seems a little more secure in himself again. Slowly but surely the music returns into his life, and before long he’s pushing his notebook into your field of vision again.

“Can you have a look at this? I don’t know how I feel about it.” he asks, slumping down next to you.

You put down your phone and pick the book from his hands. You’ve always loved his boyish handwriting. Something tells you that this isn’t meant for Bad Omens or anyone else's eyes. It’s surprisingly confessional, a somewhat fictionalised account of the last few months that all in all wraps around a single steady thread – you. It’s not a hymn to your efforts, but rather an acknowledgement of everything you had given him and sacrificed because of him.

Noah's hand wraps around yours. The crowd a few meters away from you roars as the screen changes once again.

“You’ll be fine, honey.” you soothe, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Feels like I’m doing this for the first time.”

It’s been almost a year, of course he’d be a little nervous. But you know that he’ll do his best, and that’s all everyone could ever ask for.

“I know. I can’t be with you up there, but I’m right here. If you need me, I’ll be right here.”

He nods, more to reassure himself than to acknowledge what you said.

“You’re almost up.” someone says from behind you.

Noah shakes himself out of his stasis.

“Alright.” he says to himself, “Wish me luck?”

“You don’t need luck.” you pull him in for a kiss, “I love you. Go do your thing.”

“I love you.”

He steals another kiss, before he pulls that damned ski mask over his head. Just a moment later he’s up the stairs and as soon as you hear their screams you know that the little bit of fear that still sat on his shoulder has melted away.

From your position you can watch the show quite comfortably. It takes Noah a moment to get back into the stage persona, but once they’re through the first song, it feels as if he had never stopped doing it. Seeing him back on his feet like this fills you with absolute joy.

They’re nearing the end of the set when Noah actually addresses their somewhat forced break.

“We’ve been away for a little bit. I’m sorry if that messed with your plans, but it was a long time coming. We’re all incredibly thankful for what you’ve made possible for us, and we’ve always tried to give all of that back. Maybe we – I’ve tried a little too hard. What I’m trying to say is that it’s thanks to all of your support that I could take this step back, and I’ll never forget that. But I also have to thank someone else.” he turns towards you, giving you that smile of his that makes you feel as if you’ve just fallen in love with him, “Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Whatever he says after that is drowned out by the cheering of the crowd. Noah leads them into the last song of the set so effortlessly.

The past months still linger with you, and they will for a while longer. In the end, it was worth every single tear. You’d fought tooth and nail for this – both of you had. And you’re so glad that you did it.

As soon as the set is over, Noah comes barrelling down the stairs towards you. You’re wrapped into his arms. You return the embrace immediately, holding him to you as tightly as you can. For a long moment, both of you remain silent, content to just hold each other close.

“Thank you, my love.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “For everything.”

taglist: @deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

@malice-ov-mercy @chels3a-smile @ferduttini @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

@shilohrosechicken @poisongirl616 @mysticdoodlez @agravemisstake

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebatian x f!reader #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian angst #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic

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hwasoup · 1 year ago

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Obsession

This is literally based off of one of my favorite kpop songs, and the lyrics mix with Miguel 😩

18+ DNI MINORS

warnings: poetic fucking, breeding kink? size kink, obsessive clingy behaviors??, religious references, liquor, and other shit I probably don't recognize.

~613 words~

He can’t get enough of you, and you can't get enough of him. It drives you crazy how you need him all the time. You can't help each time you see him to constantly lock eyes with him, you want to feel him, touch him, you constantly crave him all the time at just a glance. The way his hands caress your body, how he touches each curve, each roll, each mark on your body. He’s a drug you need to experience all the time, the way his lips press against yours, the way his cologne wafts into your nose.

“Mirame princessa~” the words that would escape his lips driving you crazy, the forbidden fruit that you tasted now drenching all kinds of thoughts into your mind. The way his body completely molds into yours, making the two of you a perfect pair. The way he bullies his cock inside of you, reaching that spot that you could never seem to obtain, making you moan so sinfully in his ears, driving his lust for you stronger than before. When he fills you up with his cum, when he groans in your ear, when his grip tightens ever so slightly. It drives you crazy…

Those sweet moments that are savored with wine, when he wraps his arms around you making the world seem perfect, when you dance with him softly grinding against his groin to tease him. His perfect kisses that leave shudders down your spine, his whispers when he tells you “te necesito para siempre…” The love he sustains for you manifested in such a passionate way. He never lets you go.

Even when you wanted to go home, your feet could never move from his apartment floor. He’s just too addictive for you to even step away. When the two of you touch, electricity spreads between the both of you, the skin on skin contact repeating in your mind. The more you spend time with him, the more you craved him. He was alcohol, he’s the definition of lust and temptation all in one man.

The more he drank from you, the more he tasted you, the more he buried his face between your legs, drinking up your sopping cunt. The more thirstier he got for your existence. You are both together 24 hours, 7 days a week. Chained to each other, prisoner to each other with no other way out. The two of you are both completely smitten with each other, completely in love, a passion that was fed with more flames, an undying fire that could never be taken out. You were like newlyweds on a honeymoon…stuck to each other like glue, never going somewhere without the other…His height besides yours…the way he towered over you and had to kneel a bit to listen to you..the way you whispered your desires that were fueled by his height.

The undeniable smirk on his face when he would drag you somewhere hidden in public to fulfill your wild desires, the stretch you felt when he inserted himself inside you, the dominant whispers in your ear, the way he held onto you as if you were the answer to all of his problems. Your smile was unhidden as well, your face filled with pleasure and contempt, the whines and whimpers you filled the air. The two of you are in sync, deliriously in love with each other. The ring on both of your fingers, constantly reminding you of the vow he promised you when you got engaged…

“rescatame cuando me caigo, cari��o…el amor que tengo para ti nunca se ira, no tengo mas miedo…quedate conmigo para siempre…para cada 24 horas del dia.."

I hope you guys enjoyed this one :') the lyrics from the song are translated and incorporated into this little blurb I have here, if you guys wanna hear the songs its 24 hours by Sunmi. This has been in the drafts for too long, I'm working on how to make my writing longer that just 600-800 words. I kind of made it into an open interpretation for you guys to imagine!! Also don't forget to give any constructive criticism if needed!!

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel spiderman #Spotify

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 7 months ago

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Introductions (2.1.1)

About me:

↪ Leah, she/her/any pronouns

↪ In my early 20s

↪ Reader, writer, sometime animator and artist

↪ Big cannibalism fan. Huge, really ;)

↪ Been doing martial arts for over a decade

↪Fan of CJ Cherryh

↪I reblog stuff from @leahpardo-pa-potato

My writing:

↪ Generally horror, with sides of fantasy

↪Posted in regular chunks of 500-1k words

↪I love tag games, esp OC ones :)

↪I do mini-series, one-shots, and novels

↪I will love you forever if you send me an ask

↪See my full list of one-shots here and my longer pieces below

My art and animation:

↪Masterpost here

↪Mostly blender 3d animations, though I do a bit of drawing too

↪ Don't expect it quite as often as my writing ;)

↪Just interact here to join the taglist!

WIPs / Longer stories

The Unwanted Visitor: (Completed)

Aida's house has been haunted by a spirit for as long as she can remember. Thing is, she's grown used to her Unwanted Visitor (or Vis, as she likes to call him). So when exorcists come after him, she does what any sane person would: protect her brother friend.

↪ Urban fantasy-comedy, very light-hearted

↪A lot of found family and sibling squabbling

↪If you like teens causing chaos, this is for you!

↪Final bit here

A Perfectly Normal Schoolgirl: (Completed)

All Katherine wants is to eat mortal food, bask in the warmth, and be a normal schoolgirl. But when a boy begs her to help him save her parents, she finds herself fighting for her (and his) life once more.

↪Urban fantasy with a side of horror

↪ Basically an inversion of a bunch of tropes

↪My attempt at writing fantasy without mentioning magic by name

↪Full thing here

Convenience Store Vampire: (Completed)

You'd expect vampires to be imposing and terrifying, masters of the night and princes of darkness. But that's not Davie, no siree. He's stuck down by Sunny Mart, working all day to scrape by. The last thing he wants is any trouble. Unfortunately for him, that's exactly what he's getting.

↪Silly urban fantasy shenanigans

↪ What it says on the tin + slice of life

↪Full thing here

A Tale for A Mouse: (Completed)

Who doesn't like to listen to evil old dark lords monologue about their childhood? Take a seat and come hear the story of the Spirit Emperor, as told by the man himself!

↪Cannibalism. Lots of it. World building too :D

↪High fantasy told via monologue

↪I cannot stress how proud I am of this.

↪Full thing here

Fast Food:

An embarrassment to his entire tribe, Hash is lazy and uninterested in anything. So, when he reaches majority, he gets unceremoniously booted out of home. Follow his adventures through Triworld, as he somehow ends up in every single single conflict across the continent.

↪High fantasy with a side of humour

↪Very heavy Lore™ and Worldbuilding™

↪ My excuse to ramble about fictional history

↪Latest bit here :) Also have @/illarian-rambling's rendition of Hash and her OC Elsind!

A Tale of Love, Death, and Maggots (Completed):

Doc's been wandering through hell for a good twenty years, now. He thought he'd seen it all. He thought he'd felt it all. He thought he'd lost it all. But it turns out love just has a way of crawling back into his chest and breaking his heart again.

↪ Tragedy?, fantasy?, horror?, Idk it's a weird little thing

↪I hope you like death because this sure has a lot of it

↪Full thing here, here's a moodboard of it and here is some fanart @/illarian-rambling made!

Lich-Queen (Completed):

Iraela has all but won: the King of Ceredell and his bride are gone, the cities fallen to her army of undead, and the way to the throne cleared for her. But her coronation, and her sanity threaten to fall apart under the weight of duty. Can she hold it together until she truly becomes Lich-Queen?

↪High, dark fantasy with some horror and gore

↪Watch Ira slowly lose her mind in real-time

↪If you like cannibalism, you'll love this

↪Full thing here, and here is fanart the lovely @/vampirelover890 drew?

The Novel™ (Mind of a Mercenary):

Luna, Terror of Garvenoi, mind-mage extraordinaire, has been caught at last. Whilst everyone celebrates, she is given an ultimatum: Be an indentured hunter for the government, or die. But when she signs on with them, she finds that perhaps death might have been a better choice...

↪ Urban Fantasy set in a Non-Earth world

↪Starring a sassy, mean-girl villain protagonist

↪Enjoy several hundred pages of Luna trying and failing to run from her duties

↪Find snippets here (find the others on my masterlist of writing)

Finally, my taglist! If you interacted with this post/already asked me to add you, and you don't see yourself here, please remind me! I may have accidentally missed you :')

Oh pls kill me I felt so silly doing this- Anyways bye guys hope to see y'all around don't judge me for this

#writeblr intro #writeblr cafe #writblr intro #writerscommunity #writing community #writer stuff #writblr #writerblr #writeblr #writing #Masterposts

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roofermadness · 5 months ago

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this article (skip paywall link) is a fucking trip. i understand humans better and worse than before.

the thesis: some people not only don't care about politics; they don't care about facts. to a certain subset of people, "no thoughts; just vibes" is a way of life. take, for example, the opening anecdote about a woman in georgia who posted a basic fact check on a friend's facebook post that alleged that chili's and other restaurant chains are on their deathbeds. we've all seen some stupid misinformation, but what sent chills down my spine was a comment from the friend who posted the rumor (bolding mine):

“I love Monica,” he told me. “But I think Monica goes directly to sources of information.” This, he suggested, was not the right approach. “Use common sense,” he went on.

how on earth, i wondered, could this guy consider seeking out information a character flaw?!

then i saw this terrifying little nugget from a poli sci prof who studied low-info voters (defined by someone who couldn't answer two out of three very basic civics questions):

Low-information voters, he found, are more likely to embrace stereotypes of other groups, and less likely to fact-check claims made by politicians. [...] He came across a metric in psychology called the “need for cognition” scale. “A question that really caught my attention on the scale is an agree or disagree: ‘Thinking is not my idea of fun,’ ” Fording recalled. He and a colleague ran a study to see whether agreement with the statement correlated with support for Trump. It did.

(it's crucial to note, as fording does in the next paragraph, that this doesn't mean they're stupid, just that they don't get much pleasure out of learning new things. the article also cites examples of how this phenomenon can be subject-specific and position-agnostic. it also isn't limited to conservatives, as demonstrated frequently on this piss-on-the-poor website.)

but the article reminded me of the 2016 episode of this american life (the whole thing is worth a listen; it's a harbinger of what we are seeing play out eight years later) in which ira glass interviews his obama-hating uncle. ira debunks and fact-checks his uncle's stream of misinformation and plain lies, but provable facts prove uncompelling to him. this is the pithiest example:

Uncle Lenny: This guy-- he wants to have one country of North America, which is composed of Canada, the United States, and part of Mexico, if not all of Mexico. That's why the existing laws, which dictate that border trespassers shall be deported, he chooses to ignore. Ira Glass: Well, no, he actually deported 2.5 million people. More than any other president. Uncle Lenny: I don't believe that, Ira, for one minute. I don't believe that.

ira glass's conclusion, in his words: "facts do not have a fighting chance against this right-wing fable."

confirmation bias makes sense to me. not seeking out information from lack of interest makes sense to me. falling prey to misconceptions widely accepted in your community makes sense to me. what i find incomprehensible is sheer incuriosity. not only do some people lack critical thinking skills; they find thinking actively unpleasant.

so yeah. apparently some folks run on no thoughts, just vibes. not sure whether i feel more enlightened or depressed.

#politics #low information voters #misinformation #critical thinking #the new yorker #i'd say we live in the dumbest timeline but this is even worse #elections are temporary; human nature is stupid forever

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prettybillycore · 8 months ago

Text

shot through the heart || ch.1 || billy hargrove x shelby!reader

Pairing(s): Shelby!Reader x Billy Hargrove, Minor Thomas Shelby x Grace Burgess

Universe: Peaky Blinders + Stranger Things

Summary: You, one of the younger members of the Shelby clan, are just trying to find your place in the world when suddenly you are shot. Instead of dying, you are flashed-forward in time to 1984 where you meet people who will change your life forever. Will you ever be able to return home? What caused you to time-travel in the first place?

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: canon typical violence, swearing

A/N: I know this one is in second place on the poll I’m doing, but I was just so excited about it I started with it. The one in first place is probably going to be a one or two shot where as this is definitely going to be a series so the first place winner should be out soon!

Read here below the cut or on AO3~!

Being a Shelby came with a lot of expectations. There was no way around that. Especially as a woman you felt the pressure of your last name pressing on your shoulders. Being one of the youngest in the Shelby clan didn’t help your situation. You were freshly sixteen and your brothers never let you forget it. It was only recently that you were allowed to start sitting in on family meetings; Tommy made sure of it once he felt like you were ready. Aunt Pol was against it. The tension between the two of them over it could be cut with a knife. Of course, that didn’t really matter at the current moment. “I called this meeting because I got

some news. From Ireland,” Arthur said as he drank from a flask, “Scud-Boat and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night. They were buying a stallion to cover their mares.” Arthur gestured at the two of them and they confirm this, he continues. “They were in a pub in the Shankhill

Road yesterday and there was a copper handing out these.”

You were handed a flyer, but before you could even begin reading it, John ripped it out of your hands, “If you’re over five feet and can fight, come to Birmingham.”

“They’re recruiting Protestant Irishmen to come over here as Specials,” Arthur said.

“To do what?” Your older sister asked. Though it seemed quite obvious to you.

“To clean up the city, Ada,” Tommy replied. Exactly as you thought. “He’s a Chief Inspector. The last four years he’s been clearing the IRA out of Belfast…”

“How do you know so bloody much?” Arthur asked. This also seemed quite obvious to you.

“‘Cause I asked the coppers on our payroll,” Tommy explained. Again, exactly as you thought. You might have been one of the youngest people in the room, but you weren’t dull.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Arthur questioned.

Tommy paused for a moment and pursed his lips. “I’m telling you.”

“So why are they sending him to Birmingham?” Aunt Pol asked. A silence fell over the room. Arthur takes a large swig of his drink. He clearly has no idea how to answer her question. Tommy steps up as the head of the meeting.

“There have been a lot of strikes at the Austen works and the BSA factory lately. Papers are talking about sedition. Revolution. I reckon it’s Communists he’s after,” Tommy and Aunt Pol look at each other intensely. You knew they were the real powerhouses of the family, despite Arthur being the oldest of you Shelby siblings.

“So this copper will leave us alone, right?” Aunt Pol asked.

“There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him. They say Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night,” Tommy answered.

You eyed John carefully. He was clearly very bothered by the idea of this copper coming to town. You weren’t exactly at ease with the idea either. “Yeah but we ain’t IRA. We bloody fought for the King. Anyway, we’re Peaky Blinders. We’re not scared of coppers. If they come for us, we’ll cut them a smile each.”

“You’re right,” Arthur agreed.

You notice the snickers of some of the younger men in the room, but what catches your eye the most is Tommy’s hand carefully balling up the flyer until it’s tightly spiraled in his palm. “So, Arthur, is that it?”

Arthur’s gaze moved around the room, “What do you think, Aunt Pol?”

She sighed, the cigarette in her hand was still smoldering. “This family does everything open. You have nothing more to say to this meeting, Thomas?”

“No…” His eyes flickered between you, Ada, and Aunt Pol, “Nothing that’s women’s business.”

You rolled your eyes at that comment. “This whole bloody enterprise was ‘women’s business’ while you boys were away at war. What’s changed?” Aunt Pol snapped.

“We came back,” Tommy answered honestly. With that, the meeting started to disperse and you let out a large breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. You looked toward the door and saw Finn peaking in from the other room, much like you used to do when you were younger. He backed away as soon as you made eye contact, but you still found it cute. That is, until you were drawn back to reality.

“I still don’t like you sitting in on these meetings, Y/n. It really would be best if you were to stay with Finn,” Aunt Pol scolded. You sunk down in your seat and rolled your eyes again.

“Why must you insist on treating me like a child?” You asked.

“Because you are one,” she answered.

“Leave her alone Polly. She helped out with the business while we were all gone in the war, it’s only right she gets a seat at the table now,” Tommy said, inserting himself into the conversation.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you replied before turning your attention back to Aunt Pol. “I know I am young, but I am not a little kid like Finn. I am almost 18 now. You have to recognize that I am growing up, Aunt Polly. I deserve my seat at this table just as much as anyone else in this family.”

John and Arthur were snickering at you in the background. Aunt Pol hushed them with one dirty look. Her face did not soften when she looked back at you. “I know you want to help, but you have so many years ahead of you. You don’t have to be involved in the family business right now so why should you be? Why not wait as long as possible? You only picked up a gun for the first time last year and thank god you haven’t had to shoot anyone with it. You’re already in danger by being a Shelby, it only gets worse the more entangled you become with the business side of things.”

“I see your point Aunt Pol, but I’m not giving up my spot at this damn table after I just got it. You don’t give Ada a hard time and she’s sitting here.”

Ada shook her head. “Don’t bring me into this.”

“I will bring you into this if I damn well please,” you fired back. John was back to laughing, but you really weren’t sure what he was finding so funny about all of this. He was quieted down by a glare from Tommy.

“You are a lot younger than Ada. I don’t think that’s a fair comparison,” Aunt Pol continued. “I have your best interest at heart, Y/n. I am only doing my best to look out for you in the long run.”

“I think leave it for now, Aunt Pol. This bickering is getting us nowhere,” Tommy interjected. Your voices hushed. Aunt Pol’s face had a look of annoyance written all over it. You were more frustrated than anything else. Everyone began to leave the room, the air a little heavier than before.

| < ♥️ > |

You were laying on your stomach across Ada’s bed, your legs kicking the air without a care in the world. Your journal was open in front of you and a pen rested in one of your hands. Ada sat at a small vanity on the other side of the room. She was carefully applying a bit of makeup. It was much later now and the sun was getting ready to set. You were forbidden from going out at night except to change houses, while Ada could do whatever she pleased. You guessed she was going to do something Tommy wouldn’t approve of, you could feel it in your bones. “Who are you getting all dolled up to see?” You asked. You knew you might have to push a little bit to actually get her to tell you anything, but you still thought it was worth a try to ask.

Ada finished applying lipstick before she even thought about answering you. “It’s none of your business who I’m going to see.” She popped her lips together to spread around the product. “Just go back to writing in your journal. I’m sure you’ve got your eyes set on some boy you’ve met out and about.”

You made a ‘tsk’ sound with your teeth. “Yeah right, like that’s at all what I’m writing about in my journal. The only one in this room with her eyes on boys, is you, Ada!” You giggled and slammed your journal shut. You walked over to her and placed your hands on her shoulders. You looked at her in the mirror, “Come on, who are you going to see?”

Ada rolled her eyes at you. “You can’t tell anyone, yeah?”

“I swear on my life, this stays between you and me!” You stuck out your pinkie and she looked up at you.

“Really? A pinkie promise?” Ada asked.

“Yes. I pinkie promise I won’t tell a single soul who you’re going to see.” Ada’s face contorted into a soft smile as she grabbed your pinkie with hers.

“Fine, fine. I’m going to see Freddie Thorne. We’ve been seeing each other for a little while now, but we’ve been keeping it a secret because you know how Tommy is. Not another soul can know. You hear me?”

“You can’t break a pinkie promise, Ada. It’s an unbreakable vow,” you replied before taking your hand back. “I never expected him to be your type, but good on you! I am glad you’ve found someone that makes you happy. I hope I find someone who makes me happy one day.”

You nearly mumbled the last part. You flopped back onto Ada’s bed, your back touching the mattress. “You will. You’re young yet, Y/n.”

“Why is there always talk of me being so young? Why can’t there be talk of how grown up I’ve gotten since the war?” You huffed, puffing every last bit of air out of your chest.

Ada stood up from her chair and laughed lightly. “You’ve grown a lot, but you’ve still got a lot of growing to do. Come on, I’ll walk you home on my way to meet Freddie.”

“You don’t think Tommy will find it suspicious that you’re all dressed up to drop me at home?” You asked curiously as you sat up and began to gather your things.

“Please, it’s too early for Tommy to be home. You’ll be lucky if he’s in before you fall asleep tonight,” She replied ruffling your hair. You knew she was right, Tommy was probably out at the pub. You were now old enough to set foot in bars, but your brothers all agreed that you should stay far away from all the bars in town except for the Garrison. Even with the exception, you were still only allowed to go there during the day time. This left you alone at night at home quite frequently since you lived with just Tommy. You’ve been living with him ever since he returned from war. You wouldn’t have it any other way, even if night time was sometimes scary and lonely. “Let’s go, I haven’t got all night,” Ada rushed you.

You quickly gathered the rest of your things and threw them into your bag. “Ready!”

“Okay, let’s get you home.”

| < ♥️ > |

You woke up the next day expecting a quiet, normal morning. What you weren’t expecting was Arthur coming to your door, covered in blood. You frantically gathered the family. You met in your usual meeting room as Tommy went to go get a bottle of rum. Ada and Aunt Pol were about to start tending to Arthur’s wounds, but you couldn’t bare to watch. You were picking at the skin around your fingernails and biting the softest part of your lip hard enough that it started to bleed. Aunt Pol was wrapping Arthur’s finger while you leaned against a wall. “John, wipe the blood out of his eye.”

“Since when did you give orders?” John asked.

“I’m a trained nurse,” Ada replied.

“Don’t make me laugh, it hurts my face,” Arthur interjected. He was, in fact, laughing.

“I bloody am,” Ada continued.

“You went to one first aid class in the church hall and got thrown out for giggling,” John teased.

“Not before learning how to stop somebody from choking,” Ada answered.

“I’m not bloody choking, am I?” Arthur shot back.

“You will be when I wrap this cloth round your neck,” Ada said. The mood takes a downward shift as Tommy entered the room with a whole bottle of rum.

“Let me see him,” he said walking up to Arthur. “Hmm. Well, have this.” He gave Arthur the bottle he was holding. Arthur takes a long drink before Tommy says, “Give me that,” and sets the bottle on the table in front of him. He take a hot, wet cloth and begins to clean Arthur’s skin. You dig your nails into your palms at the sound of Arthur’s painful moans. “You’re alright.”

“He said Mr Churchill sent him to Birmingham,” Arthur started. “National interest, he said. He said there’d been a robbery. He said he wants us to help him.”

“We don’t help coppers,” John stated flatly.

“He knew all about our war records. He said we’re patriots like him. He said he wants us to be his eyes and ears. I told him we’d have a family meeting and a vote. Why not? We have no truck with communists. Or Fenians.” Arthur stared at Tommy. Tommy said nothing, but is clearly off put by the idea of helping the new copper that has come to town. You could tell something else about this situation was bothering him too, you just couldn’t put your finger on exactly what it was. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Polly, what is wrong with him lately?”

“If I knew, I’d buy the cure from Compton’s Chemists,” Aunt Pol joked. Tommy grabbed his coat and left the meeting before anyone could take a vote.

| < ♥️ > |

After everything in the morning with Arthur, you decided that you needed a drink. You were not one for drinking usually, that one was usually all your brothers, but something about this whole situation just screamed I need a glass of whsikey. So you found yourself in the Garrison in the late afternoon. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, so you were in the clear with Tommy’s rule about you only being there during the day. You walked in and all the eyes that turned toward the door quickly turned away, all except the eyes of a new barmaid that you did not recognize. You heard Harry, the owner of the bar, tell the new barmaid that whatever you wanted was on the house. You smiled politely at her as you pulled up a seat at the bar. You ordered a whiskey sour from her and as she handed you your drink you asked for her name. “Grace. My name is Grace.”

You smiled back at her and took a sip of your drink. “Y/n, Y/n Shelby. Lovely to meet you.”

| < ♥️ > |

Somewhere between the several whiskey sours you had and your new relationship with Grace you found yourself standing on one of the bar tables with her, singing. It was something that you use to do in school, before the war, but hadn’t done in such a long time. You were grinning such a wide grin that your cheeks were beginning to hurt.

“I am just a young girl.

I have just come over,

Over from the country where they do things big,

And amongst the boys I have got myself a lover,

And since I have a lover,

I don’t care a fig.

The boy I love is up in the gallery

The boy I love is looking–”

You stopped singing when you noticed Tommy come in the door with your brothers. You suddenly felt very exposed standing high up on a table.

“At me

Can’t you see him standing there?

Waving his handkerchief

As merry as a robin that sings on the tree.” Grace finished the song by herself. You felt bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anymore words. The grin was gone from your rosey cheeks. It was replaced by a sorry frown aimed toward your shoes.

Harry walked over to Tommy, “We haven’t had singing in here since the war.”

“Why do you think that is, Harry?” Tommy spoke plainly. “Y/n, it’s dark outside. Time to go home for the night.” You nodded. Tommy walked over and gave you a hand off the table. Your feet being on the ground again felt like you were standing a boat. The alcohol in your system was way more than you were use to. “Jesus how much did you drink?” Tommy mumbled. You tossed some “sorrys” in his direction, but he wasn’t listening. He just headed out the door to take you home.

| < ♥️ > |

Monday came before you even realized it had. You spent the rest of your weekend recovering from the time you had at the bar. You were feeling bright and well Monday afternoon and were hanging around where your family normally does business when Arthur came yelling for Tommy. “It bloody won!” Tommy is unphased by Arthur’s sudden appearance in front of him. You were sitting across from Tommy, just present to take in the whole interaction. “Monaghan Boy bloody won!”

“And word will spread. So next time we do the powder trick it won’t just be the Garrison that’ll bet on the horse, it’ll be the whole of Small Heath. And you know what? The horse will win again. And the third time we do it we’ll have the whole of Birmingham betting on it. A thousand quid bet on the magic horse. And that time, when we are ready, the horse will lose.” Tommy snapped the book in front of him shut. “Think about it.” You and Arthur looked at each other as Tommy left the room. “Bloody hell.”

-TO BE CONTINUED-

_____________________________________

TAGS: @tatumrileyslover @rubybinxx @haleypearce

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grison-in-space · 2 months ago

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hello I kinda follow you for political guidance and I was wondering if you could explain what a tankie is and how to avoid them? I've seen the word thrown around but I don't quite know what it means. thank you 💛

I'm just some guy, you know?

But here: a tankie is a pejorative word for someone who gets so caught up in how much the US sucks that they'll go full throttle praising anyone who opposes the US... even if the other nation is, themselves, an authoritarian regime murdering their own people.

Historically, the term refers to (American or otherwise Western) authoritarian communists, i.e. people who think that the whole problem with authoritarianism starts and ends with who, exactly, is in charge. It starts with people who see the USSR repressing citizens of member states with tanks and cheer--because the cause of Communism is being enforced against Capitalism, of course! It has broadened rather since its coining in the 1950s and 1960s, partly because the balance of geopolitical power has shifted quite a bit.

In practice and as I see the term used, it's the toxic extreme of the phrase "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." The people who hold these beliefs are usually clutching to American exceptionalism even as they superficially reject it: the US (or Capitalism) is exceptionally awful to its citizens and member states, claim tankies, so anything is acceptable as long as you're on the right side.

In terms of how to avoid them, in some ways you kind of can't: they're going to show up in any kind of opposition movement to the actions of the US government, and you're not always going to notice they're there right off the bat until someone else commits an atrocity. Then you see them popping up to justify.... well, pretty much any dictator or organization the US opposes, even if those organizations are also toxic to their own people or to other people working in the same area. (For example: no, you really do not have to give it to Hamas. No one has to give anything to Hamas, any more than I have to give it to the IRA.)

In other ways, the big challenge with tankies is to simply avoid becoming one. Tankies are so poisoned by grief and shame that they have given up any hope of a world without strongmen, dictators, and torturers. Keep expecting better from the world, and you should be fine.

#politics

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lliminall · 2 years ago

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libera me, dies irae, requiem aeternam | pt. 2

[yandere!giorno x reader x yandere!GER]

word count: 2.5k

tags: gn reader, yandere, very brief implied nsfw, still ignoring GER’s canon limits, jjba but make it eldritch horror

It’s a wonder that you can still find ways to get yourself hurt despite the many safeguards your captor has put into place. No razors in the bathroom, no glass in your room, no knives at the table unless he is with you.

Tonight Giorno has joined you for dinner, and the knife you’ve been allowed to cut your food with proves itself to be a weapon in your sleep deprived hands. The blade only slips for a second, but it’s long enough slice deep into the meat of your finger, and you hiss as stinging pain races up your hand.

Giorno’s hands are on top of yours before you can even think to ask for help.

“It’s all right,” he soothes. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of it.”

His hand covers your bleeding finger and something in the air around you seems to shift. A change in the energy, intense and disorienting, and somehow familiar. A creeping sensation begins to overtake you, frigid like ice water dripping down your spine. You’ve felt this energy before.

It retreats only a moment later, leaving you swimming back to your senses in the quiet of the dining room. Giorno unfolds his hands and your fingers rest in his palm, perfect and unmarred except for the smear of blood on your skin. Your head spins.

“What…?” is all you can manage in response.

Giorno looks at you contemplatively, choosing his words carefully as he thumbs over the skin of your fingers for as long as you’ll let him hold them.

“It’s an ability I’ve had for most of my life,” he says. “I understand this must be disorienting for you.”

You want to ask him to explain what just happened, where you’ve felt this before, and why this feeling of dread settled under your skin the moment he showed it to you. But Giorno stands and lifts you up with him by your newly healed hand.

“I should have noticed how exhausted you are,” he says. “I apologize. You must want to lay down.”

He begins leading you to your shared bedroom, and there’s a finality in his tone that tells you he won’t be explaining what that was just yet. He leaves you in your bed with a final brush over your hand, and turns the light off behind him.

—

It’s late when you finally decide to forgo your attempts to sleep. The clock on your bedside reads “12:45 AM” in faint glowing numbers, and Giorno has yet to join you in bed. You have a feeling that you know where to find him.

Padding softly to the door of his office and knocking twice, he calls for you to enter.

It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting to see you at all, much less clad only in the thin fabric of your night shirt. It brushes against the tops of your thighs and you tug the hem down as you step into his office.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you tell him.

“I understand,” he says. “I’m sure you’re confused about what happened earlier.”

You take a seat in the chair across from his desk.

“I do have a lot of questions,” you tell him. “I get that you didn’t really want to talk about it, but it’s keeping me up. And kind of, uh, freaking me out a little bit.”

Giorno takes a deep breath. “It’s…difficult to explain,” he begins. “I suppose it was inevitable that you would learn about it eventually, but I don’t know if it will bring you any comfort to hear an explanation.”

“Giorno,” you nearly whine, and his expression brightens at the sound of his name on your lips. It isn’t something he’s had the pleasure of hearing often. It isn’t often that you seek him out willingly for a conversation, either.

“I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about it. Can you just tell me what happened? Please?”

He looks at you with a torn expression and says nothing. You know he doesn’t like denying you anything, but his desire to please you is second only to his need to keep you under his careful control.

“I won’t bother you about it again,” you add. “I just—I really need you to help me make sense of this.”

You need him, you said. You know that you’ve won when his shoulders slump the tiniest bit, and he lets out a long breath. Giorno takes a pen from his desk and holds it up for you see. That energy permeates the air again, the one that you know but can’t quite place, and before your eyes the pen begins to warp and twist into something else. A stem pinched between his fingers, a pale pink bud growing and unfurling into petals at the top. He places it into your hand. It’s a flower. Delicate and beautiful where only moments ago it was mechanical steel.

Giorno smiles at your awestruck expression.

“This is my ability. I can create any living thing out of inanimate objects.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “You can make anything?”

“Nearly anything,” he says, pleased at your rare lightheartedness. “Do you have any requests?”

You hum quietly in thought, still thumbing absentmindedly at the flower between your fingers.

“What about…a frog?” you ask, your expression open and hopeful.

It occurs to you that this is one of the only positive interactions you’ve had with him yet. Giorno is basking in this moment before you, clearly trying to mask how pleased he is with his usual composed demeanor. He plucks another pen from his desk and that same energy permeates the air again. It cuts through your mood like a knife, shocking you back into focus. You remember why you came here. There’s something wrong with all of this, and you’re going to find out why.

The pen becomes a frog in Giorno’s palm, and he motions for you to give him your hand. You swallow hard and hold it out to him, schooling your face into an expression that’s as relaxed as you can manage. You want him in a good mood. You want him answering your questions.

He places the frog gently in your waiting palm, where it settles into the warmth of your skin. It’s real, but your appreciation for the moment has been soured by the reminder of what you have to find out.

“It’s cute,” you say, and Giorno smiles at your praise.

“You made an excellent choice,” Giorno says. “I’m partial to frogs myself.”

You don’t know if you’ve seen him looking so hopeful in all the time you’ve been here.

“How do you do it?” you ask. “Is it like…magic?”

Giorno laughs quietly and you feel almost like a child for saying it.

“It’s not quite magic,” he says. “Although you’re not that far off. It’s more like—well, it comes from my soul.”

“Your soul?” you ask, not quite following him.

“Yes,” he nods. “It’s my spirit, you could say. The manifestation of my will. It has the ability to create life, and if there’s ever anything you want to see, you’re welcome to ask me for it.”

Giorno poses it as an offer to you, but you hear it for what it is. A request. Please come to me. Please talk to me. Please smile and laugh with me again. What a breathe of fresh of air this would have been, a break from the boredom and anxiety of your days, if you hadn’t just begun to put the pieces together. Giorno’s spirit has powers.

“So, if your spirit does all this, is it kind of like a ghost?” you ask.

“You could say it’s something like that,” Giorno says. “You can’t see it, but it’s been here each time I’ve used it for you.”

A spirit that you can’t see. A spirit with magical powers. You remember every night that you’ve been here, every night that you’ve felt haunted in the space of your own dreams, that lingering, otherworldly, familiar feeling following you into your waking hours.

You remember a voice like Giorno’s and piercing eyes standing over you. A spirit. Giorno’s spirit.

You must look like you’ve well and truly seen a ghost, and you suppose you have. Giorno’s expression falls as he senses the change in your mood. He calls your name softly.

“Is something wrong?”

You can’t be near him anymore. You place the frog on the table and stand, the flower falling somewhere at your feet.

“Sorry. I’m going back to bed,” you say, and as you whisk yourself away you hear his dim voice calling out to you in confusion.

You can’t go back to the bedroom. Can’t lay down and sleep where you’ve been watched—stalked—night after night by this thing that has haunted you ever since you were brought here. Your legs bring you to a guest room, sterile and unlived in, and you drop to the floor against the pristinely made bed. Knees to your chest, bare thighs prickling in the cool air.

This is a nightmare. A waking, living nightmare. You can’t let yourself fall asleep again, where that thing will be there, waiting for you as always. You imagine opening your eyes and finding yourself back in the void, with nothing but the presence of a monster you now know is real. You cannot. You will not. You have to stay awake.

You sit in the dark room until your exhausted body begins to betray you. How long has it been since you slept? Really slept? You sit until you begin to nod off and then you stand, and pace, and crouch with your head in your hands. Anything to stay awake.

You feel, for a moment, that oppressive energy filling the room again, but there is nothing there. You wait, and it fades, and you don’t know if your sleep deprived mind has finally begun to unravel or if that thing has finally begun following you outside of your dreams.

—

Giorno isn’t surprised when, by the time he finally retires for the night, he doesn’t see you in bed. Normally he insists on you sharing his room, for your own safety, of course. He can’t risk leaving you unattended all night. Tonight, however…his gut tells him it would not be wise to search you out. No matter how much he wants to take you by your shoulders and have you explain what that was all about.

He folds himself under the blankets and falls into a fitful sleep.

He dreams about you. Or rather, he sees you and himself, living your lives together, as if watching a film play out before him. There’s a tug on his soul. What is his stand up to?

He sees you walking with him in his gardens. Chatting to him about the flowers you pass and the care you’d done for them that morning. You look happy. Not in the way you were before—before he brought you here—but in a way that approaches it.

Like a sixth sense, Giorno is suddenly aware of his stand’s presence somewhere near him. The scene fades away from him like a tape being rewound, and then it rebuilds itself around him, different now.

He sees you crying in the bedroom, storming into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. It doesn’t have a lock, but he knows you would be flicking it if it did.

“I’m doing this for your safety,” Giorno watches himself tell you through the door. Does he always look this tired? “I promise you, everything I’ve done is for your benefit.”

You sob quietly behind the door, and the world breaks down and rebuilds again.

He sees you and himself seated at a table in a restaurant. A public venue, where you shift nervously in your seat. Giorno places his hand over yours and you don’t pull away.

“Are you all right?” he asks quietly. “We can always go home if this is too much for you, carina.”

You shake your head and fluster. “No! No, it’s ok. I think I need to—I mean, I just have to get used to it. Being out here again.”

Giorno watches himself nearly flinch, and feels the same pang in his own chest at the understanding that he’s made you so afraid of something so normal. A restaurant with people in it. People who aren’t him. You curl your fingers into his and give him a shy smile.

“And I want to be here with you,” you say.

The world breaks down, the world builds up. Giorno catches sight of his stand over his shoulder, and calls out to it in the chaos.

“Why are you showing me this?”

His stand meets his eyes for a moment, and then the world is rebuilt.

He sees you sitting across from him at the dinner table, pointedly looking anywhere but at his face. Looking like you could start crying in a second.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you. “I’ll take you outside as soon as I have the time, but you know I can’t allow you out alone when you’re acting like this.”

You don’t answer.

Breaking down, building up.

He sees you sipping mocha from a mug he raises to your lips. You, cursing at him and declaring your hatred of him. You, sweaty and flushed beneath him. You, turning your back on him.

You. Bloody and broken.

Giorno has seen enough.

He wakes drenched in sweat. Sheets stick to his skin as he hauls himself up to sit on the bed, and he turns to face the window where his stand is illuminated by the pale moonlight.

“What was that?” he asks, nearly out of breath. It does not respond.

“What was all of that? Why would you show me this?”

The stand does not reply. It knows, and Giorno knows, that he already has the answer. That these are just a fraction of the countless outcomes of your lives together, his deepest desires, his greatest fears, and somewhere in between, the choices that lead him there. His stand watches him. Quiet.

“I know,” Giorno says. “I already know what’s at stake. I’m going to fix all of this, I just need time.”

The stand watches him. It doesn’t need to speak—it doesn’t ever speak to him—but Giorno knows in his soul what’s being communicated between the two of them.

Don’t fuck this up for either of us.

Giorno throws the blankets from his body and takes a hair tie from your nightstand, imbuing it with the form of a butterfly and following it out the door. He leaves his stand in the room behind him. He needs to find you, now.

Everything he wants and everything he fears has been laid out before him, as vivid as anything else he has lived and breathed through.

One of these outcomes is destined for truth, and Giorno has never failed to reach a goal once set in front of him.

The butterfly comes to rest on the door to a guest room down the hall.

Giorno takes a long, steadying breath, and knocks.

#said I would keep the requests to under 1k and look at me now #clown shoes tied and ready to go #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #yandere giorno #giorno #giorno giovanna #yandere giorno x reader #jjba x reader #yandere jjba x reader #my works.ll #giorno.ll #jjba.ll

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actuallysaiyan · 3 months ago

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Kinktober Day 14: Size

warnings: smut, size kink, suggestive themes, idiots in love, misuse of power, power dynamics, vaginal fingering, spanking word count: 0.9k pairings: Ira Gamagori x Fem!Reader teaser: “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you,” he grunts against your lips. “Having your small body pressed up against my big one. I see the way you look at me,”

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @cherryblossombankai

Everyone knows just how big Ira Gamagori is, but nobody knows his exact height. It’s just obvious to you and everyone else that he’s huge. Something about the thought of him pinning you to the wall and having his way with you turns you on. You think about him in such lewd ways, yet you know he’d never do anything like this with you.

The disciplinary committee chair has no time for anyone who’s wanting to be lewd with him. That’s what you always try to tell yourself. Little do you know, Ira Gamagori has had his eyes on you for quite some time.

It takes Mako Mankanshoku to push you in the right direction. The hyper and goofy girl sees the way you and Ira give each other lovey-dovey looks but never act on it. You keep your feelings for him tucked away, locked up and you know you won’t be able to confess to him directly.

“Hey Gamagori!” Ryuko Matoi calls out to the big man. You’re watching from afar.

Ira turns to look at her, “What is it, Matoi?”

Mako laughs softly. “Isn’t it time that you and her fall in love?!” Mako points at you.

Both you and Ira are at loss for words. Neither of you can even look at each other. Both Ryuko and Mako are poking fun at you. They try to push Ira towards you, but he’s much too big. This makes Mako push you towards Ira, and you try to get her to stop.

“No, no…Mako! Come on!”

But then you’re stopped right in front of Ira. He’s so big.. He’s incredibly handsome. Your eyes are alight with something else than just lust. Maybe all these thoughts have turned into something a little more loving. He looks at you similarly.

It’s all for nothing because he claims he has better things to do. He walks away, leaving you even more puzzled than before. You want to chase after him, but you think maybe the two young women have wounded his pride just a little bit.

After school, you’re trying to leave. But then with the hallways so empty, this gives Ira the perfect opportunity to find you. He spots you and he’s suddenly grabbing you by the wrist. The look on his face tells you to be quiet.

Then he has you pinned up against the wall. It’s just like every single fantasy you’ve had about him. The way he’s just so much bigger than you, it has your mind turning to mush. He smirks when he sees just how lovestruck you seem right now. His lips smash down on yours in a bruising kiss.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you,” he grunts against your lips. “Having your small body pressed up against my big one. I see the way you look at me,”

You blush and try to hide your face, but Ira won’t let you. “Y-you know about that? You see me looking at you?”

He laughs, “Yeah I do. I’m the chairman of the disciplinary committee. I’ve got eyes and ears all over the school, little one.”

The mewl you let out when he hikes up your skirt and plays with your pussy through your panties has Ira growing hard very quickly. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this sort of thing on school grounds, but he’s part of the Elite Four. He’s the goddamn disciplinary committee chair. Who the hell was going to tell him he couldn’t have you right here and right now?

“So wet already? Is this the way you’re supposed to behave in school?”

His breath is hot on your face as he leans in to kiss you. His fingers continue their assault on your pussy. Without realizing it, you begin to buck against his touch. He uses his strength once again to pin you against the wall.

“Behave yourself! Or else, this punishment will be worse than you could ever imagine.” Ira says in an authoritative tone.

All you can do is nod, which makes him grip your hair hard. You let out a whine, shuddering at the way he’s just using you as his own little doll. He then looks in your eyes.

“When I say something, I expect you to answer me!” His voice is even more gruff.

“Yes Ira!”

This excites him even more. You really are just a play thing for him. And you seem to be glad to allow him to have his fun. He then drags you towards an empty classroom and slams the door shut. Before you can even react, he grabs you and lays you down on his lap. He pulls your panties down, letting them sit around your ankles.

“Count them, little one. Or else,” he growls. You feel his large hand on your ass.

You whimper at the first spank, which makes him remind you that you need to count every single spank. Your voice is shaky but you do your best. After ten spanks, Ira lets his fingers slide down to your soaked pussy.

“I knew this would turn you on. Or perhaps it was just how much bigger I am than you.”

You try to look back at him, but he’s good at pushing you down to lay on his lap. He keeps you down, staring at the floor. His fingers keep prodding at your hole and gliding all over your wet folds. You’re beginning to squirm.

“Admit to me that you love this,” he finally says. “And maybe I’ll fuck you.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

#bacon.writes #kinktober 2024 #ira gamagori #ira gamagori x reader #ira gamagori x y/n #ira gamagori x you #ira gamagori smut #kill la kill #kill la kill x reader

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oros-ash3s · 6 days ago

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Character Bio: Atlas Zieliński ⭑⭒ .:･˚₊ ˚

Name: Atlas Zieliński (#792)

Name Meaning: Atlas is a gender-neutral name with Greek roots. It means “enduring” (or, “to endure”), and originates from the Greek myth of Atlas, a Titan who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Age: 15

Date of Birth: January 11th, 2018

Gender/Pronouns: Cisgender He/him

Sexuality: Biromantic Graysexual

Ethnicity: Greek + Polish

Power: Power Absorption

Explanation of Power: He can mimic others abilities and use them as his own. While this is activated the other person’s power is weaker than it usually would be. In some examples he can mimic physical abilities of humans as well, which in turn drains their energy. While his power is in use, his eyes glow.

Appearance: He’s fairly muscular and fit, with very defined muscles that look slightly odd when paired with his young, feminine face and gangly limbs. He has a long, choppy black mullet with the front and back dyed burgundy-red. His skin is tanned, with barely noticeable, pale white scars running all across his body. He has hooked nose and dark violet eyes that kind of glow in the dark. His face is speckled by facial marks and black piercings, with many also adorning his ears. He has a few small tattoos along his body, as well as all along his arms. The symbol of Eden is tattooed onto the back of his left hand.

Personality: Blunt, socially-inept, guarded, curious, competitive, kind of a people pleaser, awkward, secretive

Likes: Cato, Eden Inc., winning, training, going on missions, music, jewelry, starry nights, space, learning about new things, the outdoors

Dislikes: The Congregation of the Chosen, churches, most people, his mother, alcohol, expensive things, having nothing to do, being cooped up at the base, crosses

Fears: Fire, the church

Atlas is a 15-year-old Eden soldier at Warehouse #004 and the top of his class. He lives in his singular dorm and spends most of his days going to training alongside his best friend, Ira, or on assignments, dutifully completing Eden’s mission. He works directly under Cato, the Head of the Task Force Branch, and is her favourite disciple. He longs to see the outside world and explore, to see what good Eden is doing for the world. But for now he’s content to keep following under Cato’s direction, preparing himself for Evaluation Day — where he’ll find out if he’s been accepted into the Elites, which are the highest-ranking soldiers in the company, revered by all others. The best of the best. It’s his life goal to become one, and he can’t wait to finally leave the plain gray walls of the warehouse to serve under Eden’s mysterious leader.

Fun facts ᰈ ﾟ⋆.˚

✦ Atlas’ favourite number is 792, which is the number he was assigned to when he joined Eden. It’s somewhat of a lucky number to him and he has it tattooed along his forearm to remind him of what he’s fighting for.

✦ Atlas has killed many of his ex-classmates, sometimes without his knowledge. He never questioned it, because, according to Cato, “it was a mercy for them”, seeing as they were too weak to complete their duty.

✦ He made his way through practically the entire library at the warehouse. Any type of material he could get his hands on, he read. He knows extensive information on all the former leaders of Eden, especially Castor.

✦ This only sparked his curiosity on what the mysterious leader of Eden was like, as there was practically no information on her — not even so much as her name. It made being an Elite even more exciting: getting to train under her, discover who she was.

✦ He really likes having some sort of weight on the back of his neck. Whether that be his hair, a turtle neck, or necklaces, he always has something covering it. It makes him feel less vulnerable.

✦ He was mute until about eight months after Cato brought him to Eden. He had officially begun his training, and even murdered a few of his classmates, before he uttered a single word.

✦ Atlas refused to cut his hair before Ira. Despite being a very obedient and rule-following soldier, it was the one thing that he wouldn’t budge on. His mullet at 13 was the first time he had an actual haircut that wasn’t just trimming the ends.

✦ Atlas’ favourite constellation is the one he got his namesake from. Once, Cato even told him the story behind the constellation, which intrigued him like nothing else before. He wanted to know more about these mythological beings, but Cato very quickly shut him down, because “a good soldier didn’t allow himself to be so easily distracted by fairytales”.

Taglist: @ohagiwrites @seastarblue @vesanal @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @bioniclechronicles @lostcryptidinthewoods @lancedoncrimsonwings @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @whump-till-ya-jump @sharkblizzardblogs @sugaredparchment @scoundrelwithboba

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hero-israel · 2 years ago

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Here's the thing about this narrative that Palestinian resistance no matter what form is acceptable. Jewkilling cannot exist in a bubble. It cannot be politically neutral. 1000 years of European (and Arab) antisemitism culminating in genocide have ruined that. Sorry to Palestinian activists but that's just how it works. You can't murder a Jew without it being a tragedy, without it contributing to the continued global oppression of Jewish people.

And all that said, that's just if Hamas and others only targeted soldiers and police (or at least tried as best they could). The IRA didn't go out of its way to purposefully target noncombatants. Why? Probably because there isn't thousands of years of history of English people being seen as subhuman, there isn't thousands of years of anglophobic propaganda showing English people as twisted monsters preying on children and secretly undermining Irish society. The Irish national movement was not born because English refugees returned to their historical homeland and challenged the notion of Irish Supremacy. It was a pragmatic liberation movement. Resist military occupation, undermine military infrastructure designed to oppress the people. The descendants of English and Scottish settlers would even be allowed to stay if they had won. Imagine that.

These things are all tied up in each other. I'm against police brutality, I'm against the escalation and the militarization and the mistreatment of Arabs in Israel and in Judea & Samaria and Gaza and Golan and everywhere. But killing Jews can never be righteous. Sorry to anyone who feels that way but it can't. Antizionists NEED to understand that. Jews will always feel defensive and ready themselves for retaliation because of history, because of that context. Jews keep saying "prove to us a post zionist society where we all share the land won't be antisemitic" and their concerns are completely brushed off.

There's no empathy at all. A little girl can be stabbed to death and antizionists celebrate because she was a "settler," and that brave Palestinian man was defending his indigenous homeland, by targeting the weakest of his enemies. And since Israel has mandatory military service the antizionist can surmise that no Jews are Innocent. An Israeli Jew cannot be a noncombatant. They have to, otherwise the only other explanation for why Jewkilling is acceptable to them, or even feels good to them, is that they hate Jews. And as of right now, the optics are still against that. I have a sinking feeling the optics won't be against them much longer. I inherently don't trust a "liberation" movement that's all too eager to make murdering Jewish civilians praxis. I'm sick of the internet falling for this bullshit.

One of the best asks I have ever received. Thank you for sharing it and I agree with every word.

The entire progressive intersectional social-justice frame has failed Jews (or, alternately, has succeeded in excluding them), due to being intellectually colonized by a clearly fascist ideology of incessantly hating the Jew as a poisonous alien. Try to get an online activist to critically deconstruct the social assumptions they were raised with about Jews in their Muslim, Christian, or very slightly post-Christian society... it won't go well. Funny how Jews have lived in India and China for thousands of years yet you will look in vain for examples of bitter bloodthirsty kill-your-nextdoor-neighbor antisemitism in those societies. That's because the origin, the core, of Chinese and Indian societies was not "We're the people who are better than Jews."

From a review of Richard Landes' new book "Can the Whole World Be Wrong?":

[During the Second Intifada] Israelis were described at the time as the new Nazis. But the malice that was unleashed was even worse. As Landes writes, “It was mostly about being freed from a sense of obligation to the Jews, a chance to take up again the Jew-baiting so long denied Europeans by a politically correct post-Holocaust sobriety.” Landes quotes a poisonous comment made by a member of the House of Lords and reported in the Spectator, “Well, the Jews have been asking for it, and now, thank God, we can say what we think at last.” During that time, I was told something horrifyingly similar to my [=the reviewer's] face.

Your example of Irish nationalists not going out of their way to murder British children is a good one. The oft-reached comparisons between Palestine and South Africa are frivolous for many reasons as I have explained here before, and the ANC advocating and normalizing a vision of enduring racial diversity and equality is high on the list of reasons (made possible because black African identity is not predicated on a thousand-year history of hating and oppressing whites). The case of Rhodesia is even more instructive. Robert Mugabe - ROBERT MUGABE! - pleaded with the whites to stay, to live as equals, as brothers, and work together in building a better society in Zimbabwe. Ian Smith, last white PM of Rhodesia, agreed with him and stayed in Zimbabwe. If a so-called "liberation" movement is more openly dedicated to straight-up exterminating their enemies than Robert Mugabe ever was, maybe, just maybe, it shouldn't be described as "liberation" at all.

#antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #israel #palestine #zionism #palestinians #jumblr

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omorinintendoswitchedition · 2 months ago

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okayyy fuck it its time to limbus company theorypost on main im freeing myself from my anonymous mask. exactly one person will know what i mean by that. anyways

so. sapling of light huh. dante getting powers based off the sephirot. very cool and normal and in no way has huge lore implications.

so number 1 thing here is that the powers are based off the sephirot meltdowns. pigritia was slowing down time like hokma’s meltdown and superbia makes ego easier to use like binah’s meltdown reward, so for now im sticking to this pattern until i am proven wrong.

number two: the names are latin words for sins, and they are also sins that are affiliated with the sephirot (hokma wanted to stay in the loop forever, thus sloth/pigritia. binah has immense amounts of pride as an arbiter, thus superbia)

so based off these two things, have these predictions for the rest of the tree:

Chesed-Morosita (Gloom)-Change all resistances to “Endured/Ineffective” for a turn or change all enemy resistances to “Weak/Fatal” for a turn OR restore sanity over time

Gebura-Ira/Iracundia (Wrath)-Increase ally damage output x2

Tiphereth-Acedia (Apathy)-Grant all allies an unbreakable shield for one turn

Netzach-Gula/Gulatia (Gluttony)-Recover % of max hp for all Sinners (could be either single turn or multi turn)

Hod-Luxuria (Lust)-Give a ton of offence, defence and other miscellaneous level ups or give the enemies a bunch of power downs and debuffs

Yesod-Invidia (Envy)-Stagger all enemies for a turn

Malkuth-Avaritia (Greed) or Vanagloria (Vainglory)-Either swap all Sinners currently in battle with the backups or add new skills to the enemy roster that are solely beneficial for you and forces them to use it (this one is probably the toughest, randomising work buttons doesnt exactly translate into combat abilities imo)

reasons for picking the sins i did:

Gloom for Chesed: honestly his story is more about fear than gloom but its the closest thing we have so far. also blue.

Wrath for Gebura: come on man this should be obvious

Apathy for Tiphereth: lack of expectations for life

Gluttony for Netzach: the alcohol and the plant/leaf vibes. also haha green

Lust for Hod: her desire to be a good person. also orange and her bleed-centric ruina floor

Envy for Yesod-haha purple (this ones probably wrong and i 100% not be mad about it if it is)

Greed/Vainglory for Malkuth: cause they were the only ones left. and also vainglory fits for her confidence in herself

#sunny rambles #woe. my sapling of light theory be upon ye #project moon #limbus company #be free my huge page of yapping

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solargeist · 9 months ago

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Hello!! Can I ask if you practice Christianity? Sorry I don’t know if that’s how you word it, I just saw a lot of imagery in your design of evo!Grian (which I adore btw!!) so I was curious about how you came about designing him that way?

I’m a bit religious myself (not in Christianity though so maybe I don’t totally understand the design choice) but I really appreciate the nun (?) imagery though!! It speaks to me in a certain way.

I’m just super obsessed with your design atm 🫶

Sorry for rambling

Thank you for your time 🥰

-Ira

Hellooo ! Um, no I don’t necessarily practice Catholicism, I don’t attend churches, but I was raised around it so I have habits I guess ? I still consider myself spiritual, but also very progressive 💪

My Evo Grian is purposely Catholic, but the Watchers are canonically angels, so I pull inspiration from Evo lore, Bible lore, and my own personal feelings towards angels ! Evo Grian feels like a Saint that didn’t know what he was getting into, he worked so hard !

The nun outfit isn’t necessarily canon to my AU either, it’s more so …. To express the mood I guess…. He has the Watcher’s equivalent of a nun outfit though, baggy clothes and a hood.

I also consider the Listeners to be fallen angels, so Martyn is agnostic.

#ask #religion and spirituality is very interesting to me and I enjoy thinking/talking abt it !#there’s a LOT in it I disagree with but I do beleiev in atonement/righting your wrongs #im also pretty modest so you’ll mostly see characters overdressed here :p

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hiskillingjar · 10 months ago

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hi there! love your blog! have you ever shared voice hcs for strade, ren, and law? hope youre having a good day! <3

AAA THANK YOU AND YEAH DOG I WAS MANIFESTING THIS ASK!!!!!!!!!!

ren 🦊

i think he has a young-sounding voice, like even as he gets older his voice doesn't really give away how old he is

raspy? kind of like he's always talking out the back of his throat

A LOT of vocal fry. idk how to explain it

he'll, like, use a lot of, um, filler words? and, ya know, sort of just speak in a way that, like, really makes you question if he knows what the fuck he's saying.

the only point of comparison i can think of is ira glass, though his tone is a little more fox leaning

real talk, he sounds kind of faggy lol

he's kind of self-conscious of his voice, so when he does become fox, he makes a lot of changes to the way he speaks so that it's more practiced and considered. obviously slips up when he has the chance to though <3

law 🥀

they got the playstation cut scene autism. the twin peaks autism.

like, they've got the low, quiet, kind of monotone autism drawl

very breathy sounding, which goes with slow quiet of it

they have to...um, really annunciate to put...tone and meaning behind their voiceee, otherwise they kind of just...sound...a little detached...a little spacy...yeah...okay...

they sound like they're not listening to anything anyone is saying, and the fact they look so out of it most of the time (even without the drugs, their gaze is super spacy) doesn't help either

like almost the gentle, offputting kind of quiet of paul dano in prisoners but. lower.

they um and er a lot too, like, um, yeah...okay, uh, for sure...

there's a lot of power behind their voice though. like, they make themselves seem gentler and smaller most of the time, but in the case of being angry, it can really climb up in volume and intention

so you better listen to them when they're being nice and quiet...

strade 🔨

hehehehehe i've thought about this one sooooo much

obviously has a noticeable german accent, albeit not a super thick one. it's there.

doesn't have the best grip on english slang and does the bilingual thing where he'll be like "ah...what is the word for-" when he's having a scatterbrained moment

doesn't um or er that much though, he'll confidently say the wrong thing and get corrected on it (or not)

he'll talk in a way that is really really direct, but, ahm, kind of lilt towards the end, making everything sound like a question? and then, ah, spreche-SPEAK very knowingly, right?

a pretty medium-range voice, not super low or that demanding of attention in his regular tone. people want to listen to him because he's a friendly guy!

kind of like the original singer of oomph! hehehehe, pretty regular tone, definitely a fast talker too

laughs a lot <3 has a nice warm chuckle when he's in polite company, and he's like the best person to laugh at bad jokes

very good at keeping up appearances <333 he's a manipulative faker who looks and sounds totally normal in his rich neighborhood

and obviously can push his voice down to a growled threat or a shout, which makes his accent sound a lot thicker <3

#i LOVED ANSWERING THIS HEHEHE #strade btd #ren hana #ren btd #lawrence oleander #lawrence btd #qs #see my vision boy.#see it.#headcanons

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sluttyten · 6 months ago

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UNHOLY - Chapter Twenty (Finale)

full masterlist || UNHOLY chapter index

summary: you're finally back with your boyfriends, but there are introductions that still need to be made, and a few final loose ends to wrap up.

length: 6,472 words

<-previous

“This is nerve-wracking,” Ten mumbles under his breath, tugging at his collar.

Yuta shushes him quickly.

Mark silently appraises your two demon boyfriends, tucking his hands into his pockets, though you think it must just be to hide his nervous hand-fidgeting.

“Which part has you the most nervous?” WinWin asks from just behind you. “Meeting your girlfriend’s father for the first time, or meeting him here?”

The five of you are standing in Hell. A nice little meeting room in the palace that looks out over a glowing view of Hell stretching out below. You’re trying your best to ignore the billowing heat that rolls in through the open balcony, but the black stone chair you’re seated on doesn’t help with your comfort level either.

WinWin’s hands rest on the back of your chair. He hasn’t taken a seat or relaxed even a little bit since you left your apartment this morning for the trip down here.

All four of them have been on edge since the letter arrived at your apartment three days ago. In pure black paper so dark that the sheet seemed to absorb all the light that touched it, a handwritten letter was scribed to you in a glittering golden perfect, flowing font.

Dearest Cousin, the invitation began.

Terror followed your eyes tracing those words; terror that you were about to be called to stand for your crimes, that Ten and Yuta were about to be pulled back down to Hell for their escape and complicity in your assassination of their tyrant.

Instead, your fears were quickly assuaged.

The new King of Hell was simply inviting you and your companions to attend a summit he was hosting. Newly crowned in his reign, Kun was taking matters of diplomacy into his own hands. He was tired of Hell being shut away below the surface world and looked down upon.

Now, here you sit with Ten and Mark fidgeting on your left. Yuta sits like a statue beside you; you’re not even certain he’s breathing. WinWin stands firm at your back, refusing to let his guard down.

All four of them cautioned you against accepting the invitation. They all feared a trap, the repercussions that your mind had also first jumped to when you saw the letter. There had been a lack of detail, a certain vagueness to the invitation from Kun, but it held enough to entice you into accepting. Still, all of your boyfriends were worried, and that worry only grew for Ten and Yuta when your father reached out to let you know that he’d received an invitation as well, and he was curious what your thoughts were.

Ever since your successful rescue of Yuta and Ten, Ira had kept in steady contact with you.

You’d gone to visit him the day after your return from Hell, temporarily parting with your boyfriends (to their reluctance), but you wanted to see Ira alone. You’d been surprised when you swam through the waters of his private sea, surfacing to the sunlight and the sight of your father splashing into the shallows to meet you. Ira had grasped you beneath the armpits, hauling you out of the water and into a tight embrace. He’d cried, berated you, hugged you again, told you he was proud of your bravery and angry with you and so beyond happy to see that you were alive.

You’d stayed there on the beach talking for hours, recounting your journey to Hell and through it, the ways you’d used your powers to free your boyfriends from the Queen’s dungeon, the escape through Hell, the run-in with the Princes and the Queen that had ended in her ultimate demise. Ira had been fascinated by your flaming sword and the death of Hell’s Queen of the Night at last.

You were a little surprised to find that most of his gathered heist crew had left the island nearly the same day as you. Once they all realized that you’d gone, and figured out where you’d likely left to, they’d gone. Now the sirens still sang their hunting melodies down in the cove. And Renjun was still there on the island, though not alone.

After ascending the stairs from the pebble beach up to the lighthouse, you heard peals of laughter coming from the porch of the house, and as you approached, there was the sight of Renjun sitting in a wooden porch swing between Minnie and Haechan.

“Have you got any room in your apartment in the city for them?” Ira asked you beneath his breath. “Your cousin, Renjun, is always welcome here. And this is Minnie’s home as well, down in the sea. But that vampire.” He shakes his head disapprovingly, but you can see the curve of amusement teasing at your father’s lips as he says, “He’s troublesome. The three of them together…. Chaos.”

You ate a meal with Ira, Renjun, Haechan, and Minnie before leaving. And ever since that day, Ira had kept in regular contact with you.

But Ten and Yuta had yet to meet him.

Naturally, this summit of Kun’s in Hell was to be their first introduction.

When the doors of the meeting room bang open, you jump in your seat. Mark hisses. Ten actually leaps to his feet.

Kun, the crowned King of Hell, sweeps into the room, followed by his train of brothers. Behind him is your father.

Kun takes his seat at the end of the table opposite you so he’s framed by the pulsing orange glow of Hell at his back. The demon Princes fill in the seats at that end of the table. Ira scans the room with his dark gaze, offering you a soft smile, sharing nods of familiarity with Mark and WinWin, and finally his gaze lands on Yuta and Ten.

Beneath the table, Yuta’s hand finds yours on your thigh. His pinky overlaps yours, curling your smallest fingers together. Ten finally ceases his fidgeting, growing very still like prey under the watchful eye of a predator.

“So this is them,” Ira says, lowering himself into an empty seat around the middle of the table’s length. “The lovers who broke the rules for you.”

“Sir.” Yuta jolts to his feet, bowing slightly and extending his hand to your father just a few empty seats away. “Sir, I’m Yuta.”

Ten’s chair scrapes across the floor as he rises to lean across the table to greet your father and introduce himself too. He’s just reached his hand out when the door of the meeting room bangs open again. Ten drops back into his seat in surprise while your father leaps to his feet.

The wizened figure of the High Watcher hobbles into the room, flanked on either side by silver-robed Soldier Watchers.

For a moment, your heart stills in your chest. What are they here for? To reclaim you and your boyfriends, to take you all to trial?

Ira remains on his feet, hands clenched into fists and pressed white-knuckled against the tabletop. His eyes blaze with fury and you catch a dim glow of a golden halo surrounding his head. He follows with his eyes every move made by the High Watcher and the two soldiers until they take their seats across from him at the midway point of the table.

Kun smiles calmly from his seat, his fingers steepled together in front of him. Two of his brothers – Chenle and YangYang – are whispering to each other. Xiaojun looks bored, chin propped on his hand as he gazes longingly out towards the hellscape beyond the balcony. Of the Princes, only Hendery pays any attention, looking intrigued by the new additions to the table.

“My friends,” Kun begins, “I’m so glad you’ve come today.”

The High Watcher’s silvery eyes trace every face lining the table before finally resting on the new King of Hell. His face crumples into a scowl. “You made promises, boy. That’s why we’re here.”

Promises? Did Kun mislead you when he let you, Yuta, and Ten run free from Hell? Has he truly betrayed all of you to the Watchers, called all of you and your father too just to be handed over?

Kun’s eyes narrow. “I’m not my mother, High Watcher. I keep my promises. I mean what I say and say what I mean. I’ve asked you all to this summit so we can all achieve peace. First, my takeover from my mother’s reign was possibly less than ideal. My brothers agree that it was necessary, although they don’t entirely approve of the method. My plans are to free all of demonkind; I wish to create laws to maintain order, but give my people the freedom to live here, in Hell City aboveground, or even among mortals. However, how can I claim to give demonkind freedom when two of them stand accused of failure to appear at a set trial date, as well as accused of escaping prison.

“And then there’s my dear cousin,” Kun says, gesturing towards you. “Half-demon, yes, but still considered under demonkind. The Watchers would accuse you of aiding and abetting the unlawful escape of Ten and Yuta, though admittedly they’re rather lacking in evidence for the initial jailbreak since that was carried out by my mother. They seem to think that you aiding their escape from my mother’s imprisonment also counts.”

“That’s bullshit,” Yuta hisses, glaring at the High Watcher. “We’ve said it before, but all of the charges you hold against us are bullshit.”

Kun waves a hand, and Yuta falls silent.

“I agree, Yuta. That’s why I’ve called this summit. I think that it’s time that we abolish the treaty created between The Queen of the Night, the High Watcher, and your departed mother, cousin.” His gaze meets yours. “You deserve freedom to live where you want, to learn what you want, to come into your powers and just simply live your life without the constant fear that either the Watchers or demons will come after you because of a stupid contract that was drawn up before you were ever truly aware of the world around you. I move to unbind the ridiculous peace accord centered around her life.”

Your end of the table immediately erupts in complaint.

“Unbind it? Won’t that still put her in danger?” Your father barks above the noise.

Kun, again, raises a hand. The table falls silent.

“Of course, a new peace accord will be written and put in place following the abolition.” Kun looks at the High Watcher. “I desire a long reign of peace, a partnership between the justice systems of the Watchers and the demons of Hell. That begins with decriminalizing the actions of my cousin and her lovers. I would also like to formally pardon them for any injuries, harm, or deaths that may have occurred during their departure from Hell a few weeks ago.”

The High Watcher’s lip curls. “You would undo all this, boy?

Kun smirks and leans forward. “You may call me King. Not boy. And yes, I will undo all of this. It was fucking stupid in the first place. Life is constantly evolving. New lives are created, new species and new combinations and new innovations. When we discover something new, do we destroy it out of fear for what it could become? No. The Watchers sought to end my cousin before her life could truly begin. My mother wanted to take that unknown power and harness it for herself. My aunt simply wanted to protect the life of her newborn daughter. That is what the peace accord was drawn up for.

“But times have changed, the world has continued spinning and growing and developing, and with it so have we – the demons, the Watchers, every culture in the supernatural world – yet still this contract remains between us. You can’t stop her from being who she is; no law is going to change who she is or what she can do, it is innately a part of her, as inevitable as rain. If we want peace, it’s vital we create a new peace – one that protects all those that are given life through the union of two different types of supernaturals. They deserve the same freedoms and liberties as any of the rest of us.”

You sit silently at your end of the table, listening to your cousin ardently defend you. You think for a moment after Kun concludes his stated argument that the High Watcher is going to disagree and leave.

The High Watcher folds his frail, wrinkled hands together at the edge of the table. He stares down at his hands in contemplative silence for seconds that stretch into minutes. Prince Xiaojun coughs into his fist after a couple minutes of the odd silence, and you notice him hiding his amused smile into the curve of his fist. To your left, Mark huffs out a small laugh as well, curling a hand over his mouth as he exchanges a mirthful look with the demon Prince down the table.

Another few moments of the strange silence pass, restlessness growing around the room.

Finally, Ira breaks the silence. The feet of his chair grate jarringly loud against the floor. “Make a decision!” He drops a fist down on the table, and you’re not sure if his white-knuckled clench eased at all since the High Watcher first entered the room. “Brother, this is my daughter. My daughter! All of this accord you signed years ago looks silly now, doesn’t it? Because she’s just a girl with the powers of a Watcher, just a girl with demon powers. She can create, and she can destroy. But she’s sweet and good and full of so much love, that I don’t think we’ve got to worry about her. She’s my daughter, brother. Just erase the old damn accord and create this new one with the new King of Hell.”

The silver-robed soldiers shift uncomfortably behind the High Watcher as he lifts his milky gaze from his hands. He stares at your father.

“You know I met her once. Your demon, Ira. Before the accord, before you and her created your daughter.” The High Watcher blinks slowly. “I can see why you liked her. She was outspoken and smart, unafraid to make her voice stand out even in the face of adversity.” He laughs, then says, “I recall one meeting had between myself and her father when he was King of Hell. She burst in the room, demanding a seat at the table because if she was going to be forced to be Queen, then she at least wanted a say in — and I quote — what the old fucks were deciding.”

You laugh, quickly smothering the sound with the back of your hand. That does sound like your mother. She rarely cursed, but when she did, she made it count. And she’d always been a big advocate for equal rights.

Ira nods, and although he’s trying to appear perfectly serious, his lips twitch into a brief smile.

“I know the world changes. I’ve been here to see it all. And I must admit that maybe this change isn’t as fraught with disaster as we first imagined it might be.” And now the High Watcher addresses you, “Your mother was a force to be reckoned with, full of power, set to inherit the throne of Hell. Your father is one of the most powerful Watchers beneath myself. I’m sure you can imagine how that combination might create some fear, yes? Especially since both of them were forced into their roles, vocal about not wanting to be in charge, and somewhat ousted by their communities. I believe we Watchers as well as the Queen of the Night and much of demonkind feared retribution if your parents were to train you to use the full extent of your power to seek vengeance.

“But from what I know of you, what I saw while you were under my care, the stories I’ve gathered of you in the time since you escaped the House, I’ve come to realize, as your father and your cousin have just pointed out, that you aren’t the danger we assumed you would be.” The Watcher smiles. “You could be, as evidenced by the jailbreak of your boyfriends and the death of the Queen. But the difference lies in knowing that you have the power and knowing that you don’t want to use it for evil.

“I agree, King Kun.” The High Watcher declares, now turning his attention to the demon king. “I will agree to a new law built to protect not only this lovely young woman, but all people of supernatural origin. And I suppose, in the process of all this, we may as well exonerate the two demons.”

Beneath the table, Yuta tightly clasps your hand. Ten turns to you with a bright grin. Winwin sighs with relief, leaning back in his chair. Mark lets out a quiet whoop of glee that draws a laugh from a couple of the Princes of Hell.

Yuta leans closer, pressing his head against yours, he excitedly whispers, “We’re free! All of us!”

An intense feeling of relief and happiness washes over you, and that sensation only intensifies over the next couple of hours as you sit there with the High Watcher, the King of Hell, and your father to write out this new law of the supernatural, just the four of you there in the room for its creation.

Seeing the official document on the table before you, watching as each of them sign their names, that gives you the biggest rush of excitement and relief of all.

Your father, with a simple wave of his hand, creates two duplicates of the original document. He passes one to Kun, one to the High Watcher, and the third he hands to you.

“Why me?” You question, warily accepting the paper.

You understand each of the other two having a copy. They reign over their people, so having a hard copy of the policy makes sense. But you?

“The people of Hell City, all of the supernatural community that resides on Earth without necessarily coming in direct contact with the Watchers or with the King of Hell deserve to know their freedoms are now protected wholly too.” Ira nods at the document. “I know that there’s not technically a governing body or a government building in Hell City, but from what I understand, Mark is a pretty powerful guy. He can spread the word. And it’s important for you to have a copy of it.”

You carefully roll the document into a tight scroll. With a twitch of your fingers, you create a secure tube to slip the paper into. There’s a strap on the tube, and you slip it onto your shoulder once you’ve got the new peace accord safely inside the tube.

The High Watcher rises slowly from his seat. “The Watchers will spread news of our new peace and law, as well.”

Kun doesn’t move from his seat. Instead he leans back and kicks his feet up on the table. “This is just the first of many changes I’m hoping to implement here in Hell. Cousin, I will hold my demons to the letter of the law, don’t you worry about anything.”

You’re not worried. Strangely. You trust all of them to keep their word.

The High Watcher hobbles towards the door. You watch his gnarled fingers twist the knob, and no sooner has he opened the door than his guards are there to flank him, escorting him quickly out of sight.

“Daughter,” Ira speaks low, keeping his words just between you and him, “I would like to invite you and your lovers to the island. To allow a proper introduction between myself, Ten, and Yuta.”

You nod. “I think they might like that. Both of them have been pretty nervous about meeting you, actually. So, please, do your best to not scare them.”

Ira smiles, his eyes glow with a surprisingly mischievous light. “I welcome them with open arms.” He leans in, kissing your forehead. You feel a warm glow radiate from the spot his lips meet your skin, the sensation trickling through you. “There, now you can visit any time you like. Any body of water will act as a portal for you. See you shortly, I’ve got to get back and make certain your cousin and his friends haven’t destroyed the place while I’ve been gone.”

And then your father disappears out the doorway too, leaving you alone with Kun.

Finally, he pushes away from the table, his feet hit the floor.

“You’ve got a cousin through him?” Kun asks, coming around the table to stand at your side.

“Renjun. Half-elf, half-Watcher.” You take a step towards the door. “So this new law will benefit him too, luckily. The Watchers kept him under their thumb for most of his life, so now he’ll have the same promise of freedom as I do.”

Kun nods, letting a gentle smile leak through his otherwise solemn facade. “I hope you truly enjoy your freedom, cousin. Please, visit Hell whenever you like. I can already tell that you would probably like it here. Half of your boyfriends are from here, and if I was reading the room right earlier, I believe my brothers like your boyfriends. As a matter of fact, I think we may find them all together. Would you like me to show you the way?”

Part of you had expected for your boyfriends to linger protectively outside the door of the meeting room once they’d been kicked out, but as you follow Kun from the room, you find the corridor empty.

You let the King lead the way.

On your previous visit, you hadn’t had much of an opportunity to explore the palace, only the throne room, the dungeon, the secret tunnels, the baths, and the Queen’s chambers. But Kun guides you along the scenic route. You climb and descend elaborate staircases — one of which spirals around a chandelier that you swear is alive as it seems to change shape and color and, maybe it’s your imagination, but you could swear that it sings a soft, slow song — passing by courtyards that remind you of those you’d seen in the House of the Watchers. There’s a vast dining hall, a smaller dining hall, a ball room that’s larger than your kind can comprehend upon your glance inside.

Eventually, Kun leads the way down a corridor to a room that you can only describe as a Man Cave. It’s not quite the same as the man caves that you’re familiar with — large flatscreen TVs, maybe video game consoles, posters of sports cars or half-naked models — no, this space has rich, decadent furnishings and walls that are heavily detailed wood-working. There’s a blazing fire, smoke curling in the air, shimmering light off decanters of amber liquid. There are games scattered around the room — a dart board that appears to have crossbow bolts sticking out of it; something that looks like a foosball table though, you swear that little figure are wiggling; there’s a wall decorated with gaudy looking weaponry along with a chalkboard that seems to be a scoreboard for the brothers.

“Here they are,” Kun announces, stepping into the room. “Boyfriends and my brothers.”

Mark and Xiaojun and Chenle are laughing together at a pool table on one side of the room. WinWin and Hendery are apparently debating something in front of the fire. Yuta and Ten are speaking with YangYang, but all three of them break off from speaking as soon as you enter the room.

Ten holds out his hand to you, and you quickly go to his side, grasping his hand and tucking yourself against his side.

“How did it go?” Yuta asks.

“As well as I could have hoped.” You feel the tube resting against your other side. “Ira thinks that Mark is a big enough personality in Hell City that he can help get the word around. He also would like the five of us to come visit so he can properly meet you two.”

WinWin drifts over, leaving a frowning Prince in front of the fire. “Back to the island?”

“Just for a little visit,” you say, “and then we can go right back home.”

Yuta smiles. “I’m ready for that part.”

You roll your eyes. “Ira isn’t bad at all. And he says the two of you are welcomed with open arms. He’s promised he’s not going to try to scare you or intimidate you.”

King Kun snorts from behind you. “He didn’t actually promise that, though. He just said they’re welcome.”

Ten hisses something in the demonic tongue that makes Kun’s eyes flash.

Yuta reaches over and hits Ten on the arm. “He’s the King now, at least try to show a little respect.” But you look at Ten just in time to see him make a face, and you know that he has no intention of being respectful, which considering the stories he’s told you since your reunion about his time with the Prince Kun, it seems like they’ve always had a good camaraderie, an easy friendship.

It’s hard to pull Mark away from the demon princes. He definitely seems to get along well with them, and you have a feeling that you’ll have to take Kun up on his offer of you coming to visit Hell whenever you like. Eventually, though, you do pull him away from his game with Chenle and Xiaojun, and after you thank Kun repeatedly for putting this summit together, you and your boyfriends finally take your leave.

Ten and Yuta lead the way to the strange obsidian forest that surrounds the pool you’d first meant to escape through. You walk with Ten, a little behind the others, clutching his arm and knotting your fingers through his nervously as you walk closer and closer to that clearing where you took the Queen of the Night’s life.

Up ahead of you, you can hear Yuta talking quietly with Mark and WinWin.

As you enter the clearing where everything changed, you do your best not to look at the spot where it happened. But it’s almost impossible to miss.

“Woah,” Ten gasps, gawking at the spot where you burned the Queen’s body.

Frosty, crystalline spurs have risen from the glassy black obsidian soil, coiling as they grow higher, growing together almost as if they’re building themselves into the image of a full-skirt, tapering towards a waist.

“That’s fucking strange,” Ten comments, wrapping his free arm around your waist and hauling you a little faster towards the pond across the clearing. “I’ll make sure to send word to Kun that he needs to get the gardeners to come trim down that growth.”

“Come on!” Yuta calls from the edge of the pond.

You’re glad to see that the black water has filled back on after it evaporated to prevent your escape last time.

“I don’t like that,” Yuta says with a jerk of his head back towards the spot the Queen fell. “Let’s hurry up and leave.”

“Everyone hold on. I feel like we probably need to be connected for Ira’s key-spell or whatever he gave me to work.” You hold tightly to Ten’s hand, but you offer your other hand to WinWin, who greedily takes it. Mark takes Ten’s other hand, Yuta takes WinWin’s, and together you step into the pond.

It swallows you whole, and you feel it bubbling against your skin like you’ve stepped into a vat of carbonation, but instead of rising, the bubbles are sinking you down into the blacker than black depths.

And then the spot Ira kissed on your forehead tingles, and a light blooms before, a flash of brightness than has you squeezing WinWin and Ten’s hands, it has you squinting against the light.

Your face breaks the surface. You taste salt on your lips as you pull in a breath. You hear the crashing rush of waves running through the pebbles on the shore. Winwin gasps for breath to your left.

“Shit, that was easy!” Mark laughs. You hear splashing, and blink stinging saltwater out of your eyes in time to see him doing a clean breaststroke towards shore. He calls back over his shoulder. “Hardly any swimming compared to the last few times.”

WinWin lets go of your hand and sets off after Mark, cutting through the water a little less gracefully.

Yuta and Ten both tread water beside you. “Ready?” You ask, looking between them. Yuta nods with a brave face, and then he decides to swim for shore.

Ten swallows nervously, staring ahead at the shore, at the intimidating cliffside. You laugh, kicking lightly at Ten beneath the water. “He’s just my father, Ten. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“That’s not it.” Ten shakes his head. “I’ve seen this place before. That light. When we were in her dungeon and I tried to reach out to you. I saw this place.” He’s staring up at the lighthouse with what you now realize to be awe.

Mark and WinWin arrive on shore, dragging themselves from the water with laughter. Mark’s quickly up and climbing the stairs.

Ten continues to tread water. “I didn’t think it worked. Not really. But you were here. I saw you here. She’d blocked our powers to such an extent that I really didn’t think it was possible.”

“I think we were meant to be, Ten. The five of us have a connection that goes deeper than any I’ve ever had before.” You start to move through the water towards shore. “I think we’re soulmates, and nothing your Queen tried to do could cut off the power of that connection.”

“Hey!” Ten calls out after you, and you catch the sound of him slicing through the water behind you. But he can’t catch up; you’re a faster swimmer, and you beat him to shore.

Mark has already reached the top of the stairs, and WinWin is helping Yuta up them.

Ten, soaking wet and grinning, slops onto shore just seconds behind you. He throws himself against your back, arms around your waist as he smacks a kiss to your cheek.

“Listen, I’ve told you once before, and I’ll tell you again,” Ten says, “but that demon, she wasn’t my Queen. She ceased holding that title for me the moment I met you. She wasn’t my Queen, so please, don’t refer to anyone like that except yourself.”

You laugh. “So I should expect to hear you call me ‘my Queen’ now?”

“Maybe.” Ten breathes out his laughter against your neck. “For now, though, we should head up there and meet your dad.”

Ira is waiting on the front porch of the house as you and Ten reach the top of the cliff stair. He’s just sitting on the porch swing, drinking in the view of the ocean in the distance and sea birds swirling in the sunlight.

Ten’s hand nervously twists in yours.

“Sir, I’m Ten.” Ten bows his head respectfully towards your father, which he then follows up with extending his hand for Ira to shake.

Ira glances at you, and then he looks at Ten. You watch the way his gaze falls on Ten’s visible demon marks on his arm, how Ira looks up into Ten’s eyes which have become the cat-like slits they do when his facade slips.

“Welcome, Ten.” Ira clasps his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And not just from her.” He inclines his head towards you, still shaking Ten’s hand. Or maybe Ten is still shaking Ira’s. “Mark and WinWin had a lot of good to tell me about you.”

Ten offers a smile. You squeeze his hand that’s still clasped in yours.

“Come inside. Everyone’s already at the table.” Ira releases Ten’s hand, and he leads the way inside, saying backwards over his shoulder, “I should warn you that the meal we’re about to have was made by Renjun, Haechan, and Minnie. They ventured through the portal for the ingredients, so I can’t claim any of the credit or take any of the blame for how it’s turned out.”

As soon as you’re inside the lighthouse, you can hear the noise coming from the kitchen — a mess of voices, clanging dishes, the hissing and sizzling sounds of cooking being done.

Mark is standing beside Haechan at the fireplace, laughing with him. Yuta helps Renjun carry food onto the table. Minnie, with her silvery blonde hair is filling drinks around the table, and she looks up when you walk in to flash you with a sharp-toothed smile.

Ira settles at the head of the table, WinWin takes the seat at Ira’s right hand. Ten takes his left

Everyone fills in around him, weighing the table down with the amount of food the trio prepared. You sit between WinWin and Yuta. Mark sits across from you, and beneath the table he nudges his foot against yours, then hooks it around your ankle.

Renjun takes the seat opposite your father, but he doesn’t let that — or the fact that Minnie, Haechan, and Mark sit in the way — stop him from pulling Ten into conversation.

You smile, looking around at these people who you’ve come to regard as your family, as close friends.

You watch as your father engages Yuta and WinWin in conversation. You feel a beam of warmth fill your chest as you watch Minnie lean into Renjun’s space, watch Haechan pout and pull her hand until she sits a little closer to him.

Everyone is happy.

Everything feels settled and complete and so good.

A cool autumn breeze whirls the crisp orange leaves through the air.

It’s evening, with sunlight breaking through the low clouds to lay golden rays through the branches of the trees, casting the side of the building in a reddish-amber light. The willow branches flutter in the wind, but you stay on your path, leading the way through the cemetery.

This was Mark’s idea. Or he’s at least the first one that brought it up to you.

Earlier this morning you’d been in bed, rejoicing in the coolness of Mark’s skin due to the unnaturally hot day in Hell City, when he’d said, “Do we ever get to introduce ourselves to your mom and human dad?”

The question had caught you off-guard.

You sat up and looked down at him. Mark raised a hand to play with your hair where it fell loosely over your shoulders.

“I know they’ve passed away, of course. But still,” he says softly, raising his gaze to yours. “We could all go together to see the place you laid them to rest. To say hi.”

Maybe you’d spent the next few minutes crying about his sweet offer because yes, of course, you would be glad to take your boyfriends to see the graves of your parents.

Technically, Yuta and Ten had already been there, had already made an introduction of a sort at your parents' graves. Although that hadn’t been a great first impression in all likelihood.

When all five of you were gathered together a few hours later, you’d made the suggestion, and now here you are.

You haven’t been back here since… well, since Yuta let you come back after that first little stint in Hell City, which now, knowing everything you do, seems like such a bad idea.

And now, as you bring your boyfriends along the path to the back of the cemetery, you feel a weight settling in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve actually been here to pay your respects to their graves and go catch them up on your life. A lot has changed.

WinWin places a hand on your back when you stumble. “Are you okay?” He asks.

You nod, blinking away the sudden tears that have risen to your eyes. “It’s just been a while since I’ve come by to talk to them, to pray.” A choked out laugh layered with a sob leaves you. “So much has changed.”

WinWin laces his fingers with yours. “We’re here for you.”

“We can come here once a year, twice a year, however often you like.” Yuta says from your other side. “Hell, I’d be fine with living here. It may take some adjusting, but I think I could really like it here.”

Ten scrunches his nose in mild disgust, and you laugh, right there along with him. You loved it here, but now you know what the supernatural world is like, and you enjoy it there much more. Plus, your boyfriends don’t have to hide anything about themselves in Hell City.

Your parents' graves sit clean of debris just off the path in the back. The little stone vase at each headstone has nothing but wilted, brittle flowers that rattle in the breeze, showing you just how long it’s been since your last visit.

You kneel before their graves, and with a wave of your hand you produce two bouquets. One of simple red roses for your dad’s grave. A mixture of red carnations and daylilies for your mother.

The boys are all talking, taking turns to, you think, introduce themselves to the parents that raised you. You’re not really listening, too focused on holding back the tears the brim in your eyes, focusing on tracing away the dirt that has settled in the letters of your mother and dad’s names and the matching date of their deaths.

Tears spill over, dripping warm down your cheeks into your lap.

“Darling,” Ten crouches beside you, wiping at your tears with his thumbs. “Would you like some time alone with them?”

You nod.

Your boyfriends leave you there by yourself, moving only up the path far enough to give you privacy, but still close enough they can see you.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” You clear your throat, brush away a leaf that’s caught on the knee of your pants. “I know the truth now. The whole truth, and I want you to know that I’m not mad, I love you both. I know why you didn’t tell me. But so much has changed since we last spoke.”

You kneel there until your knees ache, talking to your parents graves, spilling out your heart, laughing and crying, and filled with a great want of having them here with you to actually see them, to hold your mom’s hand, to have your dad wrap you in a warm hug like you’d experienced so many times in the past.

And when you’re finished with your story, when all’s been said, you rise to your feet, you brush off the dirt, and you reunite with your lovers who are waiting for you in the shade of the willow tree.

THE END

a/n: It's over 😭 of course this has been a long time coming! When I set out to write Unholy, I never imagined it would end up with a length of 248k words, like it was meant to be a Halloween drabble in the beginning 😂 and once I started posting this story on January 1, 2023 the story only continued to grow, like the word count actually doubled from the original draft up until this finale.

For anyone who's stuck with this fic, for those of you that have actually read it from start to finish, thank you so much! I've enjoyed creating this world and it's characters (even though they're obviously based off of the NCT members, I feel that they've almost taken on a life of their own), and I'm so glad that you've enjoyed it as well.

Thank you so much, and I hope to see you all again!

#nct fic #wayv fic #nct fanfic #nct ten #nct mark #nct yuta #nct winwin #unholy

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