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dancer-subclarington · 3 months

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Para: Galentines

Who: Gwen & Kyla

Where: Gwen’s suite

When: Feb 14, 2024

What: A massage, sweets, and a movie leads to a smutty scene

@gwenmorgandaniels

God. Why was she such a damn mess? She'd arranged for everything she promised Kyla - a pair of masseuses all theirs for an hour long massage, fluffy robes to lounge in with matching silky soft pajamas, pink frosted sugar cookies with pink and red sprinkles among other sweet snacks and a plethora of classic girly movies saved on her Prime playlist to get them through the evening. Had she gone overboard? Was she being too obvious? Granted, Gwen was the type to spoil her friends when she had them so it wasn't like she was acting out of character but - ugh. Okay. Be cool, dumbass. She heard the soft knock and answered the door with a smile. "Hey there, sweetness. You ready to be pampered?" she said, holding out a hand to help Kyla from where she was kneeling.

Kyla was a little nervous herself as she made her way to Gwen’s suite. There wasn’t a reason for it as far as she knew- just some random butterflies. Totally random. She messed with her hair several times, leaving with it in a ponytail but deciding to pull it down by the time she got there. She put her overnight bag down on the ground outside the door, kneeling down and knocking. “Hi, Miss,” she said excitedly, the Domme’s presence calming her immediately as she was helped to ger feet. “I’m very very ready.” Being led inside, she looked around, taking in everything in sight and scurrying over to the cookies she could see. “Oh look, they’re so cute!”

She was inexplicably pleased that Kyla felt comfortable enough to look around and explore in her place. Picking up her bag, she set it inside the door before nudging it shut and following the excited submissive over to the cookies. "They are, aren't they? I hope they taste just as good," Gwen said, picking one up. "I have managed to not sneak one before you got here, which took a lot of willpower." A pleased little hum buzzed on her lips as she sampled a bite. "Definitely delicious. Very good pre-massage snack," she decided with a nod.

“You’ve got much more restraint than I do,” Kyla smiled, waiting for Gwen to take a bite before she took one herself. “Ooh, not dry, not flaky..” She took another bite and smiled. “Great cookie; no notes. I’m super excited to be here with you for the day.” The sentence was out before she could even debate whether to try to hold it in or not. But it was true. Gwen was intriguing, to say the least.

It was only the lingering scraps of her self-control that kept her from blushing at the comment - but it couldn't stop how she smiled, clearly pleased by Kyla's statement. "I'm excited you're here," she said, almost shyly before shoving the rest of her cookie into her mouth to keep herself from saying anything else stupid. Gwen wiped off her fingers on one of the pink napkins nearby, then took Kyla's free hand to lead her back to one of the spare bedrooms. "So - I got us some lounge clothes, I had to guess your size so I hope I got it right." The door was open, the soft pink tank, matching shorts and fluffy white robe laid out on the bed. "For the massage, I think just the robes? But after we can be total basic bitches in pajamas for the rest of the day."

Kyla grabbed another cookie as they departed to the bedroom. She didn’t care what size the clothes were- she appreciated it highly. She took the fabric and rubbed it between her fingers, thrilled that the clothes really were as silky as they looked. “Being basic is something I can totally do,” she sighed contentedly, going ahead and removing her shoes and placing them off to the side. As soon as she did so, she looked at the callouses on her feet, and wondered why she’d decided that pointe was the kind of dance to do on a massage day. She knew she should warn the masseuse so she wouldn’t get hurt during s foot massage, but she didn’t want to call attention to it, so she reserved to just potentially die instead.

She shifted to leave Kyla to change in peace - but when she caught sight of her feet, she frowned. Kyla was a dancer though, and she'd seen some of her cheer squad's feet after intense dance classes. That was familiar. "Pointe day?" she asked, nodding to the blonde's bare feet. "I'll let them know to leave your feet alone. I think I have a balm that might help those later," she said, thinking through the vast inventory of her bathroom. "Get into your robe - everything's set up in the other spare room," Gwen said, winking at the smaller blonde before going to get changed herself.

Kyla very nearly pouted at Gwen, disappointed that she’d noticed her feet. They weren’t horrible, were they? She’d been a dancer for a while, so she really wasn’t sure. She wasn’t one who did it every day though, so her feet could have been a lot worse. She had no idea how she always found friends who were so observant. “Yes. Not my smartest move. They were worse in college though, so the pain’s not bad.” She blamed her father, as the only reason for doing pointe that she had other than that it was pretty, was that it was her dad’s favorite. But she saw the robe and did the same as with the pajamas, feeling happy from how fluffy and lush it felt and being reminded that they were going to get pampered. She waited for Gwen to turn away before letting her clothes fall to the ground, arranging them in a pile near her shoes.

"I did cheer in high school with a lot of dancers," she said by way of explanation, noticing Kyla's almost pouty expression. "Still. Any pain shouldn't be had, so I'll help you fix them up later." Gwen tugged the door to, giving Kyla privacy to change though it was very tempting to be a peeping tom. She resisted though, going to slip into her own robe, with only a thong on underneath. By the time she got settled on her own table, Kyla was coming in, and she offered a serene smile to the sub. "We have them for an hour, sweetness, so just enjoy," she hummed. "oh - and no foot massage for her," Gwen said, looking to the masseuse waiting for Kyla, only relaxing when the woman nodded.

Kyla pulled on the fluffy robe and smiled to herself, feeling giddy as she opened the door. She was actually glad for the domme’s reminder to relax, as she was pretty excited. “Oh, okay. Thank you, Miss,” she grinned easily. As she laid down, she took a deep breath, trying to get her breathing to a relaxed state.

Their tables were close, close enough that Gwen could reach out and touch Kyla if she wanted. But, she settled for keeping her head turned towards her on her folded arms, occasionally opening her eyes to catch a glimpse of her. Gwen couldn't help the sound she let out when her masseuse worked out a particularly nasty knot just under her shoulderblade, a throaty whine of relief. "Fuck, that was good," she hummed, a happy sigh spilling from her lips. "How's everything feeling, sweetness?" she asked quietly after a small while had passed, her masseuse working on her thighs by now.

Kyla tried not to make noise as she was rubbed down, but she knew she had a knot in her calf that would probably kill her quiet vibe. But until that time came, she was happy to just lay in bliss- also peeking sometimes at Gwen. It was really nice just having someone else with her while getting pampered, and she couldn’t figure out quite why. A smile crawled to her lips when the Domme cursed. “God, it’s delightful,” she sighed. Her masseuse worked around her body, and she did have to let out a small moan here and there. She wanted to be the zen type through and through, but she was only human.

The sounds Kyla let out were the best kind of torture, an exercise of self-control for the Domme. But she could do this. Maybe. She slid onto her back, another groan of contentment slipping out as her shoulders were worked on. "We should do this like, every month. Week. Very often," she said decisively, definitely not thinking about the excuse to keep Kyla coming back around.

“Very often,” Kyla agreed, gritting her teeth as another knot got worked out. The more often they did it, the less knots they’d have, in theory. “What kind of sweets did I see out there?”

She smiled at that. "I got some chocolate covered strawberries, cheesecake bites, mini cupcakes... and some little finger sandwiches, in case we need actual food for some reason," Gwen said with a laugh. "And there's stuff for ice cream sundaes too but that needed to stay in the freezer. Obviously."

“Ugh,” Kyla let out, it unclear if it was from the massage or about the food. “You’re the best. You’re so considerate. How could people not like you?” There were many ways to Kyla’s heart, and one of them was most definitely food. “Calories don’t count on Valentines Day, right? I mean I’m gonna eat everything in sight anyway; I’m just wondering.”

"I'm not this way with most people, sweetness. Only the ones I like." Her masseuse told her softly that she was finished unless there was another spot she wanted to cover. Gwen shook her head, sitting up and holding the sheet to her chest. "That was fantastic, thanks."

“Well then those people are very unlucky that they didn’t make themselves liked by you,” Kyla deduced, meaning every word of it. She thanked her masseuse as the massage ended, eventually sitting up. “Im more excited than I should be for the silky pajamas,” she admitted quietly.

She absolutely did not blush hearing that, despite the stupid warmth in her chest. She didn't think anyone had said something that nice to her in years. Gwen slid into her robe, tucking it around herself. "They're pretty amazing, I can't lie. I have a couple sets in different colors. Go get dressed, sweetness, then we'll get some snacks and settle in for the first movie." The masseuses would take care of packing up and seeing themselves out - now it would just be her and Kyla.

“The pink is amazing,” Kyla couldn’t help but gush. She nodded happily and went off to get dressed, pulling on the outfit and feeling the material between her fingers again. She shot off a text to her friends that she was busy today so they wouldn’t text her, and emerged to look at the snacks.

She slid into her own pajamas, the silky shorts and top clinging nicely to her generous ass and chest. Not that she hoped it would be noticed. Coming into the kitchen, she smiled, gently trailing her fingers over Kyla's hair before she could stop herself. "Where do you want to start?"

“Woah,” Kyla tried not to say under her breath when she saw Gwen. As if her face wasn’t pretty enough; as if her voice didn’t already send a jolt through her body. The way the silk hugged her body just right was majestic. The domme’s hand brushed through her hair then; as if she knew what Kyla was thinking. “Oh um,” she stumbled, then remembering the food. “The strawberries look wonderful, Miss.”

She did notice Kyla's reaction, and to say she was pleased about it would be an understatement. Gwen knew she was hot, that was a given - but the reaction from the girl she was crushing on was even better than a random catcall. "They do. I say we take a little bit of everything though, to get us through until we move on to the next movie," she suggested, starting to load up a little plate and definitely not wondering about what a bad idea it would be to have Kyla in her bed.

“A little bit of everything,” Kyla repeated the very wise words to herself. She grabbed a plate and put on it a couple of finger sandwiches, three strawberries, two cupcakes, and probably an irresponsible amount of cheesecake bites. She looked at her plate and then at Gwen, wondering what could be a more wonderful time. Well actually..she did have a few ideas about that…

Her plate looked very similar to Kyla’s, and she snagged a couple of water bottles for them as well. “Come on, sweetness, I brought out the good pillows for us,” Gwen said with a wink as she led Kyla to her room. She set her plate on the long table set across the foot of the bed before climbing up into the pile of white, light blue and lilac pillows on her bed. “I thought we could start with 13 Going on 30,” she suggested, patting the spot beside her.

Kyla’s heart did a delightful little flutter whenever her new nickname was used, it rolling off the domme’s tongue so easily. She followed her into the bedroom, liking the color scheme and how comfortable everything looked. “Oh, I haven’t seen that one in *forever*!”

Every time she made Kyla smile, it was a very, very strange and wonderful feeling that bloomed in her chest. Gwen settled in to the pillows, tugging the table up for them to be able to reach while reclined once Kyla was beside her. "Me either. It's definitely a much overdue viewing," she agreed, navigating to the movies she had queued up for them and hitting play on their first choice.

Kyla got comfortable in the bed, her arm touching Gwen’s and their body heat soon mixing together. She tried a strawberry, and it was wonderfully juicy so she had to kind of suck up the juice as she bit into it. It was amazing. Something so simple felt so elegant. She watched the movie and somehow got closer and closer to Gwen, eventually cuddling into her.

Her arm slid around Kyla without thinking, tucking the petite sub against her side. Her plate of snacks slowly disappeared, and she wound up nudging the table down the bed again once they had emptied their plates to properly stretch out. Her bare thigh pressed to Kyla's and she actively did not think about it - though the innocent contact did have her heart thumping hard in her chest. It dawned on her that she had never had a girl in her bed at all - let alone one she ached to get to know more intimately. "I always hated Matty's fiance. Jennifer Garner is clearly the superior choice," she said with a sigh.

“Yeah, she’s kind of a loser,” Kyla agreed, watching the movie with Gwen comfortably. It had been a while since she was close to someone physically, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it. “This is so super fun,” she finally spoke again when the movie ended, pecking the Domme on the cheek. “Thank you, Miss Gwen.”

It felt nice to have Kyla tucked close. Gwen never got the whole cuddling thing usually. The boys she played with didn’t stick around long enough - something she didn’t like to think much about - so this was something she didn’t know she was missing. Gwen had opened her mouth to reply when she felt the peck on her cheek. It was innocent, small, but felt like a bolt of lightning that sizzled through her. She could only describe what she felt as her control snapping, shattering into pieces. Before she could think about it, Gwen turned to press her mouth properly to Kyla’s, tentative but urgent all in the same breath, and this - this was what she had been missing. Gwen felt like she was trembling all over, the soft sweetness of Kyla’s lips on hers more arousing than any filthy scene she had ever participated in.

The kiss on the lips was unexpected, to say the least. Even as it happened, she had to process to make sure it was *actually* happening. She’d thought Gwen to be straight. But it was certainly not unwelcome. She kept it slow and sensual, deepening the kiss, her hand momentarily on the Domme’s cheek.

She couldn’t stop the soft, throaty sound she let out when she felt Kyla’s hand on her cheek. Gwen shifted slightly, gently hovering over Kyla now without breaking the kiss, one arm around her back, the other resting on the curve of her hip. She couldn’t let herself think, because this felt way too good to stop. But - “this all right, sweetness?” she asked in a soft whisper, between kisses, aching for the gorgeous blonde under her.

“Yes please,” Kyla answered quietly but clearly, catching her lips again. She felt comfortable below Gwen’s body, enjoying the gentle pressure from her body as she just chased the other’s lips with her own. Her tongue soon poked out, silently asking permission to enter her mouth.

A shudder tingled down her spine when she felt Kyla’s tongue on her lips. In answer, she took the sub’s bottom lip between her teeth, sucking lightly, before easing her tongue into Kyla’s mouth. Her heart was pounding in her chest, fingers lightly tangling in the silky material of the other’s top, brushing just underneath to the smooth skin of her stomach.

Kyla let out a wanting whimper when her lip was taken between teeth. Next thing she knew, their tongues snaked together, fitting into one another like puzzle pieces. She shifted in the bed, her hands against the mattress to push herself into Gwen’s body.

That whimper made her moan, the sound low and hungry. She rolled back, tugging Kyla half on top of her, their chests pressing together. The hand on her back slid down over her pert ass, palming the cheek through silky material. “Goddamn, sweetness,” she breathed, loving the way that Kyla’s round cheek fit so nicely in her palm.

Kyla giggled as they switched places, more than happy for Gwen to put her wherever she wanted. “Goddamn yourself,” she said a little winded with a craving. “How’re you doing?” She had to check with her. “You enjoying what you’re feeling, Miss?” Her fingers wanted to touch, but she refrained, letting them trace shapes on the sides of Gwen’s torso instead.

She smiled, her cheeks flushed. Gwen let out a shaky breath. “Very. I uh- so I’m like, actually super gay? But I haven’t done this before. With another woman,” she admitted, swallowing hard, uncharacteristically nervous.

“Good to know,” Kyla spoke with conspiratorial grin. She’d had no idea, but it was just lovely information to have. Just lovely. “I believe then that you know what to do.” She pushed some hair away so she could see her face. “Don’t second-guess yourself,” she advised, looking into her eyes with a fiery expression.

Her breath caught when Kyla touched her hair, and she couldn’t help but lean up and kiss her again. “I don’t know, sweetness… there’s a hell of a lot I’d like to do,” she breathed, squeezing at Kyla’s ass once more.

At that, Kyla had trouble forming words for a moment, and caught her lips once again. She flipped her own hair out of the way and finally came up for air. “So do them,” she whispered with a smile.

Gwen bit her own bottom lip, then shifted again to pin Kyla on her back, easing one thigh between hers. “Only if you promise to be a good girl for me,” she whispered back, tilting her head to trail her lips along Kyla’s neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her greedily.

Kyla nuzzled herself into the bed again, trying not to rub herself on the leg that was between her own. It took all her willpower to resist. “I’ll be a very good girl for you, Miss,” she assured her, the phrase already making her squirm. “I don’t want to miss this.”

Hearing Kyla promise to be a good girl for her made her groan softly, teeth tugging on her earlobe. Gwen inhaled deeply, then slid down Kyla’s body, nudging her top up so she could plant lingering, sucking kisses over her stomach.

Kyla let Gwen take things at her own pace, holding her top so that it was out of her way. The longer a particular kiss lasted, the more of a response it got from her. “God, Miss,” she stressed almost under breath, clearly enjoying the sweet sting.

She continued up, pushing up the thin tank until it was barely covering Kyla’s chest. Leaning up again, she kissed her hungrily, skimming her palms along the sides of her barely covered breasts. “Do you mind if I leave marks, baby girl?” she asked, one thumb moving to thumb over Kyla’s covered nipple slowly.

Kyla looked at Gwen as she explored, a smile gracing her lips. “I don’t mind at all,” she replied. She loved the new nickname ‘sweetness’, but if there were another that was her favorite, it was ‘baby girl’. It was just so soft and hot and perfect. She could kind of tell Gwen’s desire to ruin her a little, and she couldn’t help but welcome it.

Her nerves were still there, but Gwen couldn’t help how her smile turned predatory when Kyla answered her. She leaned up a little and tugged Kyla’s shirt up and off, a low, hungry moan humming in her throat. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re gorgeous,” she hissed, curling her hands to cup Kyla’s breasts. Gwen licked her lips, watching the sub’s face as she pinched and tugged at her perfect, peaked nipples.

Kyla let out a high pitched moan as her shirt was moved out of the way. The silk had felt good on her skin, but having Gwen’s hands on her instead? No contest. And being called gorgeous by someone gorgeous never hurt anybody either. Her mouth opened a little as her nipples were played with, gasping prettily as she arched her back for more.

Oh she liked that. Smirking wide, Gwen shimmied down again, her eyes on Kyla’s face as she licked lightly over one pink nipple. “Mm, you have the cutest fucking tits,” she whispered, licking over the stiff nub again before she sucked it between her lips. Both hands came up, cupping Kyla’s breasts and plumping them together so she could lavish attention on both sweet little peaks.

Kyla’s body had tensed up in the most beautiful way, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment but ultimately unable to draw her gaze away from Gwen. “Ugh, Miiiiss” Kyla whined, wanting more but wanting exactly what she was getting, all at the same time. Her hands found the hem of the Domme’s top and played with it, nervous energy pulling at her. “Your mouth is so sweet.”

Her eyes crinkled over her smirk, and she gently tugged each nipple with her teeth. “Is it?” she asked in a low murmur. Gwen kissed one soft curve, just beside her sensitive nipples, then started sucking at the pale flesh firmly. She scraped her teeth against the spot, drinking in all the sounds from the beauty under her, until she figured she had left a decent mark. She smirked proudly when she lifted her head, seeing the dark print of her mouth decorating Kyla’s perfect chest.

Starting to get over the initial shock and all that came with it, Kyla started settling in to the moment. Though she was pretty quiet, her breathing patterns betrayed her calm demeanor. She was enjoying the tenderness of the moment more than she’d expected a moment ago. She didn’t moan much while the mark was being made, trying to keep her cool. But once she saw the dark spot, the moan was out and her cool was gone. “Yes, yes it’s sweet- so, so sweet, Miss. Will you..will you do it again? Please?”

She wanted more of those sweet moans. A rush of heat tingled through her belly, hearing Kyla beg for more of her mouth. In answer, she just smirked, looking up at her intensely. Then she all but pounced on her unmarked breast, mouthing and sucking above her nipple this time, higher than the other. Her hips shifted slowly, thigh pressing up between Kyla’s firmly.

Kyla giggled with joy as she was made prey to Gwen’s whim. She hissed through the making of the mark, audibly whining when she was reminded that there was something between her legs. Her body rocked against it gently, as if trying to hide the fact that it was moving at all.

She couldn’t help but smile when she heard that giggle. Gwen hadn’t had sex like this before. It was always - transactional and stiff and she had a role to play. But this? She reveled in the sweet, feminine sounds, the curves under her hands. This was what she craved. Gwen smirked, kissing over the mark she made, then back up to Kyla’s lips. “Still think my mouth is sweet, baby girl?” She asked, flexing her hips forward to press her thigh harder against Kyla.

“Very sweet, Miss. And a little spicy. A genius combination, really.” She squirmed in her spot, Gwen’s eyes piercing her own so fiercely. She was already having fun, and if things were to just simmer down and return to movie-watching, she’d be okay with it. But luckily, she didn’t see Gwen quitting. “What will you do with me next? You said you had ideas, hmm?”

Gwen bit her lip, letting out a shaky breath. "Remind me of your limits, sweetness," she whispered, not wanting to push things too far in her fervor for the beauty in her bed. One hand toyed with the waist of her shorts, making it obvious where Gwen wanted to continue to.

“Watersports and large wounds aren’t my thing, and I don’t like terrifying amounts of pain. What limits do you have, Miss?” Kyla spoke. Saying her limits used to be a big deal for her, but after so many scenes there at the academy, she had gotten used to it and could say them with minor confidence. “My safe word is ‘pineapple’, but I use the spotlight system too.” She looked up at Gwen, trying to match the fire in her eyes and probably only partially succeeding. Her hand met Gwen’s at her waistline, pushing against it as encouragement.

She leaned up to peck Kyla's nose like a reward for her obeying. "I don't have many limits outside of watersports and scat. I... have a penchant for wrecking pretty little things," she hummed, letting her fingers slide under the silky shorts to feel the sharp bone of Kyla's hip, hoping the sub couldn't feel how she was trembling in excitement. "And I expect you to not cum without permission, understood, sweetness?" she murmured, teasing her fingertips under Kyla's panties.

“Sometime pretty little things need some wrecking.” Of course that wasn’t her view for the most part: pretty things should stay pretty. But when it came to herself, she knew a little time to be dirty was always quite alluring. “Hmm,” Kyla bit down on her lip, watching Gwen’s deft hands. “I believe I can do that for you, Miss. Hopefully you’ll let me cum for you eventually though. You’re a very hot person doing very hot things, and I’m only human.”

"You definitely fall into that category," she murmured back. Gwen couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, sliding down her body again to kiss Kyla's soft, flat belly above her shorts. "Maybe. Though if you're far too much fun to tease, I can't promise anything," she said with a smirk, starting to tug down Kyla's shorts and panties. Her head was spinning - how long has she fantasized about tasting another woman like this? Licking her lips, she tossed the clothing aside, leaving Kyla gloriously naked in her bed. "Mm, sweetness, how is every inch of you so fucking gorgeous?" she crooned, nudging Kyla's thighs apart, taking in the incredibly arousing sight of her bare sex.

“Oh, I’m very fun to tease,” Kyla said knowingly. And she liked to be teased, though sometimes she could get a little frustrated. Or a lot frustrated, but something told her Gwen would love that. “Thank you, Miss,” she blushed lightly. She watched the Domme prepare, squirming already under her attentive gaze.

She smirked at that. "Good to know." Gwen licked her lips, shifting up to lay between Kyla's thighs, trying not to focus on the nerves churning deep inside her belly. Instead, she pressed a sucking kiss high on the inside of Kyla's thigh as her fingers stroked over the soft folds of her cunt. Gentle and exploring, she traced every bit of her sensitive skin before easing her touch between them, moaning when she found the wet heat she had been aching for most of her life.

Kyla breathed through Gwen’s exploration, feeling every little touch on every inch of her delicate skin. She inhaled with anticipation when the Domme moaned, the sound alone making her heart rate rise. She blushed, knowing that she’d caused the moan that had escaped Gwen.

Her entire focus was on the delicate, sensitive mound in front of her. Gwen slid her fingers along the wet slit, teasing over Kyla's clit and down to trace the slick entrance. Gentle fingers spread her folds, another wave of want rushing through her at the sight of her gorgeously flushed center. She honestly didn't think cunts like this existed outside of porn, but oh, Gwen was very happy to be wrong. Leaning forward, she pressed her mouth just above Kyla's clit, starting to explore her just as thoroughly with her tongue and lips.

Kyla had never been treated this way before; like she was a gem that no one had ever discovered before. No one had been this delicate before, and to say she found it arousing would be an understatement. She closed her eyes, able to map out in her head every inch that Gwen had covered. She still didn’t speak, not wanting to break the spell that had cast over the room.

Both of her hands slid under Kyla's thighs, tipping her hips up slightly to give her a better angle. Low, hungry sounds came from the Domme's throat as she explored. Gwen gave her clit a sweet, sucking kiss before shifting down, licking her way to the perfectly gorgeous little hole below. "So fucking sweet, baby girl," she rasped, feeling her own panties starting to dampen just from the taste of the beautiful sub.

Kyla’s body obeyed before she could even think about it, holding her hips up for Gwen. Her pussy was already aching, warm and ready for attention. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said honestly. She was surprised how gentle the Domme was being, and couldn’t think of anything sweeter

She licked her lips, glancing up to flash a smile at Kyla. "It's my first time eating pussy, baby girl, I'm going to take my damn time," Gwen hummed. But just to bring a little spice into it, she gently scraped her teeth over that little, sensitive pink nub before sucking it into her mouth, beginning to gain confidence.

“As you should,” Kyla smiled. She remembered that she had been nervous her first time with a girl- and then she’d been even more nervouse the first time she was *sober* with a girl, so Gwen doing it fearlessly was really a wonderful thing to see. She let out a whine once the Domme had latched onto her clit, opening her eyes to see as much as she could. She was very content to let Gwen do things at her own pace, wanting but not necessarily in a huge hurry. Yet.

That whine sent a shiver down her back. Just to hear it again, she sucked at the sensitive nub again, a bit harder this time. Both hands squeezed her ass firmly, before one slid free so she could ease one finger inside of Kyla's slick entrance. "Fuck," she whispered against Kyla, feeling the way her body clutched around even the single digit. How would Kyla look on one of her favorite strap-ons, with her hands bound and ankles spread open so she couldn't do anything but take her cock?

“God, Gwen!” She let out what could only be described as a quiet but sure shriek. Her clit had always been the way to get her, but in front of someone so dominant and hot and in command..well it was understandably even more sensitive. “You’re trouble, Miss,” Kyla could tell already, the sweetness of which just made her wriggle in her spot.

She smirked, tugging lightly on her clit with her teeth before pulling back slightly to look up at Kyla. "I think you like a little bit of trouble, sweetness," she murmured back, biting her lip as she slid a second finger inside of her.

“I do, Miss,” Kyla replied desperately, moaning with the addition of another finger. “I really do, especially if the trouble is like you.” Her back started to arch , pressing herself up against Gwen’s lips.

Her smirk grew wider, and she rocked her fingers firmly into Kyla, drinking in every single reaction she had to her touch. "Oh the things I would like to do to you, baby girl, would definitely be trouble," she hummed, flicking her tongue against Kyla as she fingered her, rocking her own hips down against the mattress for a little relief on her own aching sex.

If someone were to come up to Kyla and say something along the lines of ‘Hey, can I interest you in some trouble?’ her answer would be vehemently no. She liked things easy, and trouble could make things difficult. But she absolutely wanted what she was getting with Gwen, and would accept whatever ‘trouble’ came her way from this woman with a smile. “Do it, Miss,” she said, interrupted by her own sweet moans. “Do it all, *please*!”

She shivered at the sweet begging from the beautiful blonde under her and couldn't bring herself to deny her any longer. "So polite, sweetness. I think you've earned yourself an orgasm," she purred. Gwen picked up her pace, curling her fingers inside of Kyla as she lapped and sucked at her sensitive clit. While she did love denial more than anything, this was the first woman she'd pleased and she was hungry to hear and feel just how good she could make her feel.

“Yes!” Kyla celebrated, dancing about in her spot for a brief moment. She didn’t have long to celebrate as the action continued. She squeezed her eyes closed and just let herself let loose, moaning all through the process. She was trying to thank Gwen, but she wasn’t sure how clearly it was coming through as her sweet sounds interrupted her and turned to whines. “God, *fuck* Miss!”

Gwen couldn't help but grin against her, loving how much more responsive Kyla seemed to get when she was given permission to finish. She tugged on her clit with her teeth, fingers pressed deep inside of the beautiful sub to gently rub at the spot that made her body clench deliciously. "Maybe later," she murmured, already picturing the vision Kyla would make riding one of her favorite strapons. "Right now, I want to see you cum for me, sweetness," she growled out hungrily.

Kyla nodded absently, her mind caught up in the bliss but still having enough of an attention span to give what Gwen wanted. “Yes, Miss, oh god that feels good, fuck fuck *fuck*,” she yelled out. Her hands were caught up in the sheets, her toes curled as she climaxed.

Heat shimmered under her skin as she watched and felt Kyla obey. Not only was it sexy as all hell, her sweet, wrecked voice cursing and moaning just for her - if she didn't know she was queer before, it was definitely confirmed now. That did more for her than any blowjob or handjob ever did. Sighing happily, Gwen lapped at Kyla slowly, easing her fingers from her slick heat to lick clean. "Good girl," she purred, shifting to lay alongside Kyla, running one hand over her stomach and up to her breasts once more.

Kyla’s breaths came quick and staggered, still squirming with aftershocks even as she was lapped clean. She took her time to sort of recover, not wanting her voice to come out all ugly and hoarse. “Wow, Miss,” she finally breathed out, watching Gwen’s hand hover up her body. “How long have you been thinking about doing that? Because that was really impressive.” She smiled up at the Domme in a daze.

A confident smirk touched her lips, fingertips teasing over Kyla's nipples playfully, like she couldn't bring herself to stop touching the beautiful girl naked in her bed. "To you specifically? Since I met you. In general? Ten years," she admitted.

“Ten years,” she muttered to herself. She couldn’t even imagine repressing that long. She admired both the ten year ‘record’ as well the breaking of it. Bith made the Domme tough in Kyla’s eyes. “Well I’m honored to be the chosen one,” she chuckled, still watching Gwen’s hands play over her. “What else have you been imagining, Miss?”

She shrugged, biting the inside of her lip and trying not to look as ashamed as she felt about that. Kyla's smile had her smiling again though. "I couldn't resist you," Gwen admitted. A soft chuckle spilled from her lips, and she stretched out next to the sub, propping up on one elbow. "Sweetness, it's easier to ask what I haven't been imagining. A decade is a long time to fantasize."

Kyla’s eyes grew wide, just imagining how many fun things had to be on Gwen’s mind. “I don’t know how you kept from completely destroying me,” she said honestly. “Do you like fantasies of hard things or soft things?”

"Both," she admitted after a moment. It would have been easy to lie, to lean on her reputation as a hard playing Domme and nothing else. But, a part of her she didn't like to acknowledge much craved something softer, even if she hated to admit it. "I'm much better with the hard side of things though.”

“Hard, huh?” She wiggled her brows ever so gently, more than happy to dive in to it. “So like pegging, chains, and plugs?” She had to chuckle lightly at herself. “You’ll have to forgive me for already fantasizing about what a round two would look like at some point.”

Gwen wiggled her eyebrows, gently pinching Kyla's nipples. "Well I do appreciate the enthusiasm," she teased. "I have to admit it might be all three at once. The thought of you with your hands chained to the ceiling and riding my favorite strap on is one of the tops on my list," she hummed, licking her lips. "But now, I'm picturing you doing that with a plug in your cute little ass, and clamps on your nipples with a chain for me to hold onto."

Kyla whimpered under Gwen’s touch, he back arching her chest closer to the Domme. “I’ve never been chained to the ceiling before,” she said quietly, contemplating it. “Sounds like a very fun ride, Miss. My holes in use for you while you pull on my nipples and play with my plug.” She could feel the discussion working its way through her body, a pang hitting her clit and making it throb. She rubbed her legs together to try to fix it.

She couldn't help but smirk as Kyla reacted to her touch, and clearly loved the scene she was building in her head. "Oh sweetness, I have a feeling you would enjoy it. You'd have no choice but to keep my cock inside you," the Domme purred. "I haven't gotten my ceiling reinforced yet though, so we might have to wait on that. But the other things... are certainly possible."

“I’d coat your cock for you, Miss,” Kyla gave a single nod to seal her thought. “Well you should get on that then. There are many many subs who will want to be chained to your ceiling.” She looked down, watching with wonder as her nipples hardened. “Maybe you should be adorning me with all these fun things you’ve got me excited about.”

"Well aren't you a good girl," she teased. Gwen cocked an eyebrow. "Do you know something I don't? Because so far I only have two." She reached over to pinch one stiffened nipple, before landing a light slap over Kyla's breast, enjoying the way her pale skin turned pink. "It seems to me that you should earn such fun toys, sweetness, don't you think?"

“You’ll find that I’m a *very* good girl,” Kyla informed the Domme next to her. “I only know the obvious which is that you’re hot and have a very dominant energy about you that drives subs wild. It’s probably science.” Kyla yelped playfully as she was played with, giggling in anticipation of more fun. “I suppose that makes sense. How would you have me earn them then?”

"Seems like science to me. We'll have to see if your theory pans out," Gwen said with a chuckle. Hearing Kyla giggle made her smile, prompting her to give her other breast the same treatment. "Well, I do seem to be terribly overdressed," Gwen pointed out, hungry for the other woman's hands on her own body.

Kyla’s eyes panned over Gwen’s body, somehow having forgotten that one of them was fully clothed and the other completely naked. “It is quite a pity,” she agreed. She played with the hem of her shirt, twirling it around her finger a few times as she gave Gwen a tender kiss. Her lips occupied, she only took a break to tug the shirt up over the other’s head. She kissed down the woman’s jaw, working her way down her neck as she unhooked her bra.

Smirking, she rolled into her back, trying not to look as anxious and excited as she was to finally experience another woman’s hands on her body. “Mm, it is,” she agreed, a soft little sound humming against Kyla’s lips. Gwen arched to allow her shirt to come off, running the fingers of one hand through the sub’s long hair. Her breath caught when Kyla removed her bra, full breasts spilling free. Gwen knew she wasn’t the skinniest bitch around, her figure full and curvy, and long ignored body issues reared up in the back of her mind. With men she never cared much. But with another woman? “See anything you like, sweetness?” she asked breathily.

Kyla had known already what kind of figure Gwen had, but that hardly prepared her for the most perfect tits she’d ever seen just appearing. Already in a submissive mindset, she couldn’t help but worship a little with her mouth before answering. “A moment to appreciate please?” She asked, her eyes sparkling. She knew they had plans, but like..they were right there.

#para: gwen #para: galentines #paras #smut

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gwensgold · 3 years

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your grief is an honour song. // a may dies on the boat au.

Mentions: May Nguyễn, Emil Becker, Uriel, Astrid Hunter, Saint Warden, Omer Nacar Timestamp: 23 May & onward. Triggers: Murder, grief, blood, gun violence.

From the moment the first bullets hit the boat, Gwen’s first thoughts are of May. All the way through the chaos, her thoughts extend to the wife she does not see, not in any corner she comes across. When the bombs go off, she does not see her, when she crashes into the murky waters of the river, she does not see her, when she attempts to drag Jack Tanner onto the shore, she does not see her. There are others that cross her mind, sure, but every thought returns to May.

And when she does see her, she lets go of Jack and rushes over. She’s with Emil, by her car. She’s with Emil. Emil is safe. May is here. May is here. May is here.

But something shines in Emil’s eyes and Gwen stops, freezes as her eyes take in the complete scene in front of her. May is here, but she is pale and still and there’s blood flowering down her chest. Gwen looks at her, limp and unmoving in her friend’s arms, and she screams. Blood-curdling and terror-filled, she screams before she continues her journey over, hands pressing on May’s body, her face, willing her eyes to open, and being met with nothing.

Gwen can’t retell the journey from the docks to Emil’s home. Everything is a blood-stained blur. She cannot retell the things she may have said or the accusations she may have made, only remembering the blankness of May. May, who was always moving, always bursting with how alive she was, now growing colder with every moment that passed.

“It matters nothing to me if I lose you though. That I know. That is not a price I wish to pay.”

Death’s mission grows stale, like old bread between her teeth. Gwen has no interest in it any more and she voices these thoughts, only once, to Uriel who stares at May’s body as if he’s lost a younger sibling. “Was this really worth it?” she asks him in a condemning tone, unafraid as she gazes up at her Horseman. He can threaten demotion all he wants, can threaten to have her killed if he wishes: Gwen does not care for Death if May is not there, at the heart of it all. “Are you happy now? Are you going to watch us all die for you?”

He towers over her and his voice is a tired, angry boom as he warns and threats, reminding her that May isn’t here to cover her back if she grows reckless. Gwen stares danger in the face with a clenched jaw, ready to respond with viciousness. “Don’t become a liability,” he tells her. “I have no use for those.” She swallows her defiance, for now, and looks away.

Gwen thinks that she wouldn’t mind dying. She believes in the afterlife, believes that death will reunite her with whom she has lost ( and whether that’s in heaven or hell, she doesn’t mind ), but she won’t go there before she has done what she has to. Retribution. Revenge. A balancing of scales.

She does not know who loosened the bullet that ended her wife’s life, however, so it’s what she pours herself onto. She asks anyone present if they had seen what had happened, pressing them to go over their memories of that chaotic night, growing angry when they have no answers and constantly returning to the same feeling of guilt, the feeling of I should have been there. Powerlessness bleeds through her along with the longing that takes a hold of her every night she sleeps in her bed alone. It’s cold, without May, her empty side of the bed something Gwen is afraid to touch.

For a moment, she wonders if this is how Astrid Hunter feels every night, too. For a moment, she thinks that maybe she deserves this.

And when, after weeks and months of obsessively pouring herself over the cause of her wife’s death, after Omer Nacar confesses his role in the way May had died, Gwen seeks her revenge. Omer is spared, not given forgiveness but not much else either. “Don’t ever talk to me again,” she bites to an old friend, backing away with terror and hatred shining in her eyes. “Or I’ll kill you, too.”

She might as well be a fury from Hades when she descends on Saint Warden’s flat, claiming retribution as she presses the nuzzle of a gun against his chest, pulling the trigger and watching the bullet course through his heart in the spot where he’d shot and killed May. And as he drops on his floor and his dog barks madly and Gwen wipes at her face, at the blood oozing from her wounds from their fight, she feels harrowing emptiness. She stares at her murderous hands, at the blood that stains them in multiple ways, and balls them, nails pressing in the palm of her hand before she slams them against a wall, again and again and again.

Like the destruction she sought out as a kid, there is no relief in the after. There is only numbness enveloping her now that the deed is done, a quiet nothingness where May would have been before.

She has become a liability. All Gwen offers Death is the pub and she hardly runs that, struggling to drag herself out of that cold bed in the mornings and struggling to climb back in it at night. She cannot find it in herself to care for Death’s mission, even if it might be what May would have wanted, cannot find it in herself to put her heart into any of it when it’s been ripped out. She does not fear consequence as she never has. Let her be damned. Let her descend into hell if she must. Maybe she will see May again, then, at least.

#& self para.#i couldnt decide whether i should kill gwen at the end of this or not #so i left it open ended u can decide urself #fun fact this came to me in a dream #& task.

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perniciouspotter · 2 years

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Date: June 22nd, 1984 Location: Godric’s Hollow self para/summary feat. @dogstxrsirius

James didn’t know if it was resignation over his situation or just pure whatever that made him decide to just not give a fuck tonight. He had planning in the morning with Peter and Gwen - they all had the mission in two days - and he’d be ready then. But then wasn’t now and, right now, he just wanted to relax.

So he’d asked Sirius to pull out some of the potion-laced herbs that he bought off Fletcher regularly. James didn’t do this a ton with his mate, but he’d done it enough time that it was easy to roll the paper and light the end with his wand.

“Got into with Wormtail,” he told Sirius after they’d both had a few hits, passing it back and forth while sitting on the ground with their backs pressed against James’ couch. Garnet made an appearance, rubbing up against both their legs in familiar companionship before fucking off out the cat door to disturb some mice or something. Rats, James thought. He would go chase some rats. Good cat, he couldn’t help but think a moment later, his anger at Peter clouded his mind.

And, at Sirius’ insistence, he told the story.

Or, what he thought the story was, at the very least.

He told Sirius about how Peter had brought up disappointment. How James saw the way he’d taken the kidnapping and made it about him. How, when James had called him out on it, he’d retreated. “Fuckin’ coward,” Sirius said back with his eyes narrowed angrily, on James’ side.

James wondered if, in all his life, Sirius would be the only one to always be on his side. No matter what. Well, perhaps Emmeline, too. “Yeah,” James agreed, letting the smoke blow from his lips as his pupils dilatating as he looked up at the ceiling through his spectacles, his head back against the couch seat.

“Fuckin’ coward,” he repeated and, right now, there was nothing that could make him think of what this might do to them. Not just him and Sirius - but the group. Sirius was already on the outs with Remus and things had been weird between him and Peter, too. Later, James would realize he was only making things worse.

He’d tried to hold on tighter to each of them, pulling them back together desperately to keep himself above water. Right now, however, he just passed the joint back to Sirius, the scar on his wrist catching his eye.

And all he wanted to do was close his eyes and fall asleep.

#dogstxrsirius #character | sirius black #date | 06.22.1984 #location | godric's hollow

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deathmaycome · 2 years

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EMIL’S HOUSE / 24TH MAY / SELF PARA (ft. Uriel, again)

“I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”

― Khaled Hosseini

For the first few hours after coming around following her surgery, everything had been a blur. She slipped smoothly between consciousness and unconsciousness; a painkiller induced sleep punctuated by the burning in her chest when the drugs wore off, the worried face of Emil, Gwen curling up on the bed beside her. The last thing she remembered was staring at the ceiling, vaguely registering gunfire and shouting around her as she bled out. She had still not entirely registered the fact that she was alive, that the bullet which by all logic should have killed her had not. Though her head became clearer, the memories slightly sharper, this was still the fact on which May was stuck, the impossibility of it all. Even when Emil explained how they had found her and taken her off the boat, it didn’t seem real. An urban myth rather than reality.

When she was lucid, she faced questions about the identity of her attacker, to which she instantly supplied Saint Warden’s name, but kept Omer’s close to her wounded chest. Then she was supplied with information about the gravity of Death’s new situation, filling in the many holes torn in the fabric of the evening, each new fact she obtained more unsettling than the last. When she was asleep she had disturbed dreams - of drowning, of choking, of fire, of her parents. Each time it was different, but always ended the same way, with her sat bolt upright, heart pounding in time with the throbbing of her chest. It happened again then, gasping for air, eyes wide but not seeing, before slumping back onto the pillows more exhausted than she had been before she attempted rest.

“Did you know,” a voice says, somewhere on her right, “That we have the same blood type?”

Still trying to catch her breath, May’s head lolls to look at her Horseman, sitting in a chair beside her. Unlike the last time they’d been alone together, when she had been raging and he had been impassive, they looked distinctly less composed. Their posture is hunched, sleeves rolled up and hair dishevelled, as though they have been running their hands through it repeatedly. Her eyes are drawn to the bruises on his forearm, and through a haze, she realises the meaning of their odd greeting.

“You gave me blood.” It’s a strange feeling, knowing that they are now a part of her physically, like real siblings. She isn’t sure she likes it. “No wonder I feel so cold.”

“Nice to see that the bullet you took didn’t damage your wit.” He stands and begins fussing around her as she watches his every move, curious rather than suspicious. Nimble hands check her IV, examine the bandages covering her wound, adjust the tube that reinflated her collapsed lung. They are clinical, almost detached, but when he sits again after a little more prodding and poking, there is an air about them, a change, probably indiscernible to anyone but her. Uriel the Horseman is not present, replaced by Uriel, her old friend. It had been so long since she’d last seen this person that she’d half forgotten he existed, but there he was, with a slump to their shoulders and a hint of concern colouring their expression. “It’s a miracle that you’re alive, you know.”

“Mm, I figured.” May had never thought of herself as a particularly lucky person, believing that the good things in her life had come to her as a result of hard work. But if anything could make her change her mind, it was knowing that she had survived a bullet fired at her heart when she stood restrained. Either she was extremely fortunate, or the Wardens were extremely unfortunate.

She tries to sit up to better engage in their conversation, struggling as she does so but waving away the help he moves to offer. It was impossible to hide her weakness, but that didn’t mean she had to rely on them so heavily. The knowledge that lay between them - that she had almost died, that he had saved her life - was inescapable. It was yet another facet to their relationship, adding complications where there were already multitudes. Equally inescapable was the fact that she had criticised them, and they had punished her for it. She could count on one hand the number of times that the mood between them had been as tense as this. The fact that two of these occasions had happened within the past month was unsettling to say the least. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, these were merely splinters in the woodwork of their friendship, an occupational hazard of working at such close quarters for so long. But they had been a united front for so many years that this splintering felt a lot like breaking.

“So, how was it? Holding my life in your hands?” The question escapes her before she can think to hold it back. He had always tutted at her impulsivity, tried to rein it in or mould it, but at that moment, he was smiling a little.

“It’s not the first time I’ve operated on you. Don’t you remember?” She stares, perplexed, before realising what they’re referring to.

“My Fisher Price doctor’s kit.” Her, on her back, propped up on her elbows. Them, crouched next to her, wielding a plastic scalpel and pretending to make incisions while she squirmed at the ticklish sensation. That’s where your liver is. Your intestines are here. This is your heart. She couldn’t have been more than seven at the time.

“I’ve gotten better since then, you’ll be pleased to hear.”

“Doesn’t answer my question, though.”

They blink slowly, and for a moment she thinks they won’t respond. But he does, eventually, and the words are measured in a way that she understands is not for her benefit, but his own. “It’s not an experience I wish to repeat.”

Silence falls, and they watch each other. And what a sorry pair they are, exhausted and miserable, carrying responsibility so heavy you could practically see the weight of it crushing them. “Do we know how many died yet?” she asks after a few minutes.

He leans forward as though he hasn’t heard the question, adjusting her pillows to help her sit more comfortably, wearing a pained look. It’s unnerving from the person who was always so unemotional, so measured. It isn’t until he sits back again that he speaks, their tone tinged with something dangerously close to remorse. “We’re still finding bodies. We probably won’t know an exact number for another day or so.”

“But so far?”

“So far, six. Five Angels and a Power.”

Guilt was a feeling that May knew well, but never had the feeling gripped her as tightly as this. The reality of war, once the shock of Death’s arrival had worn off, was always going to be unpleasant, and there was always going to be loss. She had never been under any illusion that they could make it through this without losing people along the way — she was an optimist, not delusional. And yet that optimistic part of her had ruined her, because foolishly, she had thought that if she cared enough, tried hard enough, they could avoid the worst of it. Where Uriel was the brains, brilliant but cold, viewing his willing recruits as disposable, it was her job to be the heart, to love, and most importantly, to protect. She should have been more careful. She shouldn’t have been caught by Warden. She should have disregarded her friendship with Omer and fought him off. Anything, anything to prevent this.

“Okay, well, when we do have the exact number, get me a list of their names. We’re going to contact their families and pay for the funerals.” The Horseman nods, knowing better than to fight their Seraphim on this issue.

Another silence, this one stretching out for longer than the last one. It swells between them, the air heavy and aching, punctuated only by her own light, wheezing breaths. Uriel stares at a point on the opposite wall, she stares at her hands. It seems as though neither will speak again, that he will leave her without another word for fear of addressing the elephant in the room threatening to engulf them, but then —

“I know you’re still angry with me.”

The admission surprises her. It would not have been out of character for him to ignore their problems completely, deeming it unnecessary emotional baggage in the face of what is undeniably a much larger issue. But they address it head-on, their dark gaze fixed on her, their family. May remains tight-lipped. The best way to get someone to talk was to say nothing at all. He had taught her that. “I know you’re still angry with me, but I need —” He sighs heavily through his nose. “Your support is vital.”

“Yes, I know.” She doesn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her voice, gaze shifting away from him. “Can’t have it look like your best Seraphim is losing faith.”

“No. I don’t just mean it in that way.” They uncross their legs, cross them again. “Your support is vital to me.” Another surprising statement. In all the years they had known each other, she couldn’t remember them ever being this sincere. By his standards, it was practically emotional. Uriel was not one for sentiment, evidenced by the fact that they had calmly disregarded the opinion of their oldest friend and advisor in favour of chasing the glory of owning Pestilence. To say this softness was foreign would be the understatement of the decade, and she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or on edge.

“A compliment isn’t going to change my mind, Uriel,” she says, chin tilted like a defiant teenager. “I think you made the wrong decision and I stand by that.”

“I know.” A pause. “Obviously I did not think that this was how it would play out.” It was the closest they would ever come to admitting they had made a mistake.

“I know.” She is his echo, now and always.

“Listen to me,” they say suddenly, voice low and urgent. “I understand your doubts, especially after this. But if nothing else, the events of last night have made me see clearly where before I was blinded by arrogance. Those deaths, your suffering, I won’t let them be in vain. They have to pay for what they’ve done, to us and to this city.” They lean in, elbows resting on knees, gaze dark and imploring. “I have a plan, May. A new one, and I believe that it will work. But it will be so much easier with you by my side to help see this through. You are the better part of me, and this gang needs you just as I do. We’re scattered, and we need to be reunited for it to be as effective as I hope. It’s going to be difficult, I realise that, but no matter what May, I fucking swear to you —” They take her hand, and the action forces their eyes meet again; hers wide with shock, his ablaze with determination.

“— I’ll fix this.”

#self para #with uriel #24.05.2021 #episode two of keeping up with may and uriel #aka another overly long self para #blood mention tw #medical tw #death tw #this should be written a lot better considering it's been in my drafts forever #but i'm slow and lazy

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ultravioletqueen · 3 years

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De paso hice la parte 4 aprovechando que estoy inspirada

Kokkuri-san=mushu(mulan)

Adoro el personaje de mushu y su personalidad encaja bastante bien con la personalidad de Kokkuri-san, ambos son traviesos,astutos,leales,les gusta ser el centro de atención y hacen cualquier cosa con tal de conservar sus puestos, además de ser hasta cierto punto muy cómicos.

Kuromori=shan yu(mulan)

Realmente no podía pensar en otro personaje que no sea shan yu para kuromori, ambos son fríos, cínicos, determinados a eliminar a una persona(shan yu al emperador y kuromori a vivi), son arrogantes, megalomanos, prefieren no mostrar tanto su fuerza matando a sangre fría, confían mucho en su fuerza y son líderes innatos, además de que no tienen miedo de matar a quien los han perjudicado o arrebatado una víctoria.

Gwen=elsa(frozen)

Aunque no me gusta mucho el personaje de elsa debo admitir que me base ligeramente en ella para crear el nuevo concepto de gwen, ambas poseen poderes que les han causado problemas tanto a ellas como a sus seres queridos, fueron aisladas del mundo por sus padres debido a sus poderes,son reservadas y serenas,tienen una apariencia majestuosa, se han distanciado de sus hermanos por culpa de sus poderes(elsa con anna y gwen con lot) y ambas en algún momento lograron encontrar felicidad y paz en una tierra lejana a la suya(elsa en el bosque encantado y gwen en el reino de camelot).

Lux=fa zhou(mulan)

Lux al igual que el padre de mulan busca que su hija no se sienta triste y la cuida de la mejor manera que puede, lux al igual que fa zhou busca apoyar a su hija y evitar que oculte su verdadero ser por creencias estúpidas, además de que harían lo que sea con tal de evitar que su familia pase por desgracias,lux literalmente crió a gwen(leodegrance también la amaba pero apenas si pasaba tiempo con ellos por sus viajes) y la protegió lo mejor que pudo,y fa zhou estaba dispuesto a ir a la guerra para honrar a su familia, sin duda de los mejores padres.

By the way I did part 4 taking advantage of the fact that I am inspired

Kokkuri-san = mushu (mulan)

I adore the character of mushu and his personality fits in quite well with Kokkuri-san's personality, they are both mischievous, cunning, loyal, they like to be the center of attention and they will do anything to keep their positions, as well as being up to a certain point. very comical point.

Kuromori = shan yu (mulan)

I couldn't really think of another character other than shan yu for kuromori, they are both cold, cynical, determined to eliminate a person (shan yu to the emperor and kuromori to vivi), they are arrogant, megalomaniacs, they prefer not to show their strength so much by killing in cold blood, they trust a lot in their strength and are innate leaders, in addition to that they are not afraid of killing those who have harmed them or snatched a victory.

Gwen = elsa (frozen)

Although I do not like the character of Elsa very much, I must admit that I base myself slightly on her to create the new concept of Gwen, both have powers that have caused problems for both them and their loved ones, they were isolated from the world by their parents due to to their powers, they are reserved and serene, they have a majestic appearance, they have distanced themselves from their brothers because of their powers (elsa with anna and gwen with lot) and both at some point managed to find happiness and peace in a far away land. hers (elsa in the enchanted forest and gwen in the kingdom of camelot).

Lux = fa zhou (mulan)

Lux, like mulan's father, seeks that his daughter does not feel sad and takes care of her in the best way he can, lux, like fa zhou, seeks to support his daughter and prevent her from hiding her true self due to stupid beliefs, in addition to that they would do whatever it takes to keep his family from going through misfortunes, lux literally raised gwen (leodegrance loved her too but barely spent time with them on their travels) and protected her as best he could, and fa zhou was willing to go to war to honor his family, undoubtedly the best parents.

#oc #msa #mystery skulls oc #Kokkuri-san #Kuromori #Gwen #King Arthur #Disney #Lux

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hojiteaversion · 2 years

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My 2021 In Books

The other Twilight of my youth, aka Twilight by Meg Cabot (reread)

Wanted to read about kisses, got rimming as a bonus, aka The Kiss by Hans-Jürgen Döpp

These cool vampire bitches GAY gay, huh?, aka Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

Every romance structure makes perfect sense now, aka Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes

...But I think this might have relied too much on romance beats?, aka Don’t Stop Believing by Gwen Hayes

The infinity prompt is exactly the kind of self-therapy that works for me, which is why I don't do it often enough lmao, aka The Power of Writing It Down by Allison Fallon

Made me realize how much my conceptions of boys and relationships came from Meg Cabot and Twilight, which is why I’m fucked in the head, aka The Boy Next Door by Meg Cabot (reread)

Thought this would be a lighthearted gay vampire romcom, was pleasantly surprised by the serious themes it tackled, aka Love Bites by Ry Herman

Great for dumbasses entering the job market, less great for someone who doesn’t live in a cold climate, aka The Capsule Wardrobe by Wendy Mak

...So this is more like it, for me, aka Nada Para Vestir by Arlindo Grund

Me liking and (mostly) understanding magical realism?? It’s more likely than you think!, aka The Carnivorous Lamb by Agustín Gómez Arcos

Came for the enemies-to-lovers, was surprised I loved all the unhealthy relationships in this, aka The Cruel Prince by Holly Black

My favorite Cabotian disaster family + really clever use of the epistolary format, aka Boy Meets Girl by Meg Cabot (reread)

Best couple out of the three so far, most unbelievable epistolary format, still so much fun, aka Every Boy’s Got One by Meg Cabot (reread)

Becky is a great adaptation of Anne Elliot, the villain is a great adaptation of that Elliot cousin, Reed sucks, aka The Boy Is Back by Meg Cabot

I wrote that it “felt like good smutty Twilight fanfiction from circa 2010” and that "in hindsight, the men look so fucking stupid", aka Corrupt by Penelope Douglas

Holy fuck. Holy fuck this book. IT’S ABOUT LEARNING TO LOVE, BITCH, aka Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? by Jeanette Winterson

The theme of classism surprised me, and the fatphobia also surprised me, but in the opposite direction, aka When Lightning Strikes by Meg Cabot

The speech on why humans shouldn’t join the Galactic Union thing is permanently etched in my brain, aka The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers

The Austen protagonist that I relate the most to, aka Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

Surprisingly touching and effective for a Christian allegory (read: made me fear for the path my soul is in, so, that’s good, I guess), aka The Magician’s Nephew by C. S. Lewis

In 20 years I will reread this book and Understand the hype and the Intertextuality or whatever of it all. For now, I just think Judy Poovey deserves comedic protagonist rights, aka The Secret History by Donna Tartt

Were the characters, like, lovable? Well, I love them + the author interview in the audiobook was excellent, aka America For Beginners by Leah Franqui

Oh the shit everyone got away with post-Twilight, aka Hush Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick (reread)

About this book, I wrote, “True love is still being devoted to someone even when they’re the dumbest, cluelessest, most stubborn and infuriating person in the universe”, aka Silence by Becca Fitzpatrick (reread)

I swallowed this in one day and immediately started the next one, aka The Wicked King by Holly Black

Do I enjoy reading political intrigue in my enemies to lovers, or do I just enjoy Captive Prince and The Folk of the Air a lot?, aka The Queen of Nothing by Holly Black

What an absolutely weird hilarious blast this was. Why did it make me lk cry?? Btw I LOVE the author’s respect for and recognition of teenagers’ issues and self-awareness and brilliance, aka The Extraordinaries by T. J. Klune

Lol I thought this was going to be a cute and lighthearted YA road trip but I cried three fucking times lmao, aka Amy & Roger’s Epic Detour by Morgan Matson

HISTORY! HUMANS! BRAIN! YUVAL’S BRAIN! Life-changing. Ate bread and chocolate milk directly after finishing this book and almost cried with the enormity of it all, aka Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari

A mindfuck of a journey as the character figures out she’s a lesbian, aka Bunny by Mona Awad

I will never look at Lisol the same way again. It’s a wonder humans are still alive!, aka A Curious History of Sex by Kate Lister

Amazingly rich book with healing and growth and discussions that were so advanced for its time. But yeah, they call dicks ‘good-sized rods’ too, so, really, has anything changed in gay porn, aka Teleny, or the Reverse of the Medal by Anonymous Author(s)

Made me worry for the future of my brain and of our democratic societies, and the irony is that I read this too fast to remember details lol, aka Reader, Come Home by Maryanne Wolf

While I think the book would have been cooler if it actually followed its synopsis, I did have a good time, aka I Am Not a Serial Killer by Dan Wells

Awesome how this book showed our struggles but also was great at letting us live our fantasies; really clever that the kids are monster-like, too, aka The House In The Cerulean Sea by T. J. Klune

Gorgeous, life-changing, inspiring, informative, universal must-read, especially before clowning on social media :’). I will read anything this woman writes, aka Twisted: The Tangled History of Black Hair Culture by Emma Dabiri

What. Aka A Hora da Estrela by Clarice Lispector

A lot I liked and a lot I didn’t like, and I’m glad I read it, aka Gods & Monsters by Shelby Mahurin

Fuck Edward Cullen, I want what Seth and Nick and also what Gibby and Jazz have, aka Flash Fire by T. J. Klune

Unfortunately didn’t rock my world as much as it did the first time, but also it was a worthwhile read, aka Serpent & Dove by Shelby Mahurin (reread)

Maybe not a good pick for a /my first Bechdel, aka Are You My Mother? By Alison Bechdel

Incredible prose and imagery; and, just like folklore, I love how much the way the stories are told, and not just their content, are a part of what makes them resonate, aka The Mermaid’s Tale by Amanda Adams

Me: I’ve connected the dots! – The end of the book: You didn’t connect shit, aka The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë

Thanks for the rec Miss Mitski, aka The Complete Poems of Charles Reznikoff (v.1) by Charles Reznikoff

I am… quite surprised by the hype, aka The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V. E. Schwab

I’m always impressed by YA that portrays complicated adult problems, but also, 😬 at Nozomi, aka Love & Other Natural Disasters by Misa Sugiura

Mcquistonian dialogue and friend groups and Mitski references is really all I need in a book, I think, aka One Last Stop by Casey Mcquiston

My favorite genre is when authors are incredibly competent in their craft, aka The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

I didn’t need to understand everything to Get it, and also, this poet too was clearly competent in her craft, aka alphabet by Inger Christensen

#readingtag

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thevultur · 3 years

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self para // the architect of decay

TIME: through the finale of the 125th Games, towards the 126th Victor’s Ball LOCATION: the Capitol & District 13 PARTS: end of 125, 125th victor’s ball (skippable), end of 126, the fall of the Capitol, district thirteen WORD COUNT: 2,674 TRIGGER WARNINGS: alcohol, drugs

end of 125

They moved out gradually. When she took the children to her parents, in Three, with the same train that carried the corpse of her best friend, for the second time, because of him, it was because the Capitol wasn’t safe. She didn’t mention betrayal. She wasn’t her initially angry self. Instead, she was lost, and scared, and confused. It was easier to run away from the consequences of violence and rebellion, than to deal with the unsaid and to admit surrender. A month later, she asked for a box of their favorite belongings. Lysander prepared the package for delivery, and never quite removed the tape scraps from everywhere on the floor and furniture.

He didn’t move her toothbrush, even months later. Instead, he gathered courage to call her on the phone. Suddenly, her voice was more a surprise than a familiarity. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to say to her. She rambled, and rambled -- and, for a little while, he settled for listening. She was pushing forced excitement out of her mouth, pretending that the point of the call was the great weather they’ve had the other day, planting carrots in the garden, or how Haydn now knows his way around a phone better than she does. When he let out a chuckle, as she carried on her glowing tale, they both froze. She didn’t expect the chuckle to echo as something he didn’t know she missed, he was embarrassed -- it felt like a slip.

As silence sank into the phone call, he knew it was the moment for the heavy question. “When are you going to be back?” It created louder silence, for longer. There went his need to know it all, with his straightforward, practical questions, not afraid of the truth. For a little, she could no longer talk, so he did. He tried to push logic down her throat, to rationalize in a desperate attempt to change her mind, to make it less than what it was. The desperate struggle for reason and the enfeeblement were deafening to him and his ego. She confessed, defeated, that she didn’t know. That she would call him as soon as she would know. For now, she needed space to eventually find some clarity in her mind. Space was all he used to have, so he offered it with grace. The conversation didn’t move him, not for the longest time. However, every time he walked into that bathroom and his eyes met that damned red toothbrush, something stabbed him.

125th victor’s ball

She was gracious and cordial at the Victor’s Ball, while he was too stressed to ask her to dance even once. Over them hovered the certainty he planted into his own mind, that he was going to die, that they were going to dispose of him as soon as the light moved away from the Quell incident, as soon as people stopped paying attention. He didn’t tell her. He played pathetic nonchalance. Luckily, he still remembered how to tie his own tie. It didn’t look like he needed her, necessarily. It only felt like it. After the ball, she took more of her stuff from his place, not quite cleaning the apartment of all her belongings, but it became obvious she didn’t like that mauve sweater she left behind that much. He, on the other hand, loved that mauve sweater. He didn’t move or touch the bits of her still left behind, clinging onto their original state, how she left them, as if that would eventually take her back.

He remembered solitude for an old friend, though, this time, the old friend was a sad surprise. As all of the walls were raising tall around himself, he built up the tallest arena, to match. He spent his everyday, running plane simulations, climbing up and down to check all platforms -- with ropes tied to him and all the focus he had in him to distract him from nausea. Eventually, when he was out of things to do, he started doing the interns’ tasks, early in the morning, before everybody else in the office woke up. If he concentrated enough, it wouldn’t ache. If he gave it all to the arena, he wouldn’t have time for himself and for all of his thoughts.

Eventually, he gave away his pet snake. It became clear that he needed as little as possible attaching him to the world. If he was about to die, he preferred to die without the guilt of abandoning and letting an animal into his apartment, to starve before anyone found either of them. Eventually, he stopped locking the door. Maybe she’d be back, maybe they would come to shoot a bullet in his head. Either way, it felt like a waste of time. The snake found its new home in the arms of a Gamemaker colleague, one who knew snakes and had a dozen of them already. It was a fine gift from a boss. He didn’t need it back.

The president was announced dead, unexpectedly. With no instructions from higher up people, he decided it didn’t change anything. Instead of weeping tears or worrying about his fate now more than ever, he poured himself a cup of coffee, drank it bottoms up, all at once, and went back to work. There was so much work left to do -- there was always work. When they captured Prim, he turned off the screen. He didn’t know what that meant for him, and, at that point, it didn’t even matter. When the president turned out to be alive, he neither cheered nor booed. It was all the same to him. He had work to do.

end of 126

The summer Games passed, and he was happy to see all three of them around the Tower, even if temporarily. He gifted Haydn his favorite book growing up, he replied to all of Gwen’s almost words, he had a few late night talks with her, too. They kept their mouths shut about the elephant in the room, instead enjoying the moment. He didn’t say anything about the ring he had in his nightstand, the one he bought over a year ago. It would rot there, box unopened, as everything else eventually would. No word about his demotion, about the trial and about how he was certain of his timely death, upcoming by now. Instead, she told him she didn’t think she was coming back for the next Games, that she needed a break from it all. To her, the Capitol probably smelled like him too much for it to be a fair fight. To him, the Capitol smelled nothing like her, causing him to subconsciously look for her perfume everywhere.

The Games wrapped up, and he had to do it over again, except this time, the cards have been already distributed. With a losing hand, he had to keep going. He started building the arena on autopilot, not quite taking it in. On the other side of the world, she called late in the night about Gwendolyn having a bad fever. He asked if she wanted him on a train to Three, but they settled on her taking the baby to the hospital first thing in the morning. A day later, she sent a couple of pictures of a grinning baby he no longer recognized by heart. If she was growing up happy, however, that was more than what he could offer.

There was no way of postponing his meeting with his lawyer any longer. The world was burning, but the trial was knocking on his door, not quite knowing it’s unlocked. Two hours into meeting with his lawyer, the man already answered all the possible questions he could have. There was one, unworded, vile, about split custody, but he held it in. He preferred her to be happy. She was the healthy parent, the experienced parent, the loving parent, too. He didn’t want to take anything away from either of them. Instead, he shook hands with the lawyer, thanked him for his efforts and information given, and moved on.

the fall of the Capitol

One afternoon, working in the Tower, they declared an emergency. A bomb had been located within the Tower. He didn’t panic. His life felt already over, anyway. He kept working on the next arena, programming at his desk now, instead of any other place within the Tower. His desk, a fort against other people, was the only place he could stand, with no risk of running into anyone. He couldn’t afford the risk of hoping he would run into someone, at least. However, he did call her, almost certain they would all blow up. He didn’t speak a word about the threat -- she’d find out on the news and feel less guilty than if he brought it up in the spur of the moment. Instead, they conversed about weather, about Gwendolyn’s first steady steps that he was missing. He asked about her, too. She didn’t have anything to answer with. The bomb was diffused before he could stress about it.

He watched from his wall-sized window as the rebels drove their cars into the foundation of the Tower. Pouring himself a drink, he watched the world burn under him, and it felt like nothing different from before. With detachment, he kept on working on his project on the background of explosions. At one point, someone intervened, walked into his office despite his clear request not to be interrupted, and asked him to step away. The Tower was being evacuated. Despite the immediate danger, he didn’t rush. He took his time unplugging all the hardware and placing it in his backpack before lowering himself with the elevator into the underground parking lot.

A black car drove him through the tunnels, to the outskirts of the city. A president representative was waiting for him in the car. They advised him to lie low until further instructions. He refused the offer of being brought to the presidential manor for further work. He knew he could work from home just as well. With the beginning of the next arena in his backpack, he walked home, back downtown. He left his backpack in his vault and locked the door for the first time in ages.

As the world was building around them, he entered one of the clubs he used to go to without feeling like dying. He didn’t like most of the nighttime entertainment the Capitol provided, but he did like this one -- dark, underground, heavy but instrumental music, not much dancing. Instead, he took a seat at one of the smaller bar isles, and ordered a melancholic Cuba Libre -- her drink, not his. He asked if his favorite bartender still worked there -- and they did not. It’s been years. He knew that, too. The second drink followed, then the third, then the fourth. When he came back home, he struggled to unlock the front door.

The next day he woke up before sunrise, he plugged everything into his apartment, he invited over a small group of the most trustworthy architect, logistics and plot drop Gamemakers to keep working on the arena while the president figured out a more sustainable solution. After a long day of work, where he had to build up morale for everyone in the room, he went out again, to supress the gaps of his evening. This time, a girl with curly hair sat at his table, and he didn’t excuse himself, for once. Instead, he listened to her talking about her dreams of becoming a stylist. He even humored her efforts to pick him up. She was witty. It felt wrong and flattering at the same time, so he allowed it as he kept sipping from his fifth glass. Then, he fucked her in the bathroom. Only afterwards did he excuse himself and disappear.

He took two showers in the morning, poured himself a cup of coffee in his perfectly orderly kitchen, and kept working on the scheme of plot drops -- permanent, potential and mandatory. He videochatted with a bigger number of the Gamemaking team, explaining just what he knew of what was about to happen to their schedules, where the Games were going to be thrown next. The days were clean, bright, minimalistic like his computer screen. The nights turned into black holes, controlled only by his reason, insisting this was a phase he needed to go through.

Around him, water systems were being poisoned. He started testing water before drinking, he had a filter made, he decided poison wasn’t what would kill him, if anything had to. For three days after the rebels bombed the Odysea Lounge, he didn’t go out, even though his preferred bar was nowhere on the hottest lists. On the third day, the curly haired girl called him. He was confused as in how she got the number, especially a week after. She openly described what seemed like a complicated adventure for a girl who didn’t quite have all connections. He confessed that he didn’t feel comfortable being called on his phone. She asked if her coming over would feel better. After a brief laughter, he admitted that it wouldn’t. He wondered if she was a rebel spy. There was only one way to find out. Eventually, by the end of the conversation, he invited her over.

He didn’t explain that he wasn’t looking for anything. He simply stopped returning her calls. Instead, he started going out again. Someone offered ecstasy, and he felt nostalgic for his university years. He took one, washed it over with rum, and wrote the whole experience with a digital pen onto his phone, documenting every last thought. Something in him was dancing, but he refused to stand up from the bar. At some point, he found himself having sex with someone he didn’t recognize in a poorly lit room he didn’t recognize. Somehow, he found his way back to the bar. That was when he decided he had to leave. At home, he couldn’t sleep. In the early AM, he was on a hovercraft to Thirteen, with all that was left of him in his suitcase, as the effects of last night were wearing off.

district thirteen

When they arrived, he was chewing gum, to both get a sense of his own numbed jaw and to cast away the pregnant smell of alcohol, ashamed it might become noticeable. He shook hands with Radia Thorn -- “The man who designed Nikita, an honor!” she quickly exclaimed, all thrilled out of courtesy. He then pointed out the woman who handled clones was, in fact, dead. The food in Thirteen was terrible. As a vegetarian, he was underwhelmed to find out how dry and not at all green their vegetables were. He was going to die in there, underground, without vitamins, so he requested some that the next batch of Gamemakers brought with them a week later.

To welcome the Capitol into Thirteen, a luxurious feast was thrown. The Deputy Head Gamemaker had a knot in his throat -- certain words did give him that. Feast was one of them. However, it was exquisite and the display of District Thirteen culture was interesting. Their music, their dances, their food, their language -- “It was called French, wasn’t it?” he quickly inquired, in control of his past world references. However, he excused himself early, as he always would, and continued to work on the arena. They had so, so much work left to do, especially in a foreign space.

Underground, Lysander felt at ease, as if he’d always belonged there. One day, he would be underground forever. He made peace with that, as well. He thought about Clover, too -- often, even -- but he didn’t call those days, not from Thirteen. It simply wasn’t wise to, and she did ask for her space. She left, and it depended on him for the show to go on, so there was not much to be considered.

#self para #125 #126 #clover #bits #the architect of decay #let's just say there's a lot written but the only thing worth reading is the fall of the capitol #the rest is mainly for me #love it tho #also the tws at the beginning aren't even real tws because the content is very mild but i wanted to hook you into the self para xoxo

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moodypetrichorlove · 4 years

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MacGyver Drabble

Mac-centric / Mac's thoughts on Riley. Based on his speech to Gwen about how having one person that you count on can make all the difference. This was supposed to be two paras, max, but it took a life of its own. And since it's less than 1k words, I'm putting it up here. Hope you guys like it, even though it's not the best thing I've written, lol. Also, I'm sorry I can't do the "read more" break here because Tumblr on mobile is stupid. Believe me, I tried.

—————————

"It doesn't take the whole world! Sometimes, you just need that one person that you can count on. Who you trust. And together, any problem can be solved.”

He remembers saying that to his aunt, trying to bring her to the good side, the right side. He recalls her scoffing out a laugh at that, as if he had said something next to impossible.

But, most of all, he remembers the feelings coursing through his veins when he uttered those words. Remembers how something inside of him kept telling him he knew a person like that. That he counted on, trusted without reservations. He had this vague feeling that he already had that one person on his side. He remembers a blurry face popping up and disappearing in his mind, as if a wisp of a memory. Just there to tickle him, to set the cogs in his mind to motion and leave the rest up to him.

However, back then, in the truck, was not the time to discern whose face had just flashed on the screen of his mind. Stopping Codex's nuke took priority over everything else, even his own life. So, he compartmentalized and focused on the task at hand.

Now, as he sits outside on his deck, looking at the dark 3 am night sky, a sudden stillness takes over him, reversing the compartmentalization. His brain starts working overtime on depixelating the blurry picture, zooming in and out, and he thinks God, this is Riley's area of expertise, not mine. How the heck does she do it?

It takes him a beat, but Riley's name in his thoughts acts like the code or program or whatever needed to clear up the image, and Mac sits up, all wide-open blue eyes and abrupt movements. He's on his feet, then, pacing restlessly, dismayed by the fact that it took him this long to figure out.

Riley. It was Riley's face.

He stops pacing, looks out towards the city, and sighs deeply.

Riley has been here, since day one. He trusts Riley, and knows she trusts him back, even when she's doubtful of the situation they're in or his it should work hypothetical plans. She believes in him to find a way. He can count on her to always support him, give him a pep talk when he needs one, to always know what he needs or wants to do when on a mission. She can read him like he's the easiest-to-understand book in the world, which he knows is not true because he's as complicated as they come.

Before Riley came into the picture, it was Jack. Together they solved all and any problems that came their way. And Mac will always trust Jack, always believe in him to back him up. But Jack isn't here any more. And he doesn't know how it happened, but since Jack left, Riley has been gradually shifting closer to him. She cannot replace Jack, because no one ever can, and because he wouldn't want Riley to be anyone other than her own self. After all, there is only one Riley Davis, and Mac is uber grateful to the powers that be that he gets to have her in his life.

She has sneaked her way into his heart, way higher and deeper than anyone else. Which demands a whole other dissection and in-depth self-exploration because he has a girlfriend. He does have a girlfriend, right? (Yeah, definitely something to ponder on another day.)

So yeah, he doesn't want her out, ever. And he's going to do whatever he can to ensure it. He has to figure stuff with Desi out first; then he can move forward, and explore how deep his feelings for Riley run.

As he realises, though, that he doesn't want her out, a calming warmth spreads through his entire being, and God knows he needs it. He's been feeling a little too cold these days. Not the kind of cold that you need layers against, but the kind that just stunts you, makes you act unlike yourself.

————————————

A few days later, when his heart cracks a little too loudly in his chest because Riley tells him she is moving out, he feels unable to take a breath, like someone's sucking all the oxygen out of the room, and he thinks oh, karma, how I hate you.

But Mac also feels a hope bloom inside; Riles is talking about leaving him all alone in his too-empty home and his heart is breaking and he takes it as a sign. A blaring, screaming neon sign that makes him more certain in his feelings for Riley.

And he knows then. He knows he can't let her go.

#macgyver #angus macgyver #riley davis #rikey x mac #macriley #macriley drabble #macgyver drabble #moody writes #moodypetrichorlove writes #mine #writing #drabble #* riley x mac

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sgmwesters · 3 years

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━━ ✦ APRIL KEPNER: SELF PARA LEAVING ON A JET PLANE: “I’M COMING HOME”

LOCATION: SEATTLE-TACOMA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

“I’m just at the airport now.” April said into the phone that was attached to her ear. Her parents might not have known the full story as to the series of events that had led to her ultimately failing the boards, but they had done their best to be supportive regardless. She wasn’t about to air out all of her dirty laundry to them - she was sure they were disappointed enough with the fact that she hadn’t passed to be worrying about any other actions she had taken before then.

She’d thought about it long and hard. It seemed like the best thing to do, going back to Moline. Everyone else was jumping into their fellowships, or stepping up into their new roles as attendings, and she was what? Just standing on the sidelines, watching it all happen as a reminder of where she could have been if she’d just... passed. But she hadn’t. And as much as Seattle had been her home for the last five years, staying just felt too painful.

She’d thought about staying for Alice, especially given the journey that she seemed to be embarking on herself. She supported her sister, and if she was able to find her true self, and come to terms with that, April would be happy for her. But equally, the older Kepner felt as though she didn’t need to be there in person - neither Alice not Alyiah probably wanted her around, sticking her nose into their business. She could be the big sister Alice might need from Ohio - with phone calls and FaceTime, it was like she wasn’t away it all. In fact, with a lighter schedule than that of a surgical resident, she’d probably be far easier to get hold of in Moline than she was in Seattle.

The Jackson of it all was perhaps the hardest. She’d waited until he was at the hospital to pack her things, the news of her leaving had hardly gone down smoothly. Granted, one minute they’d been fighting, the next they were kissing, only for her to drop the bomb that she was going to be going back home. The truth was, if he’d asked her to stay, she might have considered it more. She would have almost certainly, in fact. Things were different with them now, the lines of their friendship had been well and truly blurred to the point where she wasn’t even sure they existed any more. She wasn’t certain she’d be able to look at Jackson as just a friend ever again - because he wasn’t, not to her at least. She could only hope that perhaps her time at home would allow for her to get over those feelings, get her head straight, and move on with her life.

The trauma team was something else entirely. Mia made it very clear she didn’t want anything to do with April at all, and as far as the redhead could see it was easy enough for her to leave without saying her own goodbye. Mia had been a mentor to her, a woman to look up to, and she’d gone and destroyed that trust, that relationship, so it was only fair she honoured her wishes. Jamie, Daniel and Gwen had been a little harder to say goodbye to - although still not easy. They seemed to understand that she needed a break at least, whether that was temporary or permanent yet she wasn’t yet sure. All she knew for certain was that she couldn’t be in Seattle, in the hospital, not for the time being.

“No, no, I haven’t changed my mind.” She paused, letting out a sigh as her eyes drifted up to the departure board. “I’m coming home.”

#━━ ✦ 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐍𝐄𝐑 ❮ self para ❯#threads will be continued #anything ohio related will be tagged as ohio #but just as an fyi

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ptrparkcrs · 4 years

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if the world should end (self-para)

summary: after mj gets hurt, peter prepares for what comes next word count: 1298 trigger warnings: injury mention, death mention, existential angst

May had come, brought a change of clothes and cheap hospital coffee and a hug he couldn’t bring himself to accept. He was still wound up tight, every sense dialed well past their upper limit, every muscle vibrating with the weight of it. MJ would be fine, the doctors had said, it looked bad, but she’d recover, nothing too serious. They’d gotten lucky.

But Peter never got lucky. This was someone sending a message, a threat. It had to be. He’d been too late. He hadn’t stopped it. He didn’t know who had done it, not yet. When he found out—well. They wouldn’t get away that easily.

As the shock wore in and daylight began to break and Peter spent hours pacing the waiting room, tugging uncomfortably at the sleeves of his hoodie, he realized.

He’d forgotten his mask.

It had seemed like such a small thing at the time: a matter of life or death versus a little piece of (very expensive, highly engineered) fabric. Letting MJ see that he was there, all there, even when Spider-Man’s choices came back to hit Peter Parker. He loved her with all of him, both halves of his life, even though the line grew less distinct every day. The choice was between her and hiding his face to playact at protecting a secret he didn’t even keep anymore.

It wasn’t a choice.

(If it was, he’d still choose her. He’d choose her every time.)

But he’d forgotten his mask.

Someone was going to find it, cause a fuss, either keep it for a trophy or sell it for some exorbitant amount online. Or maybe they’d think it was worthless, remnants of Halloween still strewn about the city weeks later. Maybe it would end up moldering in a garbage bin on the banks of the East River. Maybe it wasn’t too late, and he could go looking for it, skulking back to the scene of the crime. It wasn’t his best idea, but it wasn’t his worst. He was down to half a suit, and though he’d repaired it plenty of times, making a new mask from scratch would take a while. He could commit to the no-mask look, but it felt wrong. He could dig out the Iron Spider, or go rooting around Tony’s workshop for one of those ultra-high-tech 3D printer situations, which would speed up the whole thing. But going there would bring questions, and Peter didn’t have answers. He wasn’t ready to be coddled or pitied or admit that he’d let this happen, he’d let this happen.

Again.

(There was also the Vegas wedding and the new wife of it all, which was another mess entirely, and he just really didn’t have the energy to wade into it.)

The Tower was out.

If he went to the Tower, if he told the Avengers, they would either, A) laugh at him, or B) try to help him. This was his problem. His alone. He didn’t want help; didn’t need help; couldn’t take help. He couldn’t drag anyone else into his mess, couldn’t risk it happening all over again (and again and again and again).

They said insanity was doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result.

Maybe Peter was insane.

Gwen was dead, and it was his fault, and he couldn’t fix it. Ben was dead, and it was his fault, and he was still working every day to fix it. MJ was hurt, and it was his fault, and he would fix it. Peter would do whatever it took—anything. Anything at all, no matter how much it hurt him. This wasn’t about him; this had never been about him. The second Peter had put on the mask the first time, he’d renounced his right to vanity. Spider-Man was born from guilt. Spider-Man was paying off a life debt that would never be paid. Spider-Man was saving the people he could to make up for the ones he couldn’t. Spider-Man was knowing that he was dangerous—to himself, to his enemies, to the people he loved—and doing all he could to channel it for good. It was pulling his punches and holding back his strength and dousing himself in humor so no one could see how scared he was.

How hurt.

How angry.

Wade always said that the red Deadpool suit hid the blood. Spider-Man’s bug eyes hid the anger. A core of rage, an inferno that he kept at bay, that he’d spent years learning to tame into a gently sparking ember.

But he didn’t have the mask now. He didn’t have the bug eyes. There was nothing to hide it now.

And, he realized, he had another option. It had been a joke at the time, a relic of some bad choices he’d made in college, a bad look for him. He’d stashed it on top of a skyscraper when he and Felicia had collapsed for the final time. Unless she’d come back for it, he had every reason to believe it was still there.

“Wait here,” Peter told May. “Stay with her. I’ll be right back.”

He headed for the street, still in the street clothes she’d brought him, what remained of his suit stashed in a backpack at her feet. She probably thought he was getting bagels. That he’d be back in twenty minutes, maybe. He hated lying to her.

As he swung up and over the city, he didn’t care that people were staring. Let them. They knew, anyway. There was nothing left to hide, and nothing mattered but him and MJ and making this right. This was what he’d been afraid of all along, what he’d dared the Bugle’s readers to do. It was only a matter of time; he was amazed it had taken as long as it had, really.

This part, this trip, was step one.

Step two was making whoever had done this pay.

Step three was making sure it never happened to anyone again.

He was probably long past due to move—they knew his address, they could follow any visitors to his doorstep, and he had some money saved up now. He could afford it. It would only buy him so much time, but it would buy him some (and maybe a real stove, if the hellscape of Manhattan real estate was feeling cooperative).

The real part, the hard part, wouldn’t be so straightforward. There was no guidebook for this kind of thing, and it would hurt. It would near kill him, probably. But she’d get over it, eventually. They all would. Better this than dead.

He found the building quickly, and landed on its roof into a crouch. Web-swinging in jeans was uncomfortable. Stiff, rough, not aerodynamic, and he had a hell of a wedgie. But there was a bundle up ahead, right where he’d left it years ago, webbed deep in the shadows to the back of a gargoyle where no one would think to look. Black and white, easy to miss if you didn’t know where to look. Perfect.

There, on top of the building, he slipped it on. aIt wasn’t as high tech as his old suit, the one he’d abandoned at the hospital with the people he loved most in the world, but it fit. It worked. It would do just fine. Felicia had wanted matching suits, and, barely twenty and ready for a dare, he’d given it a shot. It had felt fake at the time, hollow, a mask in the worst kind of way. That red mask, the one he’d worn for years, that was him. The black suit had been a costume.

But now—now it was a message.

The gloves were off, the lines were crossed. The board was set.

No more.

#( if the world should end )#( self-para )#tw violence #tw death mention

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ofaspiderboy · 4 years

Text

𝐓ags

▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐘eah business as usual . i'm just a misunderstood guy with a good heart . ∕ disposition .

▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐄esh ! & i thought i was obnoxious ! ∕ dialogue .

▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐁e right back . gotta hit the little peter room . ∕ study .

▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐁ein' a super-hero's no bed of roses ... ∕ tongue .

▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐈 need a place to change ! a phone booth ? nah! even i'm not that corny ! ∕ fad .

▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐇ey. you uh. i heard word on the uh street is you're making a documentary ? on me ? ∕ headcanon .

▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐈t's funny how life turns out sometimes... isn't it ? ∕ ic answer .

▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐒omething's wrong . my human sense is tingling . ∕ self-para .

▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐇ave no fear spidey's here ! ∕ event .

▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐑ight now i'd trade the whole Spider-Man bit for a rocking chair & a subscription to reader's digest . ∕ task .

▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐖ith great power there must also come great responsibility . ∕ spider-man .

▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐒pider jams . ∕ playlist .

▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐃on’t swing & text kids ! ∕ phone stuff .

▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐓ruth be told ... i don't know how aunt may put up with me . ― May Parker .

▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐈'm nothing like the torch ! i'm prettier ! ― Johnny Storm .

▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐐uiet as a cat - sneaky as a spider . ― Felicia Hardy .

▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐓he great thing about mj is ... ― Mary Jane Watson .

▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐍o spider-man isn't a party trick ! i'm just gonna be myself . ― Ned Leeds .

▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐁ut we’ve made it this far mr stark . ― Tony Stark .

▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐈t’s all a bit tragic really but oh so worth it . ― Harry Osborn .

▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐃ude this is going to be awesome - remember baby powder ... ― Miles Morales .

▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐃o i have to lose you too ? ― Gwen Stacy .

#▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐄esh ! & i thought i was obnoxious ! ∕ dialogue .#▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐘eah business as usual . i'm just a misunderstood guy with a good heart . ∕ disposition .#▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐁e right back . gotta hit the little peter room . ∕ study .#▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐁ein' a super-hero's no bed of roses ... ∕ tongue .#▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐈 need a place to change ! a phone booth ? nah! even i'm not that corny ! ∕ fad .#▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐇ey. you uh. i heard word on the uh street is you're making a documentary ? on me ? ∕ headcanon .#▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐈t's funny how life turns out sometimes... isn't it ? ∕ ic answer .#▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐒omething's wrong . my human sense is tingling . ∕ self-para .#▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐇ave no fear spidey's here ! ∕ event .#▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐑ight now i'd trade the whole Spider-Man bit for a rocking chair & a subscription to reader's digest . ∕ task .#▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐖ith great power there must also come great responsibility . ∕ spider-man .#▌⁺˚*🕸️ 𝐒pider jams . ∕ playlist .#▌⁺˚*🕷 𝐃on’t swing & text kids ! ∕ phone stuff .#▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐓ruth be told ... i don't know how aunt may put up with me . ― May Parker .#▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐈'm nothing like the torch ! i'm prettier ! ― Johnny Storm .#▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐐uiet as a cat - sneaky as a spider . ― Felicia Hardy .#▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐓he great thing about mj is ... ― Mary Jane Watson .#▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐍o spider-man isn't a party trick ! i'm just gonna be myself . ― Ned Leeds .#▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐁ut we’ve made it this far mr stark . ― Tony Stark .#▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐈t’s all a bit tragic really but oh so worth it . ― Harry Osborn .#▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐃ude this is going to be awesome - remember baby powder ... ― Miles Morales .#▌⁺˚*༓ 𝐃o i have to lose you too ? ― Gwen Stacy .

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hxroldosborn-blog · 7 years

Text

told you and the Devil to both just leave me alone ;;

When: 18th May 2017, late evening

Summary; After his meeting with Spider-woman, the guilt of Harry’s actions and the pain he’s caused himself and his friends push him into a decision that puts his life in danger.

Mentioned: @bubblegumandfirecrackers @ghostsoldxt @ofhellionkeller @you-just-hit-the-jackpot @kristencoded @nospiderling @pathcrossed @symbioticsoldier @spxdergwens @oflawenforcement @gwendolynexstacy

Triggers: Illness, injection, death mention, mental illness (MPD), suicidal thoughts/self sacrifice

[NEWS REPORT: Late in the evening on May 18th, paramedics found the young Oscorp CEO, Harold Osborn, unconscious in the Oscorp Industries building. Sources say the illness that killed his father, Oscorp’s founder and previous CEO Norman Osborn, has finally struck his only son. Harold has been rushed to hospital for immediate treatment, but it’s currently unclear as to just how far his illness has progressed. Harold has relaunched Oscorp here in Star City with huge success and positive public support, not to mention their continuous community support, and plenty are hoping for a speedy recovery for the young CEO.]

When the so-called Spider-Woman finally disappears, Harry locks his office door and doesn’t let anyone in, doesn’t take any calls, doesn’t do anything except work. Work on the cure, the project, trying to find the closest simulation they’ve had so far to success. He can still hear her voice running through his mind, the accusations, the questions, the insinuation that she knows Goblin is somehow tied to Oscorp… tied to him. And the more he thinks about it the more his hands shake, the more his heart pounds, the more he can feel himself falling to pieces and he can’t do it. He can’t do it anymore.

Felicia bids him farewell for the evening, a little concerned but she must have a job to get to and he doesn’t blame her for not wanting to hang around, assuring her everything’s fine and he’ll see her tomorrow. He doesn’t want her to be part of this, not again - she still carries so much guilt from the last time, for telling him about the venom, about Special Projects in the first place and she wasn’t to blame, he would never say she was. But this time, he can protect her from that guilt. He can protect her from this.

He waits for the building to empty before he leaves his office, making his way into the lab they’ve been working in. All of the data is in there, the simulations, the equipment and chemicals to make the cure when they find the right sequence to work with his genes, to make him healthy again without bringing back the illness his genetics cursed him with. The only stop he makes is to the most restricted area of the entire building - the storage area with the remains of the venom, and the only person who can access it is Harry. He’s not letting anyone else put themselves at risk of this hell because he was careless. Never.

He’s hurt so many people, caused so much pain, and as hard as Harry’s tried, he can feel the guilt eating away at him, a constant reminder that he did this, he caused all of this, he gave so many people the pain they feel at this loss. And he knows, Peter and Jubilee and Julian, they keep telling him it’s not his fault. They keep trying to convince him, but Harry just… doesn’t know how to live with the knowledge that his hands killed her.

Even as he brings up the simulations on the large holographic display in front of him, Harry can see Flash’s face, the look of anger, of horror, of pain at the knowledge of what had happened. That his friend housed the monster that killed Gwen. He can hear MJ’s voice ringing in his ears, the anger and the anguish and the grief so raw and sharp that it still makes him feel dizzy just at the thought of it. She was right, in a way - Harry may not have done this to their friend, but he’s sure as hell responsible for Goblin’s existence in the first place.

The monster only exists because of the twisted pain inside Harry’s own mind - how can it not be his fault? How is he not to blame for all of this?

Picking out the sequence with the closest match to neutralise the venom and leave him in decent health, Harry can still see the crowd at the funeral, hear the echoing sobs all around them in the church, the cries of the boys as they wished for their sister to come back home. Helen, already so frail, already struggling, watching as they buried her daughter alongside her husband. Jim, a man so strong made to look so pained as they carried her casket together. Peter - a shell, so broken, so lost without her in his life. They were two parts of a whole, Gwen and Peter, and now she’s gone… because of Harry.

He takes out the syringe, the blue-green liquid of the cure so vibrant, the faintest possibility of hope that he could be free of this. And along with it… he can see Gwen. Crying. Her voice shaking, weak. Begging. Desperate to survive, to live. Harry can see her - he sees her every night when he tries to close his eyes. He’s barely slept in a week, so scared he’ll hear her pleas again, but now - now that he’s facing the possibility of being sure this will never happen again, he lets those memories drive him, that feeling of helplessness as his hands closed around her neck, the undeniable heartbreak he’d felt when Goblin let her fall to her death.

Harry takes all of that guilt and lets it drive him, sticking the needle into a vein on his arm and injecting the cure before he can stop himself. He can’t be this any longer - he can’t.

Even if it fails, even if - if this cure kills him, Harry can at least die knowing Goblin can never hurt anyone he loves again. And that’s worth it - that’s a small price to pay, for their safety.

He can feel the chemicals rushing through his system, and it burns, a harsh, screaming pain erupting in his body and Harry knows immediately something’s not right. Dropping onto the chair, he curls over the tabletop as he takes out his phone, dialling Jubilee’s number - she needs to know, he needs to tell her how much he loves her, that if this is the end of him he did it to keep her safe, to protect her from Him -

Hi, this is Jubs. You know what to do next!

“Babe -“ Harry’s words are cut off with a groan, loud and harsh and broken as the pain intensifies. “I did… I did something stupid, I’m sorry -“ He grits his teeth against the pain, like pins and needles times a thousand all over his skin and it’s torture. “I love you, Jubilee - I love you so much, I’m so sorry. I love you.”

He hangs up before letting out a strangled shout of pain, his mind too clouded to know who he can call from here. He can barely seen the screen of his phone as he searches for a name, and the only one that jumps out to him is Isabella’s and he dials it in desperation, his free hand gripping at the edge of the table as he tries to keep himself grounded.

Harry’s not sure how much sense he makes on the phone with her, mumbling something about work and cures and pain, oh god it hurts, please help me - He slips off the chair as he writhes, falling to the floor and the impact just makes everything hurt all the more, jarring his entire body and he can barely move. The phone drops from his hands and things start to go blurry, and it takes him a few moments to find his phone again only to find the call’s disconnected.

Clumsy, shaking hands shoot out pointless text messages, cries for help, desperate for someone to come and undo the stupid thing he’s done.

[Text → Julian]: he p it brns

[Text → Bucky]: Lt me kil h im

[Text → MJ]: u were ri t e

The seconds tick by as he tries to find someone he can call, somehow landing on Peter - Peter, who’s been working so hard on this cure, Peter who’s never let him down, Peter who’s believed in him no matter what he is, what lives in his mind, and Harry can feel his body growing weaker and weaker, he can barely hold the phone from how much he’s shaking, laying his head down against the floor as he presses the phone to his ear. “Peter.. Oscorp, I.. hel p m e…”

#c: jubilee #c: bucky #c: julian #c: mj #c: isabella #c: peter #c: felicia #c: flash #c: gwendolyne #c: jim #c: gwen #self para #illness tw #needle tw #death mention tw #mental illness tw #suicidal thoughts tw

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