#it was revealed to me like a vision from an angry god | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mxiaogod · 7 months ago

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— 16. [AGNUS] SUKUNA AU X FEM AFAB! READER

WARNING : VERY CRUEL, CANNIBALISM REFERENCES, PENETRATION, BITING, MANHANDLING, CUNNILINGUS, JUST PLAIN HATE FUCK? LMAO IDEK HOW TO TAG THIS ANYMORE, DARK CONTENT! NSFW, (DNI IF YOU AREN’T 18+)

A/N : Y'all I’m back after a year omfg, thank you for 437 followers! I’m grateful for the recognition. I got lazy halfway writing the rest of the smut, sorry y'all.🧍‍♀️

— Sacrifice of the self is noble, sacrifice of others is cowardly. A life forlorn while doom is in your blood. There is no room for terror of demons if you were born for one.

“You are our salvation, my beautiful, beautiful daughter.” Lithe fingers thread through the strands of your hair, intertwining with frail and bony fingers. Your mother coughs, each sound scratchy like a record player but each syllable lulling you in a state of tenderness.

“Why me, mother?” You asked, your voice betraying your heart. You are stuck in a state of confusion, thoughts spiraling as to why out of all, you?

“My darling, we aren’t made to last forever and there will be no peace in eternity.” As her words spill from her chapped lips and sharp tongue, so do the tears that kiss the bone of your cheeks.

A sacrificial lamb, agnus. That’s all you were ever destined for. Destined to be nothing but ruins sedimenting until the depths of your soul, a divine offering to a god like him.

They say that fear is a common reaction to the divine and that does frighten you. A chill suddenly hugged your frame, bones shaking from trepidation. You are born and you blossomed from the land of death, a doomed faith filled with nothing but misery and wisteria.

A booming knock sounded from the wooden door, along with the crash of thunder storm and the rise and fall of the seas. “It is time! You must hurry, he is angry! The god is getting angry!” accompanied by screams of terror, the children, the people, you thought. The water level rises up along with your constant sobs and tears of panic.

Your mother scurries, holding you up by the sharp points of your elbow forcing you to stand and face your fate. A wretched and noble flavor leaves a bitter taste in your tongue. Your lip curls as to why? A constant question in your mind. You bite your lip in pretense of bravery.

You walk slowly out of the door, facing the unforgiving seas with only a dagger clasped within the calluses of your hand. You walk up until the tips of your toes kiss the foam of the waves, drawing a big breath, a gust of wind fills and expands your lungs, feeling like something is caught in your throat. You close your eyes, wispy lashes caressing your cheeks as tears still escape the tight bindings. You remember all the lives lost and the safety of others, engraved in your mind and forever a resolve.

“Where are you! Show yourself, I am not a coward! I come here to face you.” You shout into oblivion, your saccharine voice echoing through the waters.

“Reveal yourself! Don’t waste my fucking time!” Your shouts are getting angrier, feeling like there’s gravel stuck in your throat. All the while your palms clutch the blade harder, drawing cardinals from the crevices of your palm.

A swishing sound caused your neck to snap forwards, heavy steps slapping against the salty waters. “Ah, what a sweet lamb, eh?” A Shadow makes its eldritch dance, telling stories of terror in the buoyant breeze. His gravelly voice reaches your ears, it’s depths like a punch in your gut.

“I can feel your misery sweet lamb.” He taunts, his voice echoing and teasing your mind. You squint through the haze, trying to make up his figure but he blends well with the fog and the raindrops mess with your vision.

You finally get a clear view of his hauntingly beautiful face, a scream making it way past your lips in shock and terror. Your whole life was dedicated to this, but nothing could have prepared you for Sukuna, the god of the unforgiving seas.

“I get that reaction a lot, more than you know.” He says unfazed, walking slowly and unforgiving towards you. You blink to get a clear view of divine masculinity. Blushed hair with markings that tell tales, kissing all over his sinewy form. A man that is not like mankind with four arms and a profusion of faces.

He is so hauntingly, and devastatingly beautiful.

All the while stunned by the creature, he suddenly shocks you by stabbing his trident with great force and speed, caging in your neck, sharp claws burying in the sand. You let out a sharp cry as your body falls, embracing your impact while your downy skin clashes with the rough sand. Your hands immediately grip the sharp claws of his weapon while trying to find yours. “Do not even try it.” He says with cruel eyes and a sharp smirk.

“No– NO!” You cry out in defeat, your mind spiraling into hysteria. What a fool you thought, your whole life was dedicated to fight and achieve victory against this wretched god, but you were left with defeat in seconds without even a single slash on his scarred skin.

He kneels down beside your form, caressing your cheeks affectionately. You were dumbfounded and you found yourself leaning into the touch.

A man you were taught to despise your whole life, was the only man who showed you what affection felt like in a slither of a second.

You stare at his peculiar face with betraying eyes and lashes wet with tears. “Little lamb, you are an instrument of war.” He says, confusing you even further.

Your chest heaves in confusion, wondering whether to kiss the man or slit his throat. You try to swallow in attempts to relieve the dryness of your throat.

“I don’t understand–” you shake your head, “We’re supposed to, I’m supposed to-” You were interrupted with a feral kiss, his winter lips as cold as stone. It felt like a loving rub to your back, a mother’s affection and a friendship that you missed out on your whole life. His kiss was ferocious and unforgiving, but he has given you nothing but beautiful madness. Your pale white dress clings to your skin, hugging your figure. Baring the sharp points of your nipples due to the coldness of the cruel storm.

His angry, roaming hands make their way to every inch of your body, sanctifying your soul. He reaches your pussy, baring your soul to him. The waves smash around the rocks in the shallows, their foam crests creating a chaotic lace on the blue.

“What a sweet, sweet lamb, all for me, right?” He asks in a tauntingly soft voice, you can’t do nothing but agree, like a dumbstruck whore.

Your hips lift in an attempt to chase pleasure as his fingers circle your clit. He grips the skin of your hips in a bruising clutch as his tongue darts out to lick the length of you stomach in a maddening path up and down, sealing his cruel intentions deep into your skin. Open mouthed kisses placed in your lower abdomen as you moan sweetly at the foreign sensation of pleasure and sentiment. Still confused at the fact that you were taught to hate a man who has so far shown you nothing but pleasure and cruel affection.

Sukuna lifts your dress that sticks to your skin angrily, like it was blasphemy for anything to touch your skin other than him. Lush and plump thighs greeted him, along with the sweetest pussy ever bared to him. He parts your pussy lips with his thumb, opening you up in the most sensitive way.

“I love the sounds you make, so sweet, so saccharine.” He says, while his thumb plays with your clit.

He grips your thighs and lifts your hips, holding you by your iliac crest and greedily covering your cunt with his mouth.

“Not even the sweetest fruit on earth could ever hold a candle to the taste of your pussy.” He murmurs as he eats you out unforgivingly, his tongue stretching you in sweet agony.

“Oh gods, it feels so good.” You moan breathily, he stops momentarily, his hands gripping your face while his sharp nails dig into the plush of your cheeks.

“I’m here, and I’m the only god you’ll address while you’re bared to me, and only me.” He says with enough force for submission, you could only nod your head in response.

He sits on the soles of his feet as he admires the beautiful picture you paint for him, his cock throbbing while the scent and sweetness of your pussy still lingering on his tongue.

“You could drive a god crazy and wonder what their fingers did before they held you.” He says in admiration as he fists his cock, veiny and throbbing, dripping with pre-cum.

Your hips twitch in desire and terror, wondering how you’re ever going to take him in your pussy.

His mouth roams around your breast, his incisors driving down and biting on the soft flesh above your left breast, drawing crimson blood and marks all over your body, marking it as his temple.

You release a cry from the pain and pleasure, the only two other sensations you’ve ever felt other than doom and terror. He shushes your cry by licking on the wound as he releases sounds of pleasure from the taste of your blood and flesh.

You no longer believe in anything other than the way he holds your flesh between his teeth, as it starts to taste like religion to him.

His hands cage your hips, pinning them down to the sand leaving no room for protest. He aligns his cock to your pussy, driving in full force with no mercy. You cry and cry out from the pain until it turns into pleasure, blood covering the premises of your thighs and his hips. His eyes close from heaven on earth and he looks so beautiful with you all over his mouth.

You moan his name until it is no different than a prayer. You begin to think you’re sick in the head for committing such acts of crime that everyone would shame and frown upon but god you wanted him, in some primal, wild way, full of teeth, blood and flesh.

Because after all, cruelty was the only love you’ve ever known.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk anime #jjk fic #jjk smut #credits to the owner of the art

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silvercap · 2 months ago

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if ur still taking prompts :3 “silent fury” but make it h/c? maybe one of leon’s boys goes on a “rampage” to save him orrr maybe someone is angry at the dso for almost killing him again or ya know whatever strikes your fancy

OHHHH I LIKE THIS!! (Prompts)

7. Silent Fury

Chris coughs frantically as the gas invades his lungs, throwing his oxygen-starved body at the sealed metal laboratory door with enough force that he can practically feel his shoulder bruising upon impact. Beside him, Leon sags against the wall with half-lidded eyes, gun hanging from limp fingers.

"Fight it," Chris chokes, but Leon's body has already succumbed, knees buckling beneath him as he collapses bodily to the floor and doesn't move again. Chris grits his teeth, ignoring another wave of dizzy lightheadedness in order to redouble his assault against the locked door. The room has no other exit, round and filled with glass tanks that Chris can't make out when his vision is blurring so badly but knows are filled with half-formed specimens suspended in bubbling liquid. The green glow makes him nauseous, casting the walls and his skin alike in eerie neon.

Chris throws himself into the wall with one last desperate effort and drops to his knees, heaving for air. His throat hurts from breathing in chemicals and god knows what else, muscles aching and spasming as it attacks his body. Leon doesn't move when Chris drops the rest of the way to lie beside him, weakening arms reaching out to scoop up the other man and pull his unconscious body close. Chris presses their foreheads together and blacks out an instant later.

-~-

When Leon wakes, it's to harsh light and a hand in his air, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to make sense of the figures towering around him. An experimental shift reveals that his hands have been tied behind him, the hardness of a chair pressing into his back as his head is stretched backwards to expose his throat. He coughs.

"With us, again?" an accented voice drawls, one of the figures stalking towards him to reveal a tall man in militaristic clothes, a blade in his hand. Flinty eyes stare Leon down as he tries and fails to think of who this wannabe tough-guy could possibly be, the man's calloused fingers twining around the knife in a delicate way that reminds Leon of Krauser and his knife tricks---and tells him that the man knows how to handle it. He leans in close, drawing the sharp tip very gently down the curve of Leon's bottom lip. "We're very pleased to have you as our guests today, Mr. Kennedy."

He grins, letting the knife follow the natural line of Leon's jaw and down to a collarbone, where he presses into the skin just enough to make a bead of blood bubble between Leon's clavicles. Leon rolls his eyes. "Is this supposed to be scaring me? Get on with it, will you?"

The man laughs, standing upright. "It's not you that I'm trying to scare." He shifts away so that Leon can see past him into the dingy, cement-floored room he's been placed in---and the other chair several feet in front of his own, one Chris Redfield secured to it with rope around his wrists and ankles. There's blood on his temple, eyes blazing dark with silent rage that would be terrifying if only he weren't looking at Leon with such tender concern at the same time. Leon feels his blood run cold.

"Chris?" he calls. "Don't give them what they want. I'm trained for this, alright? Don't fucking tell---"

A hand grabs Leon's chin with force, a thumb shoved between his lips before he even registers what's happening. He thrashes, about to bite down, before a blow to the side of the face distracts him. Leon reels, attempting to kick one of his bound legs towards the large man who'd been brandishing the knife, but it's no use. He's the one holding Leon's jaw, a large wad of cloth in his other hand. It's all too easy for him to jam it hard into Leon's mouth, pushing so much fabric in that Leon, well, gags.

His eyes water as duct tape is wrapped far too tightly over his lips and around the back of his head, clinging to his cheeks and sparking a wave of panic at the claustrophobic feeling before he forces himself to exhale slowly through his nose. He's okay. He's faced worse. It's going to be---

"Lets begin," the man drawls, and plunges his blade deep into the flesh of Leon's thigh without warning.

Leon doesn't even try to hold back his cry.

He's not sure how long they torture him for, just that the world quickly goes foggy and distant with pain, shouting voices demanding things that Leon can't give. He can't see Chris through the hair that's fallen over his eyes as he lolls his head to his chest and heaves for breath, the wounds on his body, broken fingers, and ribs pulsing in time with his thundering heart. His cheekbone aches where a particularly nasty hook had split the skin, nose damp with blood that makes it even harder to breathe properly. The gag fills his mouth, saliva dampening the heavy fabric and muffling his pathetic whimper of pain as the man who's been beating the shit out of him offers one last slap to the side of the head.

Chris has been yelling incoherently for the past few minutes, but Leon can't hear his voice anymore. Maybe they gagged him, too.

"I'm tired of this, Redfield," the man says, a flash of metal the only warning Leon gets before the edge of his knife is up against Leon's throat, putting pressure on his trachea that makes him cough. The man digs in harder in response, the bright sting of Leon's skin splitting open on the blade's edge enough to make him wince. "Agree to the terms, or I cut his---"

There's a commotion that Leon can't make sense of, the blade leaving his throat so that he can suck in a relieved gasp of air. His eyelids flutter. Fuck, he's tired.

"Leon?" Leon can't open his eyes to see who's calling his name, the fear in their voice nearly tangible. They're talking fast, panicked. Chris, it has to be. Hands tug at the duct tape on his face, an effort that doesn't accomplish much more than wrenching Leon's aching neck. "Leon, don't do this to me. Leon? Open your eyes, Leon."

Pain spikes as Leon obeys, the harsh light upsetting the headache that had exploded into being three or four punches in. Chris's worried gaze appears before him, haloed in the glow.

"Good, that's it. Eyes on me, okay?" His voice is calm, collected, but Leon can hear that he's on the verge of tears, blood shivering down Chris's wrists as he carefully slices open the tape and peels it quickly from Leon's face. His hair is wild, eyes sharp with anger, but his touch is nothing but gentle. Even when Leon grimaces as his hair pulls free of its follicles, he's careful. "I've got you, I've got you."

Leon spits out the gag before Chris can even get to that point, the rag falling into his lap as he coughs and heaves for breath. He's dimly aware that he's trembling, but Leon's certain it's too small of a detail to notice. That is, until Chris pauses in his ministrations to run soothing hands up and down Leon's arms, leaning their foreheads together.

"It's okay. It's okay," he soothes, something dark stealing into his tone. "I took care of them. Let me deal with these cuts and I'll untie you, okay? I've got you."

Leon glances to his left and sees a growing pool of blood. He swallows, letting his eyes fall shut as Chris puts pressure on the deep gouge in his leg. "I trust you," he rasps, and means it.

#whump #ask game #my fics #asks #resident evil #drabbles #torture whump #hehee thanks for the asks guys

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wildernessuntothemselves · 1 year ago

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Heaven is not fit to house a love (like you and I) | Part 3

Word Count: 6k

Genre: smut, angst

Summary: When you first met your boyfriend, it was love at first sight. No, more than that. It was love before you even met. It felt like you had known each other in another life and were meant to find each other again.

But that's not actually true, is it? You and Beomgyu don't actually know each other from another life, and the dreams you've been having aren't memories of your past life either. That's ridiculous.

But then why does Beomgyu get so defensive about them? And why does each dream feel more real than the one before?

A/N: this is the sequel to my series YAMQN but I'm trying to write it in a way that it would be comprehensible to people who have never read YAMQN. The parts in italic are the dreams.

Warnings: fem!reader, cunnilingus, missionary, references to rape, dub-con, dom!beomgyu, sub!reader

You’ve decided you were overthinking everything. Your dreams mean nothing. Your dream about Taehyun meant nothing. It was just your stressed brain being weird. Though it was awkward being around him for a couple of days after that dream and feeling that inexplicable feeling of guilt and—you’d never say it outloud–love springs up your throat every time your eyes meet.

Luckily, you wouldn’t have to think about it too much today when there is something much more distracting to deal with.

"What's with your eye?” You ask Taehyun, noting the eyepatch he was wearing. “Is it a stye?"

He shakes his head, grinning as he pulls the eyepatch aside to reveal a black eye. You gasp. "Oh my god! Did you get in a fight?"

"You could say that.” He shrugs, grin still in full effect. “I'm a wrestler."

“Oh. That is… not shocking.” You frown, making him laugh. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You seem to be the type.” You say as you give him a once over. Despite his sweet and innocent looks, he had a kind of roughness about him that gave him away. “Yesterday when you were helping me with the door of the back room, you nearly ripped it off its hinges.”

“You said it was stuck so I expected more resistance. I just didn’t account for your chicken arms.” He teases, making you gasp, affronted. “How dare you? Check out these guns.”

You pull up the sleeves of your shirt, flexing said chicken arms in various wrestler poses. “I bet I can even take you, Mr. fighter.”

“I bet you can.” Something about the way he says that, low and a little hoarse brings a blush to your cheeks, a certain double entendre you’re not sure he meant hanging in the air, but you decide to just barrel past it. You can’t let your stupid brain keep overthinking the smallest things. You refuse to let in that weird sense of intimacy and familiarity that your dreams have conjured up seep into your reality and your relationship with him. You’re purely coworkers, maybe tentative friends, nothing more.

“Damn right.” You declare, satisfied. “Now let me take a look at that eye. My mother is a nurse, you know?”

“Is she?” He sits down obediently, letting you examine his eye closely. You start by making sure the eye itself isn’t hurt and that his vision is clear, getting him to follow your finger to test his eye movements and making him read a few things at a distance, before you move on to the possible brain injury. “You didn’t pass out, did you?”

“No.”

“Did you vomit?”

“Nope.”

“Had any seizures?”

“No.”

“Do you remember everything?”

“I wish I didn’t.” He snorted. “Damn bastard floored me with that punch.”

You wince as you imagine that kind of impact that would bring him down and cause such a black eye. Instinctively, you reach forward to brush your thumb gently under his bruised eye. “Aw, does it hurt?”

“It feels better now.” He smiles, looking at you strangely, and your heart skips a beat. Okay, surely you’re not just imagining this, are you? Your brain can’t be that much of an asshole.

But before you can attempt to make sense of the way he’s acting, an angry voice cuts through the delicate moment savagely.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Your boyfriend’s voice is like ice water down your back, making you jump away from Taehyun immediately. You turn to him in shock.“Beomgyu! What are you doing here?”

“Checking in on you, but I’ve clearly arrived at the wrong time.” He spits, eyeing Taehyun angrily, and you quickly realize the source of the misunderstanding, waving your hands in the air in denial, trying to dispel whatever erroneous conclusions you’re sure his mind came up with. Damn it, it’s bad enough dealing with Beomgyu’s jealousy without you unintentionally feeding it. “It’s nothing. I was just checking his black eye. He got injured at a match.”

“He’ll get another one if he doesn’t step away from you.” Beomgyu threatens and you hear Taehyun snort from next to you. “Yeah, right. As if you could ever land a punch on me.”

Goddammit, Taehyun. You’re trying to de-escalate things here!

“Wanna see?” Beomgyu growls, rising up to the challenge immediately and charging forward. But you quickly step between him and Taehyun, not wanting a fight to break out in the middle of your workplace.

"Beomgyu calm down. You’re making a scene." You whisper, noticing how the customers' eyes have turned to you. But of course, Beomgyu doesn’t care, his anger and jealousy getting the best of him. "Am I? I'm sorry, should I wait for you to fuck him on the counter first?"

Humiliation sears your skin at his accusation, said so loudly and easily in front of your coworkers and everyone in the shop. You’re so embarrassed you could cry, but that would only humiliate you further. So you quickly grab his arm and pull him out the back and into the alleyway behind the cafe where no one can see you.

You can’t believe he’s doing this again. He promised he will get himself under control. You’ve tried to reassure him that you only love him. You��ve tried again and again to put boundaries when he acts out, but then he completely crashes through them with no regard for you. Why should he when you always forgive him and take him back after his abhorrent behavior? It’s your fault. You’ve allowed him to go this far and now he’s out of control. You need to put an end to this.

"I'm done. This is over. I'll come around later to get my stuff." You tell him, and his whole demeanor changes–all wrath is gone from his face and he turns into a wounded animal in the blink of an eye, shaking his head in denial as his eyes flood with tears. "No. No. You can't leave me. Not again."

"What the fuck are you talking about?” You shout harshly, and he flinches. God, why does that still make you feel bad despite everything he’s done to you? “I never left you. Maybe that's the problem."

“No, please, I'm sorry!” He wails, "I'm sorry I blew up. I'm sorry I made a scene. I just can’t stand to see him with you. I know he wants to take you from me."

His unwarranted conviction drives you mad. Does he really think every single guy is out to steal you from him? "You are insane."

Another guy would take the hint and dial it down on the crazy, but not Beomgyu. As if to prove that insanity to you, he falls to his knees at your feet, grabbing onto your legs tightly. "Don't leave me. I can't live without you."

"Go home, Beomgyu.” You grit out, trying to hold yourself back from falling for his pathetic display because truthfully you’re just as pathetic as him. It’s easy to be stern and immovable when he’s angry and lashing out, but it’s another thing entirely when he acts so vulnerable. When he’s angry, he’s an asshole who is hurting you, but when he’s sad, he’s your loving boyfriend who just needs reassurance and care.

"I can't. Not without you.” He insists, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself down. “I need space, Beomgyu.”

“You know I can’t–”

“I need space to calm down and forget what you've done so I won't leave you." You snap, finally making him take his hands off you, realizing that though it kills him, backing off for once might be the thing that saves your relationship this time.

Still he needs that extra reassurance. “Do you promise you won’t leave?”

“Beomgyu–”

“Please!” He hiccups, hanging onto the thread of hope. “Please promise me that you won’t just leave.”

“I won’t.” You grits out. You can’t. You wish it was ever that fucking easy to leave him, but he’s got you hooked on him good.

"Okay." He gets up shakily. "Can I have a kiss?"

Does he not know how to quit? Has he no sense of awareness of the situation? Can’t he tell how much he has pushed you? "No."

You try to be firm in your decision, try to make him take you seriously once and for all, but when you see him sniffle and his lips tremble, it’s hard to stay strong.

"Please. Just in case." He shakes under your harsh gaze that softens every time his breath hitches as he tries to hold himself together.

God, this is exactly why he behaves this way, because it always works.

You grab him by the back of the head, kissing his lips roughly, more teeth than anything, biting down on his lower lip in punishment, hard enough to taste blood, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. He clutches onto you desperately, opening his mouth up for you to thrust your tongue inside, making him taste his own blood.

It’s a job to get him off you, but eventually you manage to disentangle yourself from him. “Go home now.”

“Will you come home after work?” He prods, and you run your hand through your hair in frustration. “Is this giving me space?”

“I just–”

“I’ll be home by bedtime. I’ll probably walk around or hang out with friends to decompress.” You explain to him, even though you know you really shouldn’t. He has no right to know where you’re going, not after the shit he just pulled but you know he won’t leave you if you don’t reassure him.

“Which friends? Are you going to–”

“I have to get back to work, Beomgyu.” You cut him off sharply, unwilling to give him more. Truthfully, you don’t even know what you’ll do. You don’t know if you even wanna hang out with your friends. You can’t handle them telling you ‘I told you so’ for the hundredth time and pushing you to break up with Beomgyu. “I know you want me to get fired so I only have time for you but I actually wanna keep this job.”

He winces at your accusation but you don’t wait for him to defend himself, turning your back on him and walking into the coffee shop.

Getting back into work is mortifying as you try to dodge the gazes of others that are at best curious and at worst judgmental and accusatory. Most of all, you try to avoid Taehyun, not knowing what to say to him after he witnessed your boyfriend’s outburst against him.

But it’s hard to hide in such a small shop, and Taehyun is on you just a few minutes after stepping back inside. To your surprise however, he isn’t angry or reproachful. In fact, he doesn’t mention it directly at all.

“Hey you wanna blow off some steam after work?” He asks you, completely casual and you breathe a sigh of relief, nodding. You really could use some stress relief. You know you can’t go home to Beomgyu like this. You’re so mad you’re afraid you’ll do or say something you regret.

What worries you even more is that you think whatever you would do to him, Beomgyu would take it, and you don’t want to be that person. You don’t want to perpetuate this sickness.

________________________________

Taehyun takes you boxing. It’s definitely a bit unusual but when he said it would help you blow off some steam, he wasn’t kidding.

“Hit it harder. Take out all your rage onto it.” Taehyun instructs you, then adds cheekily, “Imagine it’s your boyfriend’s face if you need to.”

You scoff. If Beomgyu was here, he’d definitely lose it with how close Taehyun is to you, his hands fluttering between your waist and shoulder to correct your position, and wrapping around your arms to teach you how to correctly swing.

“Like that?” You ask, punching the bag the way he taught you to. You’re not strong enough to have it swinging like he does, but he still praises you for doing it right.

“Yup, good job. Soon enough you’ll be able to deck Beomgyu in the face.” He jokes and you send him a glare.

“I don’t want to punch Beomgyu.” You say, delivering another hard swing at the punching bag, putting your full weight into it.

“Are you sure about that?” He raises his eyebrows, watching you pummel the bag.

“I’m just frustrated.” You grit, raining punches with both fists until you feel your arms getting sore. “Why does he have to act like such an asshole? He knows I love him. He knows he’s the only one for me. Why is he so insecure? He’s such a fucking idiot. He makes me so goddamn mad!”

You step away from the bag, panting for breath. Clumsily, you push away the sweaty hair out of your face with the gloves still on as you try to calm down your overheated body. “You’re right. This did help.”

You give the bag one last punch before you take off the boxing gloves and slump onto a chair, exhaustion settling into your bones. You hear Taehyun snicker as he takes your place and starts his exercise.

You watch him workout. You admit, he looks good doing it. Dressed in a white sleeveless top, his muscles bulge and tense every time his arms shoot forward to smack the bag. The look of concentration on his face and the way his jaw clenches makes him look all the hotter.

His punches are fast and accurate, and you cringe a bit at the idea of someone being at the receiving end of them, but you still find it attractive. You never got the appeal of the strong, macho man some girls swoon over, always preferring the soft cute types yourself, but watching Taehyun go to town on that punching bag, sweat starting to drip down his glistening skin… you finally get it.

Apparently, your ogling wasn’t as subtle as you thought, especially when Taehyun pulls up the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, revealing his hard abs to your curious eyes.

“Like what you see?” Taehyun smirks, dropping the shirt back down and you blush, looking away. “Bet he doesn’t look like this.”

“Shut up.” You grumble, standing up. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?”

You realize how dry your throat has become and take it as an advantage to get out of this messy situation you’ve gotten yourself in. But Taehyun shakes his head. “You stay put. I’ll go get the drinks.”

You graciously accept the offer, telling him what you’d like to have, and he dips out of the practice room to get you something out of the vending machine and you take the opportunity to cool off.

God, what is wrong with you? Do you like Taehyun? Why the fuck are you thirsting like that over him? Ever since you’ve gotten with Beomgyu, you can honestly say you’ve never wanted to be with another man. Beomgyu just fulfilled all your needs, emotionally and physically. Being with him felt like finally finding your other half, your soul’s resting place. It’s cliche but it truly felt like you were made for each other. How can anyone else compare?

But now that his jealousy and controlling behavior has gotten out of control, you find yourself pulling away from him, the illusion of the perfect one for you slowly shattering by his own hand. Is that why you’re having these weird feelings towards Taehyun? Like Beomgyu, you feel like you’re connected to Taehyun somehow. Despite the relatively short duration you’ve known him, it feels like you’ve known each other for years. You yearn for him in a way you have no control over and you don’t like it. You’re just proving Beomgyu right with his unhinged paranoia.

Seriously, fuck Beomgyu for putting these thoughts into your head. You were completely fine with Taehyun before he made a big deal out of nothing.

When Taehyun comes back, he hands you a can of soda and you gladly pop it open, gulping down the cool liquid with relief.

“So when did you start boxing?” You clear your throat, trying to ignore the way his Adam's apple bops as he swallows.

“Since I was a kid basically.” He shrugs, explaining further at your questioning look. “I didn’t have the best home life and boxing helped me blow off some steam and got me away from it for a bit.”

“Ah.” You hum awkwardly, twirling the can in your hands. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright. I’ve left it behind now, trying to make a life of my own. That is why I was so glad that you told me about the job at the cafe. It’s a chill job that allows me to make some money to support myself and still be able to pursue my studies.”

“Right. Music. Didn’t peg you for that guy. I mean, boxing sure but didn’t think you’re the artistic type.” You grin, feeling a bit giddy at his faux offended look.

“Hey, I have a sensitive side too.” He defends, “And I’ve been told I have the voice of an angel.”

“Someone's humble.” You laugh, and he shrugs. “When you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

“Let’s hear it then, angel.”

He gives you a look at that, and you open your mouth to apologize, not sure if you’d crossed a line, but then he coughs, clearing his throat a bit and starts to sing.

I know that sweet love song

The words we said through our oath

If I turn around, eventually

They'll just end up being an unfamiliar someone

Sorry I'm an anti-romantic

I want to run away, far away

My heart is already chasing after you

And burning with small embers

Sorry I'm an anti-romantic

I don't believe anymore in being romantic

As my entire heart burns

I'm afraid that only black ashes will remain

He really does have the voice of an angel, so sweet and soothing. You listen quietly to the whole song, a small smile on your face despite the song’s pessimistic message. But something about his voice tugs at a distant memory in your brain, the feeling like a word on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t quite remember. It’s a disquieting feeling that clashes with the sweet honey of his voice.

You don’t let it show though. You know he wouldn’t understand. And once he’s done singing, you clap enthusiastically.

“Thank you. Thank you.” He graciously accepts the applause, a pleased grin on his face.

“Wonderful. Showstopping. Angelic.” You pour out exaggeratedly and he laughs. “I told you.”

“You did.” You admit, no point teasing him about his cockiness when you like his voice so much. “I never heard that song before. Did you write it yourself?”

“Yup.”

“Now I get how you’re into music if your songs are this dejected.” But you can tease him about the subject matter. You’re impressed with his talent but if you had to come up with a song that Taehyun would compose, it would’ve sounded exactly like this.

“I’m just being a realist.” He tells you and you cock your head to the side, intrigued. “You don’t believe in romance?”

“No. I’ve seen how it goes too many times and it always ends in heartbreak and tears at best.”

You frown, finding it sad that his experiences have made him arrive at this bleak conclusion. “It’s not always like that. Some people have happy relationships.”

“Yeah, do you know of anyone who has an actually happy relationship?”He challenges and you wrack your brain trying to think of one. Your parents? Definitely not. Your sisters? Nope. Your friends? Hah. Still, you refuse to admit it. You’re a hopeless romantic and you refuse to accept his cynical worldview. If love only ever ends in heartbreak then what even is the point of living? “Just because the people I know aren’t the poster children for happy relationships doesn’t mean there are none.”

“Are you even happy with Beomgyu?” He prods, catching you off guard.

You were. Things were perfect between you. He was the best boyfriend you could have ever wished for at the beginning. He was so sweet and loving and gentle, being with him felt like coming home, but slowly things started to unravel until it got to the point you’re at right now and you’re too scared to admit that things may never go back to the way they were before. If Beomgyu isn’t the one for you then who is?

“Shut up and sing more.” You grumble, not wanting to think about it anymore.

Taehyun grins, not pushing anymore, satisfied with his win, and obliges you. He sings a couple more songs for you, each of his own making, and you eagerly listen to him, closing your eyes and getting lost in the warmth of his voice, asking for more every time he finishes.

He doesn’t complain, performing a mini-concert for you, helping soothe your nerves as you try to focus on his soothing voice and forget about the troubles you’ve been going through with Beomgyu and your confusing feelings for Taehyung.

But all the tension ricochets back into your body when he gets to the fourth song, the small smile you were wearing plummets into a frown and you sit up from your slumped position suddenly. You don’t know what it is about this song. It appears to be a simple lullaby, but just hearing it makes your heart hammer in your chest.

Taehyun notices quickly and stops singing. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you make up that song too?” You ask and he shakes his head. “No, it’s a song my mum used to sing me when I was a kid. Why?”

“I don’t know, something about it seems familiar.” You trail off, eyebrows furrowing as you try to recall where you heard it before.

“I doubt it. My mum made it up.” He says, confused by your sudden change in mood.

You’re confused too. You don’t understand. You just have this intense feeling of deja vu right now, something you’ve been feeling increasingly more frequently lately. Maybe you heard it in a dream?

You shake your head, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and needing comfort, needing Beomgyu… “Never mind. I should probably get going.”

You’re mad at him but he’s still the biggest source of comfort for you. He has a way to calm you down even if he’s the one who caused your anxiety. It all works out when it’s just the two of you. It’s only when other people get involved that everything falls apart…

“Already?” Taehyun asks, disappointed, and you look at the clock that says 10:46 pm and sigh. “Yeah. Beomgyu is probably freaking out by now. Even more than he already was.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go back to him then. You need some proper time away to think things through. You can’t let him keep getting away with this behavior.” He advises, his expression betraying his clear distaste for Beomgyu. Great, another friend who despises your boyfriend. You can’t deal with this right now.

“He’s just insecure.” You find yourself defending him once again, feeling weary and covering your face with your hands. “I don't know why. it's not like every guy that ever meets me will fall in love with me. You don't even like me.”

"I do like you." Taehyun says simply and you snap your head up and gape at him. "What?"

He shrugs as if this doesn’t fuck everything up even more. "I like you and I think you deserve better than your shitty boyfriend."

You shake your head, standing up, feeling angry at yourself. Of course, he likes you. Beomgyu smelled it from a mile away. Why else would he be so nice to you? Why else would he care so much to hang out with you and calm you down when he’s probably tired from his shift? This was obviously a mistake and you’re a stupid girl who is playing into it while your boyfriend is probably breaking down at home. "Beomgyu is a good boyfriend. He loves me."

Taehyun stands up too, getting a bit forceful now. “You’re deluding yourself. What he’s doing isn’t healthy, and he’ll only continue to get worse because you let him.”

What does he know? How do you know he’s not just trying to break you up with your boyfriend so he could get with you? Beomgyu probably could tell that Taehyun liked you from the start and that’s why he was so averse to you being around him. Obviously that doesn’t excuse how out of pocket he acted today but he still wasn’t completely wrong.

“I should go.” You mutter, quickly gathering your things.

“Let me take you home then.” He offers and you snort. Yeah right, like that wouldn’t make Beomgyu’s brain melt.

“I'll just take an uber.”

Taehyun attempts to argue but you shut him down.

_____________________________

Beomgyu is waiting near the door when you get back, curled up onto himself as he rocks back and forth, looking like a broken mess, and your heart can’t help but clench painfully at the miserable sight of him despite everything he’s done. You can’t bear to see him hurt, especially knowing that Taehyun liked you after all and he wasn’t being totally paranoid.

"You're back!" He stops rocking and untangles his arms from his body. You see the tension in his body, like he wants to spring forward and take you in his arms but isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. "I thought I lost you."

"I'm right here." You sigh, opening your arms up, giving him the signal he needed to stand up and engulf you in his arms.

“I’m sorry, baby–” He begins his long plea. You’ve heard it many times by now–he’s sorry he acted irrationally, he’s sorry he gets jealous and out of control, he promises he’ll do better– but you’re honestly not in the mood for it right now. You just want to pretend none of this happened tonight, least of all because you feel some kind of guilt over hanging out alone with Taehyun and letting him touch you when he secretly had feelings for you just like Beomgyu was afraid of.

“Shut up, Beomgyu.” You grab his face and kiss him.

He lets you do it. Beomgyu would never reject a kiss from you, but once your bruising kiss leaves his lips and travels to his jaw, he voices his concern. “Are you sure, princess? Don’t you wanna t-talk about it?”

Princess? He’s bringing out the big guns. There is no use arguing with Beomgyu right now. You already know what he’s going to say so you bite down on his neck, making his breath hitch as your hands trail up his waist towards his nipples, rubbing them with your thumbs over the thin material of his shirt and making him gasp. “Just shut up and be good for once, Beomgyu. Need you to fuck me so hard I can’t even think about how mad I am at you right now.”

You feel him gulp under your lips, and the next thing you know he is carrying you by your ass and dropping you onto the couch. He quickly takes off every shred of fabric on your body, following suit, before he gets on the ground in front of you and buries his face in your pussy.

Beomgyu is a very talented lover, especially with his tongue. He knows exactly what to do to get you going, and right now is no different. He eats you out as if he can convince you to stay just by using his mouth, and you have to admit, it is very persuasive.

“Fuck, Gyu. Good boy.” You praise, encouraging him to do more, your hand in his hair guiding his mouth to where you want him. He eagerly lets you control him, pushing his tongue into your pussy while his lips pucker and suck around your hole.

You feel yourself clench around his tongue, more of your arousal leaking around it until it covers his chin and parts of his cheeks. You pull his head up, whining as his tongue slips out of your pussy, but he quickly relieves the feeling of emptiness by pushing his fingers inside you, curling them up to hit that sensitive spot inside you that has you keening.

He wasn’t going to be slow tonight, and you don’t want that. You cry as his mouth finds a new target in your clit, alternating between sucking it in his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, all while his fingers plunge in and out of you until you’re creaming on his face.

“That’s it! Fuck, that’s it, baby.” You throw your head back, eyes squeezing shut as your body shudders at the intense orgasm. Fuck, you needed this.

Beomgyu doesn’t care about how hard you’ve got his hair fisted up in your hand. He keeps hungrily licking your pussy, not letting your arousal completely fade even as your orgasm passes.

“Baby, wait, give me a second–” You gasp, feeling sensitive, and when Beomgyu pulls away you think he’ll give you break, but instead he pushes you down until you’re laying on your back on the couch and gets on top of you, lining his cock with your entrance

“Wait–Beomgyu!” You cry as he shoves his cock inside of you, beginning to fuck you right away, not giving you a moment to breathe or calm down.

“There you go, princess. Is this what you wanted?” He pants, hips slamming against yours as he fucks you roughly.

It was what you wanted but you’re not sure now. You need a moment. “Baby, slow down…” You whine, your eyes squeezed tightly which Beomgyu doesn’t like.

“Slow down? But I thought you wanted me to fuck you until you can’t think about how mad you are at me.” He taunts, slamming his hips against yours, his cock going so deep inside you you feel like you’re going to choke. Normally, you’d fucking love it but it’s suddenly too much for you.

You shake your head, holding tightly onto his upper arms. “Please, baby, just slow down!”

But Beomgyu only fucks you harder. “Open your eyes, princess. Look at me while I’m fucking you.”

“Beomgyu–” You beg but he seems too far gone, not realizing that you’re being serious. You feel a harsh smack against your thigh and he growls down at you. “Open your eyes.”

You do, hardly seeing him with the tears in your eyes, but what you see scares you. “Gyu–”

“Am I fucking you hard enough? Or does my princess need me to fuck her dumb until she sees only me?”

No, no. This is exactly what you asked for, but somehow it doesn’t feel good. The wildness of Beomgyu’s eyes, the roughness of his hands, don’t assure you of his need and devotion to you as always. Instead, they speak of a need to own, a desire to subjugate you or tear you apart. It fucking terrifies you.

And suddenly, intrusive images come to mind. Images of bound limbs and golden suits, tears and anger. Images of Beomgyu forcing himself on you as you lie helpless and beg him to stop.

“Beomgyu!” You cry out, shocked at what your mind is conjuring up. It’s not real but it feels real. You feel violated and scared and you just want it to stop. "Stop. Stop!"

“No. Don’t be a brat. You can take it.” Beomgyu chastises, still lost in his own head, the pleasure clouding his mind and not letting him see your pathetic state.

“No. I can’t. Please. ” You sniffle, shaking your head weakly.

“Don’t cry. You’ve made me wait so long for this pussy.” Prince Beomgyu drives his dick into you harder, making sure you’re fully deflowered. "Take it. You were made for me. You can take it."

The images of prince Beomgyu looming over you just like he is right now, being so relentless and cruel as he takes what he wants from you are all you can see in front of you. It’s not a dream anymore. You’re wide awake, so why can you see them as if they were your own memories? God are you going crazy?

“Beomgyu?” You croak, trying to reach him through the images and his crazed headspace.

“I swear if you don’t shut the fuck up, I won’t bother being gentle.”

You quickly clamp your mouth shut at the ghostly threat, stopping any noise from getting out, stopping even your breathing, and that finally alerts Beomgyu to what is going on.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He stops moving and reaches out to touch you but you flinch.

“Don’t touch me.” You cry, the damn breaking down and allowing tears to stream down your face.

“What happened? Oh god. I didn’t know you were serious.” Beomgyu’s face goes pale and he looks like he’s going to be sick. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Get off me. Get off me.” You wail, pushing him away. He pulls out of you but doesn’t get off, wrapping you in his arms and trying to get you to calm down.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s just me. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. You’re okay. You’re okay. I love you.” He coos, trying to sound reassuring but you can hear the panic and fear in his voice as he cradles you and rocks you back at forth, not paying any mind to you clawing at his back as you try to break free, letting you sob and cry until you tire yourself out and slowly, slowly down.

“I’m right here, princess. You’re safe with me. I’ll never leave.”

His words of reassurance fail to have the effect he desires. Instead of soothing you, you find them suffocating and inescapable. You feel like you’ve been here many times before, each time adding to the heaviness of that oppressive weight pushing down on you until you don’t have the strength to fight it anymore. You just fall limp in his arms, and he finally pulls back to look at you.

He brushes your hair out of your face and swipes away the drying tears. “I’m sorry I hurt you, baby. I didn’t mean to.”

"I’m sorry. I just…” Prince Beomgyu struggles to find the words for a second. “I had to do what I had to do to keep you.”

You shiver, looking away from him.

"What is it? What’s happening? What are you thinking?" He asks worriedly, wanting to get into your brain to figure out what caused your sudden breakdown, needing to know so he can convince you it’s nothing like he always does.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You mumble, monotone. You’re fucking exhausted and traumatized. You feel like you’ve been violated. You just want to go to sleep and not wake up.

“Baby, please, just talk to me. I can fix it.”

You glare at him. “Fix it? As if you’ve ever taken my concerns seriously. You’d just tell me it’s all in my head and–” You shut yourself up. You don’t want to talk to him about this. It hurts enough when he dismisses your dreams normally. It would fucking kill you if he made light of what you just experienced, even if it was all in your head.

Surprisingly, in a move totally unlike him, Beomgyu relents. “I take you seriously. You don’t even know.” He says, head bowed sadly. “It’s you who doesn’t.”

What does that even mean? Is he talking about his jealousy over Taehyun? Yes, you admit he may have been right about that but there are many other things he was wrong about. But you don’t have the energy to get into it right now.

“Take me to bed.”

“Yes, princess.” He sighs, head bowed as he carries you in his arms and takes you to bed, putting you under the sheets and climbing in next to you.

“I never want to hurt you.” He murmurs, taking you in his arms and kissing the top of your head. You shiver at his choice of words.

Never wants to hurt you. Not is never going to hurt you.

__________________________

A/N: lol I was supposed to do this early release on patreon but here is a surprise. as always i really appreciate any feedback. whenever I am going through hard times I keep reverting back to missing yamqn gyu and wishing for him to comfort him despite how objectively terrible he is :'D

once again

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #tomorrow x together smut #fem!reader

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moriartyluver · 2 months ago

Text

MIRRORBALL: PROLOGUE

"ARE YOU SURE YOU CAN'T STAY FOR DINNER?" (Name) asked the blond in front of her whilst they stood outside the front door to her house.

"As much as I would love to, I really can't. My aunt's visiting and I need to be there to ensure my mother doesn't start fighting her." Theodore hummed, brushing a stray hair away from her face

(Name) chuckled "It's the same when gran comes to visit. I swear last time I saw my mother clench her fists, like she was gonna punch her."

Theodore gasped jokingly "The Emily Gilmore? No!"

"Not really shocking when you consider that this is Lorelai the first we're talking about." (Name) smiled, her hand intertwining with his. "Isn't it so weird how I have 3 Lorelais in my family?"

"Yeah..keep forgetting you're an aunt.." He whispered, kissing her forehead "You're lucky you weren't called Lorelai too..would've been confusing.."

"Tell me about it.." She frowned as she noticed him pulling his hand away "Call me when you get home, or at least when your mother and aunt aren't trying to kill each other?"

He rolled his eyes "Yes mom." He said, before leaning in to kiss her lips gently, until she wrapped her arms around his neck. Then it was not so gentle.

"Freud is rolling around in his grave right now," she murmured against his lips.

"Please stop," he groaned, before shutting her up with his lips again, hand tangling in her hair. They stood like that for a few minutes, occasionally coming back up for air whilst Theodore procrastinated returning home in favour of kissing his 'friend'. They were so immersed in one another that they couldn't even hear the footsteps approaching them.

"Oh god-" a familiar voice spoke. "Sorry, am I interrupting..?"

(Name) pulled away with a loud yelp, eyes wide and embarrassed as they landed on none other than her older sister. Lorelai the second. Well, nobody actually called her that. She was just Lorelai Victoria Gilmore. Or Lorelai.

"Crap- Lorelai! What are you doing here?" She chuckled nervously, whilst Theo tried not to smack his head into the wall. "Is it thanksgiving already?" She joked, wiping her lips with her sleeve.

"I just had a business class..I thought I could stop by." She explained, equally as traumatised by the situation.

"Oh, yeah. You mentioned that, a while ago, I think." (Name) nodded, before the front door opened to reveal her mother, Emily.

"What's all the commotion about..?" She said before her vision landed on her oldest daughter. "Lorelai, my goodness, this is a surprise. Is it Easter already?"

Lorelai laughed nervously, shaking her head. "No, I just finished up my business class and I thought I would stop by."

"To see us?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Well that's nice," Emily smiled, opening the door wider "Come in." She turned to Theo who was stood by (Name). "Would you like to come in too, Theodore?"

He shook his head "I'd love to, but I really have to be going." He said, kissing the side of (Name)'s head before walking back to his car. "Bye (nickname), Bye Mrs Gilmore."

(Name) watched him walk off with a smile on her face before entering the house shortly behind Lorelai.

"The place looks great," Lorelai said awkwardly, glancing around the room. Nothing seemed to be much different than when she was that angry teenager, apart from the painting above the mantle. Instead of it being herself, Richard and Emily, it was now her parents and little sister.

"Nothings changed," said Emily curtly.

"Well there you go," She replied, tearing her eyes away from the painting and to her mother. "How are the girls at the bridge club?" She asked as they walked into the living room.

"Old."

"Well...good." Lorelai said before (name) decided to interrupt the awkward conversation to take her leave.

"I'm going to go get dressed, and I'm expecting a call from Amara, too. " She smiled, kissing her mother on the cheek as she sat down.

Emily nodded "I'll let you know if she calls." She said whilst (Name) walked up stairs to her room, Lorelai's old room, her Mary Jane's clacking against the floor. "You said you were taking a business class?" Emily asked, turning to Lorelai who sat opposite her.

"Yeah, I'm taking a business class at the college, twice a week. I'm sure I told you," Lorelai recalled. It wasn't surprising if her mother did forget though.

"Well if you're sure then you must have." There was a long silence. "Would you like some tea?"

"I would love some coffee," She replied. Very typical of her. God, could this be any more awkward? She wanted to ask for the money, then go, even if her request was rejected.

"Emily?" Oh it could be more awkward. "I'm home." Richard called from the other room.

"We're in here!" She called back

"We? I thought (Name) had tennis practice after school—" He said, walking into the room before he saw Lorelai sat opposite Emily.

"Hi dad." She smiled politely.

"What is it, Christmas already?" He said sarcastically "I assume (Name)'s still at school then."

"Oh no, she came home early. Might've been cancelled. She's upstairs." Emily explained. "Theodore drove her home, as usual, couldn't stay for dinner though."

"Theodore?" Lorelai raised a brow, surprised that she knew so little about her younger sister. Was that her boyfriend or something..?

"Lorelai was taking a business class at the college today and decided to drop by to see us," Emily said, ignoring her.

"What business class?" Richard asked, stood beside the couch.

"Well she told us about it, dear, remember?" Emily said, a mix of sarcasm and condescension in her voice.

"No."

"Well actually," Lorelai said hesitantly "I came here for a reason. Dad, would you mind sitting down for a minute?"

"You need money." Richard stated, walking behind the couch

"..I have a situation." Lorelai tried to defend herself.

"You need money." Richard repeated.

"Dad will you please just try to let me get this out, okay?" This was exactly why she didn't want to do this, Lorelai reminded herself. "Um, Rory has been accepted to Chilton."

"Chilton? Oh that's a wonderful school, (Name) goes there," Emily smiled "Top of her class. And it's very close to here too."

Lorelai sighed "Yes, I know she goes there. That's partially why I thought it would be a good idea for Rory to apply-"

"Oh, I'm sorry I just thought you forgot. You two rarely speak at all apart from the occasional word at Christmas." Emily said sarcastically.

Lorelai bit her tongue, trying not to start an argument. "Well, Rory can start Chilton as early as Monday. Um, the problem is, they want me to put down an enrolment fee as well as the first semester's tuition, and I have to do all that immediately or she loses her spot."

"So you need money."

"Yeah, but it's not for me, it's for Rory." She explained "And I fully intend to pay you back every cent. I don't ask for favours, you know that."

"Oh yes, we know." Emily said.

"I'll get the cheque book." Richard stated, ready to walk away and retrieve it from his office.

"Thank you, you have no idea. Thank you." Lorelai smiled.

"-on one condition." Emily interrupted.

"So close." Her daughter muttered under her breath.

"Since we are now financially involved in your life, I want to be actively involved in your life." She continued.

"What does that mean, mother?" Lorelai asked, a feeling of dread washing over her.

"I want a weekly dinner."

"What?"

"Friday nights, you and Rory will have dinner here." Emily explained. "And you have to call us once a week to give us an update on her schooling and your life. That's it. That's the condition. If you agree, you'll come to dinner tomorrow night and leave here with the cheque. Otherwise, I'm sorry, we can't help you.."

Lorelai sighed again, accepting her fate. Of course her mother was going to pull something like this. "I..I don't want her to know that I borrowed the money from you. Can that just be between us?"

"Does seven o'clock work for you?" Emily confirmed, the phone starting to ring.

She forced a smile. "Perfect."

The phone continued to ring and (Name) rushed down the stairs in a different outfit, although equally preppy. She picked up the phone and answered it whilst Lorelai got up to leave.

"Hello?" She spoke into the phone, waiting for the person on the other end to reply.

"(Name), should I call him?" Amara, her best friend, said whilst (Name) walked with the phone.

"Who?" She said, in a much lower voice.

"James! He hasn't called me all week, and he was ignoring me at school, I could tell." She groaned whilst her friend rolled her eyes

(Name) shook her head "I mean, he didn't explicitly say you broke up but that sounds like he wants nothing to do with you if you ask me," she hummed, waving to her dad to greet him home whilst she still spoke into the phone. "What an idiot.."

"I think I saw him walking out of school with someone else today—" Amara paused. "Hold on, Alex is on the other line."

(Name) stopped talking, putting the phone to her side for a moment whilst she looked over at her parents and sister on the couch. "Daddy, did you look over my economics paper for me?" She asked her father, walking over and kissing his cheek.

"Yes, and I must say, I think it's worth an A+," He said, making his daughter grin.

"Perfect." She smiled. "I should hope so, it's worth like 20% of my grade.."

"Well then consider that 20% guaranteed." He chuckled. (Name) turned, glancing at Lorelai who was about to leave.

"Going so soon?" She asked whilst the phone in her hand was still silent.

"Well, I have to get back to the inn," Lorelai explained. "It was nice seeing you all."

"I'll walk you to the door," Her sister offered, walking out the living room with her. "So what were you really here for?" She asked as they grew out of earshot. "Money?"

"It's nothing, (name), don't worry about it." Lorelai said, deflecting the conversation. "Who was that guy you were necking with?"

"Gross. Nobody says necking anymore," (Name) rolled her eyes. "And that was just Theodore."

"Who?"

"He was at my last birthday party, and like every other birthday party you've attended." She explained. "Theodore Montgomery? Last name ring any bells?"

"Frosted tips!" Lorelai exclaimed, remembering all of a sudden.

"That was when we were 14, he doesn't have them any more," she defended, checking if Amara was back on the other line briefly before continuing "We've been friends since forever, surely you know more than that."

"Just friends?" Lorelai raised a brow.

"Just friends." (Name) confirmed, opening the door whilst Lorelai stepped out. "Bye Lorelai. See you on thanksgiving."

"Or tomorrow." She smiled before (Name) shut the door with a roll of the eyes, getting back on the phone.

"What did he want?" She asked as Amara returned, walking back towards her room with the brick like phone against her ear.

"He? He has a name you know." A familiar voice spoke.

"Hello to you too, Alexander Caspian Grimaldi." (Name) rolled her eyes, shutting her bedroom door, and sitting on her bed. God she hated three way calls.

"Anyways," Amara interjected, grumbling as she recalled what she had seen earlier that day. "Alex found out who James was with, all friendly with his arm around her waist..guess."

"Hmm..Me?" (Name) joked, whilst Amara waited.

"Haha. I can tell who you are from the back of your head, and you'd never do that to me. We never fight over boys," She said

"Because you have awful taste and I'm not a fan of high school boys. Too immature." (Name) retorted

"Cher and Dion have nothing on us," Amara giggled "guess, for real this time."

"I don't-"

"It was Rebecca!" Alexander interrupted, unable to keep it in.

"No!" (Name) gasped "That Mormon bitch who asked you for your lipgloss after gym today? The nerve!"

"I know!" Amara agreed "Like I didn't even get the opportunity to break up with him and he's kissing a girl wearing my lipgloss. He totally still wants me."

Alex scoffed "He wants you so he was out with another girl? Makes sense."

"Oh butt out, Alex, you're a boy, you don't get it." (Name) said, rolling her eyes. "I can't believe Rebecca would do that."

"Is she really a Mormon? I thought those only existed in Utah." Alex hummed, gossiping with them.

Amara passed before trailing off. "I guess I can't talk to James any more...I'll never find love."

"What made you think you were gonna find love in a prep school in the first place? " (Name) joked, holding a pink fluffy pillow against her chest. "When we go off to Yale, they'll be plenty of assholes to choose from."

"Real optimistic, aren't you?" Alex hummed.

"It runs in my blood," She smiled to herself. "Speaking of which, guess who came over today?"

"Don't tell me it's the deadbeat sister," Amara joked.

"She's not a deadbeat," (Name) tried to defend. "But yeah, Lorelai was here. I think she was asking for money, because she's only ever here for my birthday or holidays...But, in her defence, she's always been self sufficient so if she's asking, she must really need it.."

Her friend hummed in agreement "You must be, if you're gonna move out at 16 with a new born baby."

"And then not realise you have a sister until Christmas." Alex added. "Well, at least you got to see her an extra time before thanksgiving."

(Name) shook her head "I don't know about that..She said something about coming over tomorrow, and I'm pretty sure I heard my parents say something about dinner tomorrow. She might be coming over, for god knows what. Anyways. I have homework to do, so I've got to go."

"Wait was this the math homework?" Amara asked "Crap, I totally forgot! You really need to get a new cellphone, I'll froget these things without you."

"Well then you better go do it too, bye!" (Name) hung up the phone.

"So do we go in or do we just stand here recreating the little match girl?" Lorelai spoke as she and Rory stood outside the Gilmore residence. Rory remained silent, still not talking to her mother after their argument that afternoon. "Okay, look, I know you and me are having a thing here and I know you hate me but I need you to be civil, at least through dinner and then on the way home, you can pull a Menendez. Deal?"

"Fine." Rory said whilst Lorelai rang the doorbell. Within seconds, Emily opened the door with a smile. "Hi grandma."

"Well you're right on time." She said.

"Yeah, no traffic at all." Lorelai agreed with a forced smile. They walked through the door behind Emily who seemed genuinely excited to see the two of them on a day the banks were open.

"I can't tell you what a treat it is to have you both here."

"Oh well, we're excited too." Said an unexcited Lorelai, fiddling with her coffee cup.

"Is that a collector's cup or can I throw it away for you?" Emily asked, glancing at the paper cup.

"Oh," Lorelai muttered, about to throw it in the nearby wastebasket before Emily interrupted.

"In the kitchen, please." She turned to Rory. "Are you excited about chilton?"

"Well, I haven't started yet." Rory replied, walking alongside her grandmother to the living room.

"Richard, look who's here— where's (name)?" Emily glanced around.

"She said she was studying, remember?" Richard said, looking up from his newspaper. "Rory. You're tall."

"(Name), they're here!" Emily called up the stairs before her youngest daughter came down the creaky steps.

"Hi dad, (name)," Lorelai nodded to both respectively.

"Hi." She said with a small smile, brushing invisible creases out of her dress.

Richard looked over to her. "Lorelai, your daughter's tall."

"I know, it's freakish. We're thinking of having her studied at MIT."

"Ah." He hummed, returning to the paper.

"Champagne anyone?" Emily asked, interrupting the lack of conversation.

"Oh that's fancy," Lorelai hummed.

Emily poured a glass for Lorelai, herself and Richard. "Well it's not everyday that I have my girls here for dinner on a day the banks are open." She raised her glass, after handing glasses to the others. "A toast, to Rory entering chilton with (Name) and an exciting new phase in her life."

"Here here." Richard agreed

"Mm..well let's sit everyone." Emily said, sitting beside (Name) "An education is the most importantly thing in the world next to family."

"And pie." Lorelai smiled. "Joke, joke."

"Ah." Emily nodded, a long silence following Lorelai's remark. Richard handed Rory a newpaper whilst (name) stated at her shoes.

They finally made their way into the dining room, still sitting in silence. (Name) internally groaned, wishing she was hanging out with her friends instead.

"So, Rory, how do you like the lamb?" Emily asked.

"It's good." She nodded.

"Too dry?"

"No, it's perfect."

"Potatoes could use some salt though." Lorelai joked again. (Name) shot her a look.

Emily turned to Lorelai "Excuse me?"

"The potatoes are good, mom." (Name) said, trying to avoid any conflict. "Lorelai's just kidding. She's such a kidder." She said sarcastically, kicking her sister beneath the table.

"So, Grandpa, how's the insurance biz?" Rory asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, people die, we pay. People crash their cars, we pay. People lose a foot, we pay," Richard said.

"Well at least you have your new slogan," Lorelai joked again.

Richard hummed absentmindedly. "And how are things at the motel?"

"The inn?" Lorelai corrected "They're great."

"Lorelai's the executive manager now. Isn't that wonderful?" Emily chimed in.

"Speaking of which, Christopher called yesterday." He replied. (Name) didn't know Christopher, only hearing he was Rory's father, and the guy who turned Lorelai into a teen mother, which meant (Name) had vowed to stay celibate unto she was at least 20, just to beat teen pregnancy. Not that her parents would complain.

"Speaking of which? How is that a speaking of which?" Lorelai asked.

Well, she had met Christopher once or twice, before she was fully conscious, as a baby a couple of times before he disappeared off to do god knows what, god knows where, although she and Theodore were often compared to the pair, typically amongst Emily and Richard's older friends who knew them as children. The comparisons weren't encouraged though, especially since she had turned 15, soon to be 16 in the coming summer, a few months away.

"He's doing very well in California. His internet start up goes public next month. This could mean very big things for him," Richard turned to Rory. "Very talented man, you're father."

'Talented enough to get a girl pregnant and go off to the other side of the country' (name) thought to herself, but didn't say anything, as usual.

"She knows." Lorelai said, starting to feel agitated.

"He was always a smart one, that boy. You must take after him," he told Rory.

'Smart enough to not wrap it before he tapped it.'

"Speaking of which," Lorelai interrupted. "I'm going to get a coke. Or a knife." She said, before standing up and storming out of the dining room into the kitchen where she started scrubbing dishes in the sink. The maid walked in, giving her a look before walking back out.

"Guess you're not gonna be the one pulling a Menendez, huh?" (Name) whispered to Rory, out of earshot from her parents.

"What?" She whispered back

"I heard you, outside, from my bedroom."

Rory nodded slowly, glancing towards the door to the kitchen and getting out of her seat. "I think I should go talk to her."

"No I'll go," Emily insisted "you stay and keep your grandfather company. (Name) can tell you about Chilton." She got up, going to the kitchen "Lorelai, come back to the table."

"Is this what it's gonna be like every Friday night? I come over and let you two attack me?" She asked, turning around from the sink, facing her mother.

"You're being very dramatic," Emily rolled her eyes.

"Dramatic?" Lorelai exclaimed. "Were you at that table just now?"

"Yes I was," She replied. "And I think you took what your father said the wrong way."

"The wrong way?" She asked, annoyed by the response "How could I have taken it the wrong way? What was open to interpretation?"

Whilst they argued, (name), Rory and Richard sat in silence, able to overhear the whole argument.

"So," (name) tried to distract them. "Are you excited to start chilton? I can give you the run down on all the teachers if you want. And considering we'll be in the same grade, you can always hang out with my friends and I. They're all really nice, I promise."

"Um, sure." Rory nodded, still eavesdropping on the argument, although that was easy with how loud Lorelai was being.

"Keep your voice down." Emily hissed

"No mother, I can't take it anymore." Lorelai argued back. "Tonight feels just like a nightmare. I can't believe (Name) has to live like this every single day. I can't even take one damn night!"

Emily stepped back as Lorelai dropped suds on the kitchen floors. "You're dripping all over the floor."

"Why do you pounce on everything I say?" Lorelai continued.

"That's absurd." She retorted. "You barely uttered a word all night."

"That's not true." Her daughter frowned.

"You said pie."

"Oh come on."

"You did," Emily insisted. "All I heard you say was pie."

"Why would he bring up Christopher? Was that really necessary? Could've talked about (Name)'s boyfriend instead." She said, pacing around.

Emily raised a brow at that last comment, lining it wasn't true. "He likes Christopher."

"Isn't that interesting?" Lorelai said rhetorically "Because, as I remember, when Christopher got me pregnant, Dad don't like him so much."

"Oh, well, please, you were sixteen." She recalled "what were we supposed to do? Throw you a party? We were disappointed. The two of you had such bright futures."

"Yes, and by not getting married, we got to keep those bright futures."

"When you get pregnant, you get married. A child needs a mother and a father." Emily stated.

"Oh mom." Lorelai held back the urge to roll her eyes. "Do you think Christopher would have his own company right now if we'd gotten married?" She paused "Do you think he'd be anything at all?"

"Yes, I do. You're father would've put him in the insurance business, and you'd be living a lovely life right now," Emily explained "And you would actually know your little sister, you know, (hair colour hair), cartoony (eye colour) eyes, in case you forgot."

"He didn't want to be in the insurance business, and I am living a lovely life right now!" Lorelai argued back, annoyed by her mother's meddling. "And I would've known (name) better had you not kept her from me, I didn't even know she existed, or that you were ever pregnant."

"I didn't keep (Name) away from you, you went off to live your life far away from us with limited contact."

"—oh here we go." Lorelai groaned.

"You took that girl and completely shut us out of your life," Emily continued. "Not the other way around."

"You wanted to control me," She said.

"You were still a child!"

"I stopped being a child the minute the strip turned pink, and you had (Name) too," Lorelai scoffed. "I had to figure out how to live. I found a good job—"

"As a maid.." Emily sneered. "With all your brains and talent."

"Well you get your do over now, with (Name)," she accused. "I worked my way up, I run the place now. I built a life on my own with no help from anyone."

"Yes, and think of where you would have been if you'd accepted a little help, hmm?" Emily countered. "And where Rory would have been. Hell, she and (Name) could've been best friends. But no, you were always too proud to accept anything from anyone."

"Well, I wasn't too proud to come here to you two begging for money for my kid's school, was I?!" Lorelai barked, a little too loud, causing both her sister and daughter to overhear, whilst Richard felt asleep in his seat. (Name) wasn't really surprised, but it seemed that Rory was.

"No, you certainly weren't. But you're too proud to let her know where you got it from, aren't you?" Emily declared with a smirk. "Well, fine, you have your precious pride and I have my weekly dinners. Isn't that nice? We both win."

4136 words

A/N: first chapter of my long awaited gilmore girls fic!! this isn't my usual content, but tbh it's y blog, i can do what I want. Also, I have nothing against mormons btw, that was a joke similar to another one in gilmore girls i think. anyways don't cancel me please

#gilmore girls x reader #gilmore girls fanfiction #richard gilmore #rory gilmore #gilmore girls #lorelai gilmore #emily gilmore #luke danes #jess mariano #dean forester #logan huntzberger #— mirrorball 🪩

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sanccharine · 20 days ago

Text

damnation in disguise

pjo au

pairing: ??? x child of ares!reader

genre: action

word count: 3.9k

warnings: descriptions of blood and injuries, includes violence, murder and gore – please don’t read if you are uncomfortable !

summary: why was everyone following you? monsters. satyrs. gods. you couldn’t catch a break.

a/n: thanks to indigo (@eternallyghosting) for fixing up my english, it was horrendous prior to her witchcraft

Shoving away the meek satyr and watching as he crumpled to the ground should have made you feel remorseful.

But you were bleeding. But also bloodied. And exhausted. And worst of all, angry.

“I told you to stop following me around,” you said over your shoulder, stopping at the end of the alley, careful not to step onto the pavement. Hiding in the shadows and peering onto the street.

You only stopped because something wasn't right. Cornered in this alley with a ginormous butchered boar and a nervous satyr behind you wasn’t your idea of a typical day. Although you could argue you don’t have or know such a thing as a typical day.

Your typical days had stopped as soon as you ran away from home. Maybe even before then. Maybe you had no idea what a typical day was even like.

This was the life of a demigod.

No, what bothered you was the sense of being watched. And to make matters worse, you were unable to pinpoint from where or what it was that watched you. You didn’t like it… though you could argue again that you didn’t like many things.

The streets tonight were quiet. You couldn’t really call it night anymore as the first tendrils of light had begun to brighten the sky. Despite the early hours, the sun was nowhere in sight, only the full moon casting a picturesque glow over the lonely street. Somewhere far down the alley, you found a drunkard stumbling his way back home. But apart from him and the rare taxi that zoomed past, you were completely alone, save for the dead boar and feebly bleating satyr. So, who was watching you?

You knew you weren’t just imagining things. In your life, gut feelings were almost ninety-nine percent correct. Especially yours. So you weren’t in the habit of ignoring them when they’ve always guided you down the right path.

Toying with the growing splinters on the handle of your double-bitted axe, you watched the street with a steely gaze. Not minding the blood threatening to soak deep into the very wood of your axe. Not minding the slight ache from where your arm locks into your shoulder. Not minding that your axe needed a new handle on top of needing to be sharpened. It was still a lethal weapon, especially in your hands.

“Reveal yourself,” you said. More of a whisper into the night but it was still a command nonetheless.

“I don’t think that is smart—”

“Come on!” you said, anger seeping into your skin readily like the blood did into your pores.

That’s when you noticed the scent. Acrid, pungent, sharp. Like acid.

You had to breathe through your mouth to avoid the burning sensation down your nose, though that only made your throat itch and your eyes tear up. The grip on your axe tightened until the wood hurt your palm, you were ready to swing… but unfortunately, you knew you shouldn’t.

“Don’t—”

“I know, satyr,” you grit out, before asking once again, “Show yourself!”

A blinding light appeared, akin to the headlights of a car. Yet, it was directly opposite you, perpendicular to the street. Then you supposed it was another monster, perhaps with glowing eyes. However, when the lights only grew in size, covering your vision in white, you knew who it was.

“Look away,” the satyr behind you said. Almost pleading, if you could call its weak bleating that. “Please.”

With your free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose, you relented. Merely hiding your eyes would do nothing. So you turned your whole head behind, your torso and most of your body moving along, but with your feet rooted in the same position. Ready to swing… even if it was a god.

“Easy, child,” a young voice called out. Of course, her appearance was just that… an appearance. A veil the gods used to hide, from you, and from themselves. The voice matched. “Look at me.”

Blinking away the blind spots in your eyes, you slowly turned to come face-to-face with the Goddess of the Hunt herself. Artemis.

“You’re following me too?” was the first thing you asked.

“Watch it, kid,” a new voice spoke from behind the goddess.

For the first time, you saw a hunter of Artemis. Like you’d heard from the satyr that followed you, she wore a silver jacket and a circlet… something to assign her as the goddess’ right hand or the like. She was beautiful, all regal-like. Maybe she was a princess before she swore to hunt with Artemis, yet whoever she was, you knew her looks deceived her true age. While she looked not that much older than you, there was no guessing her real age. The same way Artemis took the appearance of a young child, looking even younger than yourself, when she was in fact not mortal at all.

However, what you should have been really focused on was the silver arrowhead, nocked and pointed at your head. Despite all your prowess in battle, even you knew you’d be dead before you could even decide to swing your axe. While it made you hesitant to fight, it didn’t really scare you.

The satyr let out a scared bleat while Artemis only chuckled, her hand raising to tell her lap dog to lower her bow. “It is fine, they are always like this.”

You glared in equal measure at the hunter, who huffed out a bit before lowering her bow. Though her arrow was still nocked, all she needed to was raise it again and let it soar.

“You sent the boar?” you jutted your head over your shoulder and Artemis leaned to your left to peer at it.

“It was our hunt,” the goddess chuckled again before returning to look at you. “But it would seem someone butchered it.”

“You sent it on purpose—”

“Watch it!” the hunter said again, almost hissing at the same time the satyr bleated out your name and hurried to the Artemis’ side. He began bowing over and over again, muttering apologies on your behalf.

You only rolled your eyes, it was an honest question. Nothing of this sort was a coincidence in your life.

“Not this time, child,” the goddess smiled, “but you’ve proven yourself once again. It is no simple task, slaying my boar. That too, alone.”

You only stared at her, already predicting the question before she could ask it.

“My offer still stands,” Artemis said. “Swear to me and join my hunters. I will bless you. I will protect you.”

“And my answer still stands,” you reply, “I do not want to be your lackey.”

“M’lady, give me the chance and I will—” Artemis only raised her hand again to stop her lieutenant from shooting straight through your eye like you were the game they hunted.

“Your father—”

“Where is he?” you asked and Artemis frowned, no doubt noting your contempt.

“I am not here on his behalf,” she quickly corrected herself. “But he has aided you more than he is allowed to—”

“He’s pulling a lot of strings only to not show up?” you spat out, unable to resist the contempt souring your tongue. “All of these tricks, blessings, and gifts… offers of protection… for what? Afraid to speak to me?”

For that last question, you looked up at the sky. You knew no god appreciated that.

The satyr beside Artemis only covered his face with both hands, almost crying. The hunter looked appalled. But Artemis only chuckled, again.

“You are lucky to still be standing here, child,” she said with a smile, it was almost warm.

“I don’t know about luck,” you say dryly, raising your free hand to gesture from your head to your knee. Almost every part was coated in crimson that was drying up.

“No, then, not luck. It is your father. He protects you, like many gods and goddesses are willing to do so—”

“If I listen to them, right?” you ask and Artemis’ smile drops. “Help them? Swear to them?”

When you use her own words, she sighs. “Get to the camp, child. It is not far. If you will not accept direct protection, then at least do not be foolish and decide not to be amongst others like yourself.”

You wanted to defy her. Again. Like you have the gods. And your own father over the last year or so. But you were also exhausted. You cannot escape this. That is what your mother had said. This is your life. This is who you are. A demigod.

And that won’t change no matter how much you denied it.

“Nothing will change.” It was a statement, because it was true.

Artemis gave you a look, an expression almost foreign on the goddess’ face. Something like concern or pity, but whatever it was supposed to be, you knew it was genuine.

“This is your life, child,” she said. “Your fate… it cannot be changed.”

“Right,” you let out a sigh.

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you turned to the satyr. He looked up at you, his hands just slightly lowering from his face. You didn’t have to say the words for him to understand. His whole face seemed to light up… no doubt, because of the rising sun, nothing else. He straightened himself and then bowed to the goddess in gratitude. He also pulled out a little sapling from his shoulder bag. Why he would carry such a thing was beyond you, but he presented it to the goddess and she accepted with a nod.

“Am I supposed to give you something too?” you asked, half-mocking but half-genuine.

“You could begin with giving respect, kid,” the hunter said, scornfully.

“Watch it,” you said with a scorn of your own. Her face morphed into a deeper sneer but Artemis lightly pushed the hunter behind her.

“Control your emotions,” Artemis said calmly. “You are not acting yourself.”

The hunter looked at her goddess, a little taken aback for a moment. Almost insulted at the scolding before realizing it wasn’t a scolding, but a warning. Then the hunter looked at you. As if looking at you in a new light.

“I understand, m’lady,” the hunter bowed and Artemis chuckled.

“Can’t help it, can you?” you shrugged, not necessarily to mock them.

You were being honest. There was no controlling the subconscious power, at least you hadn’t figured out how to control it just yet. But it was like a mist around you, provoking people into frustration and anger just by being in your mere presence. Though you doubted you needed such power from your father, something told you would have managed to do that even without being a child of Ares.

Taking a step back, the tension leaving the hunter’s body was visible. Even more so when she didn’t respond to your question.

“I would heal you, but I fear you would not accept it,” Artemis said with something like another warm smile, this time more genuine than the last.

“I’ll live.”

“And you have,” she nods.

There was a silence between the four of you as the sun finally rose. Artemis watched the sky lighten and the world awaken with that kind smile of hers.

“The gods watch you,” she was still smiling as she said it, but you knew what it was. A warning.

You nodded, reverent for the first time as you bowed. “I know, m’lady.”

You are not without respect. Or without order. Or manners.

There just haven’t been reasons for you to give that to anyone. It was all unearned. And you’re sure the gods knew you thought so. But they have yet to smite you down. Like she said, it was your fate. You were still… needed.

With another bow, you turn to the mutilated boar. “I offer my kill to you, Lady Artemis. Please accept my hunt.”

It was no sacrifice or offering. But merely a challenge you intercepted.

Artemis chuckled and when you looked at her eyes, they were glowing silver faintly, and for a moment it looked like the sky darkened. She’d accepted.

“Your journey to camp will be successful, child,” you nod at her call. There was a faint tingling in your fingertips. That acrid smell again, sharper than earlier. “But not easy.”

It was finally your turn to chuckle.

Artemis had been right.

The trip to Camp Half-Blood was far from easy. Having survived alone for a year, fending off monsters, you thought it would be smoother… but it was as if the universe decided you weren’t supposed to make it to the camp.

Every street, every turn, every corner had something waiting for you. This went further than a challenge or test. If it was testing anything, it was testing your patience. Your satyr—protector, he called himself ironically—was a nervous wreck. Though you surmised it was you who he was nervous of and not the monsters you faced.

On the way, he offered his meals to you—of course, the very rare actual foods and not soda cans or plastic bags—but you told him he could save it for himself. You preferred to steal wallets from non-assuming tourists and get yourself some proper meals… snacks from vending machines.

Restaurants always took too long and the wait made you antsy. Your protector didn’t approve of the method, and never had in the past year, but he had become tolerant of your behaviour and you of his.

Of course, he was not completely useless… that sounded harsh. But you couldn’t help but feel somewhat protective, even if you hated the feeling. He was always shaking, jumpy, a well of anxiety trotting on goat legs.

In the rare times that neither of you could sleep or bear the silence of the woods you trekked through, you would let him prattle on about the camp. Not only had you deprived yourself of a sanctuary for the past year, but also him of a home as he chased after you. Raving about the strawberry fields and the woods around his home where some council was held, all of that seemed to calm his trembling. So you let him talk, not necessarily listening but not necessarily ignoring him either. It was no trouble. Besides, you don’t think he cared if you listened or not… he’d learned you’re not a conversationalist.

But despite his disposition, it was clear why he was chosen to guide you to this camp. Scared as he was, he stood his ground. Pulling out his flute? Pipes? Whatever it was to cast magic and spells. Not your preferred weaponry, but it did help in battle most times. His keen sense of smell did steer you clear of monsters on the main roads and also guided you through the woods. Without him, you would be running circles around these trees. He also found a clearing with running water for you to get yourself at least slightly cleaned up before heading to camp.

While it was appreciated, it was useless. Most of your injuries were surface level, closing up on their own or scabbing over. You were able to clean the dirt and grime from underneath your nails and the dried blood from your skin. In the process, you found more bruises and scars scattered across your body. Your reflection looked foreign to your own eyes, you’d aged so much in a year. Eyes darker, sunken into your cheeks, sharper and narrowed permanently. Lines across your forehead and between your eyebrows, etched into your skin in a way that no amount of rubbing seemed to erase. Skin a bit marred from the sun, lips chapped and dry, though those were less important. It still made you frown. Shaking your head you looked away, a hand coming down to splash away the reflection.

Then it was the matter of your clothes. The true uselessness of water on fabric drenched and soaked in blood. Your jacket was your test trial… no amount of scrubbing could erase the splatters. So instead you just decided to wash it in the water for the sake of freshness rather than spotlessness. Your protector nearly bleated himself into an early grave and excused himself when he saw you cleaning your clothes. He was so strange. What else did he think you were going to do?

After the clearing, it was the worst of it all.

The satyr had mentioned earlier that the camp was protected and being surrounded by woods it was more likely to have many hidden monsters. It was only a matter of when you’d come across one.

There were three of them. Spindly and coiling, snake-like. Perhaps reptilian but not exactly. Midnight coloured, a rotund head with what you assumed was tendrils of who knows what. Instead of a tail, however, they had legs like a forked tongue, unsure whether they wanted to slither across the ground or walk with their disjointed bones.

Your protector said something. The name of the monsters perhaps. Not that it registered in your ears. You were already charging towards them.

For the most part, you were impervious to attacks, though it was a power that seemed to be selective. You still hadn’t figured that power out either. But you took your chances, you always did. And while injuries were bad, you figured they would eventually heal on their own.

So you threw up your free hand to block one of the monsters while swinging at the other. The third chased after the satyr, but he just ran around playing his instrument, surprisingly fast given the terrain. You supposed the goat legs helped.

Using your bare hand was a terrible mistake. The tendrils weren’t tendrils. They were jaws, with tiny rows of teeth, latching onto your skin like leeches. And just like leeches, they tore at your skin when you pried them off. A blood-curdling scream left your throat grating and burning, sending the nearby birds scattering from the woods in a flock.

Tendon… you saw the tendons of your forearm. Skin peeling like a wrapper from where it should have been covering your muscles. It wasn’t the pain that had rendered your arm useless, it was the shock. In fact, the pain barely registered at this moment. It fell next to your side, like a rock in the water. Immobile and shredded.

Panic was beginning to creep in… it was something you couldn’t afford at the moment. You had to eviscerate these monsters before they did you.

Blinking away the tears and the faint growing sensation of immobility from your injured arm, you swung your axe with a grunt. Blade cutting clean through the neck of the monster, disintegrating into dust right in front of you.

Your head spun and your ankle rolled on uneven ground. But you turned to the monster that had sunken its maw in you. Tearing it off from you seemed to hurt it as much as you. Its screeching was unbearable, its head gnawing at the ground. You had to kill it.

The blood loss made your steps falter and your vision blur, but your aim was good enough. Raising the axe above your head, you brought it down to its neck. Your knees buckled when your axe hit the ground, disintegrating the monster. One more, there was one more.

Blinking away the tears, you looked up. Your heart stopped.

There it was. The entrance to the camp. If the arch with the name wasn’t a dead giveaway, it was the growing crowd of orange humanoid blurs. Scrunching your eyes again, you turned to find your satyr.

He was still running around, heading near you. Swinging the axe to a tree, you pulled yourself up, releasing a sound that was between a grunt and a whine. Your strength was depleting, that much was clear when you tried to keep tugging at your axe to pull it free from the bark. It wouldn’t budge.

Your voice said something. You were sure. But you doubt it was comprehensible because your protector, even with his keen senses, only looked confused. Frustrated, you yelled what could be your last word.

“Move!”

And just as he turned at the last minute, you pulled out the axe, the weight of the swing guiding your attack more than your strength. Your axe unevenly lodged itself into the body of the monster, its head still writhing trying to get at you, but you stumbled onto the monster, driving your axe in. The monster disintegrated.

Done. You were done.

Your protector was crying himself. His red and blotchy face came in and out of your vision as he tried to pick you up. A huge mistake on his part, another scream left your throat and you shoved him aside with your axe hand. It was the only limb in your control.

Holding the axe to the ground, you stood up on shaky legs and dragged yourself to the camp entrance. Your satyr arrived by your side, more than wise enough now to not touch you, despite wanting to help. The injuries on you made him sick. But he held it all in to the best of his ability.

The satyr was right. Artemis was right. The gods… they were right.

The camp was a sanctuary.

The moment you crossed the threshold, it was as if you were given a shot of adrenaline. For a moment, your vision cleared, the pain subdued. Just enough to keep you from taking your last breath.

Plunging your axe to the ground, you kneeled, heaving while your vision turned red for a moment.

It was the gasps that made you blink away the blurriness. Gulping, you looked up at the crowd, much larger than before. They didn't look at you. No, they were looking at something above you. There was a faint idea of what it could have been. It explained the shot of adrenaline.

You tilted your head up to see the remnants of the glowing red symbol; Ares had claimed you as his progeny.

Happy, you should be happy. Instead, you spat out blood to the ground with a groan.

Your injured arm tingled, attempting to heal itself. Attempting being the key word. Besides, not that it could replace the dizziness in your head. You looked up again, hoping to see a face. Someone to ground you. To bring you a sense of normalcy. To remind you that you were part mortal too. Anything human, anything normal, anything typical before you pass away.

Almost as if drawn to her, your eyes found a young girl arriving at the front by weaving through the crowd. Her shoulder shrugging away the hand that tried to stop her as she approached the very front. She had to be your age, or at least, looked it… but looks can be deceiving. She was…

Not human.

Your eyes narrowed, a sneer forming… or an attempt at it with how you bared your teeth.

She was not human. Couldn’t be.

She tried to move closer but someone tugged her back harshly. Before you could guess their next move, before you could tighten your grip around your axe again… darkness consumed your vision.

The ground soared up to you and you were gone.

Not that you knew it at the time, but your last image was of the young girl who would come to be very important to you.

Minatozaki Sana.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: happy new year, i don't think i said it, so yeah !! have a good day/night !!

taglist: @someone-who-likes-broccoli

#damnation in disguise #mala's collection #sanccharine #indigo's archive #eternallyghosting :]#twice x reader #jype twice #twice imagines

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epicthemusical · 6 months ago

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Killed for Mercy

WARNING THUNDER SAGA SPOILERS

blame the EPIC writing discord server for this-

“Choose, you or your crew.” Odysseus feels exhausted, the guilt dragging him down. He wants to be angry and scream at the gods for this but he doesn't have the energy anymore. In the end Eurylochus is right since he had all the power he must carry all the blame. He should have led them better. His arrogance in revealing his name to the cyclops caused 550 men to drown. He had failed to keep the bag closed. Then his first mistake of deciding to go to the cyclops cave caused Polites to die…Gods what would Polites think if he could see the monster he had become? Maybe he deserves to die and at least this way he could spare his crew. But then there is Penelope and Telemachus. He may be tainted in blood and death but he has to get home and keep them safe. He is the only one who can make sure they are safe.

“..Captain?” His brother begs for an answer just like he did after the lair of Scylla.

“Eurylochus.” That's right he's not the only one that could keep them safe…Eurylochus is his brother in law, surely he would keep his family safe for him. He has decided then but he has to apologize first, for failing as their Captain.

“Im sor-” Before he can finish he coughs up blood staring at the sword in his chest in shock. The sword is pulled out and he starts to fall. Before he hits the deck, arms wrap around him and hold him gently. He looks up and sees Eurylochus there, tears streaming down his face.

“I'm sorry Ody but I can't let you sacrifice the crew.” Odysseus feels the urge to laugh at the irony. He guesses this is a fitting way for him to die. Even if he may have deserved it he feels tears fall as the wound from the betrayal that had not yet healed is ripped open again. Still he doesn't want Eurylochus to feel more guilt than he already will.

“I forgive you. Can you take care of Penelope and Telemachus for me please?” His request is tinged with desperation as he waits for Eurylochus to answer

“Of course I swear I will keep them safe for you.” Odysseus nods and another cough, more blood lost.

“Hey Zeus, I choose to die in my crew's place!” A pause before Zeus replies

“Very well Odysseus of Ithaca. You will be dead soon anyway .” Zeus leaves and Eurylochus gently holds Odysseus close, both of them crying. Odysseus feels his vision turning black and he knows his time is almost out.

“I'm sorry Eury…for everything. I only hope that Polites will forgive me when we meet again…Thank you…” His final words said he goes limp in Eurylochus arms.

“No brother, I'm the one who should be sorry..” Eurylochus whispers as he sobs over Odysseus body.

#epic the musical #epic fic #odysseus #angst #odysseus epic the musical #epic the thunder saga #eurylochus epic the musical #heavy angst

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mytheoristavenue · 2 years ago

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GOTG Yandere!Rocket Raccoon x Reader - The Things I'd Do

Summary: After a mission goes ary, ending with you badly injured, you become hyper aware of Rocket's violent tendencies.

Warnings: mentions of violence, character death, revenge killing, one sided love, yandere!Rocket, overprotective!Rocket, heavy angst, not proof read

God, did your head hurt. Actually, you hadn't had a migrane this bad in a long time, certainly not since you stopped drinking so much. This was no hangover, though. Your vision was blurry, and you were tired and light headed. This was a concussion, and a pretty severe one at that. Trying to crane your neck, you took in your surroundings; the ship's infirmary. How did you get here? You could hardly remember anything, other than going on a simple mission.

"(Y/N)..." a timid voice called from the entrance to the room. "You're awake..."

"M-Mantis...?" you croaked, straining to fully sit up, only to have her rush over and worriedly push you back down.

"No, no, please stay lying down!" she fretted in a hushed tone. "You are very hurt, you have to rest."

Reluctantly, you laid your head back down fully. "Can't be that bad," you joked weakly, eyes suddenly flickering to the machinery all around you. You weren't sure how you hadn't caught on until now, but there were needles supplying various things straight to your veins, wires monitoring your vitals, and your breathing was assisted by a mask. "I-It's not that bad, right?" The woamn stood quiet, somberly gazing at her feet. "Right, Mantis?"

"You are on life supposrt." she finally confessed, glancing up at you through her lashes for a second before looking away again. "We weren't sure you would make it..."

"How long has it been?" you finally asked, facing dead ahead, too stunned to even train your sight on her anymore.

"Two weeks and four days." she replied, still stiff as a board. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just came to check on you..."

"Don't be sorry," you finally said, cracking a sad smile. "I'm glad you're here, come here me get outta all this stuff, will ya?"

For a split second, her face lit up with the same joy it usually had and she made a motion towards you, before reaching out, only to fall short. Her expression suddenly morphed into panic and she back away from you at the sound of light footsteps. When the door opened to reveal what she must've been so affraid of, you were left with more questions than answers.

"Mantis," he barked, inhaling an irritated breath. "What did I say about this room?"

"N-No one in or out but you..." she stuttered, crumpling herself up in a corner, far away from both you and him.

"So you do understand, you just choose to go behind my back? Is that it?" Rocket's fur stoof on end with aggitation, which grew taller by the second.

"N-No, Peter asked me to-"

"I don't give a fuck what Quill said, get the fuck outta here before I-" his blood suddenly ran could, robbing him of all his anger and harsh words, giving her time to escape weeping. "You're awake." With that, you held his full attention as he padded closer to you, a weak grin splitting his face as he reached your hedside, hoping up on a stool to be closer toy our level.

You on the other hand were not as overjoyed to see him as he was you. You had shot up to sit, hugginy our knees during his outburst, having never heard him that upset. You'd seen Rocket angry- furious even- tons of times, but this was...malice and it was so unlike him. "Rocket...why did you yell at Mantis like that..." you asked in a cautous whsiper.

"I'm sorry ya had to see that, doll," he started, reaching both hands out to cup your cheeks. "I just been in here takin' care of ya and I didn't want anybody to screw anything up." he explained, taking on a gentle tone as one of his thumbs stroked your cheek. "I keep tellin' 'em to stay outta here but nobody ever listens to me."

"Rocket, you were really mean to her...you really should apologize." You pressed, wiggling away form his touch. "She was just worried and checking up on me."

Rocket sighed, sctraching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, doll, when you're right, you're right. I'll find her later." he relented, hoping down and scurrying over to a nearby table to pick up the tablet that had been collecting all the data on your condition. "So, how ya feelin'?"

"Not great," you admitted. "I have a really bad headache and..." It suddenly occoured to you to try and get more information about what had happened from him. "Hey, since you've been the one taking care of me, why am I on life support?"

"Well, i couldn't just let you die, could I?" he asked rhetorically with a laugh. "Honestly, you should be thanking you for bringing you back."

"Back from where." you muttered, more as a command than a question. He chuckled nonchalantly in responce, mimicking you while shaking his head. "Rocket." you warned sternly, making him halt, rolling his eyes as he turned to face you. "Where did you bring me back from?"

"Well..." he shifted awkwardly in place, rubbing the back of his neck. "You were dead." he finally confesed, blowing right past the revellation into more gruesome detail. "You had to fuck around and get your head beat in so I had to go in and..." His voice trailed off as your focus pulled away, horror washing over you. You had never been relgious, but you knew now that this was wrong. Your skin felt like it wasn't in place and your heart begin to feel like it didn't belong to you.

Rocket- someone you trusted- had gone and dragged you back from the dead, played God, who knows what else? You began to fold in on yourself, pulling your knees back to your chest in discomfort as your stare seems miles away. He could recognize the symmtoms of your oncoming panic attack before you could and he reached out to you, scurrying closer.

"Hey, Hey, don't go and freak out on me ok?" he urged, hopping up on the bed with you. "Try not to think about it too much, you're alive after all." He continued to talk while you mentally checked out, your mind entirely broken as you studied the skin on your hand. "And this is just the half of it." he said. "You shoulda seen how many of those knuckleheads I took out for you."

It was at this moment, while Rocket began to curl up in the crevice of your side that you noticed: In the reflective surface of a nearby tool tray, one of your eyes had changed color and the was nopciable scarring covering the largest portion of your face.

"Killin, takin' care of you. You got no idea the things I'd do for you, doll face."

#rocket raccon x reader #rocket raccon #yandere!rocket #rocket x reader #gotg #rocket raccoon x y/n #yandere!Rocket x reader #gotg vol 3

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00127am · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER FOUR : up in smoke and flames (no pun intended)

@ noisecomplaint ln yn isn't too fond of apartment living, between the occasional roaches and the person who keeps stealing her grocery deliveries. but especially because of her exceptionally loud next door neighbors whom she has decided: she cannot stand. it's not all bad though, certainly not when xiao dejun (the prettiest boy she's ever seen) lives in the building. well, it was a perk. until it's revealed that him and her next door neighbor are one in the same.

Taking Hendery’s suggestion into full force and consideration, it isn’t long until Xiaojun stomps over to the balcony. Where, for a single moment, he pauses. And in this single moment, he remembers the last time he swung open a door. A door which opened to greet him with your agitated expression and sharp tongue. Both things that Xiaojun wouldn’t completely mind seeing again, against his better judgment that is. But the chances of seeing you this time are next to none. In fact, he’d bet against seeing you. Because he just can’t seem to imagine his pretty next door neighbor smoking that god awful brand of cigarettes that Sicheng likes. The same brand that makes him wrinkle his nose at the stench and pulls an exaggerated cough from his throat in the form of an attempted deterrent. It’s not going to be you, that he’s sure of.

So sure that when he really does open the door and shift his vision to your balcony, your empty balcony, he exhales in relief. Though it’s not long lasting as he catches another whiff of smoke that makes him grit his teeth, jaw locked and eyes narrowed. He throws his head back, tossing an angry finger at the balcony above him as he raises his voice. “You have shit taste in cigs! If you’re going to make the whole fucking building stink then do me a favor and smoke something that doesn’t give me a migraine. For fucks sake,”

“Sorry?”

You’re there, sitting in the frame of your open window. Your hair hanging low over your face as you lean forward to look at him, lips parted in the beginning of a snarl and brows set furrowed down upon your eyes. Eyes that are narrowed as you scrutinize him, lifting from the base of his slippers to the waistband of his jeans to the tongue that’s pressed against the back of his teeth and then his eyes, now caught somewhere in between surprise and horror. Your attention is so unwavering and undivided to the extent that he can feel the heat beginning to burn in his cheeks.

You laugh, completely unamused, the pretty sound failing to meet your eyes (perhaps in any other circumstance, your neighbor would have gotten butterflies) as you stare him down. Or…glare him down really. And if looks could kill? Well Xiaojun would be dead ten times over. Then dismembered. Skull kicked in for good measure.

You take a drag of your cigarette, shaking off the built up ash with a flick much too harsh for the job. Exhaling the smoke in a manner which makes Xiaojun think there might be a chance that he doesn’t hate that brand after all. “Sorry for my shit taste. I’ll be more considerate next time when I’m buying my cigs,”

Oh.

Oh no.

taglist. @replayenthusiast @ahnneyong @yeosangsbiceps @haechansbbg @mxlly143 @suneonu thank for you for supporting noise complaint! ♡

@ previous @ home @ next

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fortheloveofarchons · 10 months ago

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Aether is scarred from lightning and thunder

Inspired by @heysoanime on Instagram, go check them out!!!

C.W. - Angst - Aether angst and needs therapy - Xiao wanting revenge - dark Inazuma angst - Raiden Shogun and Teppei mentioned - Zhongli appearance - Zhongli/Childe mentioned

In the dimness of the bedroom outside of Liyue, shadows dance on the walls as lightning streaks across the night sky, casting fleeting glimpses of terror on the face of the golden-haired traveller lying in bed. While his floaty companion was able to sleep through with ease, his body was tense with each flash, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as the storm outside rages on.

The thunder, like the roar of an angry illuminated beast, reverates through the room, shaking the very foundations of his being. With each deafening crash, his heart pounds in his ears, drowning out the soothing rhythm of rain tapping against the windowpane.

The traveller pulls the covers up to his chin, seeking refuge from the tempest raging beyond the safety of his walls. But no amount of bedding could shield him from the relentless assault of nature's fury.

With every flash of lightning, static flashbacks appear in front of Aether, even if he wishes to not remember them again.

BANG!!!

He remembered how the life in their eyes dissipated, like empty windows in an abandoned village. Those whose Visions were stolen away were almost like a husk of their former self, a fragile hermit shell that can easily be destroyed.

SNAP!!!

The sound of lightning calls to mind about the time when the God of Eternity, whose hair glows in luminescent violet. The moment she summons her Musou No Hitotachi, her lightning sword emerges from her chest, revealing the core of her power. In a quick flash, he remembered his body suffering from the stinging, burning pain from her lightning strikes.

CRACKLE!!!

The memory of the resistance soldiers’ bodies slowly decaying like old corpses, while the delusions drain out their lifeforce would be a moment that cements his hatred for the nation of electro.

His breath came in shallow gasps, his body trembling with each rumble of thunder and lightning that rolls through the darkness. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the flashes of lightning that pierced his mind and body like fiery daggers.

Every creak of the room, every gust of wind, sent shivers of dread coursing through Aether’s veins. He felt small and vulnerable, a mere outsider at the mercy of one of the most brutal elements in Teyvat.

“Please… anyone… please stop…”

In the depths of his fear, he longs for the storm to pass, for the tranquillity of sleep to wash away his worries. But the storm seemed endless, a relentless onslaught that refused to relent.

He had no choice.

He had to call someone.

“Xiao…”

“I’m here–” The wispy smoke appears in a quick moment, revealing the yaksha, Adeptus Xiao. His nonchalant gaze immediately widens from seeing Aether covering himself in a blanket.

“Aether?” Xiao removes the blanket, seeing Aether in such a dishevelled and exhausted look: His long blonde braid messy, his eyes sunken with heavy bags, and his hands trying to compose themselves by clenching onto the blanket.

“Aether, hey…” Xiao immediately tends to Aether, brushing the short strands of his blonde hair out of his face and fanning his sweat away. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

Aether quickly shakes his head, pressing his left cheek onto the pillow. “It’s nothing, just some bad memories. I just– I must’ve accidentally called you, I guess.”

“ You guess? You people really have such contradictory words.” Xiao scrunches his eyebrows.

“...Just forget that I ever said anything.” Aether whispers his words out shakily. “You have enough carnage to deal with. I’m fine now so please… don’t worry about me.”

Xiao remains silent, his lips growing thin and firm. Looking down on Aether’s blonde braid where it hangs off the side of the bed, Xiao gently holds the tail of the braid and takes off the band, slowly unbraiding his soft, messy hair.

“Aether? Do you get nightmares lately?”

“...Sometimes.”

Xiao continues to unbraid his hair until it reaches to the top, where their eyes meet. Aether’s eyes darted to the side upon seeing Xiao’s golden irises, and Xiao could only let out a sigh. “If you aren’t sleeping well, I can help with that. Those terrible memories you mentioned… is it about Inazuma again?”

Aether’s mouth opens, then closes firmly.

“Xiao, please. Forget about this.” Aether shuts his eyes, breathing shallowly. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologise for something that wasn’t even your fault.” Xiao consoles him, placing his hand on Aether’s chest. He gently pats his chest in a soft rhythm, lulling him to sleep.

As Xiao could hear the gentle snore from Aether, he releases his hand and walks out of the room.

“I’m sorry, Aether…”

He apologises, his golden irises sharp and bright under the moonlight.

“But I am not so forgiving to those that hurt you.”

He didn’t mention much about Inazuma when he got back to Liyue, but considering that he’s involved with Venti and Rex Lapis, he must’ve… confronted her for the same purpose: Finding his twin sister. I have heard that Inazuma’s condition is hostile, but still…

“How could the God of Eternity do this to him…?”

Summoning his Primordial Jade Spear in thin air, Xiao charges out of the door, his vision as dark as a tunnel, with hints of red in front of him. Like those battles he had been through during the archon war, as if he was seeing red. The heavy rain drops splashes on his hair and his body, soaking him wet. The air is heavy with the scent of wet earth and freshly fallen rain, mingling with the sharp tang of ozone that lingers in the wake of each lightning strike.

He knew he could be dead the moment he set foot in Inazuma. He knew he would be stricken down by the Raiden Shogun.

Yet, it all didn’t matter to him.

Only the traveller matters to him.

Aether… he does not deserve every bad thing that has happened to him…

“Where are you going, Xiao?” A deep voice calls out to him from behind.

That voice…

#ao3 fanfic #ao3fic #genshin impact #genshin impact fatui #xiao x aether #aether x xiao #aether #genshin aether #xiaother #genshin xiao #xiao #xiaoaether #zhongli #raiden shogun #raiden ei #fanfiction angst #fanfic angst #aether angst #xiao angst

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cinnbar-bun · 5 months ago

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Being Firm

The American Dream: Chapter 4

Summary: Funny still struggles to adjust to life at home while his mother tries to ease the tension. Although, her schemes to get him remarried may have given him just what he needed most.

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~5k

Notes: Inclusion of OC, minor swearing, minor religious references, war, talks of injuries, some casual sexism/enforcement of Victorian era gender roles and ideals.

Read on my AO3 here! "The American Dream" Masterlist here!

Taglist (Please let me know if you'd like to be added!): @bruabbina

The days in the Valentine household were nothing short of awkward and painful since that night. Neither man said a thing to the other, refusing to meet eyes as they silently ate their breakfast. Funny’s mother had known something happened, but whenever she asked, both men immediately shut the conversation down and told her it was none of her concern. She needn’t worry about their ‘silly’ argument, they’d insist.

She would sigh as once again, breakfast was dreadful and dull. She felt her appetite leaving as her eyes flicked between her husband and her son, both of whom had clenched jaws and were gripping their cups too tightly. She took the moment to try and start another conversation.

“Well, darling, it’s been a few days since you came back. Do you have to return to-”

“I am not going back. I was discharged. Honorably,” Funny sharply responded as his eyes narrowed at the colonel, not caring about hiding the truth anymore. “I will be here and raising my daughter.”

His mother blinked and stared at her son in shock, leaning towards him. “R-really? You won’t be going back to the army?”

“No,” Funny replied, taking a sip of his water. “I will remain close by.”

“Oh, that’s…” his mother gasped, placing a hand over her heart with wide eyes. A faint smile pulled at her lips before Valentine interrupted.

“Deplorable,” Valentine said. “You have more years of service in you, more time to serve the country, and yet you decide to do something this ridiculous?”

“My daughter does not exactly have a mother, sir.”

“Your mother and I-”

“No. End of discussion,” Funny stated, his hands returning to slice the bread roll his mother so lovingly laid on the table with his utensils.

“Don’t you dare-”

“For God’s sake, sir, what would you like me to do now?!” Funny shouted, his temperament reaching a boiling point as a loud crack echoed in the now silent dining room. He glanced down to notice his porcelain plate was shattered into three uneven pieces, making him toss his knife beside the plate in resignation. “My decision is final. I am not going back. I have made my choice to stay here and begin anew in politics, so help me God.”

His mother had never seen him yell like that before, even when he was a young boy. The change in him had startled her, but briefly had reminded her of her late husband. He had a commanding presence, even when not angry. She watched as her son’s face tensed, his sharp features revealing a bold and empowered sense of self from this argument.

He is… he is completely serious, isn’t he?

She shakily grabbed her cup and took a sip to calm her nerves. She was anxious due to the argument and tension within the house but another, smaller part of her was elated. She dare not voice that sentiment aloud, she thought, lest her husband react even worse than before.

Again, her lips curved up, knowing her boy would finally be home, alive, and not in a body bag. Alive, well, and not buried beneath the earth or with horrid wounds so awful he would look unrecognizable.

No, the boy before her was a man, a vision of strength and power that understood the importance of home. She would no longer have to pray to God every night, begging to see him one last time in case the lord took him away like war did everything else for her. Her boy would be safe and home, where she would be able to see him and watch as he raised his family, too.

It was a shame his wife died, but thank god, He had spared the young baby and let her remain. Her son had a chance to have the family she dreamed he’d get. Her heart panged at the fact that he was a widower at such a young age, but that could easily be mended. There was plenty of lovely girls in the area who would love to have a man like Funny and be able to raise her granddaughter properly.

She hummed to herself as she thought of who would make a good wife for him. She considered the ladies at the church, knowing their daughters were at the age to look for suitors and settle down. And what a wonderful opportunity she was given- she could throw a welcome back feast for him and have him introduced to his potential pick of the finest, god-fearing women he could have!

Her thoughts were expelled as Funny furrowed his brow in worry and stared at the door that led to his and Mary’s room.

“She’s upset,” was all he mumbled. His mother and Valentine raised a brow.

“I don’t hear a damn thing, son, what are you-” Valentine began, before shrill wails came from the room. His mother made a motion to stand up, but Funny stood up and urged her back to her seat.

“I’ll handle this, mother,” he insisted.

“Nonsense,” she commented and walked to the room, picking up her granddaughter. Funny followed shortly after, an apprehensive look on his face as he watched his mother try and cradle his daughter. “Oh, you poor thing, it’s alright.”

“I’ll go make her a bottle,” Funny said, his eyes still not leaving his mother as he walked to the kitchen to prepare. When he finished preparing the bottle, his mother took it and sat on the rocking chair. Funny again stood nearby, watching like a hawk as she cooed to the still crying child. She tried to place the bottle to Mary’s lips, but Mary threw her head back.

His mother was taken aback by such a quick action and gently repeated the action.

Again, Mary nudged her head away.

A third time, and one that ended in failure. She frowned and looked at her granddaughter sternly.

“What a colicky little thing,” she huffed, attempting to feed the baby again. “It’s like she doesn’t even want to eat.”

“You’re being too harsh,” Funny grimaced. He extended his hands to reach for Mary but his mother adjusted herself away from his grasp.

“You should return to eat.”

“I will not. My daughter is hungry and as such, I will be the one to-”

“Darling, if your daughter is like this, chances are, she’s even worse with you. It’s a wonder how you’ve even fed her at all this time.”

Funny’s face darkened. “My daughter is perfectly fine and I can feed her just fine. She is easy to care for.”

Mary’s cries grew louder as she began arching this way and that in her grandmother’s arm. “My lord, she’s so fussy!”

“Give me-” Funny managed as he took his daughter back from his mother and pressed her against his chest. “Sh, sh, sh, it’s okay.”

His mother watched as Mary’s crying seemed to lessen into minimal hiccups and sobs. How was he instantly calming her down with nothing, yet anything she did ended up in more tears and frustration?

“I guess she’s only used to her father right now,” his mother commented, a hint of bitterness in her tone. Funny gently placed the bottle to Mary’s mouth, and Mary accepted it easily, as if she hadn’t fought it off minutes prior. Funny didn’t respond to his mother’s obvious attempt at pity, instead exhaling in relief as his heart felt soothed with Mary in his arms again.

His mother shook her head. “You mustn’t coddle her too much. Anymore than that and she’ll be a spoiled child, dear.”

“I’m not coddling her, I’m simply feeding her.”

“I’d argue the opposite. Look at her, she won’t even accept food from anyone else unless it’s you,” she pointed out accusingly. “If she’s having this attitude at barely a month old, who knows how long it will fester! You can’t be allowing that behavior.”

“Mother, she is a baby, that’s ridiculous-”

“You say that now, but Mrs. Blackwood’s daughter behaved the same way, and look at her! The girl is a wreck! A spoiled, selfish brat who will cry all throughout the sermons. You don’t want your daughter to end up like that, do you?”

“Mrs. Blackwood’s husband is also a drunkard who gambles everything away, last I checked, mother. The situations are not comparable.”

“It may not seem that way, but without a mother, she won’t be able to behave properly. It’s just not suitable for a man to raise a child, especially not a daughter,” she lowered her voice, desperately trying to get Funny to listen to her.

“And what do you suggest I do? Be like old Mister Stratford down the block who dropped his kids off at the corner and have never been seen again? That’s preposterous!”

“No, I’m only saying, it’s in your best interest to perhaps consider remarrying,” she said. “I know you’re in your mourning right now, I understand completely. But why not think of your future house? You’ll be away from all that racket in the army and be able to continue your legacy if Mary doesn’t make it past winter.”

Funny’s jaw dropped at how brazen his mother was being. “Why would I be thinking of marriage now? How can you tell me to just be so detached from my little girl when-”

“I know, darling, I felt the same way, but when your father died, I was all alone. I didn’t have anyone to turn to for help except for-”

“Yes, I know. Except for him,” Funny finished. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I will not be abandoning my daughter.”

“I’m not asking that from you. But… there is an expectation,” his mother began again, a slight grimace on her face. “An expectation for you to remarry, to have a wife who can help you. You shouldn’t be waiting so long. Mary needs a mother, a woman to raise her and teach her the right way to be. You will not be able to in a way a woman can. Do you want your daughter to forever be straddled with the knowledge that she would be practically unmarriable if left with only you?”

Funny’s heart clenched as he looked down at Mary, who was quietly nursing her bottle. He shut his eyes and sighed, then shook his head.

“No, mother, you can’t just say something like that. I know I can do more than that for her.”

“You’re young, darling. Grief takes a hold of us in ways that is hard to imagine. But it is our job as parents to put our children first, to raise them properly in an honorable way. Don’t set her up for failure only because of grief.”

You don’t get it- he wanted to say. You just don’t get it!

No one understood. Grief? What was there to grieve? He couldn’t grieve. His wife passed. But she died in a way very few could ever say they could- honorably, with dignity, and for the sake of the future of the country.

Grieve, they say. But why would he grieve? He didn’t want to avoid remarrying out of some ‘mourning’ period or sense of guilt towards his late wife. There was none, because she died the perfect death. Her life was spent culminating her skills and ideals until that moment in the Devil’s Palm, where she sacrificed her life for their daughter and country. What more could anyone ask for? She had something very few American-born citizens could say they had.

But remarrying? Why would he need to that? Mary was here, in his arms, and he had felt a connection unlike anything he had ever known before. Holding her against him, he felt an emotion that was indescribable and incomparable. He couldn’t imagine anyone else being in her place, couldn’t ever conceive of a world where she wasn’t there, and he sure as hell could never think of someone else taking care of his daughter that wasn’t him.

Failure? Would he really be a failure of a father? He scoffed at such a notion. As if he needed another wife to do what he was already capable of doing on his own. He had grander ambitions and desires, plans that he needed to be focused on, why would he waste that trying to go marriage hunting like a desperate bachelor? He was fine on his own.

His mother certainly didn’t seem to agree and placed an encouraging hand on his arm.

“I’m going to be hosting a party soon, to celebrate your return. I’ll have the neighborhood come by and a few ladies from church as well. Their daughters will be there, and I believe it will be a lovely time. I know it’s a bit difficult to adjust since you’re home, but it might be worth a shot. Your stepfather and I will not force you, of course, but give it a chance, will you? Who knows, you might find a lovely woman there.”

Funny knew his mother would pull something like this eventually. Of course they would throw a party, that was a given to let everyone he was back. But of course she would intend on pairing him off immediately, especially with one of the girls from church. He hadn’t seen them in years, not sense his departure to the military. He could hardly imagine what they’d look like now compared to their scrawnier, immature appearances from before.

There would be no convincing her otherwise, especially not when she most likely informed the ladies of her plans already. So with a gentle sigh, he nodded along to his mother.

“Yes, mother. I’ll try for you,” Funny responded.

“And for Mary,” his mother added, pointing at the little girl who was quietly drinking her bottle.

The day of the gathering had arrived and Funny, for the fifth time this day, found himself looking in the mirror, thinking about trite this whole affair was. Frankly speaking, he would rather have been in his room, poring over books and materials to figure out what he had found in the Devil’s Palm. But alas, here he was, adjusting his purple cravat that matched his mother’s dress.

“You know, I must say, your hair is just lovely, darling,” his mother commented as she extended her arm up to smooth his curls.

“Thank you, mother,” he replied, a tense look on his face as he gazed back into the mirror.

“Don’t look so upset,” she said as she gently pat under his chin, looking into the mirror alongside him. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

He wanted to tell her it was not worry on his face. Worry was the last thing on his mind.

It was contempt for this position and the utter annoyance he felt at having to see those women vye for him as if he was a golden ticket for them to escape their controlling households. He didn’t think highly of having to force a smile and pretend he cared about courting them, as callous as it sounded.

But I suppose if I am to join the political world, I can’t be a blunt soldier anymore, now can I?

Being in the army had taught him that one had to be rough around the edges to gain respect with the men and cooperate with them. Talking with soldiers who would become your brothers in arms invited a more casual and often unsophisticated air unbefitting of normal society. These were men you most likely would not see tomorrow if God so chose to take them.

And back home, one could not do the childish and crass things one would do in the army tents alongside their fellow soldiers. Funny reminisced on how his late wife scolded him for getting drunk again and collapsing on the beds so she could help him. It was his piss poor attempt at getting more of her attention, but even she could not deny the smile on her face as she forced him to drink more water and tugged on his ear.

The women here would not understand that sort of simplicity. They never would be satisfied with something like what he and his wife had before. It was not a life a ‘proper’ citizen would ever go to, but it was something the two of them chose to do willingly. Even if it meant running straight to their deaths, he and his wife didn’t mind that option. Would the women in church ever understand sacrificing oneself like that?

He shook his head. No more of that nonsense. If he was to climb the ranks and make his country prosper, he needed to do much more than think like a common infantry. He had to think higher, think of the bigger picture. Become a commander. He exhaled and steeled himself.

Enough games, Funny. Show them how much of a man you have become since leaving. Show them you are the man they are looking for.

His mother chuckled after he finished his mental peptalk. “Much better.”

“Yes. Shall we go greet the guests?” “We shall.”

Colonel Valentine was sitting at the table, his knee unfortunately not allowing him to stand as much as he would have liked, all while drinking from a flask. Funny paid him no mind as the older women from the church streamed in, excited and nostalgic looks on their faces as they finally saw him after so long.

“Oh my! You’ve grown taller!”

“Thank god, we were all praying for you, you know?”

“And how strong you look, my boy!”

“It seems like it was only yesterday you were just a babe.”

“How time flies… what a wonderful man you’ve become.”

He placed a hand on his chest and gave a grateful smile to the ladies. “Thank you, it truly means so much to see you all again. I’ve missed home quite a bit since being in the army.”

The ladies chuckled at his polite mannerisms, grinning in delight as they looked at one another in a challenging manner. Funny could tell right away what they were planning. Eyeing each other to see who’s daughter would be able to catch his eye first.

One of the ladies, a more brazen sort who was known for her loud mouth, stepped forward and placed a hand over Funny’s. She gave a sympathetic frown and patted his hand. “Your mother told us about the unfortunate news, too. How dreadful that such a young lady was taken from this world so soon.”

Tactless.

But Funny forced his lips to curve upwards and shook his head. “Yes, that is true, my wife gave her life to bring my daughter to this world.”

“A daughter?” The woman clicked her tongue. Funny had to nearly fight the glare from forming on his face and quickly bit the inside of his mouth to stifle a snarky remark.

“Yes. A daughter. Mary, in fact,” Funny restrained, a thinly veiled threat in those words.

“Oh? Like the Virgin herself? My… what a wonderful name,” the lady corrected. The other ladies nodded in agreement. They glided past him to get a look at Mary, who was dressed in a purple dress as well and laying silently in the bassinet. The murmured compliments and praises, before Funny caught mention of some disparaging comments.

“That nose…”

“...darker than he is…”

“His wife was probably-”

He couldn’t take another second of that nonsense and walked away to get some water. Lord knows he wanted to drown himself in some beer, but he couldn’t begin drinking so heavily this early on. As he began to drink and ponder on their words, he was broken out of his thoughts by a woman clearing her throat.

“Excuse me? Funny?” He glanced to his side and noticed the woman addressing him.

“Ah, Margaret,” he acknowledged her, giving a polite smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yes. It’s been so long. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to see you again,” she giggled, twirling her red hair with a delicate finger. “I bet my mother was chatting your ear off again?”

“Yes,” he hid his grimace with an unpleasant beam. “She certainly knows how to make an entrance, as usual.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always prattling on about something. Although…” Margaret trailed off. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife.”

“Thank you. It is a shame she is unable to be here now.”

“And do you have your eye on a potential lady, by any chance?”

Just as tactless as her mother.

“No, not really, Margaret.”

“Well, that’s a bit strange, don’t you think? You are quite the handsome man. Any woman would be lucky to have you.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” Margaret nodded, stepping closer to him. “You always were handsome, you know? And I do remember you being the first man on the job that anyone could rely on.”

“Thank you for thinking so.”

“I’m just saying what everyone is thinking, darling,” she batted her eyes at him. “And I know how lonely it can be after losing someone so dear. But I am always happy to lend an ear for you.”

And a mouthful, as well, he thought, internally rolling his eyes.

“I appreciate it, Margaret. I have to excuse myself to greet the rest of-”

“Let me join you! I haven’t said my hellos to everyone either!”

For God’s sake, woman, won’t you please give me a break?

He didn’t bother to argue as Margaret stood by his side, a bright grin on her face as she joined his greetings. She always was pushy, much like her mother, even when they were children. He had hoped she would not be as clingy when he came back, but it seemed it had only gotten worse. It didn’t help that any of the other girls whom Funny tried to approach and greet were quickly met with Margaret overtaking the conversation and redirecting the attention to herself.

To say it had taken him aback would be an understatement, and after the fourth time, he was getting worn out of hearing her try to assert her place beside him amongst the other guests. He was close to commenting about his dislike of that to her before something in his brain clicked, and he instead chose to simply watch her.

She has a quick mouth. She knows almost always the right thing to say to get attention onto her, for better or worse. By the time she’s done, they’ve practically forgotten about me and are embroiled in conversation with her.

Kissing ass had never been his strongest suit. He liked doing things on his own and never relying on others. But that wouldn’t get one far as a politician. He had bigger ambitions now than dying on the field. This new goal was grander than anything he had truly thought possible. No longer could he be that stoic boy who just went along with orders. He’d have to become something akin to Margaret, someone who commanded attention of a room, even if the thought exhausted him to conceive of.

Margaret made it look simple. Even threats and backhanded compliments from her sounded like a pleasant conversation about the weather. It fascinated him, really, how his perceived annoyance with Margaret ended up being able to give him some useful demonstration. Obviously, he couldn’t be as tactless as her, but he got the main point after watching her give a sickly sweet smile to Laura from down the street as she informed Laura of the fact that Funny had escorted her around.

How beguiling…

As they made their way around the rest of the guests, Funny made his last stop towards Mr. McElroy, who just so happened to be-

“Father!” Margaret jumped. “Are you enjoying the party?”

The portly, older man chuckled at his daughter’s enthusiasm and nodded.

“Yes, darling. And I assume you are enjoying it as well?” He said, raising a brow towards Funny. Margaret wrapped her arm around Funny’s and hummed in agreement.

“Of course. Funny is such a gentleman, aren’t you, darling?”

Funny sputtered a cough at the way she called him ‘darling’ in that tone, but quickly recovered. He extended a hand to Mr. McElroy and greeted him with a smile.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Bah, the pleasure is all mine, boy. You’ve grown well. It seems the army really has served you well,” the red-haired man complimented. “And from what the colonel says, you’re staying home permanently?”

“Yes, that is true. I was discharged and now I shall remain home.”

“Oh, father, did you know Funny has a little girl now? Mary’s her name,” Margaret interjected.

“A daughter? Splendid,” Mr. McElroy sagely nodded. “Daughters are always a man’s greatest treasure and biggest weakness.”

“I can only imagine. I see my Mary and want to give her everything in the world,” Funny’s face softened, thinking of his child.

“I’ll tell you, young man, that feeling never goes away. Don’t take her youth for granted. Before you know it, another man will be taking care of her and you will hear the word ‘papa’ one last time before it is never uttered again.”

Funny let Mr. McElroy’s words sink in. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead, after all, his daughter was barely a month old. But the thought of her being a grown woman and eventually not needing him made his heart pang in despair. Something about seeing his newborn as anything but a newborn made him somber.

“Thank you. I can’t imagine how that must feel.”

“Well, when the man is good, you’ll feel nothing but pride for seeing your girl and the life she will lead. It is a blessing watching a daughter grow.”

Funny felt a pleasant joy overtake him hearing the man’s words. It was nice hearing how a daughter was a wonderful blessing to a father.

Before Funny could comment once more, Margaret waved her hand. “Oh, but I’m sure Mary would love a brother, wouldn’t she? After all, a girl needs someone to protect her.”

Funny clenched his jaw. “That can be discussed at a later time. For now, I do need to reconsider employment and housing.”

Funny’s eyes narrowed as he remembered that Mr. McElroy was the owner of a law firm in town. Mr. McElroy, despite his rounder features and jovial attitude, was supposedly a terrifying man in the courtroom. Much like his daughter and wife, he could turn any argument around with just a few words. Some even said he was so convincing, he could easily sell you the dirt on the ground or the air you breathed.

A man like that would surely be of use to help him navigate the political world. One where the battles were not done in a field with guns drawn, but in a closed room with words.

“But Funny, don’t you think-” Margaret began.

“Ah, Margaret, darling, not right now, okay?” Funny replied in a gentle manner. Margaret seemed giddy by his tone and fanned herself.

“It is good that you are a planner, young man. I admire that in men, versus the fools who rush off and hope to strike gold,” Mr. McElroy stated.

“Yes, especially since I now have a daughter to care for, I need to be extra careful,” Funny said. “She doesn’t have a mother anymore, so I am the only one she can rely on.”

Got you.

Much like Funny had hoped, his last sentence incurred some pity from Mr. McElroy. The man’s brows furrowed and his smile turned upside down.

“Right. My apologies. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m ready to settle down here again and make an honest living for my daughter.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Noting concrete, unfortunately. But I would like something close to home, so I can easily return home and not worry my poor mother and child,” Funny added. The firm was a few blocks down, a short walk that could take barely even ten minutes. But he needed to add in a bit more fuel to get his way. “I did manage to talk to Mr. Moore about working for his firm, but it is quite a hike.”

“Bah! What does that Moore fellow know?” Mr. McElroy glowered at hearing his rival’s name. “That man couldn’t argue himself out of a paper bag! Certainly not a place for a bright man like you.”

Funny had to restrain the smirk that nearly formed on his face. Of course, he hadn’t talked to Mr. Moore at all, but knowing the two’s strained relationship certainly helped a bit.

“You’re too kind, sir. I’m honored you think so highly of me.”

“Course I do, boy. I’ve watched you grow all these years. You’ve done a lot for the country too, so the least I could do for one our own is offer you some help back.”

“Really?”

“Yes. My old apprentice has moved on to greener pastures, or so he thinks,” Mr. McElroy explained. “I’d be happy to take you on board. So long as you don’t go running back to Moore.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir. When can I begin?”

“And that’s an attitude I like to see. Already so eager to work and start the job. Tell you what, join me for a meal on Tuesday, and we can discuss more, then. I won’t bog you down with the details today.”

Funny’s smile widened. “Thank you, Mr. McElroy.”

“Ah, none of that,” the man waved. “Call me Gideon.”

Margaret squealed and gripped Funny tighter. “What wonderful news! I know Funny will impress you, father!”

“I certainly hope so,” Gideon said.

Funny placed a hand on his chest and gave a polite bow to him. “I can’t thank you enough, sir. It means a lot to me and to my daughter, too.”

“Nonsense. It’s nothing. Now, run along, you two. Have fun and enjoy the party instead of wasting it on an old man like me.”

Funny agreed and began to walk away, the smile still stuck on his face. He could barely hear Margaret’s excited rambles in his ear as they made their way around.

Perhaps fate really was on his side.

#jojo #jjba #funny valentine #jjba fic #jojo fic #steel ball run #jjba part 7 #sbr #funny valentine x oc #the american dream #the american dream series

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