#this is why i keep almost breaking my flute
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solxamber · 2 months ago
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Take Two || Vil Schoenheit
You and Vil, once lovers, are forced to reunite through work, stirring up old heartbreak and undeniable tension. Slowly, you realize love never truly left, and some stories deserve a second chance.
i promise it's a happy ending
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The night air feels sharp against your skin, the chill sinking into your bones as you stand face to face with Vil in the shadow of Pomefiore’s grand staircase. His golden hair catches the faint light, glimmering like spun silk, his expression frozen in a mask of disbelief. But his eyes—his eyes betray him, shining with an ache so raw that it almost makes you collapse under the weight of your decision.
"You’re leaving me," he says, his voice flat, brittle, like glass about to shatter. "After everything."
You try to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. "You deserve someone who can keep up with you, Vil. Someone who doesn’t have to fight just to be noticed, someone who—"
"Stop," he snaps, the word cutting through the night like a knife. "You think this is about keeping up? About deserving?" His voice rises, trembling with a rare fury. "You’re not a burden to me. You never were."
Tears spill over before you can stop them, warm against the chill of the night. "But I’m holding you back. You’re going to be an award-winning actor, a global icon. You’re meant for so much more, Vil. And I—I can’t be the reason you look back someday and wonder what you missed out on."
Vil’s hands curl into fists at his sides, his perfectly manicured nails digging into his palms. "You sound like a coward," he says bitterly. "Someone who doesn’t understand what it means to love. I gave you my heart, and you’re throwing it away like it’s... disposable."
You step closer, your voice trembling. "Vil, I love you. I love you so much it hurts. That’s why I’m doing this. Because I know that if I stay, I’ll be the anchor that holds you back."
He stares at you, stunned into silence, before his face crumples. It’s a sight you never thought you’d see—Vil Schoenheit, so composed, so regal, letting tears spill unchecked. "I regret it," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I regret giving my heart to someone who doesn’t want it."
Your breath hitches. You reach out, wiping his tears away with trembling fingers. "I want it. I’ll always want it."
"Then why—"
"Because I love you enough to let you go," you say, your voice cracking. You lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, tasting the salt of both your tears. It’s desperate and bittersweet, a farewell that neither of you wants but both know is inevitable.
When you pull back, his eyes are filled with an agony that mirrors your own. "I’ll pray to the stars that they align for us in another life," you whisper, stepping away even as every fiber of your being screams to stay.
Vil doesn’t follow. He stands rooted in place, watching as you disappear into the night, his tears sparkling under the starlight like diamonds.
And as you walk away, your heart breaking with every step, you can’t help but wonder if love is truly worth it when it hurts this much.
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The spotlight gleams against the polished floors of the gala, chandeliers casting constellations on every surface. You stand at the edge of the room, champagne flute in hand, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Laughter ripples around you, yet your heart pounds louder than any of the polite chatter.
Across the room, he stands, bathed in a soft golden light as if the universe itself couldn’t bear to dim him. Vil Schoenheit, global phenomenon, beloved by millions. And you, just a rising singer whose every success still feels like a shadow of his own.
You force yourself to look away before your gaze lingers too long. It's been years since that night—the night you kissed him goodbye, the night you walked away so he could become everything you knew he was destined to be.
And he did. Oh, he did.
Every magazine cover, every award stage, every grand performance is proof of that. You’re happy for him. Truly. You send flowers every time he wins something new, handpicking each bouquet and handwriting every note. Congratulations, Vil. You deserve this and more. No reply ever comes, but you never stop.
You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is enough.
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He spots you before you spot him. He always does.
You stand by the windows, moonlight catching on the delicate fabric of your clothes. Your laughter mingles faintly with the music, but Vil knows you well enough to hear the cracks in it. To anyone else, you’re poised, radiant—a star in your own right. But to him, you’re the person who kissed him goodbye and took his heart with you.
He straightens his posture, as if that will shield him from the wave of memories crashing over him.
The flowers you send have become a cruel routine. He receives them like clockwork—each arrangement more thoughtful than the last, each card bearing your familiar handwriting. He reads every word, his thumb brushing over the ink, before placing the cards in a drawer he’s too afraid to open.
And yet, he saves them all.
Seeing you now is both agony and relief. He knows his worth; the world adores him, reveres him. But when he sees you, every ounce of that worth feels hollow. He feels young again, vulnerable—a teenager fumbling with emotions too large for his heart to hold.
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The inevitable happens: your eyes meet.
You catch Vil’s gaze across the room, and your heart stutters. You force yourself to smile, a small, polite thing, and raise your glass in acknowledgment. He nods back, his face unreadable, and you swear your knees might give out.
You’re supposed to be over this. You’re supposed to be happy.
But every time you see him, the years fall away. It’s as if you’re back at Pomefiore, back on that staircase, wiping away his tears and whispering that you loved him before breaking both your hearts.
You excuse yourself to the balcony, the cool night air biting at your skin. You lean on the railing, taking deep breaths.
"Running away again?"
His voice is smooth, poised, and far too close.
You whirl around, and there he is, the moonlight outlining him like the leading man in some grand romantic drama. He’s holding his own champagne flute, his free hand tucked neatly in his pocket. He looks flawless, as always, but his eyes betray him.
"I wasn’t running," you say, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.
"Of course not," he replies, his tone as sharp as ever, but there’s something softer beneath it. He steps closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you. "And yet, here you are. Avoiding me again."
Your throat tightens. "I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me."
He laughs, a quiet, bitter sound. "Do you really think I have nothing to say to you after all this time?"
You blink, taken aback. "I—I didn’t know. You never—"
"Responded?" He raises an eyebrow, his expression a careful mask. "What was I supposed to say, darling? That every card, every flower, every fleeting mention of you feels like a dagger?"
The word darling slips out so naturally that you almost miss it. Almost.
"Vil, I—"
He cuts you off, his voice dropping to something softer, more vulnerable. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to be adored by millions and still feel empty because the one person I want won’t even look at me properly?"
You gape at him, words caught in your throat.
"You left me," he says, and his voice breaks just enough for you to hear it. "You left, and I—" He exhales sharply, composing himself. "I told myself I hated you for it. But the truth is, I never stopped—"
You take a step forward, closing the distance. "Stop."
His eyes widen slightly, his perfect mask slipping.
"I never stopped either," you admit, your voice trembling. "I thought I was doing the right thing. For you, for us. But all I did was break us both."
And then you unceremoniously run, like you always do.
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The sound of your phone vibrating aggressively on your nightstand jolts you awake. It’s your manager, and he’s barking something about an emergency meeting, now.
Still half-asleep, you throw on the first pair of pants you can find, grab your bag, and sprint like you’re being chased by a swarm of angry bees. By the time you reach your company’s little meeting room, you’re wheezing like an old accordion.
You stumble in, gasping for air. “I’m—here—what’s the—emergency?”
And there he is.
Vil Schoenheit, sitting in your dingy little meeting room, radiating elegance and beauty like he’s some Greek god forced to endure mortal company. His perfect golden hair gleams under the flickering fluorescent lights, and his outfit probably costs more than your annual rent.
For a second, you just stand there, staring at him in disbelief. "What?" you manage to choke out.
“Ah, you’ve arrived!” your manager says, completely ignoring your obvious confusion. He’s fawning over Vil like the man just descended from heaven itself. “Aren’t we so fortunate to have Vil Schoenheit here with us today? What a privilege!”
Vil sits there with the most unimpressed expression you’ve ever seen, his gaze lazily drifting to yours. He raises an eyebrow, and the look on his face very clearly says: The universe hates me as much as it hates you.
“Why…” You gesture wildly at him like that explains anything. “Why is he here?”
Your manager claps his hands together as if this is all the most wonderful news in the world. “You’ve been given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to compose and perform the opening theme for Vil’s new drama!”
“…What?”
“And Vil has graciously come all this way to provide you with inspiration!”
Vil crosses his legs, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I didn’t exactly volunteer,” he says flatly. “I was informed this meeting was non-negotiable.”
“Graciously forced,” you mutter under your breath, earning a sharp glance from him.
Your manager continues, oblivious. “This is huge for us! For you! For the company! A chance to collaborate with Vil Schoenheit!” He’s practically vibrating with excitement.
You? You’re mentally screaming. The room’s ancient air conditioning groans louder than your brain cells, and the smell of stale coffee is threatening to choke you. This is where Vil Schoenheit is supposed to get his inspiration?
“Great,” you say weakly, flopping into a chair. “Love that for us.”
Your manager claps you on the back, way too hard. “I’ll leave you two to get started! Can’t wait to hear what you come up with!” He scurries out of the room like his life depends on it.
The door clicks shut. Silence.
You turn to Vil, who’s looking at you like he’s silently calculating how fast he can escape. “So,” you say, attempting to sound professional. “I guess we’re doing this.”
Vil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It seems we have no choice.”
“You could’ve said no.”
“And risk tarnishing my reputation? Hardly.”
You narrow your eyes. “Wow. Thanks for that vote of confidence in my music.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t misunderstand. I’ve heard your work. It’s… fine.”
“Fine?” You bristle. “Just fine?”
“I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion,” he says smoothly, completely ignoring your indignation. “Or at least, I hope you will.”
This is going to be a long day.
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The next hour is spent with Vil giving you vague, lofty descriptions of “atmosphere” and “emotion” while you scribble down ideas that may or may not be entirely out of spite.
“Think regal, but with an edge,” Vil says, leaning back in his chair like a king addressing his court. “Something that captures the drama’s tone—elegance, intrigue, power.”
“Right,” you say, scrawling Fancy Soap Commercial Vibes in your notebook.
“And it must resonate with the audience on an emotional level,” he adds, completely serious.
You nod, underlining Fancy Soap Commercial for good measure.
At one point, Vil gets up to demonstrate a movement he wants the music to evoke, his motions fluid and precise like the world’s most intimidating interpretive dancer. You’re not sure if you’re inspired or just terrified.
Finally, you throw your pen down. “I get it! Regal, edgy, emotional. Big feels. Got it.”
Vil gives you a skeptical look. “Are you certain? Because your notes don’t inspire much confidence.”
You glance down at your notebook, where you’ve doodled a tiny stick figure labeled Vil’s Vibes surrounded by stars. “…Yeah, totally got this.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “If this ends up sounding like a children’s lullaby, I’m holding you personally accountable.”
You groan, rubbing your temples. “Great. No pressure.”
And yet, as much as you want to throttle him for his impossible standards, there’s a part of you that doesn’t hate this. Because, well… it’s Vil. And whether you want to admit it or not, working with him is kind of incredible.
Even if he’s the most dramatic muse you’ve ever had.
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The day starts with your manager shoving a revised directive into your hands: go watch Vil's shoot. Apparently, you needed more "inspiration" to compose a song fit for his upcoming drama.
Great. Because spending more time around Vil Schoenheit, global icon and your ex, is exactly what you needed to totally not lose your mind.
Still, you don’t show up empty-handed. On the way to the set, you grab an aggressively caffeinated iced espresso for yourself—because surviving the day calls for it—and, without much thought, you pick up a caramel macchiato with oat milk.
The barista hands it over, and you’re hit by a pang of nostalgia. This was Vil’s favorite back when you were teenagers, back when you’d watch the sunset with him after his rehearsals. You shake the thought away. It’s just coffee.
When you arrive, Vil’s seated on a folding chair, reading over his script like it’s sacred text. Even in the chaos of the bustling set, he looks poised, his hair perfect despite the heat of the lights.
You approach, clearing your throat. “Hey.”
He glances up. “You’re late.”
“I’m five minutes late.” You hold out the cup. “Peace offering?”
Vil takes the coffee without comment, but the moment he sips it, his movements falter. His eyes widen, ever so slightly, and you catch the flicker of emotion on his face before he masks it.
You don’t linger. “I’m going to talk to the producers.”
As you walk away, Vil stares at the cup, at the faint smiley face you’ve drawn on the lid. His chest tightens. You remembered.
He forces the thought down, folding it neatly into the drawer of unspoken feelings he’s cultivated since the day you left him. Setting the cup aside, he rises, perfectly composed. He has a scene to shoot, and Vil Schoenheit doesn’t falter.
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Watching Vil perform is like watching magic. Every movement, every look, every line—he’s utterly captivating.
You sit near the monitors, jotting down notes as inspiration flows. There’s something about him—his intensity, his elegance—that fills your mind with melodies. You’re so engrossed that you barely notice the shoot wrapping up until Vil walks over, a towel slung casually around his neck.
“Are you leaving already?” he asks, his voice smooth and calm, like you hadn’t just been mentally composing an ode to his perfection.
“Uh, yeah. I’ll call an Uber.” You stand, shoving your notebook into your bag.
He frowns, clearly unimpressed. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take you home.”
“Vil, it’s fine—”
“I insist,” he says sharply, already walking towards his car.
You follow, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and dread.
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The car ride is quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the engine and the city lights flashing by. Vil’s driver keeps his gaze firmly on the road, giving the two of you privacy, but the atmosphere feels oddly intimate.
As you sit there, your mind drifts back to your first date. You were a nervous wreck back then, fumbling with your words, tripping over your feet. Vil, of course, had been effortlessly composed, amused by your flustered state but kind enough to guide you through it.
A small smile tugs at your lips at the memory.
“What’s so amusing?” Vil asks, his voice breaking the silence.
You glance at him, startled. He’s looking at you, his gaze sharp but curious.
“Nothing,” you say quickly, shaking your head.
He doesn’t press, but his eyes linger on you longer than usual.
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When the car pulls up to your apartment, you thank Vil and step out, but as you turn to leave, you feel his hand wrap around your wrist.
“Vil?” you ask, surprised.
He blinks, as if realizing what he’s done, and lets go immediately. “Nothing,” he says, straightening. “Just… be on time tomorrow.”
You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “I will.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. But he doesn’t. He nods curtly, turning back to the car.
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Inside your apartment, you close the door behind you and slide down to the floor, the tears spilling out before you can stop them.
He’s as beautiful as the day you let him go, and it hurts.
You’re so happy for him, so proud of everything he’s achieved. But God, you miss him.
Meanwhile, Vil sits in the back of the car, staring out the window as the city blurs past. His fingers brush against the empty coffee cup in his bag, the one with the faint smiley face you drew.
His heart aches, but he doesn’t let it show. Not even to himself.
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The drama is an undeniable success, catapulting Vil’s already dazzling career into further stratospheric heights. But unexpectedly, the opening theme—your song—becomes the anthem of the year, a chart-topping sensation that has every talk show, magazine, and fan forum buzzing about your collaboration.
You, however, aren’t basking in the glow of success as expected. If anything, you’re moping.
Deuce notices first. “You okay? You look… weird.”
“I don’t look weird.”
“You do,” Grim adds, gnawing on his tuna sandwich. “You look like you ate bad tuna but don’t want to admit it.”
“Thank you for the visual,” you deadpan.
You sigh. Everyone else is ecstatic. Your phone is a whirlwind of congratulatory messages, your manager has been pacing like an over-caffeinated rodent, and your inbox is overflowing with offers. Yet all you can think about is the fact that the drama is over—and so are your obligations to Vil.
No more early mornings brainstorming lyrics with him. No more quiet moments sipping coffee during breaks. No more stolen glances when you thought he wasn’t looking (he always was).
It’s ridiculous, really. You’re thriving. Your career is skyrocketing. You should be ecstatic.
Instead, you feel like you’re bracing for an emotional wrecking ball.
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Vil, on the other hand, is furious. Not at the drama’s success, of course—he’s a consummate professional, and his performance has been widely praised. No, Vil is furious because he can’t escape you.
He tried. Oh, how he tried. He kept himself busy with interviews, photoshoots, and premieres, meticulously avoiding the thought of you. But then the making-of video was released.
There you were, sitting beside him, coffee cup in hand, throwing out ideas with that little spark in your eyes. The fans lapped it up, the media ran with it, and now every outlet wanted the two of you together for joint interviews.
Vil could not imagine a worse fate.
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The first interview is scheduled for 10 a.m., and you arrive early, clutching your notes like a lifeline.
Vil is already there, of course. He sits with perfect posture, his gaze steely as he scrolls through his phone. When he notices you, his lips press into a thin line.
“Good morning,” you venture hesitantly.
“Is it?” he replies coolly, without looking up.
Ouch.
The producer, blissfully unaware of the tension, claps his hands together as he enters the room. “Ah, our power duo! Ready to make magic?”
You exchange a strained glance with Vil. He raises a single brow, clearly unimpressed.
The interview begins, and for the most part, it’s harmless—questions about the creative process, the drama’s success, and future projects.
Then the interviewer smirks, leaning forward. “You two have such wonderful chemistry. Were you always this in sync, or did it take time to build that dynamic?”
Vil’s jaw tightens. You blink, feeling the weight of his stare.
“Well,” you start, “we worked really hard to make the song fit the tone of the drama. It’s all about teamwork.”
“Hmm, teamwork,” Vil echoes, his tone dangerously smooth. “Yes, that’s one way to put it.”
The interviewer beams, oblivious to the storm brewing. “Fans are dying to know—any plans for another collaboration?”
“Who knows?” Vil says, his smile razor-sharp. “Perhaps fate will decide.”
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By the time the interview ends, you’re emotionally drained. Vil, of course, looks as pristine as ever.
“Thanks for being civil,” you mutter as you both head to the parking lot.
“Civil?” Vil’s laugh is devoid of humor. “Darling, if that’s your standard for civility, I fear you’ve been spending too much time with amateurs.”
You glare at him, heat rising in your cheeks. “I didn’t ask for this either, you know. You think it’s easy for me to—”
You stop yourself, biting your tongue. You’re not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still affects you.
Vil arches a brow, waiting. When you say nothing, he smirks. “Thought so.”
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Later that night, as you scroll through social media, you stumble upon a clip from the interview. It’s nothing scandalous—just a moment where you and Vil exchange a glance and laugh at a question. But the comments are merciless.
> “These two have HISTORY, I can feel it through the screen!” >“Vil looked like he wanted to stab and kiss them at the same time, and honestly, relatable.” >“Petition for them to star in a romantic drama together??”
You groan, throwing your phone onto the couch.
Somewhere across town, Vil is scrolling through the same comments, his expression unreadable. He closes the app with a sigh, but not before saving the clip to his private gallery.
He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s masochism. Maybe it’s hope. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because a part of him isn’t ready to let you go.
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The day of the photoshoot arrives, and you’re running on a dangerous combination of nerves, caffeine, and denial. Standing next to Vil for hours under flashing cameras, forced to feign effortless chemistry, feels like a ticking time bomb.
Vil, of course, looks unbothered—poised and perfect as ever, his every movement calculated for maximum elegance. Meanwhile, you’re sweating like a guilty criminal.
“Relax,” Vil murmurs as he adjusts his jacket between shots. “Your unease is practically a stench.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” you grumble.
The shoot goes on without a hitch, until—of course—it doesn’t.
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It happens in the middle of a particularly dramatic pose. Vil, perched precariously on a raised platform in heels, steps down just as an intern accidentally knocks over a loose prop. It lands with a sharp crack, and Vil, who’s clearly caught off guard, stumbles and falls.
A collective gasp ripples through the room.
“Are you okay?” someone yelps, rushing toward him.
“Don’t touch me,” Vil snaps, voice sharp as glass. He sits up with a wince, cradling his ankle.
You’ve been keeping your distance the entire shoot, trying to maintain your professional boundary. But the second you see Vil hurt, that self-imposed wall shatters.
“Vil!” you shout, practically tripping over cables as you rush to his side.
He looks up, his expression guarded. For a moment, you hesitate, half-expecting him to snap at you too. But instead, he simply nods, a subtle permission that shocks the entire production team into silence.
With a surprising amount of strength born from sheer adrenaline, you lift Vil into your arms, bridal style.
Someone from production stammers, “We can call for—”
“I’ve got him,” you cut them off, your tone firmer than you expected.
Vil doesn’t protest. He just loops an arm around your neck, tilting his head slightly as though he’s resigned to being carried like royalty. You can feel the weight of everyone’s stares as you carry him out of the studio, whispers trailing behind you like gossip at a high school cafeteria.
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The walk to the medic feels like an eternity.
“You’re heavier than you look,” you mutter, trying to distract yourself from the way his perfume is overwhelming your senses.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Vil replies, his voice still sharp but lacking its usual venom.
When you finally reach the medic, you set him down gently, your arms trembling from the effort.
“You can leave,” Vil says as the medic begins their examination.
You nod, turning to go—but your feet refuse to move. Instead, you end up awkwardly sitting on a nearby chair, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.
You tell yourself it’s just to make sure he’s okay. That you’ll leave once the medic gives the all-clear.
Vil doesn’t say anything about your lingering presence. He keeps his eyes closed, his usual pristine mask slipping for just a moment as he exhales slowly.
When the medic finishes and declares him fit to leave, you finally stand. “Well, I should—”
“Thank you,” Vil says softly, cutting you off.
You freeze. For a moment, all you can do is nod before hurrying out of the room, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.
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Back in your dressing room, you sink into a chair and bury your face in your hands.
“What is wrong with me?” you groan.
Meanwhile, back in the medic’s office, Vil sits in contemplative silence, the ghost of your touch lingering like a memory he can’t shake.
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You’re holding Vil’s phone like it’s made of glass, glaring at Rook’s number on your own screen.
“You sure I can’t just leave it at the studio?” you ask for the third time.
“Non, non, mon ami!” Rook’s dramatic voice practically vibrates through your speaker. “Vil has a most pressing engagement this evening, and the phone is vital to his work. You’re already such a dear for delivering it!”
“Couldn’t you do it?”
“Alas, I have an engagement myself. A critical affair, truly,” Rook sighs, his tone more playful than apologetic. “I’ve sent you his address. Bon courage!”
Before you can protest, the line goes dead, leaving you staring at the apartment address like it’s an execution order.
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You’re in the car, grumbling to yourself as you mentally rehearse what you’ll say.
Here’s your phone. Bye.
Short. Simple. No emotional mines to step on.
But then you accidentally touch the screen, and his phone lights up.
And there it is. The lock screen.
It’s a selfie of the two of you from years ago, taken on some lazy afternoon. You’re both laughing, your faces smushed together awkwardly. You remember the moment vividly—Vil had just cracked a rare joke, one so unexpected it had you crying with laughter.
And now here it is, preserved like some cruel reminder of what you had.
Your stomach twists.
“Oh no,” you mutter.
The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror, concerned.
You’re ugly sniffling by the time you pull yourself together, the poor driver tactfully pretending not to notice. “Sorry,” you choke out. “Allergies.”
He nods slowly, clearly not buying it.
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When you finally arrive at Vil’s penthouse—a sleek, modern building that screams successful celebrity—you take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.
Vil answers the door himself, wearing a loose, elegant cardigan and lounge pants that still manage to look couture. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you.
“You left this,” you blurt, shoving the phone into his hands.
He takes it, his gaze lingering on your face. “Were you crying?”
“No,” you lie, unable to meet his eyes.
“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.
“I’m fine—”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” he says, his tone soft but firm.
Despite your better judgment, you step inside.
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The interior hits you like a brick wall of memories.
The layout is different, but the details are achingly familiar. The same muted color scheme you’d picked out together. The same arrangement of throw pillows on the couch—even the same colors.
Your eyes dart to the bookshelf, spotting a framed photo of the two of you tucked discreetly among the décor.
It’s too much.
“You did this on purpose,” you whisper, your voice trembling.
Vil’s gaze softens. “I didn’t want to forget."
Before you can respond, he goes to the kitchen to get something to drink, leaving you to drown in memories.
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You’re sitting on Vil’s pristine couch, sipping tea that you can’t even taste. He’s seated across from you, the distance between you both palpable, like a chasm you’re too afraid to cross.
But Vil doesn’t wait this time. He doesn’t dance around the words.
“Why?” he asks, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence.
“Why what?” you whisper, even though you know exactly what he means.
“Why did you leave?” he snaps, the composure he always clings to starting to crack. “Why did you take my heart—my trust—and then shatter it into a million pieces? Do you have any idea what you did to me?”
You flinch, tears already pooling in your eyes. “I—I thought—”
“No,” Vil interrupts, standing abruptly. His hands tremble as he gestures, his voice rising. “You didn’t think. If you had, you would’ve seen how much I loved you, how much I—” He cuts himself off, his chest heaving.
You’re crying now, hands gripping your knees so tightly they hurt. “I didn’t want to hold you back, Vil. You had so much ahead of you, so much to achieve—”
“And you thought you were the thing holding me back?” he yells, his voice breaking. “You thought I would’ve been better off without you?!”
You nod miserably, choking on a sob. “I wanted you to thrive! I didn’t want to be the thing that kept you from reaching your dreams!”
Vil laughs bitterly, the sound hollow and laced with pain. “And you did just that. You leaving—you leaving—was the only thing that’s held me back. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. You haunt my dreams, my every waking moment. And I hate it. I hate you for it. So tell me—”
He drops to his knees in front of you, his face inches from yours as his voice cracks. “Tell me you hate me. Tell me you don’t love me anymore, so I can move on. Please, I’m begging you.”
You’re sobbing now, shaking your head frantically. “I can’t. I—I don’t hate you. I never stopped loving you. I left because I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I was so, so stupid—”
“Yes, you were,” Vil cuts in, tears streaming down his face. “So stupid. And so cruel.”
His sobs are raw, unrestrained, and they tear at your heart. You cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away his tears even as more fall. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave again. I’ll stay. Forever, if you’ll let me.”
Vil closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. When he opens them again, his voice is barely audible. “Don’t promise me that unless you mean it.”
“I mean it,” you say, your voice steady despite your tears. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”
Vil exhales shakily, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buries his face in your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers, and for the first time in years, the weight between you begins to lift.
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You’ve barely put the mop down when Vil calls from the living room.
“Hurry up with the tea,” he says without even looking up from his script. “And don’t forget to fold the laundry after this. Properly, please—last time you folded one of my scarves into an actual triangle. Who does that?”
You mutter a half-hearted "Yes, your majesty," and shuffle toward the kitchen. You’re halfway there when Rook bursts in through the front door, a bouquet in hand and stars practically bursting from his eyes.
“Ah, l’amour! C’est magnifique!” Rook declares, startling you so badly you almost drop the tea tray.
Vil raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the dramatics. “Rook, must you barge in unannounced?”
“Mais oui!” Rook exclaims, twirling dramatically. “How could I not visit when my dear friends have rekindled their eternal flame of passion? Look at you two! You, bossing them around, and them—obediently obeying every word like a loyal partner. True love has won!”
You roll your eyes but can’t fight the grin spreading across your face. Vil, however, looks less charmed. “They’re making up for years of terrible life decisions, Rook,” he says, deadpan.
“Oh, of course,” Rook says, his grin never faltering. “But love is in the air, and I, your humble admirer, could not be happier. Do not deny it—my heart soars!”
You and Vil exchange a look, both exasperated and oddly amused.
“Fine,” Vil says with a sigh. “If it makes you happy, Rook, then yes. True love has won. Now, will you let me enjoy my tea in peace?”
Rook gasps as though he’s been given the greatest gift of all time and promptly sits down, refusing to leave.
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When you and Vil finally announce your relationship, the internet goes into an immediate frenzy.
The official post is simple: a photo of the two of you holding hands, captioned, "It’s official."
But the comments?
>"Wow, groundbreaking news. I couldn’t tell from the way Vil stared at them like they invented oxygen." >"You’re telling me they weren’t already dating? I thought this was public knowledge." >"The tension between these two could’ve powered the whole continent. About time." >"Wasn’t their last interview basically a rom-com in disguise?" >"Not even surprised. I’m more shocked it took this long."
Vil reads through the comments with a scoff. “Captain Obvious seems to be having their moment in the spotlight.”
You laugh, peeking at his phone. “I mean, they’re not wrong. We weren’t exactly subtle.”
Vil hums, a small smile tugging at his lips. “At least they approve. For now."
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It’s late by the time you both get home, the quiet hum of the city fading behind you as Vil unlocks the door. The soft glow of the apartment feels comforting, like the kind of peace you didn’t know you needed until now.
You both kick off your shoes, and Vil immediately starts fussing with his scarf. You grab it before he can hang it up, putting it neatly on the rack.
As you settle on the couch, Vil joins you, resting his head lightly on your shoulder. For a moment, neither of you speaks, just enjoying the stillness.
“Do you ever wonder why we made it so complicated?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence.
Vil chuckles softly. “Often. But then again…” He tilts his head to look up at you, his violet eyes warm and full of something you can only describe as home. “Perhaps we wouldn’t have appreciated it as much if it had been easy.”
You hum in agreement, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’re probably right. But still…”
Vil smirks, pulling you closer. “No more unnecessary complications. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” you whisper, letting yourself finally, fully relax.
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judejazzaluvr · 5 months ago
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She’s a Man Eater
Jude Jazza x Reader, Kate (canon mc) x William Rex
Synopsis: The Crown is hosting a ball, the first since Kate started as Fairytale Keeper, and she’s so excited to meet everyone. Enter Y/N, Jude’s beautiful, charming date.
(Or, the one where Kate and Y/N get to know each other.)
Warnings: Fem pronouns, use of Y/N, Jude being Jude, idek if these count as warnings bye
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The air of the Crown’s castle is electric tonight, and Kate doesn’t think she’s ever experienced anything quite as exquisite before.
As a simple mail-carrier, she isn’t the most well-off, so having joined the Crown has allowed her to experience a lot more than her small world had to offer.
“Why don’t you go find someone to talk to?” William suggests, breaking Kate out of her stupor. “I have some business with Victor to deal with first.”
“Okay,” she agrees easily, and he presses a kiss to the back of her hand before disappearing into the crowd.
As she navigates the ballroom, she looks for anyone that seems out-of-place or lonely, so that she can potentially keep them some company.
She spots her target only minutes after she begins. A beautiful woman standing near the windows alone, sipping a flute of champagne.
Her own drink in hand, Kate takes a deep breath before approaching the woman.
“Hello.”
The woman seems surprised at the approach, but flashes Kate a smile nonetheless.
“Hello there.”
“You’re… Jude’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”
The woman chuckles.
“‘Girlfriend’ is a bit much,” she admits.
Her voice is low and seductive, and Kate doesn’t wonder why Jude chose this woman.
“You came with him though.”
“That I did. Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, I’m Kate.”
“Ah,” Y/N seems to have a sudden realization as her eyes light up. “Kate, the Fairytale Keeper, no? Jude told me about you.”
That has Kate’s eyebrows raising.
“I’m surprised to hear that. He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
“He’s like that with everyone, don’t worry,” Y/N says, eyes flickering over to the man and back to Kate. If it wasn’t just a trick of the light, Kate could almost swear she saw Y/N’s eyes soften for a moment.
“I’ll take your word for it.” Kate takes a sip of her champagne. “I love your dress, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you. Jude got it for me.” Y/N does a little spin, making both of them laugh. “He does have an eye for these things, I will admit.”
The two women continue to chat, a little about themselves but mostly about the Crown, when Y/N’s eyes get a particular gleam to them.
“Tell me, Kate, do you have an eye on one of the Crown members?”
Startled, Kate blinks.
“W-what do you mean?”
“Have any of the men caught your interest?”
“Well…”
Y/N smiles knowingly and doesn’t give Kate a chance to answer properly before speaking.
“I saw you with William.”
“Oh,” Kate says dumbly, “you did?”
“You make a cute couple. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”
There’s an underlying message to Y/N’s words that Kate catches onto, but they’re interrupted before she has the chance to ask what she means.
“Ya girls gettin along?” Jude’s sharp gaze makes Kate wince, but Y/N just smiles sweetly at him.
(And if Jude’s gaze isn’t as jagged when he looks at Y/N, what about it?)
“Like two peas in a pod,” Y/N says.
“You should bring Y/N around more. I really like her.”
He huffs at that and mutters something about not wanting to share, but Kate doesn’t quite catch it. Y/N does, though, and she laughs.
“Don’t worry, Jude, I’m all yours.”
“Like I was worried about that,” he rolls his eyes, yet his hand still rests on Y/N’s waist possessively.
Kate takes one look at the couple and smiles to herself. They look so cute. Unfortunately for her, Jude catches her smile.
“What are ya makin that face for? Go to William if you wanna look stupid.”
Instead of being upset at his words, Kate’s smile only grows.
“I will. See you around, Y/N.”
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A/N: Short but sweet? I think it’s okay for my first officially published (on Tumblr) fic. Hopefully I only get better with practice 💪
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scout-is-missing · 17 days ago
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「 ✦ new year's day ✦ 」 ⤷ summary: Deadpool and Miguel spend New year's together ⤷ word count: 2,484 ☆ ⤷ content warning: fluff, new year's kiss ⤷ pairing: Fem!Deadpool reader x Miguel ⤷ A/N: It's not midnight for me yet! I'm totally on time. Happy 2025, guys ☆ ↳ Masterlist ☆ Rules ☆ Prompt Lists ☆ AO3
[01]
As it turns out, actions have consequences.
Tonight they found themselves, like on many nights before, lounging on a rooftop of the highest building they could find (and Deadpool could scale without falling below).
The rooftop stretched beneath them, its edges illuminated by the faint glow of the city below. The skyline glittered with lights as far as the eyes could see, a backdrop that felt surreal in its stillness compared to the chaos Miguel was used to. Something about the New Year and the seemingly endless potential contained in the next twelve months filled the air with excitement—with a static-y energy one could drown in.
The wind at this height was relentless, but neither Deadpool nor Miguel particularly minded.
Deadpool sat cross-legged on the ledge, her posture casual, almost languid as if the dizzying height didn’t faze her in the slightest. The soft hum of fireworks popping in the distance added to the strange serenity of the moment. On her lap teetered a greasy, half-empty fast-food bag, balanced so precariously that Miguel half-expected it to tumble into the abyss at any moment.
Miguel sat next to her, having long left his place a few feet away by the roof’s-access door. He was long past the point in the evening where he pretended to be annoyed or displeased by her presence. 
Miguel wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to this. Scratch that—he did know. She’d shown up uninvited (as usual) and refused to leave until he said yes, dangling the promise of anonymity and “a break from all that multiverse-saving stress” like a carrot on a stick.
Her recent gestures, small, unexpected, but undeniably thoughtful, had convinced him that this wasn’t one of her usual pranks.
Not that he had much else to turn to.
The idea of a company party had been an immediate non-starter, the thought alone filled him with dread. 
Visiting his mother wasn’t much better. An exhausting emotional roller coaster he wasn’t ready to face tonight.
So here he was, trading solitude for dubious company.
At least with Deadpool, he could count on the chaos being distracting enough to keep his thoughts at bay.
“You know,” Deadpool began, swirling the last of her champagne in a flimsy plastic cup, her mask pushed up just enough to leave her lips and half of her nose bare to the cold night air. He doesn’t know why she still bothers with masks when their faces haven’t been a mystery to each other in so long “This would’ve been so much cooler if you’d let me bring sparklers. Or, I don’t know, a mini flamethrower. Really lean into the whole ‘start the New Year with a bang’  thing. The end of one garbage fire and the start of another!”
Miguel raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to hide his scepticism. “Flamethrowers? On a rooftop? Because that’s a great idea.”
“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” she said, grinning beneath her mask. “But noooo, Señor Responsible had to veto all my fun plans. Honestly, I’m shocked you even showed up.”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” he muttered, leaning back against the ledge. “You wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed.”
She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest as if he’d wounded her. 
“You make it sound like I dragged you here against your will! This is a gift, Webs. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to spend New Year’s with yours truly. You should be thanking me.”
Miguel sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying the hint of a smile. 
“Thanks. Truly.”
“You’re welcome,”
she replied smugly, raising her plastic flute in an exaggerated toast, as if she were some kind of fancy aristocrat instead of a mercenary sipping cheap champagne on a rooftop.
He took a sip of his own drink, his nose wrinkling slightly at the taste. It was flat, sickly sweet, and undoubtedly the cheapest bottle she could get her hands on.
“This is terrible.”
“You know,” she began, nudging the fast-food bag with her boot, “I could’ve gone all out for you. Booked us a Michelin-star reservation, ordered champagne that doesn’t taste like flat soda... but noooo, you insisted on keeping things low-key.”
Miguel raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. He didn’t doubt her ability to make good on that promise, absurd as it sounded. With her money, connections, and general disregard for rules, she’d probably get them into some five-star restaurant without batting an eye. He could practically picture it: her barging through the door, dragging him by the wrist, both of them woefully underdressed: 
her in her red-and-black suit, and him in his usual attire.
Or worse, she’d actually make an effort to “dress up,” throwing a silk evening gown over her Deadpool costume, complete with combat boots. The mental image alone was enough to make him roll his eyes.
“I didn’t insist on anything,” he countered, his gaze fixed on the skyline. “You’re the one who said, and I quote, ‘Champagne tastes better when you’re sitting on a death trap.’”
“And I stand by that,” she said cheerfully, reaching for the cheap champagne once more, filling her plastic flute. “What’s the point of ringing in the New Year if there’s no sense of danger? Makes the champagne fizzier.”
He sighed, shaking his head, but didn’t argue. He drinks the terrible champagne anyway. The truth was, he didn’t mind the makeshift celebration as much as he thought he would. The solitude of this rooftop was a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of alarms and alerts that usually defined his days. And Deadpool, for all her chaos, had a way of making the isolation feel less... heavy.
“Regardless. Yes, the champagne is horrible, but you shouldn’t be such a snob!” she retorted, nudging his shoulder with hers. “It’s not about the champagne. It’s about the vibes.”
“What vibes?”
“The vibes of two emotionally unavailable hotties bonding over cheap booze and greasy fries. It’s poetic, really.”
He rolled his eyes, but something about her words stuck with him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, taking in the way she leaned back, her mask tilted toward the sky as though searching for stars.
Of course, Nueva York’s light pollution made it impossible to see any celestial bodies, but she stared upward anyway, as if willing the stars to appear for her, only for her.
It struck him then, that he’d always assumed she had people. Her life seemed so wild, so untethered, when watching from a distance, that it was hard to imagine she wasn’t surrounded by others just as unpredictable. Allies, rivals, and enemies too numerous to count. Compared to his carefully controlled solitude, her existence felt messy and vibrant, bursting at the seams.
But the way she’d clung to their strange, mismatched camaraderie told a much different story. Perhaps, she clung to him because she was just as lonely.
“Do you do this a lot?” he asked suddenly.
Deadpool tilted her head toward him, curious.
 “Do what? Drag broody vigilantes up to rooftops and ply them with bad champagne?”
“Spend New Year’s like this,” he clarified. “Alone.”
She paused, her cup halfway to her lips before she lowered it again, gloved fingers fiddling with the flimsy plastic rim. It was subtle, but Miguel noticed the shift. The discomfort she rarely let show, the evidence that he hit a nerve.
Her silences were always uncanny, unsettling in their rarity.
He was so used to her filling every pause with noise—endless chatter, jokes, and quips that deflected any hint of sincerity, always moving, always talking, as if the quiet might swallow her whole if she stopped.
Even with all the words she freely gave to the world, she rarely offered anything real about herself. What little he knew was surface-level, the kind of details she would’ve graced any acquaintance with. He’d learned early on not to ask too many questions.
 “Most years, I’m working. Other years, I’m, uh… between gigs.” She paused, then added with a forced laugh “Translation: I’m eating cold pizza and watching bad TV alone.”
Her tone was light, but there was a vulnerability there that caught him off guard. She was embarrassed to admit it.
“No friends to bother on New Year’s?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
She turned her head to look at him, and even with the mask, he could feel the weight of her gaze. 
“Not really,” she said simply. “People like me… we’re not exactly great at the whole ‘friendship’ thing. ‘Too risky.”
The admission settled heavily between them. Miguel didn’t know what to say, and didn’t trust himself to say the right thing.
Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she turned back toward the skyline, lifting her cup again in a half-hearted toast. Miguel watched her, the weight of her admission settling heavily in his chest. He’d always thought of her as someone who thrived in chaos, surrounded by people: friends, enemies, anyone who could match her unpredictable energy.
But now, watching her in this unguarded moment, he realized how wrong he’d been.
And how much they had in common.
“...Me neither.” he admitted finally, his voice quiet.
Deadpool blinked, then let out a soft laugh. 
“Wow. Look at us! A couple of loners on a rooftop. How romantic.”
The timer on his communicator vibrated softly against his wrist before they could linger on the thought. A tiny projection of Lyla emerging to announce the time, clad in a sparkly digital dress and carrying her very own champagne flute. “Eleven fifty-nine.”
“Here we go,” Deadpool said, sitting up straighter. She reached for the second plastic cup she’d filled earlier and handed it to him. “C’mon, Webs. Don’t leave me hanging.”
He took the cup, their fingers brushing briefly. “You really care about this countdown, huh?”
“Of course!” she said, her voice bright. “It’s tradition! Midnight countdowns, champagne toasts, a little self-reflection about all the dumb stuff you did last year… it’s the full package.”
As the final seconds ticked away, she turned to him, her mask crinkling slightly in a way that made him think she was smiling.
“Ten… nine… eight…”
For a moment, everything else faded away. The city, the fireworks, even the buzz of champagne dulling his usually sharp mind. It was just her, sitting there like she belonged next to him, among the chaos of fireworks and city lights, and Miguel hated how much that thought settled warmly in his chest.
He knew it was a bad idea. Knew it was reckless, stupid, impulsive—the exact opposite of what he prided himself on. But tonight, with the champagne clouding his judgment and the sharp edge of loneliness pressing deeper than usual, he couldn’t care.
She made him feel something other than regret.
She made him feel lighter.
So before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned in and kissed her.
The touch was soft and tentative, just enough for him to taste the faint tang of champagne on her lips. He started to pull away, already bracing himself for her inevitable barrage of jokes or sarcastic commentary.
But then her hand shot out, her fingers curling around his wrist with a force that read more like desperation than an actual attempt to hurt him, keeping him close.
“Whoa there, Webs,” she murmured, her voice low and warm, the teasing edge softened into something almost intimate. She softened her grip. “You’re not getting off that easy.”
And then she kissed him back.
It was nothing like his initial, hesitant touch. Her lips pressed firmly against his, her gloved hand sliding up to cradle his face, her thumb brushing lightly along his jawline. The kiss was deliberate, confident—so unapologetically her.
Miguel froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the sincerity of her actions, by her boldness. But then his hands found their way to her waist, steadying her as he deepened the kiss. She leaned into him, her body warm in the cold, winter air, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, the ache of loneliness began to ebb.
The fireworks continued to crackle above them, distant and inconsequential compared to the intensity of the moment. Her touch, her warmth, the sheer audacity of her kissing him back like it was the most natural thing in the world. 
It was overwhelming, grounding, and terrifying all at once.
His feelings filled with implications he didn’t wish to unpack.
When they finally broke apart, her breath came out in a soft puff of air, fogging slightly in the cold. She was leaning toward him still, her hand lingering on his cheek as if reluctant to let go.
He had to be the one to pull back first, untangling himself from her warmth with a sense of hesitation he didn’t fully understand. It takes her a bit to understand what’s going on, like her brain just blue-screened and it took a second for her to reboot. She moves quickly, then. Sitting up and putting just a little space in between them. If he asked, he’s sure she’d quip about not trusting herself to kiss him again.
The air between them felt charged. Heavy in a way that it never had before.
Deadpool let out a breathless laugh, the sound bright and tinged with disbelief. Her mask was slightly askew, and she tugged it back into place almost absently, her hands fidgeting in a way that betrayed her usual bravado. He notices she still doesn’t pull it all the way down, leaving her lips still exposed.
“Midnight kisses are so predictable,” she teased, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. Beneath the playful tone, there was a softness, a vulnerability she was desperately trying to hide. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Webs. Otherwise, this would be so awkward.”
Miguel groaned, dragging a hand over his face. 
“Forget it.”
“Too late,” she shot back, her grin audible. “Etched in my memory forever. Gonna be thinking about this every New Year’s from now on…”
“You’re insufferable.” 
“And yet you keep coming back for more,” she quipped, nudging his shoulder lightly. But there was something different in her posture now. Her usual air of invincibility seemed softer, quieter, as if the kiss had affected her more than she wanted to admit.
The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t awkward. It was warm, comfortable, even as Miguel’s mind churned with questions and doubts. He wanted to say something, to address what had just happened, but every word felt inadequate.
“Happy New Year, Miguel.”
She said softly, breaking the quiet.
He glanced at her, taking in the way her mask tilted toward him, the faint vulnerability still lingering in her voice. 
“Happy New Year…” he replied, his tone just as quiet.
And as the fireworks began to fade, he realized, with horror,  that he wasn’t sure if he regretted the kiss at all.
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modern-day-bard · 6 months ago
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Other Duties As Assigned: A Joel Miller AU Fanficiton
Content warning: 18+ This story includes mature themes such as drinking, stalking, violence, and explicit smut. Minors, do not interact.
Chapter 13: Lights Out
Word count: 4.4k
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Gwen
Naturally, the more I open up, the further I back away. But what was I supposed to do? Besides whatever I was feeling when Joel latched onto my hip at Landon’s gallery, I also wasn’t lying to Nyah and Harper. I felt guilty. And I almost…appreciated the level of concern he had over the gallery incident. Sure, it was just a champagne flute, but to Harper’s point, maybe he’s taking this so seriously because it is. Bare minimum, it will keep my friends from worrying about me so much.
And fine, I might have felt worse after I overheard Joel’s nightmares.
I wonder how long he’ll deny it. Multiple nights in a row, shouting at himself to ‘wake up.’ It certainly woke me up. Except unlike how I might feel about this situation if it were a few weeks ago, I wanted to wake him. Not to make him stop, but to make it stop for him.
I also need these feelings to stop. It could be lingering sexual frustration from the club guy and his ignorance of the female anatomy. But when Joel said my name so forcefully, throwing in a ‘ma’am’ no less…I became acutely aware of just how frustrated I’ve been. At him, this company, my situation. I’ve been frustrated for months, and sometimes you just want a release.
To keep things in check, I’ve backed off Joel since our little heart-to-heart in my mom’s music room. His sincerity and boldness only made these foreign, frustrating feelings worse. So, I kept to myself beyond morning pleasantries and the occasional goodnight. Besides a little shopping to find some dresses for this weekend, Evelyn’s suggestions still being lackluster, we hadn’t seen much of each other. I can thank work for that one. It’s kept me so busy I often need to bring my laptop home with me. And now, I’m bringing it on the plane.
Joel is in tow behind me, but I’m trying my best not to think about how his arms look with a duffle bag in one hand, or how his sunglasses perch perfectly on his nose.
I’m just frustrated, I’m just frustrated, I’m just—
“Gwenny, babe, I saved you a seat.”
Okay. Well. Now I’m fucking frustrated.
“In that case I hope a parachute comes with it.” I say it under my breath, not wanting to get into it with Daniel so early in the weekend. Still, when Joel reaches to take my jacket, I give him a knowing look that he reciprocates.
“Guinevere, glad you could make it,” My father says from the far end of the plane, not evening glancing up from his laptop.
As if I had a choice.
I plop down on one of the two couches, the other being occupied by Arthur, Amari, Cyrus, and Paul. Joel takes a seat at the table next to the couch in one of the four adjoining chairs, facing away from me. Of course, it doesn’t take long for Daniel to join. He sits so damn close our knees are practically touching.
“Did you happen to look over the deck I sent to Julian?”
Oh. An actual question.
“Yes, he showed me on Tuesday.”
“And? What do you think?”
“I disagree with—”
“Of course you do.
“You asked,” I hiss, “And I’m giving you an honest answer. You work in one of the most profitable sectors and you still manage to stretch the profit margins thinner and thinner every year. I don’t see the point in expanding right now.”
“Well, because if we don’t break into streaming platforms, we’ll be outdated.”
“Right, but we will certainly be outdated if we go bankrupt. Why not acquire a platform that’s already fully formed first? Get the lay of the land, don’t venture out and create one all our own. It’s too soon.”
Daniel’s beady eyes assess me for a minute. “Asking Julian was just a formality. Radio doesn’t have to weigh in.”
“And yet you did ask Julian, and now you’ve asked me.”
He shrugs, straightening out to take up as much room as possible. “I thought we could start out on a friendly note. It’s going to be a long weekend after all.”
“That it is,” I mumble.
He scooches even closer to me, shoulder to shoulder now.
“Don’t you want to get along?” He whispers, “Just a little?”
I want to gag on his cologne. I’m sure he paid a small fortune for it, and seems to want everyone around him to suffocate on just how expensive he smells. It would be more pleasant to shove the money directly down their throats.
Joel coughs lightly behind me. “Miss Russell? If you have a moment…”
I spring up, taking any excuse to leave behind Daniel’s tornado of spice and overdone vetiver.
“Yes?” I lean a hand against the table.
“We’re wheels up in three!” The pilot calls from the cockpit.
“I was hoping you could look over the security measures for the weekend. There’s just a few things I want you to sign off on.” Joel pulls out his phone, typing briefly.
“That means seatbelts, please,” The pilot calls back again.
“Okay,” I sigh, taking the seat next to him. I hear the engine fire up around us, and we slowly move down the runway. Joel slides his phone over to me, but it’s just an unsent text message made out to me.
There isn’t anything to go over. I thought you might want an excuse to leave Daniel. Feel free to return if you wish.
Despite myself, I almost smile. I was eager to have a reason to leave him behind, and I’m…surprised? Relieved, I guess, that Joel had noticed.
“It might take me a while to read through everything…” I say loudly enough for the couch behind us to hear.
Joel nods, “I would suspect so.”
Quietly, I type back on his phone.
Daniel? Not “Mr. Wilson?” You forgo your professionalism so soon, Mr. Miller.
If there is any flirtatious undertone, I blame boredom. Or maybe Daniel’s fumes were clouding my judgment.
Joel raises a brow, not entirely unamused. He types for a moment before sliding it back.
I called him a jackass the other night. This seemed like a promotion for him.
I stifle a laugh, quickly disguising it as a cough as I type back.
Perhaps a happy medium then? VIP. Very Impertinent Prick. All the promotion he deserves.
Joel reads it, his eyes lighting up. When he looks at me, he’s smiling. Not a full one. I’m not sure he’s capable of that. But still, both the corners of his mouth turn up enough that I can’t help but return it, if only for a moment.
I take my laptop out of my bag as soon as we’re in the air. It’s a short flight to Vermont, but at least it will give me something to do. Something other than noticing how big Joel’s thigh looks next to mine, even with the table blocking part of my view. I also notice how much of an effort he’s making not to touch me. Not even a graze. He’s leaning on his arm against the window, pushing all of his weight to the other side. I know it’s probably out of respect, or actual professionalism, but a very tiny, daring part of me wished he wouldn’t.
I end up moving my mouse from corner to corner of the same document until we land.
- - -
There wasn’t much time between getting our room keys and changing to attend the rehearsal dinner. Thankfully, I was seated in the back. Annabelle was probably hoping this would keep me out of sight and out of mind. Both her’s, and Murphy’s. There are several speeches that declare undying devotion which inherently make me snicker, but I time it properly with bites of my food or sips of my water. When the meal is over, there are a few people I need to say hello to, but it doesn’t take long. I think the majority of the guests are feeling weary, and it shows on their faces.
Plus, I feel like this hotel would make anyone relaxed enough to feel sleepy even if they hadn’t just worked a full day and boarded a flight. Twin Pastures was secluded and absolutely breathtaking. A complete 180 from the hustle of the city. Though I fed off that energy most days, I couldn’t deny that the quiet was somewhat serene. Even the dining room we were in with its exposed dark-wood beams, fireplace, and checkered floor had an aura of calmness to it. The sun had set earlier, so it was too dark to see outside, but from what we passed as we arrived, I knew it had to be sprawling greenery. Something I’ll be sure to check out in the morning. A morning that I hope will not come too soon as I make my way up the stairs to my section of the hotel. Well, really our section, since Joel is right behind me as per usual.
Even though they called this place a hotel, it felt more like an inn. It was cozy and warm, and this side of the building felt weirdly intimate being there were only five or so rooms accessible from this set of stairs. The quietness and close proximity make me pause before entering my room. Joel must notice, because he pauses in front of his door, too.
“I’m just next door,” he says.
I incline my head to the left. “Likewise.”
I stare at him for a moment, admiring his choice of a white button down for once. Not that I didn’t like the flannels and t-shirts, but, this seemed to suit him. I hadn’t really seen him yet tonight with him being seated at the same table as Amari and the other security guards. I’d been stuck with my father, Daniel, and Daniel’s cologne. Now, this wasn’t an unwelcomed sight.
“Goodnight, Miss Russell.” He leans against his door slightly, waiting for me to go inside first like a dog herding sheep.
“Goodnight,” I mimic his tone, unlocking my door and slipping inside before the weight of his eyes on me becomes heavy enough for me to say something stupid.
I am tired, I’ll admit. But when I checked in earlier, I saw a sign in the lobby for a grotto. I think the last time I was able to put on a bathing suit was Dubai, and I packed one just in the hopes that there would be a pool of some sort. The entire building is taken up with Murphy and Annabelle’s family and friends as it’s all been rented for the event. For my friends’ sake, and maybe a touch of Joel’s, I’ll start taking security just a bit more seriously. However, this feels like the perfect time to finally feel alone. To finally not share a wall with someone who is watching, and potentially listening, my every move.
I turn on my TV, increasing the volume enough to drown out any scuffling as I find my swimsuit and grab a towel from the towel warmer. I even turn on the fireplace, partially to add to the white noise, and partially because it will feel good when I come back. I wait another thirty minutes for good measure before tip-toeing my way outside.
It must take me at least three minutes to close my door, ensuring that it’s as silent as possible. After holding my breath while doing so, I make my way down the stairs, smirking to myself. I know Joel came with some serious military training, but I had my own training: being a former teenager of a strict household. If sneaking out was an art form, I’d be headlining one of Landon’s galleries.
I take my time meandering around the place for a bit. It wasn’t huge, but every aspect was so detailed that I wanted to soak it all in. And for the first time in several weeks, since Joel let me have a ‘free day’ that was really a recon day, I was wonderfully, blissfully alone. I can’t take in the grounds at this time of night, but as I follow the signs to the grotto, I don’t even mind. It’s so quiet with everyone else in bed, and the clerk at the front desk is the only person I see on my way.
The grotto is inside what looks and feels like a greenhouse. There are dozens of plants winding their way up the glass walls, and there’s a water feature that trickles down into what looks like a massive hot tub built into the floor. Even with the heat of the room, steam still dances off the surface. Making a bee-line for the water, I audibly sigh when I dip my toe in. There’s no one here, it’s quiet, and the water is scalding. It’s perfect.
Once fully submerged, I’m worried I’ll fall asleep here. My head lulls back, and I use the towel I brought to prop it up. I have no idea how long I sit here, feet kicking lightly underwater, but after a while, all I can focus on is the gentle trickling of the small waterfall colliding into the hot tub.
That is, until the door to the greenhouse slams shut.
I gasp, sitting up as fast as I can. My head spins. I must have been in the water for some time. My eyes meet a very shocked Cyrus.
“Guinevere,” He nearly shouts before his next words come out in a whisper, “I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“No, please,” I wave him over, “You just startled me.”
He hesitates, but eventually makes his way over to the tub. “I can come back later.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve already been here too long, anyway.” I look down at my pruning fingers.
With one more look of apprehension, he kicks off his flip flops and wades into the water with his t-shirt still on. Cyrus must be in his mid-fifties at this point, but he was a decent looking guy. I didn’t expect any level of self-consciousness. Then again, he and I didn’t regularly socialize with one another. Maybe that makes him anxious.
“I thought everyone had gone to bed” I say, hoping it will relax him.
“I thought so, too. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Too excited for the big day?” I try not to sound too snarky.
Cyrus chuckles, bringing a smile to my face. “Sure. We can say that.”
I give him a small smile, my gaze falling to the gold ring on his finger.
“Lydia couldn’t make it?” I ask.
His face turns red far too quickly for it to be from the hot water. “No, no she’s busy overseas.”
I remember meeting Lydia maybe two times throughout my life, even though Cyrus had been with Russell Corporations longer than I’d been alive. Judging by his reaction, and how she was absent from every holiday party and shareholder dinner, the pair wasn’t exactly the picture of marital bliss. But still, he always wore the ring. And he never said anything bad about her or their relationship.
“Ah, that’s too bad.”
I tip my head back again, prepared to coexist in silence for a while, but then he changes the subject.
“I overheard what you said to Daniel, about the streaming proposition.”
“Oh?” I mean, I figured as much. The rest of the group had been typing on their phones while we were talking. Not much noise to drown out our conversation.
“I think you’re right.”
“Really? That’s refreshing. Is that something the entertainment guys considered?”
“Ehh,” he tips his hand from side to side, “Not so much. Daniel came in guns blazing to start our own so there wasn’t a lot of acquisition talk.”
“Well, then I owe you an apology. He’ll never do it now that I’m the one who suggested it.”
Cyrus regards me for a moment before turning his attention to one of the vines on the wall. “I’m not so sure about that.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. My hands may be withering away, but my interest is piqued.
“Why do you say that?”
He hesitates again. “Daniel cares about you.”
I snort. “He doesn’t even care about my opinion.”
“I disagree. He’s just intimated. Every time you’ve shadowed or worked a summer at HQ, you’ve waltzed right in with ideas he never had. If it weren't for you, we would’ve made a deal with Greenprint five years ago. The amount of money we would have spent on the lawyers alone…”
The startup? I’m shocked Cyrus even remembers me being there. Half the board was invested in working with Greenprint, a solar company that promised we could cut our environmental footprint in half. My dad and Daniel, who had newly acquired his dad’s old job, were all-in. The summer after I finished undergrad, I merely suggested we take a visit to their plant to see their work for ourselves. This sent the CEO of Greenprint into a spiral, and it later came out they were a sham and had scammed countless businesses, most of them small and vulnerable, out of millions of dollars. I hardly count that as impressive.
“I attribute that to luck,” I say.
“I attribute it to doing your due-diligence. He’s fond of you. Even if he has a weird way of showing it.”
“He’s fond of you, too. And I don’t see him giving you a condescending nickname.”
“Not to my face,” he laments. “And you two grew up together. How could he not be fond of you?”
Daniel was six years older than me. Compared to a majority of the employees at Russell Corp, I suppose that is rather close in age. We did grow up together in a sense, but there was always distance between us. And I only attribute a portion of that to the age difference.
I must have been lost in thought because Cyrus adds, “Anyway, not my place. Just don’t be surprised if he asks you to save a dance for him tomorrow.”
Barf.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I sit up from my underwater bench, wrapping the towel around me as I exit, “If I stay in here any longer I won’t make it to tomorrow. Have a good night, Cyrus.”
He gives me a nod, “Goodnight.”
I very much regret my decision to walk down here in just my towel on my way back as I shiver my way towards my room. I nearly trip on the way up the stairs, cursing in my head, reminding myself of just how quiet I have to be. I take the same achingly slow time closing the door as I did before. Once I’m showered and cozy in bed, I hear another door shut outside. Glancing at the old-fashioned clock on the nightstand, it’s almost one in the morning. Maybe Cryus’ room is in this wing of the hotel, too. I drift off shortly after, trying to strategize the many ways to decline an invitation to dance.
- - -
I didn’t want to sound like a spoiled brat, but I really wish I had asked Mateo and Aria to come. I was fine doing my everyday look, but an updo and making my eyeliner even on both sides? It’s making me sweat before I even put on my dress.
Thankfully, I was able to find something that suited me without raising any eyebrows. A floor length, black satin gown with a plunge down the back, but a high neckline in the front. With some diamonds around my neck, it was the perfectly simplistic wedding guest attire. And, hopefully, just enough to blend in so that I wouldn’t have to socialize more than necessary. Though I’d known many of the guests since birth, they still weren’t my crowd. I felt outlandish being surrounded by them, like I was performing a play.
Slipping into my heels, I don the first forced smile of the evening and leave my room.
The smile drops as soon as I see Joel waiting in the hallway.
I expected him to be there. I figured he’d be ready before me and wait until I came out but…wow.
His hair is slicked back, and he had invested in a tuxedo. It fit him like a glove, and only made his shoulders look broader than usual. I step towards him like a magnet, suddenly needing to know if he changed his cologne for the evening, too. When I do so, his jaw clenches, and his eyes drop down to my lips.
“Miss Russell, are you alright?”
“What?” I exhale, “Yes, of course. Are you, are you good to go?” Stuttering? Over him? Maybe I need to ask Nyah to set me up again.
He clears his throat. “You look nice.”
I swear to god if my face heats up anymore I’m turning around and calling this whole thing a wash.
“Thank you. You got a tux.” I realize quickly that it was a fact, not a compliment. “It suits you.”
He glances down at his attire. “Thank you.”
I steady myself, composing my features and repeating I’m just frustrated to myself a few times before descending the stairs. “Let’s get this over with.”
The ceremony was beautiful, even I can’t deny it. I didn’t care for the words being said, or more specifically, who was saying them, but still. The grounds were lovely in the autumn air, and I don’t get to see enough foliage in the city. I spent most of the time admiring the colors and drowning everything else out. By the time we’re in the ballroom, the sun has set once again, highlighting the sparkling chandeliers. As expected, my table is near the back entrance. Thankfully, I didn’t recognize any of the names at my table except for one. I’m assuming that they sat Joel next to me to make this less odd for the additional guests who weren’t at the rehearsal dinner. I look around for Amari, and sure enough, he’s seated directly behind my dad. With a wedding like this, I think most would be accustomed to seeing bodyguards, but maybe Annabelle didn’t want them appearing in photos as such.
An hour or two later I’m full of green salad and prime rib, and have asked about all the questions I can think of to Annabelle’s old college roommate next to me. Then, unfortunately, the dancing begins. For the first few upbeat songs, I can hang back. I don’t think anyone expects—or wants—me to be on the dance floor, even though I swear Joel gives me the side eye. But then, just as Cyrus predicted, the devil himself approaches my table looking like an apologetic child.
“Gwen,” Daniel extends his hand, “Would you do me the honor?” There must be some undertone of sarcasm, but I don’t detect it.
“Are you sure? I think I’m the Guest of Disgrace. Wouldn’t want to ruin your spotless reputation.”
Joel shifts beside me, his gaze focused intensely toward the front of the room as if he’s trying to read something at table number one.
“Gwen,” Daniel sighs, “It’s one dance.”
I can see a few guests toward the edge of the floor glancing our way. It would cause more of a scene if I said no. And this was one event I didn’t need to cause a scene at.
I take Daniel’s hand, and let him guide me to the floor.
He brings me to the middle, much to my dismay. My father is nearby, dancing with one of the bridesmaids. I can see Paul in front of him, speaking intently at the edge of the dance floor with Cyrus. Everyone else is a blur of designer suits and stunning ball gowns.
Daniel places his hand a bit lower than I’d like, but nevertheless, I place my hand on his shoulder and let him spin me in a slow circle. Even with my distaste of slow dancing, the jazz band is a nice touch. I try to find anyone else in the crowd I might recognize to avoid Daniel’s eyes, which I can feel trying to read my expression.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asks.
“Immensely.”
He snickers, “I can tell. You’re even more tense than usual.”
I lock eyes with him now. “I’m not tense.”
“Your posture says otherwise.” He glides his fingers up my back, making me regret this dress that I liked so much.
“Your words would have sufficed,” I reach behind, smacking his hand away loud enough for an elderly woman to look at us, eyes wide. “You don’t need to touch me to tell me something.”
Daniel groans under his breath. “Gwenny, don’t you think it’s about time we got along? If you make your way to the entertainment sector, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“If you would like us to get along, you could start by refraining from calling me Gwenny. I’ve only told you five thousand times I hate that nickname.”
“I think it’s cute.”
“I didn’t ask what you thought.”
We shuffle back and forth a few more times, taking another turn, before I lose my grip on my tongue. “Additionally, I may be interested in entertainment, but you forget I’m the future CEO. You conveniently forget that fact every time you grab at my backside, every time you call me the wrong name, and every time you ignore my advice,” As inconspicuous as possible, I step on his left foot as we continue to spin, “It’s almost comical, really, that you think continuously insulting Guinevere Russell will have no impact on your future at Russell Corp.”
His breathing picks up, eyes narrowing. “Why can’t you just…behave?”
An exasperated laugh escapes my lips. “Why can’t I behave? I’m not your mirror, Danny. You should ask that question again next time you look into one.”
“This company is just as much mine as it is yours. My father was William’s partner.”
“He was. With a thirty-seventy split. It’s not called Wilson Corporations for a reason.”
His face is red, and he’s stopped dancing. The music still flits about the room, the other guests around us decently unaware of our argument. Or at least pretending to be.
“I don’t expect you to understand what we could build,” Daniel sneers. “After spending so much time traveling to god knows where and sleeping with god knows whom, but we have the opportunity to—”
The ballroom goes black.
All the light from the chandeliers is gone, with only a few candles at the newlywed table yards away. The music cuts off, and several startled guests gasp. A breaker must have blown or something. I take a step back from Daniel, bumping into someone else.
And that’s when a gunshot goes off, and somebody screams.
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engelakiko · 9 months ago
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Heh, yes, to take a break from drawing (one day, I will finish all the doodles on this fandom, but not in this life lol) I drew my OC to Mine
@minevn
(Her backstory and relationship to the characters. Sorry for any mistakes. Warning: child abuse and themes of depression(?))
Came to Japan when she was still a child, when her parents moved to Japan from Russia. As a child, she was a quiet and shy child. During her school years, her parents demanded excellent grades from her, but despite great efforts, it did not work out (she was able to overtake Haruto, but not Kei). Mistakes and mistakes were accompanied by physical punishment, which she tried not to tell Haruto, Jun, Kage or Aki about. Numerous comparisons between her and Kei (her parents knew who she was in class with and who was in what position in their studies) and violence due to the fact that she could not overtake him led to hatred towards Kei. When Kei grades deteriorated, she quickly took his place and the family became loyal to her (as an adult, they began to argue that she was not looking for a husband). As an adult, I wanted to go to Kultorog of Russia, but due to lack of money I went to work. Despite her grades, she is unable to find a good job other than her family's restaurant, where she works until she finds another job or money for school. In his spare time, he enjoys reading, drawing, playing the DiZi flute, singing a little, and mostly playing games.
She has a calm and pessimistic character until it comes to your favorite games (get ready for the fact that she calls up ALL the lore of all games, about all the characters and all the most popular theories about them) or about things that interest her, she tries to hide her depression and short temper. There is a tendency to keep negativity inside until it breaks through. Height: 170 cm Birthday: 22.11 Likes: her hobbies, good and calm people, music, delicious food, nature (except some bugs), swimming in water, cute things, cook and does it well (If a person is dear to her, then she is ready to cook for him from time to time) Dislikes: noise, dirt, spicy food, being bullied or irritated, too much temperature changes. Family: Mother, Father, older sister (remained in Russia in early childhood) Corporate color: blue-violet. Additionally: her appearance changed almost immediately when she moved out from her parents (they get angry), she loves hugs madly (can hug for hours), due to the disease, she often feels dizzy, weak and drowsy. Due to memory problems, she sometimes finds himself in situations where he cannot remember the name of a person (even an acquaintance), which is why he often takes notes in phone.
Minato: I met him through work, although there was no way to find out his name. Values him as a good friend, although at first he was tense because of his height. Loves his grandparents.
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Haruto: became friends at an early age when their mothers brought them to each other. Since then they were inseparable, Haruto protected her from “bad” people, and she supported him in almost everything and tried to help (probably considered her mother to be his mother). Even though she feels a little suffocated by Haruto's constant presence, she still values him very much as a friend and trusts him with almost everything. At some point I thought about applying for a job in his company (even if it was to work as a cleaner)
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Jun: We met through Aki. Tried to overcome my shyness and make friends with her. She adores her as a friend and admires her talent, although she is embarrassed when she wears her creations. Tries to support and help in many ways.
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Kage: met him through Haruto. At first she was worried that she was somehow scaring him, but then she relaxed, considers him a friend and tries to take care of him (most likely she helped look after him as a child). She tries to be as gentle as possible around him. At some point she worked with him, but he left…
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Hoshi: met him when she got a job at Kikuchi's restaurant and it was one of the worst days of her life. His bullying and ridicule plunge her even deeper into the abyss of self-loathing and depression, despite the fact that she tries to convince herself that Hoshi is just an asshole who doesn’t care what he says. The only thing stopping her from hitting him is that she needs a job. If I found out that he was cheated on, I would immediately say that his ex-partner is shit (but he’s not much better either)
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Habiki: met him when she got a job at his family's restaurant and it was one of the worst days of her life. His insults also negatively affect her, but she still admires his violin playing and, despite the hatred, is not afraid to say so. (adores his mother, considers she a gorgeous woman, but is probably a little embarrassed at the beginning of meeting her)
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Aki: I met her in elementary school, most likely it was her initiative. Was her second friend since she met Haruto. She values her as her best friend and misses her when she doesn't see her for a long time. Yani: I met him at work and… I regretted it. She contacted the police several times when she saw him breaking into her apartment, but it was to no avail. After several hundred attempts to drive him away, she gave up and treated him…neutral. Now she's just trying to keep him on a short leash and make sure he doesn't do anything weird. At some point, she may have invited him out to eat when she saw him back in the apartment and tried to find out more about him.
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Kei: I didn’t communicate with him during my school years (even almost during the project). The only interaction was when they were partners and when Haruto got angry at Kei (she pulled her friend away and left saying "Sorry"). If she met him as an adult, she wouldn’t recognize him right away, but when she does… she won’t love him. She remembers and knows that it is not Kei fault that her parents are terrible, but over the years she has been taught to consider him an enemy. Trying to love him will cause her dissonance and confusion. However, despite her dislike for him, she tries not to be rude and treat him neutrally, keeping him at a “familiar” distance. Basically, she won't turn to him for help… unless it's a very last resort. (Akiko parents will probably immediately write him down as a potential husband for her (He is serious, rich, smart and treats their daughter well, so why not the best husband?), despite the past. (Although he admits that his eyes are so incredibly beautiful, but I won’t talk about it)
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mountphoenixrp · 6 days ago
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We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:
           Kang Taesung, a 29 year old son of Apollo.            He is a host at Noonas
IN CHARACTER
FC NAME/GROUP: jeon jungkook / bts
CHARACTER NAME: kang taesung
AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 29 / september 1 1995
PLACE OF BIRTH: daegu, south korea
OCCUPATION: host at noona
HEIGHT: 178cm / 5'9"
WEIGHT: --
DEFINING FEATURES: a full sleeve on his left arm, small scar on his left cheek and a beauty mark under his bottom lip
PERSONALITY: taesung grew up as a very repressed person, especially emotionally wise, and was raised, indirectly or not, to fill other people’s expectations more than his own. the thing is that he’s very much trying to break that cycle and allow himself to not be the son that his mother raised him to be and the heir of a big business that his (step)father wanted him to grow into. taesung can be agreeable and play the easy to get along guy, the one that is listening to you when you think no one isn’t and proves it in the most random albeit still necessary moment, the one who is thoughtful and charmingly nice, but he usually chooses not to unless he finds a very good reason for it. he isn’t uncalled for rude with anyone, but he won’t be overly friendly either.
   instead he allows himself to be more self serving and selective with the people he’s friendly with; he allows himself to be a person that is easy to read, because he’s always wearing his feelings on his face or voicing them out without much if any filter. however old habits die hard and it’s still very ingrained him how and when to act proper and sometimes he might reach out to help people even if he very honestly does not want to/finds it a hassle.
   he isn’t much of the type to say no to a good time, even more so when taesung still fears going back to feeling like he did when he was with his family, but now that he’s older and got the urge to party hard mostly out of his system, his version of a good time changed drastically, even more so when dealing with loud places and with other people, preferring now to spend time in his studio while playing with melodies and song verses.
HISTORY:  tw: alcoholism, domestic violence, child abuse
the first father that kang taesung knows reeks of alcohol and holds him with calloused hands, always leaving bruises behind in the shape of his fingertips.
   and taesung isn’t happy, but it’s everything that he has so he swallows down the blood that gathers on his mouth and bears the bruises that litter his skin; he carries the words of i wished you’ve never been born that her mother cries when she thinks that he can’t hear her and the accusations of if he was really my son, then why do i hate him so much? that his father makes around when he knows that taesung is hearing; the spits of bastard that are thrown right on his face while he’s forced to put up with one more of his father’s tantrums.
   it isn’t like they have much money to try to get out of this situation or to comfort themselves with luxurious things and shallow pleasures anyway; not when his father refuses to allow mother to work and the man himself barely makes it do with the office work that he — in taesung’s opinion — manages to keep and so taesung’s life is a routine that he tries to get through, going through the motions almost like he’s on autopilot.
   the only time he finds something that might be his solace — a toy of a flute —, it’s his mother who snatches it out of his hands with haunted eyes, her hands being the ones to dig purple marks on his arms this time while demanding him to promise that he’d never get close to something like that again.
the second father that kang taesung knows reeks of expensive cologne and holds him with cold hands, always leaving shivers behind like frostbite marks.
   a reminder that taesung is under his thumb for as long as his mother is tied to his new marriage and wants to enjoy the luxuries of having the heir of a conglomerate as her husband; however mother seems happy this time so taesung plays his role of the perfect stepson that is handed to him; a little charity project for his stepfather to look good in front of the press. this man doesn’t love him, not really, but at least he doesn’t resort to violence like his other father did even if he’s more demanding in a way.
   taesung isn’t exactly happy for he thinks that happiness should taste a little sweeter than what this feels, however it isn’t like he’s sad. even if he needs to learn a whole new language and to be a whole new person, a golden child that excels in everything that is proposed to them with a smile on his face; even when his new life is already crafted and planned by his parents — from his love life in the shape of a fiance to his career as he’s to inherit some of the “family business” someday —, taesung thinks that’s better than what he had in the past. even if he goes through the motions like he’s on autopilot again, even more so when he finally catches on what pleases his parents and what doesn’t, it feels a little different— perhaps he’d say it’s a little better.
   maybe it’s because he gets the smallest time of freedom in school. her mother still seems to have a small heart attack whenever he gets close to anything that is remotedly related to music that isn’t his music streaming service, but he does get small chances to do so when he befriends someone from the music club and they end up hanging out in the music room sometimes. taesung discovers that he’s a fast learner no matter what instrument is thrown his way and that melodies come easily to him, lyrics spilling out of his lips like water out a spring*. it feels like he’s finally allowed to breath; like a drowning man whose struggle is finally rewarded by a gulp of air, no matter how brief that moment is.
   taesung convinces himself that this is enough; if he can keep these small moments to himself, secret songs kept away in memories, then he can play the role of the perfect son, the perfect fiance, the perfect anything that they want him to; then he can ignore the way that he feels that a part of him is rotting away, can push it away and pretend that him, as a drowning man, doesn’t need more air the more that he struggles to get it.   
the third father that kang taesung knows smells like a sunny summer day and holds him with warm hands, always leaving behind what feels like sunkissed marks on his skin; marks that linger in its warmth even after he’s gone.
   but there’s still a lot of bad decisions and mistakes  to be made until taesung gets to meet him. there’s still his mother finding out about his little escapades and tightening the leash around his neck and there’s still resentment that brews and boils under his skin for life isn’t fair and decides to rub on his face everything that he couldn’t get for himself but other people so easily could. there’s still taesung trying to find the taste of freedom and revenge in small acts of rebellion that, even though they’re kept under wraps, they still taste sweet on his tongue and feel warm under his touch.
   there’s still taesung getting not so formally kicked out of the family after ruining his wedding day and consequently the whole arranged deal between his family and his fiancée’s. there’s still taesung getting shipped off overseas to “reflect on himself” and his behavior, but the only thing that he really reflects on is how many bottles of alcohol he can drink before getting wasted and how many tattoos he can get before covering his whole arm; how many piercings he can get on his ears before there’s no space for a new one and how many people he can bring to his bed with his tormented artist charms.
   there’s still taesung ditching his stepfather’s surname — which is easier than he thought it’d be, however he supposes it makes sense when they already have another son to put on his place — and takes not only his mother’s but reclaims her roots by coming back to her (and his) hometown, making most of his living with odd jobs here and there until he has enough money to buy equipment so he could do some street performances both for the extra money and because he was finally allowed to explore his musical talents. even if his mother’s ghost still haunts him from time to time, it’s better than nothing.
   then a stranger  gives him a way too high for a street performance amount of money with a smile, promising that he’s paying not only for taesung’s songs but for his time. they sit and they talk. taesung is offered a new place to stay if he ever needs one, an island that might be a little more welcoming to him and it’s a place to belong. so taesung goes because there’s nothing tying him to where he is and maybe finally having a place to belong would be nice.  
PANTHEON: greek
CHILD OF: apollo
POWERS:  music affinity: has a high affinity to music, going from picking up any musical instruments with ease and also having high abilities for songwriting and composing, or anything else music related.
healing: can heal in small amounts usually through his singing, though it has to be done with the intent of healing someone and the whole thing is very exhausting.
STRENGTHS: is surprisingly a good listener; extremely creative musically wise; easily gets along with all types of people when he wishes to do so.
WEAKNESSES: can look quite intimidating since it seems like he's always in a bad mood (which he probably is) and doesn't do much to fix that unless he's at work or thinks that he needs to look friendly; has very much a temper and can be fickle with his interests that aren’t music related, not really seeing things through if he doesn’t feel up to it.
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itsmebytch001 · 1 year ago
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Aaron Davis Being Brillaint:
Summary: Musa's Dad keeps getting more and more aggressive, and she needs to escape, this is a semi common occerance, and so she calls your Dad, Aaron.
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Musa had come late, by about an hour hanging out with Riven, she knew even before she opened the door, Her Dad was gonna create problems.
She creaked open the door to see her father sitting on the couch, meting into the cushions. He looks her up and down before rising up.
Musa Dad wasn't phyisially impering, he was short, shorter than her and chubby, it wasn't really he body and the about of physcial violence he could cause, but his choice of weapons.
Ryan, Musa's father was still in grife of his late wife, Musa's Mom despite it having had been 10 years now, and he was proud of his misery, he liked being the cause of sadness in others so that he relive himself of some of his.
Musa looks almost exactly her Mom, this wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for Ryan projecting is grife onto her.
somtime's when Ryan was espescially mad, he would smash up Musa's instruments, like her Flute now long gone, He would always say since he paid for it, he could wreck it if he liked, and he did this so often now that Musa actually stored some of her insturments at your house.
Your Dad was so confused when he found a Chello and Violin under your bed.
Aaron: "Ay, you trying out the Violin? And...This giant violin?"
he said dragging them out into the living room.
Y/n: "Oh no, those are Musa's...Where did you find them"
Aaron: "Under the bed"
Y/n: "Why are you looking under my bed?"
Aaron: "Never mind that, Why are you stealing Musa's Stuff?"
Y/n: "What? No! Musa gave it to me to keep here so her Dad dosen't smash it! She's got a whole Piano at Flora's!"
Aaron: " Oh...Why's he smashing up her stuff?"
Y/n: "I don't really understand it, He's got some mental issues and sometimes he gets so mad she just starts be break shit"
Aaron: "Oh...That bad?"
Y/n: "Yeah"
Aaron: "Dose he hit her?"
Y/n: "I think so"
Aaron: "Okay...Ill put this Giant Violin thing in my room"
Y/n: "Why?"
Aaron: "It takes up all the room under your bed"
Y/n: "Dad stop going under my bed its weird"
Aaron: "Nope!" He said as he shuffled in his room to place the Chello into a corner of his room to collect dust.
Y/n: " Its weird!"
Since then Aaron and Musa had bonded over thier mutual love for old school rap whenever she would come over to collect her insturemets, infact she had put so many in the house that Miles though his uncle was opening a buisness.
Aaron and Musa also bonded on having aggressive and unforgiving fathers, so much so somtimes when Musa was over,if it were a for a day or a couple days or even a week he would talk to her more than you.
It became so common for her to stay that she had a draw in your room dedicated to her stuff for when she came over, her own tooth brush, and finally the pull out couch had a pourpouse.
Miles was always suggesting he get his Dad involved, he genuienly thought he might be able to help, but he was sworn to secrecy about the whole situation, not to talk to his family about Musa, or the absue, and he compiled.
It was agreed the police would not be a great help, baecuse why would they?
And Miles, after some convincing of what could happen if the police got involved, and what actually would happen, and though Mile's didn't want to, he accpeted it as a real possibilty that may just make things so much worse.
Now back to Musa's, she had ran out her own home, forgetting her go bag inorder to run from her father, whom had to hit her with a pan.
She pulled out her phone to call you.
ring
ring
ring
hey, sorry it's Y/n, leave a message!
Musa: "Fuck...Fuck Fuck Fuck!" she whiper yelled to herself as she hid in the alley by her home, she would hear her father smashing her belongings, screaming in her room as he destoyed her life, pressing her face with her bloody nose, to spit out a tooth ripped from its gums by her father after bashing her with steel. It has never been this bad.
Though she didn't want to, not wanting to feel like a bother she forced herself to call Aaron.
ring
ring
Maybe I should just hang up
Aaron: "What's up?"
Musa:"..h.hi Mr Davis, Its me, Musa Harada"
Aaron: "hah, Musa you don't have to introduce yourself I know you"
Musa: "yeah yeah I'm sorry"
Aaron: "You good Musa?"
...
Musa: "...No"
Aaron: "You need some help?"
Musa: "...Yeah" She whispered out.
Aaron walked Musa back to his home, pulled out the couch for her and called you, to alert of Musa's presence at home while he helped her clean up her bloodied face.
He called you:
ring
ring
Y/n: "Hi Dad"
Aaron: "Hey, so Musa's back"
Y/n: "Oh, she okay?"
Aaron: "Nah, she's got bumped in the nose"
Y/n: "Oh...Shit"
Aaron: "Don't swear"
Y/n:"ugh"
Aaron:" Any ways, I think she'll be home longer than a few days, i don't think I can let her go in good concious"
Y/n: "Fairs, I'll be home in like 20 minutes"
Aaron: "okay, be safe"
Y/n: "Yeah yeah"
You hang up, And Aaron is left alone with Musa in the house, she's sitting on the couch again, with her long purple hair draping her face, she looks so tired, so exhausted.
Aaron: "Ay, Musa you want some tea?"
Musa: "Yeah, That would be nice"
Aaron made tea for the both of them and sat down beside her.
Aaron: "You can stay here long as you need"
Musa: "I don't want to be problem"
Aaron: "You are not a problem, don't talk like that"
Musa: "Thank you"
Aaron: "You have something to change into?"
Musa: "No...I didn't have enough time to get my go bag"
Aaron: "Mkay, I'm sure Y/n will lend you some clothing"
Musa: "I just don't understand why it has be like this"
Aaron placed a hand on Musas shoulder.
Aaron: "Don't try and make sense of it Musa, He's a grown ass man who picks fights with his own 17 year old, there is no sense, he's just got problems, but he is an adult and he chooses to drink, and he chose to hurt you and I know he's mourining, but its been 10 years, and its not your fault"
Musa: "Okay...thank you"
Aaron: "You wanna watch something?" He gesutured to the TV.
Musa: "Yeah"
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sambhavami · 1 year ago
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The Lost Flute - Part 12 (Backwards and Forwards)
Almost a year had passed since sage Durvasa's fateful visit to Dwarika. The news of Rukmini's pregnancy had spread through the palace overnight like Satyabhama's passion project- the unruly vines enveloping nearly every royal palace wall that burst into blossoms at the turn of every season. Yashoda had once again delayed her departure, albeit with lighthearted complaints about having to unpack her bags every time she tried to leave. Rukmini's sister-in-law had come over to stay for the duration of the pregnancy, with her husband tagging along sourly. Even though Rukmi had glared at Krishna the entire time, he had still cried upon meeting his sister and kissed Manmatha's forehead while exclaiming how much the young boy resembled his 'uncle'. Rukmini hadn't bothered to tell him about the adoption, and neither had Rukmavati.
Additionally, Krishna had successfully gotten a proposal banning alcohol on the island of Dwarika to pass in the parliament, and Balarama had left on an angry pilgrimage, after a blowout row with Krishna regarding the same. Subhadra, inspired by Yashoda, had taken to churning out colourful sweaters at an alarming rate, despite the marked absence of a winter season in the seaside mansions. While no one had batted an eye when the entire royal family had received matching sweaters from her quarters, Krishna had finally deemed it necessary to have a talk with her when all the ministers had turned up panting, to a parliamentary session, wearing matching blue and yellow sweaters in the sultry summer heat. Vasudeva had taken up primary residence in Prabhasa where liquor was still aplenty, and Krishna had attempted to have a productive conversation with his mother after having given up on the prospect for almost a decade.
---
When Krishna had entered Devaki's darkened chambers in the beginning, he had been taken aback anew by the apparent neglect of the rooms. However, he had known, even then, better than to override the wishes of his mother, who preferred the rooms just as they were. Inside this coven, he had found his mother seated on her bed, playing with her 'children'. Having been imprisoned for the better part of her life, Devaki had gotten used to further enclosing herself within an imaginary world- one where she had never lost control of her own life. As Devaki had grown more and more terrified of the real world, she had wrapped herself in the imaginary one. In Devaki's mind, her six older children remained alive and thriving, and Devaki spent most of her time immersed in this perfect world she had constructed for herself. Here, even though decades had passed, her children never aged, and never died. 
Krishna liked to come to her at least once a week, spending hours playing with her pretend children, for he couldn't bring himself to break her illusion. Not that he hadn't tried. When he was younger, he had often appealed to his mother's common sense, in an attempt to drag her back to reality, but over time had made peace with their peculiar arrangement that allowed them to have some semblance of a civil relationship.
When he was younger, Krishna would return from these visits almost in tears. Most of the time, Devaki would be so engrossed in her own world, that she would fail to even recognize her living son. Those days, Krishna would run to seek refuge in Rohini's arms, only to be thrown back into the unforgiving field of battle. Now, Krishna just went along with whatever Devaki wished on a particular day, only gently nudging her with the latest news of their family now and then.
"You're not my son, Krishna. I don't know why everyone keeps saying that! You're God, right?" Devaki would implore, in between her plays, "You saved me, and my boys!"
"Yeah," Krishna would nod, forcing a smile through profound sadness, "But that's a secret, remember? To the rest of the world, I am your son, and the only one, mind you!"
One day, Devaki had asked him, "Why wouldn't you let me take the boys out for a walk? You said there was a beach!" Devaki had been brought to Dwarika in a closed palanquin. She had insisted upon never opening the shutters 'lest the enemy take her sons away'. Hence, while she had heard the waves from her room, she had never actually felt the ocean at her feet.
"Yes," Krishna had said as his eyes had lit up, "You and I should definitely take a walk on the beach. I'd love to show you all the nice spots, and the boats, and the shops!"
"But what about the children? You said children aren't allowed on the beach!" Devaki had asked innocently.
"Yes! There are strong winds, that might blow them away!" Krishna had nodded, "They'll be fine alone for an hour. I can call a nanny, and then you and I could go!"
Devaki had shook her head sadly, "I cannot leave them even for a second! No matter what you tell me."
"Okay!" Krishna had backed off. He always steered clear of actually upsetting her.
"Let's not, then." He had said instead, "How about instead, I open that window? Your rooms are all sea-facing, you know! You could see the ocean from right here!"
Devaki had shook her head, "I don't know! What about the wind?"
Krishna had held her palms in his, " You and I will hold the boys' hands very tightly! How about then?"
Devaki had nodded. Although she hadn't been fully convinced, dread always creeping up at the back of her neck, she also hadn't been able to bring herself to completely disregard this young man's suggestions. Even though she wasn't quite sure why, she always intrinsically trusted him. Krishna, on the other hand, had been glad for every little victory he had gotten. Throwing open the wide window, he had invited the frail woman to come closer to him. Devaki had stood transfixed, taking in the petrichor of the waves that crashed on the rocks, her palms still curled around her imaginary children. Krishna too had stood by the window, feeling the fresh breeze wash over his face, looking over occasionally at his mother's face, who still remained six children away.
As Krishna had watched, Devaki's palms had fallen to her side, lax against her plain dress. Her gaze had been fixed upon the sky, now bursting with colour, as the sun neared the horizon against the sparkling, dancing ocean. It had seemed as though, just for a second, she had forgotten about the children. Krishna had inched closer, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder, "You know, mother, I just wanted you to know this: I understand what happened now. What truly happened. With you. With father."
Devaki had looked up at him quizzically, "How would you know? You're God. You know nothing!" She finished, almost on the brink of anger. It seemed as though, for a split second, she had remembered her reality, and Krishna had turned away, leaving the subject at that.
---
Krishna stood by the gate leading up to Devaki's bedroom, leaning on the door frame as he watched his mother shuffle from cupboard to cupboard in her room, muttering quietly to herself.
Ever since he had gotten her to trust the open window, Devaki had added more colour to her quarters and wardrobe. She had even asked to be sent some more clothes and had finally begun taking an interest in the colours and fabrics. Krishna, overjoyed, had sent over Jambavati and Satyabhama along with an entire entourage of tailors and jewellers the very moment he had received her request.
Drawing up courage, Krishna finally walked in, a bright smile on his lips. Devaki laughed as she greeted him, dragging him to the open window. "I'm matching your ocean today!" She exclaimed as she twirled around, showing off her turquoise dress.
Krishna laughed at his mother's lighthearted display. He lightly ran his fingers over different sapphire-based jewellery sets Devaki had spread out on her dressing table as she looked at him expectantly. Krishna's smile turned playful as he pulled out an ethereal necklace with sparkling pearls enclosed in bright, pale shells. Devaki gasped in joy as she laid the necklace against her neck and turned to the mirror.
Krishna peered over her head. Good feet and a half taller than his mother, he whispered encouragements as Devaki tried on the necklace.
"Why'd you buy it though?" She asked, "Not that I don't love it, but any occasion?"
Krishna smiled, happy wrinkles forming around his sparkling eyes, "I- well, a beautiful little girl recently came into our lives. This," He pointed to the necklace, "Is in her honour." Krishna drew in a deep breath as he waited for his mother's reaction.
Devaki nodded as she stepped backwards, leaning back against her bedpost, eyes downcast. Krishna watched her intently as she processed the news. "Good for you," She whispered after a long silence. She  "Good that she is born now. No one can snatch her away from you!"
Krishna smiled and nodded despite his eyes watering. He hadn't told her about his son. He had meant to, after a few days. After the tragedy, he hadn't found the courage to inform Devaki. Then, time had rolled and rolled, and the appropriate time to tell her had slipped farther and farther away.
"I do treat you very harshly, don't I?" said Devaki, seemingly out of nowhere, catching Krishna off-guard. He still shook his head, laughing charmingly.
"Be honest," she continued, "This old me: you hadn't bargained for this when you came to live with us!"
Krishna gingerly put an arm around her, "Maybe you were not exactly what I imagined you to be, but you've been fantastic. No regrets!" He added, laughing, in an attempt to steer from the conversation. "Allow me to apologize nevertheless." She whispered as she leaned into his embrace, while Krishna stared blankly at the rolling ocean outside the window. Any emotion slipping by, and he might have just broken down. And that display of weakness was probably the last thing his mother needed.
Krishna sighed. He didn't have much of a choice. He spoke after a minute of silence, "Did I ever tell you about Pradyumna?"
"No? Who is he?" Devaki asked.
"Was," Krishna whispered hoarsely. He recounted, painstakingly steering around the more gory details. By the end, Krishna found his palm enclosed in Devaki's. Her grip was painful, but it made Krishna more grateful than anything. Rising slowly, Devaki gently planted a kiss on his forehead, before wrapping him in a warm embrace, with her chin resting on his head.
"I thought Gods were above these human troubles?" Devaki asked after a while, gently stroking his hair.
"God. Human. Wretched life either way." Krishna tutted.
"Yes, it is." Devaki smiled sadly. Oddly, she felt much closer to the young man seated before her, "So, you said you have a daughter now." It seemed for a brief interval their roles had been reversed. 
It was Devaki now, who attempted to lighten the mood, "What did you call her?"
"Charumati," Said Krishna, relishing every syllable of the name he had chosen himself, "Would you like to meet her?"
"Not today," Devaki smiled, "But yes." Even though she had managed to pull herself together for a brief moment, she did not feel she could hold herself much longer. She wanted to be happy, but it was tough to be happy when the ghosts of the past surrounded her at all times. How could she bring herself to be part of a celebration when she couldn't promise to be happy?
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a-wayfairing-stranger · 2 years ago
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Homecoming (Richard Sharpe x OFC)
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Sugar cube’s ears twitched, Alex felt a little guilty at the fact that the horse's first true outing was across the continent into the heart of a war, but the horse was hers, and she’d feel more guilt if she knew that the poor thing was at home pining after her.
“M’Lady I wish you’d join us in the carriage..” 
The officer, a man named John Jones, duke something, Alex didn’t care to remember, was a bore but he took his duty of taking her and Immy to the camp safely seriously, which made him boring.
Alex gestured to the rifle on her back 
“I am safer here than in there..” 
“You should know by now Sir Jones that Lady Sharpe does as she wishes, when she wishes it.” Immy spoke softly, a smile on her lips “And there’s no point wasting your breath saying otherwise.”
“You should be thankful I’ve allowed you to escort us this far, if you weren’t already heading to the same place, I would have left you back at that last town.”
Jones frowned 
“I was given explicit instructions by Mr. Langsgate to personally hand deliver you to your husband.”
Alex frowned, she was at her wits end with this man “Hand deliver? Do I look like a letter to you?”
“No Madam I-”
“No I do not, and you look even less like a postman.”
At the look of shock on Jones’s face, Immy hid a grin behind her hand.
“But Lady Sharpe..if your husband saw you riding to camp without a escort he wo-”
“My husband gave me this rifle, Mr. Jones.” Alex put her hand on the handle of her sword at her hip “And this, he knows more than anyone that if anything I am the one protecting you.” 
Alex smiled “So if he saw me riding into camp alone, the only thing he would be concerned about is why it took me so long.”
She clicked her tongue and Sugar cube sped up, she heard Immy giggle, as no doubt Jones gasped at her as she rode away.
                                                    **
It would be a few more miles before the sea of white tents became visible, and as soon as they did, Alex was motioning for Sugar Cube to break into a gallup, the horse seemed excited by the idea and ran so fast that her hooves barely touched the ground.
She knew she looked odd, a woman dressed in crimson riding into camp on a white stead, she headed for the stables, Sugar Cube deserved a rest.
A slightly confused looking man offered to help her out of her saddle once she found the stables, where the other horses were watching Sugar Cube, trying to figure out who the newest horse at camp was.
“I’m alright.” She insisted, climbing down herself, her boots sank into the mud and she swore somewhere she heard her Mother gasp “I’m looking for the 95th..They should be camped here.”
“Uhh..” The man, who she saw now was a boy, really, a pimple-faced teen “There tents are just down from here, Miss..you can’t miss ‘em.”
“Thank you.” 
After a few moments digging through the pouch on her belt, she handed him a few coins, which made his eyes light up.
“No thank you miss..”
“Make sure my horse is fed, watered and kept clean, alright?”
“For this price I’d marry the bleeding thing.” 
She laughed and stepped through the mud, she was thankful she’d tight laced her boots this morning.
“Well..just keep her in good shape, no need for marriage.” 
As she walked away from the stables, the grass became less muddy, and on the wind she smelt woodsmoke, animals, and food cooking, she was home.
True, she would miss the twins and Maddie, but she had come to terms with the fact that they were safer in England long before today, Maddie was four now, almost a lady herself, and she would write, the twins were young enough that her absence wouldn’t be noticed, her children were in safe hands with their Grandparents.
She heard a flute, and smiled. At the end of the path, figures clad in black sat around a stew pot.
“You still haven’t learnt any new songs, Pat?” 
The music stopped, and everyone turned to look at her.
“Well look what the cat dragged in, Lawson!”
Alex smiled at the nickname, Lawson, She’d been Sharpe longer than Lawson, yet Harper and the boys still called her it.
“That's Lady Sharpe to you, Sargent Harper.”
“Apologies, Madam.” 
“Where’s he?” 
“The Major?” Cooper asked with a shrug “Sulking in his tent, he does little else when you're not ‘round.” 
“As he should.” Harris looked up from his book “Without Alex it gets rather dull.” 
“You always were my favorite, Harris.” She smiled fondly at the red-haired man “Where’re Hags and Perky?”
“On patrol.” Harper replied “Now, go see your husband rather than lingering around us like a bad smell.”
“What about Stu?”
“Laid up, got some stomach bug that's been going ‘round, quarantined with some of the other lads” Harris answered, frowning, “I’d stay away, it..isn’t a pretty sight.” 
“Understood.”
She bowed her hair to the men, her curls falling over her shoulder
“I shall leave you to Pat’s music.” She smirked, “Truely, he is a musician sent by God himself to bless us all.”
“Piss off Lawson.” 
“Yes sir, Sarge, sir.”
If the camp itself was home, then the bigger tent at the end of the row was a sanctuary, she stood in front of the tent’s flap, it was open slightly and she could see that Richard was hunched over a table, scribbling away furiously.
“News for you, Major Sharpe, Sir.” She spoke in her manly voice, slightly lower than her own, it felt oddly good to speak in it again, once upon a time it was truly her voice, the voice of Alex.
“Oh what in Gods na-” Richard looked up from his paper, his anger fizzingly out as he saw her “Mouse.”
“Richie.” She stepped into the tent, the flap closed fully behind her “Are they overworking you, love?” 
“Just reports..I’ve been told to make them sound a lot more formal..” He sighed and set down his pen, before standing up “I’m useless at it.” 
“I’ll help.” 
“If you write my report you’ll be damn sure someone will notice…you’ll reference poetry or that  bloke from the far east...”
Alex laughed “Yes, I dare say Wellington might notice a Sun Tzu quote..”
“See, exactly what I mean, You read a book written by a Chinese man thousands of years ago..in French while I can barely string a sentence together.”
“If it makes you feel better I’m terrible at Chinese.”   
Richard frowned, Alex smiled.
“You my dear Major..” She emphasized the word, a title and there was no man who deserved it more. “Are doing fine on his own, you don’t need me for anything.” 
“Oh but I do, Lex.” 
He stood up and walked towards her
“Without you around it's like I’ve cut my sword arm off.” 
His hands, calloused and rough cupped her face, the cold metal of his wedding ring touched her cheek, a symbol of their love, not that they needed one, she’d still love him with or without it, and she knew he would return the favor. 
He kissed her, he tasted of watered down gin and bread, his lips were chapped, he had a habit of chewing at them when stressed, normally she’d smack him if she caught him doing it, there was stubble on his chin and cheeks, another reminder that it was her who kept him neat and proper.
“And you say you can barely string a sentence together..” She giggled against his lips “Yet here you are, saying such romantic things to me.” 
“You make me want to say such things.” He kissed her again “How are the children?”
“Maddie sends her love..I have a letter from her in my trunk, Her tutor wrote it, but Maddie insisted on writing your name and signing hers.”
Richard grinned “And the twins? How are Birdie and the Boy?”
He rubbed the apples of her cheeks with his thumbs, it instantly relaxed her.
“Junior got sea sick for the first few days on the ship, but he recovered and actually seemed to enjoy himself..” Alex smiled, she loved how Richard’s eyes lit up when she spoke of the children “Birdie did enjoy herself, in fact at one point she almost wiggled out of my arms and over the side.”
“Maybe Birdie will grow up to be a pirate.”  
“A pirate? Our daughter will be the first female naval Captain…following in our footsteps, serving King and Country.” 
Richard chuckled “You’ve been ‘round those snot nosed high class bastards for too long.” 
“Oh you can’t even begin to understand how awful it is..” She gestured to her dress “Like this, for one..I tried to convince Sir Jones to allow me to change, that breeches are far more suited to cross country travel and you would’ve thought I had just suggested that he let me fuck his wife.” 
His hands dropped from her face to her waist and he chuckled again
“That's more like my Mouse..the beauty of a Saint and the mouth of a navvy.” 
“I have the patience of a saint..” She rested her head on his chest “Do you know that some utter twat actually asked me if I sewed the buttons of the men's uniforms and if that was my role here?”  
“You couldn’t sew a button if your life depended on it.”
“He then had the audacity to imply that you married me for the status increase, and I almost threw my drink at him, glass and all.”
“What stopped you?”
“Mother..she defended you actually..” 
“Eh?”
“Yeah, she reminded everyone that Lord Wellington himself was on first name terms with you and was the one who oversaw your promotion.”
“I bet that shut ‘em up.”
“Well, sort of.” She nuzzled his chest “People will gossip just like cows will shit.”
“True.” He kissed her hair, then rested his chin on the top of her head. “Surprised your Mother defended me.”
“She likes you..as does Papa…” she giggled “Lottie is very smitten by you.”
“Oh Christ..here we go..”
“She loves telling her book club all about how her brother-in-law is England’s own Lancealot..going around saving towns and stealing eagles.”
“I bet that husband of hers, what's-his-name loves that.”
“From what Mother tells me and from what Immy heard from the maids…Robert isn’t one to criticize who Lottie fancies.”
“Oh? Trouble in paradise?”
“It's too much to tell you now, I’ll give you the details tonight.”
He squeezed her waist “Oh Mouse I plan on doing a lot more than gossiping tonight..” 
She looped her arms around him “Why wait until tonight?”
“I’ve got to finish those reports..”
She went on tip toes and kissed the tip of his nose “I’m sure they can wait.” 
He smirked “Like always my dear, you’re right, they can.”
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rambosgirl · 3 months ago
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Quotes from my life as dialogue prompts
Alright here's the deal - If you see a quote that sticks out to you, send it as a dialogue prompt for either Rambo or Wolverine fics (I'm open to other characters too, just message me first) and as a reminder, I only do fem readers
And just as a PSA: nobody in my family does drugs, we just joke about them a LOT; also this is pretty long oops
Things I've said:
“Whatever ghost is floating through me just stop it”
“Ah yes my mafia business with chicks.”
"Why is there cocaine in my flute"
"he [wolverine] would probably break every bone in my body and I would still say thank you for gracing me with your touch"
“Bb you’re gonna kill me!!!”
“I need more fingers…" *looks at my friend*
“Yep. Came right out of me. Don’t even know how it got in there.”
"On a scale of 1 to prostitute, how do I look?"
“I'm addicted to rocks”
"it's not depression, it's a minor key"
"Lemme just drink my sorrows away with a non-alcoholic beverage"
"everybody loves spanking me"
"They sent me stickers, what else could it mean?!?!"
“I’m having a crisis over butter!”
“That’s my I’m about to commit a felony face”
“Singing Sophia the First gives me life!”
"Here we are living in the lap of luxury with our glowsticks"
“The FBI invented Barbie to torture war criminals”
"I'm zoning out in French"
“It wasn’t consensual cuddling!”
“I get a whoopsie doodle do-over!”
“Why can’t I not be stupid”
"I know I sound really suspicious like all the time, but I promise I'm not"
“At my funeral I want people to say wow what a cool cat"
"Those nomie nomie noms gave me a sugar high"
“My arms are a different race”
"Haha, you're a germ"
“It’s like slapping but it doesn’t look abusive”
"WHY DOES EVERYONE INSIST ON TOUCHING MY BUTT??"
“I’m looking like a swagger dude right now!”
“Why are you breathing?!”
“Mints are just cold spicy”
"You learn something new when you read the rules"
"Communist sign, I know you're in my search history somewhere!"
"Could you imagine my fingertips being just ripped?"
"I hate being a customer I hate doing that to someone"
"go wash your stinky feet with the grandma soap"
"I rejected you faster than I rejected that pedophile"
"A small price to pay for a fork stabbing"
"eww, that was...genius"
"man, I should get rabies again. Foam :D"
"My special talent is getting money from drunk people"
"Bellbottoms are just the Bob Ross of pants"
"A smack for the lil snack"
"Why are babies so expensive?!"
"Look how hot his forearm is"
"there's so much expression in these expressionless faces"
"Do you ever just want your toes to catch on fire?"
"I dabble in sleeping"
"I watch impractical jokers to forget"
"When you started talking, the world kinda just stopped and threw up"
"you were meant to gain weight, skinny boy"
"I mean he has a face thats probably a good sign."
"I'm CLEARLY a 19th century villain"
"Drugs make your happy chemicals go brrr"
"Mmmm that's one sexy femur"
"It's from ahem Europe"
"It didn't workables"
What makes you think I have a life?!"
"Is this what imaginary numbers taste like?"
Things my sisters have said: (Keep in mind I have 3 sisters and they're all younger than me)
"Imaginary numbers taste like cocaine"
"Oh my gosh, It's almost like I don't care"
"Words only hurt if you're weak!"
"I was just gonna gently tap your face with my fist"
"For the first time in 8 years I wet the bed last night"
"Wow, this blood is really thick!"
"That car looks like it's from the Lorax"
"OH MAN THIS POOP IS BUILD DIFFERENT!!"
"Sometimes the mind is on crack, when the rest of you isn't"
"Words only hurt if you're weak!"
"my inner autism"
"I've just been stroking his thigh"
"I stubbed my toe on the dank express"
"Chocolate gives me artificial warmth"
"BEcAUSE I am a rat, I don't like to go outside"
"DON'T EVEN GIVE ME LOVE!!!"
"Now you have poo toes!!!!!"
"All of my clothes are gay!!"
"[sister's name] did you open the cereal box upside-down again?!"
"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT"
"He eats flowers, not drugs!"
"JUST EAT THE FLOWER IT'S GOOD FOR YOU"
"Nothing is too quirky for a quirky person"
"Hear me out, when you done, I want your skull"
"My natural musk is McDonalds"
"It's by no means a crush, I just find his stupidity amusing."
"I'm gonna trigger your fight or flight response."
"I licked her legs off"
"Annoyance is in the eye of the beholder"
in a new York accent, spreading parmesan cheese "i put this all over everything"
"exCuse me ma'am, I've been waiting an OUTRAGEOUS amount of time"
"look, if you're gonna be turned to stone, then at least have a nice pose!"
"Let's all be lesbians I guess!!!!!"
"I want to steal these curtains and turn them into a skirt"
"I just wrote a paragraph on how appetizing paint is!"
"It not his cheekbones that are toxic, it's his personality"
"Hello my scrumptious disobedient munchkin"
"you're right, you DO smell like the color warm!"
"My brain is crusty. I'm quirky like that!"
"imagine having your butthole being smaller than your head hole"
"I really love traumatizing you"
"Stop disrupting my potato experience"
"My laugh is balding"
"Are you gonna become a cringe person?" - me "No" - sis "Are you already a cringe person?" - me "YES" - sis
"this is the most interesting crack I've ever had"
"I'm including you in my will, you can have my carcass"
"I've finally experienced kinetic energy" - [youngest] "I don't think you know what that means" - [sister 2]
"what is it called when they raise the cost and lower the value?" - [sister 3] "Desperate." - [youngest], without skipping a beat
"dad, you are a material girl."
"That was a scary Alabama moment. I thought you two were making out!! "
Things my parents have said:
"Only a true addict would have a preference" - mom
"Every time I see an equation, saltwater protrudes from my eye. Call it a tear" - dad
"Christmas nazi?" - mom
"The albino broccoli with cheese is not yet done!" - mom
WHO GAVE MY GRAMPA A NEW WIFE?! - mom
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. It's going to be very hard though" - dad
"at age 9 or 10, I was quite influential among the Norwegians" - dad
"you have a once-per-session limit on Rick rolling them! You don't want to be known as the Rick roll girl!" - mom
"My soul is filled with mirth, I might shed a tear or two" - dad
"The rules of my classroom are as follows: no poking butts!" - mom
"If you joined the spelling bee group, you're in trouble. I do not support that." - dad
"I just drank water" - [youngest sister] "And you feel justified in your actions?" - dad
"You took your prom away from me!" - mom
"So I got mad, and I smashed it, and I swiped it all into the pan" - mom "This story is intriguing, continue" - dad
"did you buy it in standard or high definition?" - dad "I don't remember, is there a difference?" - me "Um yes, standard should be illegal" - dad
"I bought him because he had a cute butt" - mom
"It's okay. You can burn!" - mom
"He's a puppy!" - mom "He's a low-life." - dad
"There's always a morning poop!" - mom
"the ham is missing in action, it is nowhere to be found." - mom
"You can't give Clara Barton peg legs!" - mom
"you have a utensil called a fork, which you can use to manipulate the food streaming down your face." - dad
"I think I'd rather snort cocaine" - dad
"You can't just go burying bodies in fields!" -Mom
"Don't eat at dinner time!" - Dad
"I am Tony Stark, glad you finally figured that out" - Dad
"I GIRLBOSSED that kitchen" - Mom
"Jacksie Person Series" -Mom
in a baby voice " But he wants his crack cocaine" - Mom
"You know I only have eyes for the chicks" - mom
"LOL semi colon parentheses!" - Dad
"Sometimes I read the ten commandments, and I go ’thou shall not kill'? Nah!" -dad
"I'm going to Costco" -mom
"right now?" -dad
"yeah"-mom
"do you hate yourself?" - dad
Things my friends have said:
"Touch my pecs like a real man"
"I had to teach class with the ghost of hell on my knuckles"
"I've french kissed two cows !!"
"Are you licking me?"
"I'm gonna pee on you"
"You're licking my forehead!"
"Once we see the pew pews, we'll shoot."
"I don't look at your butt when you sleep"
"I'm on TikTok again, shut up"
"Nobody cares about your ugly crap car"
"Can I steal a child?"
"Only with consent"
Things my professors have said:
"excel is the closest thing we have to magic"
"You guys are now my favorite students. Everyone who left is ... dead to me."
"I'm implying causation from a correlational study, which is a sin, so shame on me"
"I enjoyed making bombs when I was a teenager"
"I've only been wrong like 3 times in my life, so that might've been the 4th"
"My last piece was was a poem i made about the Grinch, but it's not that good, so"
"I'm like a terrorist"
"In the words of rafiki, it is time."
"I have 2 phobias in life: One, snakes. Two, lotion"
"If you have those feelings murder, let's meet and talk about some things. On zoom"
"We're gonna play a terrible game: which sin is worse?"
"When you follow someone, usually you call that stalking, i call it opportunistic geography"
"His eyes, oh yes his eyes"
"Let me be clear, I didn't break the law"
"I'm never gonna do a marathon. That's too much. That's silly land"
"Is this (refers to mustache) causing it or are you just trying to be ugly?"
"You're enough? No you're not! I'm gonna make this into a sign 'you're not enough'"
"we taught you that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell and we're not gonna let you forget it"
"Ok well criminals are way smarter than those guys!!" (Those guys = Mexican border control)
"These things are 100% McNasty"
"I did nothing wrong! I went there, I gave them the money, and I left! That's what I'm gonna tell Jesus on judgement day. And plus I already bought it before I knew it was stolen"
"I got drugs, let's do what's called better living and use them"
"That's why we call it a bomb calorimeter because it was a bomb in it!"
"I'm powered by the sun!!!"
"dairy cows are like formula 1"
"If you send that to me I'll send it to my wife and she'll put my name on the chore chart lower"
"I skipped step 4. Chickens could die"
"I forgot to tell you, crying is allowed in class. But the rule about crying is you have to raise your hand before you cry."
"Should I divulge the fact that I'm a nerd?"
"you can wake up now, the chemical equation is gone"
"You can tell your mom it's okay to take estrogen"
"Try not to melt in an ugly way"
"If any of you need help planting corn, yo I can help with that"
"well... When a mommy cow and a daddy cow love each other very much..."
"I got mad at them so I drugged them"
"If you ate bacteria, it would be really good for you. Given they were dead."
"you guys are the rats"
"Do you still brush your teeth? Do you want friends?"
"It's a huge book, it's in my office if you want to see it and/or use it as a weapon. It works!!"
"When you have children, you have to name your first son after this guy." (professor) "Is this required to pass the class?" (student) "...yes." (professor)
*laughing uncontrollably/nervously "I should be fired"
"I'll go through puberty someday"
"If anyone got 3 I'd suggest you go to the underwater basket weaving class"
"This is called a 'do your best assignment'."
"I follow him without him knowing, but not in a creepy way"
"you keep coming to my class with the potty and spanking examples"
"The best thing about having kids is that you can brainwash them to love the things you love"
"Goodness sakes, I love your questions. And hate them"
"Was I reinforced?" (student) "Heck yeah you were" (professor)
"Ghost them and then keep ghosting them"
"you have no friends"
"fight, flight, freeze, swear,"
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the-chessboard-is-personal · 4 months ago
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welp! I had a whole two days of stuff but it got deleted when the computer died! anyway same warnings as last reblog apply but this will be a recap of the two days and a liveblog of the next. I really need to get back to my project-
I found and raided a mosuleum, got so much stuff (particularly blight mold) that I had to take more than three trips back to my base (which is like 10k blocks away) and am still currently in the process of doing that, I got some deepslate altars and am probably gonna try to do the ritual thing today, I got- holy fuck why did that startle me so much
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THE
anyway I got some occult veils, potions, gels, runes, a plinth, pillars, eerie idols, a TON of blight mold, charonite and anirrum, and everything you'd expect to get from a mausoleum except for the chains. urghhh I really shouldn't be playing this for another day but whatever
5:52 PM I'm a bit drowsy bc I took a pain med (BAD headache and I still have some teva from my dentist trip. dw I don't use it regularly or anything this is the first time since the dentist) but I found out a few things. 1. anirrum tools and armor don't lose durability!! 2. with 1/4 anirrum and 3/4 diamond armor the paracusia's claw attack deals less than half a heart of damage so when I do decide to fight one it'll be p easy
oh yeah. and I've decided to keep a paracusia in a box near(ish) my base as a sort of. ambient noise generator? idk I just like the sounds they make and the "Eerie noise?" in the subtitles 👍
9:22 ritual room is done, I have a deepslate altar set up but what I'm going to do first is spawn a mirage by eating brainy corpsebulb flesh (honestly that sounds very gross but it's a video game so whatever) and see if I can kill it
2:22 AM the dots are back.
5:28 getting some corpseplants. don't know what the thorn does but the flute sounds like that one ingame song!
8:24 I found another mausoleum, like. way closer to my base! with a full inventory again bc I went out to get all the corpseplants. but hey at least it's not at a 5 digit number like the last one was -_-
9:04 sighh I'm too mechanical as a player 😔 I saw a revenant spawned from a zealot drop this
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and immediately thought. huh. I could farm those by trapping a zealot
9:22 ROTTEN FLESH HAS A USE NOW 🗣️🔊🔥🔥🔊🗣️🔥
10:02 hokay I have to remember to use the time heretics take to transform as HEALING time. almost died Twice
10:24 there's...bedrock under the sigil in the chain room.?
12:31 PM got adventuring time. w. withou without trying to-
12:45 okay I know this is base game but why do pillagers. do that. they just Watch You. Observe. 👁️_👁️. are they. waiting for you to attack them? lead them to a village ?? strange guys. throw them at walls
12:58 going to bed now but I opened up the grimoire again realquick just to see what I could do other than blindly look through achievements for random stuff to do in the hopes that it would unlock more cool stuff and. HOLY SHIT. I have 2 pages, and IT'S WRITTEN IN THE SYMBOL LANGUAGE YOU NEED THE GRIM QUILL FOR!! oohg. this mod is amazinf ,,,hm one more day of break from redstoning perhapped
Minecraft horror mod where the documentation for the mod is intentionally misleading and the mod actually does way more weird scary shit than listed while also being very sly about not revealing itself to be intentional in doing so at the same time. Like a backrooms mod where there are actually more sublevels/locations than listed, slightly different versions of monsters, or even stuff that subtly effects areas that are supposed to be outside the area of the mod such as the overworld and nether.
1K notes · View notes
myysaints · 2 years ago
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don't make promises you can't keep (p.m.)
PETE "MAVERICK" MITCHELL x f!reader
⌗︙・ summary — months after you and maverick's... "thing"... ended, you find yourself face to face with the one that got a way. there's a reason why people don't make promises they can't keep.
contains — angst, pining, reader and mav have ~history~, fluffy ending!!
note — you can interpret this as being tg1 or tgm mav! i purposefully left the identity of the vice admiral (reader's boss) vague, but if you're going for tgm mav i recommend reading him as cyclone :) hope you enjoy! this one's a long one, i got way in over my head for mav 😵‍💫
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Parties aren’t really your thing, you’ve decided.
Well, military parties, at least. Alright, to call this function a “party” would be giving it a great deal more praise than warranted - What it really is is a large charity gala hosted by General Kazansky, one in which only the highest-ranking officers and lieutenants are privy to attend. And somehow, you’ve made your way inside.
It all comes with the job. You suppose you should have known that being the secretary of a Vice Admiral would get you on the guest list of one of these… things, eventually. 
In due course, your superior had said to you when you inquired on the possibility of these out-of-office functions. You’ll be representing a part of my office.
That’s why you’re now smoothening down your dress for the umpteenth time tonight, flashing your politest half-smile at some retired general in front of you. You don’t have a clue what he’s talking about - Something about the Top Gun programme, which, of course, you’re extremely familiar with by now. And, bored of having mansplained to you.
“-But you know, in all my years of flying and instructing at Top Gun, I’ve never, ever,” here the general laughs, and you smile politely, albeit distractedly, back, “Come across a man as brave - and as stupid - as Pete fuckin’ Mitchell.”
You blink, surprised. Pete Mitchell. Lieutenant. Or is he Captain, now? Well, whatever he is, you know him by-
Maverick.
It’s a name you’re familiar with, one that carries a tugging of heartstrings and brings a lump in your throat when you think about it.
The admired pilot with balls of steel and a nerve to match. Always hitting the mark on missions, but always defying the higher-ups while doing so. The man, the myth, the legend - Your one who got away.
Your memories of Maverick are a blurry daze of sweltering late-nights, legs tangled up in bedsheets, tracing stars on his back. Giggles smothered by messy kisses. Warm hands on your waist.
The empty bed when you awoke. The lonely nights that only grew longer once you realised -
He wasn’t coming back.
You still aren’t sure what exactly happened in your short stint with Pete Mitchell. You’d been head over heels for him, and you’d been so sure he felt the same - But as soon as you were ready to call what you two had love, he’d been called away to a mission in Iraq. Leaving you with nothing but a five-minute long call and a hesitating “I’ll miss you”.
You’d met when you were but a temporary administrative assistant at the Air Station, tasked with doing impossibly insignificant tasks, like filing papers and delivering coffee.
And Maverick? He’d been the suave golden boy who visited you at breaks, who asked around the office to find out which flowers were your favourite, who taught you how to play - and win - pool for the first time.
You fell for him instantly.
But that was all months ago, almost a year from now, so you don’t want to get your hopes up. You and Maverick, you try to convince yourself, are a thing of the past.
Still, you find yourself scouring the party for the rest of the night, cautiously sipping on your glass of champagne, praying to any God left. Though, praying for what, you don’t quite know.
You bid a hasty goodbye to the general and slip away as fast as you can. The flute in your hand is empty and screaming for refill. You have the feeling you’ll need it tonight.
Sighing, you make your way to the bar, silently gesturing to the bartender. As you rest your chin on your palm, eyes travelling through the crowd, you feel a tap on your shoulder.
Jumping, you whip around, only to hear a surprised “Shit!”. Then, something wet, dripping, on your arm.
“God, Y/N, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” The stranger laughs in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Jeez, this is not how I planned for this to go.”
Then it hits you.
“Maverick?” you say, feeling your cheeks heat up, involuntarily.
A small smile graces the features of the man before you.
“The one and only.”
Your heart - stupidly - does a little flip.
He looks good, dammit. Too good. It seems that in the weeks and months that have passed since you last saw him, he only got better - A better pilot, and better looking.
All these months, these days and nights, holding back tears of silent, unwilling yearning. All that crumbles in the face of his glorious, unwavering, being. All this time, and you’re still drawn to him. Magnetic.
“Here,” he begins to shrug off his suit jacket, “Take this.”
“Mav, that’s really not necess-”
“No, I insist.” He hands you his coat. “It’s the least I can do for ruining your dress. I just hope I haven’t ruined your night.”
You smile half-heartedly, shrugging before turning back to search for your missing flute of champagne. “Not really much to ruin, I suppose.”
You feel his gaze - soft, firm - as he helps you into his coat jacket. “So, how’ve you been?”
You’re unable to stop the scoff that escapes past your lips, and you don’t miss the slight frown that makes its way across Maverick’s face.
“How have I been?” you repeat emptily, observing the hurt that flits across your face.
“Is it a crime to ask?”
“Well, no, but considering you up and left my life like I was nothing, I guess I didn’t expect you to be at all interested in ‘how I’ve been’.” Your words come out in a breathless, angry rush, a flood of hurt and bottled up emotions threatening to break loose.
Something in his eyes deflates, and remorse courses through you. You try to ignore the way your heart hurts at the way his face crumples.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, rubbing his face, guilt written all over his face.
“Do you even know what you’re sorry for?”
It’s meant to come out harsh; An aimed jab at your shared history, complicated and short-lived as it was. But it instead leaves your mouth sounding like a plea, a quiet play at his heartstrings.
Maverick seems to relent, however, averting his gaze.
“I know.
"It was stupid of me. It was stupid of me to leave you, to not call, to pretend like what we had was nothing. But the truth, Y/N, the whole and honest truth, is that I was afraid. I was scared and I was a coward because I couldn’t face that what I felt for you was- was-”
His voice cracks, and your heart thrums. It beats for him.
“…It was love.”
Your breath hitches, and all at once, the world goes quiet. It’s a stupid cliche, overdone and overwrought, but the moment those words leave his mouth, everything else fades away.
No wine on the front of your dress. No bartender working behind the counter. No superiors to appease, no unnamed generals to smile at, no life-threatening missions to worry about, no distractions.
Just you and him.
Maverick gives a weak smile, laughing quietly in embarrassment. “But I guess I’m too late, huh?”
You frown. “What?”
He shrugs, though the jealousy glinting in his eyes betrays his faux nonchalance.
Nodding towards your boss mingling amongst the crowd, Maverick says, haltingly, “Your husband, right?”
You splutter, eyes going wide.
“No, no-” you hurry to correct, “-That’s my boss! I’m just- I’m his secretary, see.”
Maverick lets out a soft “Oh” of surprise. A soft blush settles over his cheeks.
You resist the urge to reach up and cup his face.
“So…” he ventures, hesitating. “You’re… single?”
You laugh lightly, nodding. “Indeed I am.”
A moment of silence lapses, though it’s a comforting one; Maverick smiles, and you’re pleasantly surprised to find that his jacket - after all this time - still feels just as right.
“Did you mean it? That you loved me?”
At the word “loved”, Maverick seems to flinch.
Was that not what he meant? That he loved you? It was love that he had for you, it was love that you had for each other. He said it himself for Christ’s sake.
Just as you’re about to double down, he speaks, his words rushed, “Iloveyounotloved.”
You blink.
What?
You stutter, with your heart in your throat and your lungs on fire, “I- You… love- You love…”
“I love you.”
Maverick’s eyes shine with hope, and you feel your heart clench and unclench and do a million somersaults.
“You do. You love me.”
He laughs, breathless, carelessly running a hand through his hair. “God. Yes. Of course I do, sweetheart, I’ve loved you ever since I first met you. I’ve loved you ever since you gave me that pink pen and laughed and said my signature looked good in pink. I’ve loved you ever since I first woke up to you beside me and I’ve loved you every morning since. I’m so fucking sorry I couldn’t be the man you needed, the man you deserve.”
He smiles sheepishly now, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “I get that this is all really… really sudden, so I totally get if you want me to go and disappear from your life-”
“No!”
The conviction in your voice surprises even yourself, and you wrench yourself away from him.
Embarrassed, you say, tentatively, “I want you to stay.”
Maverick blinks. “Huh?”
“I want you to stay,” you say, louder, but still soft enough so that he has to cup his hands over his ears and mouth “What?”.
You sigh in frustration, nearly yelling as you exclaim, “I WANT YOU TO STAY!”
An unsettling silence settles over the whole party, and you blush, not missing the pointed - but amused - glance your boss sends you.
But that doesn’t matter. All of it - the disapproving frowns of generals, the raised eyebrows of fellow party-goers, the snickers and chuckles rising from the crowd - none of it holds any weight. Not when Pete “Maverick” Mitchell is standing in front of you, smiling like he just won the lottery.
And he practically did, he thinks.
“Alright, I’ll stay, you don’t have to yell,” Maverick grins cheekily, wrapping an arm around you. His chest is strong and warm against you.
“Promise you won’t be going anywhere?” you murmur, leaning your head against his sturdy frame.
A deep laugh rumbles in his chest, and you fight back a smile at the familiar sensation. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and threaten to spill.
“I promise.”
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lesbian-dp · 2 years ago
Text
Masquerade
Kinktober 2022
Day Nineteen
Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Words: 1,551
Warnings: Formal wear, anonymous sex, lingerie, “stripping”, being recorded, overheard sex, packing, strap on, masks, choking, sex with clothes on
Request: Non.
Summary: A high-end party leads to pleasure behind masks.
A/N: This isn't the best. But I really needed to get this done. So... enjoy ig!
Ko-Fi
Commissions
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(Not my pics)
18+ ONLY
---
"So what? Do we gotta put our keys in a bowl or something?"
A chuckle poured from the man's mouth, his hand coming up to pat your shoulder blade.
"This isn't a swinger's party," Tony replied.
"Well, with the way that you described it, it sure seems like it."
You entered the grand building that sat in New York City. With white bricks illuminated only by artificial yellow lights, practically glowing under the black night sky.
"Have you really never been to one of these things before?" he asked as you stepped into the elevator with fellow masked people. Expressing themselves with their smart tuxedoes and dresses, the masquerade masks unique to every person. So even if you didn't know who sat under them, you were still able to recognise a particular person.
"I can't say that I have."
He grinned under his red and gold mask without even needing to see, you could picture the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, thanks to his smile. You were one of his oldest friends, a fellow business owner. You had even partnered with the man on some projects over the years. So you knew the man through and through.
"You're gonna have a good time tonight."
"I'll hold you to that. If I don't, I get your Shelby Cobra."
"You're on."
Not even an hour later, you had a half-drunk flute of champagne in your hand, watching all the masked people in the vicinity.
You couldn't help the half smile that pulled at your lips when your eyes focused on your friend, the man heavily flirting with a tall blonde.
"You don't seem to be enjoying the party."
Peering over your shoulder, you found a red-headed woman standing beside you, a cream mask decorated with elegant gold flourishes over her eyes. Wearing a tight black dress with a slit going up one leg, almost reaching her hip.
"Oh, I'm enjoying it plenty. Alcohol-" You raised your glass into her view. "-People watching. Watching my friend get turned down." You then waved a hand over to Tony, showing the blonde waving a hand in front of his face, before walking from him. "Not to mention, I'm gonna get a Shelby Cobra after all this is over."
"Oh yeah? Gonna treat yourself?"
"Gonna win a bet."
The red-head hummed, glancing you up and down. "I gotta say, I did not expect to see a mask like yours."
You smiled at her obvious compliment, eyes shining behind the sculpted clay of the skull half-mask. It resembled an animal skull you would find in the desert, with red horns breaking from the head, curling around, almost like a goats, blackened in the crevices to give it an aged look.
"Well, it is the season, after all," you flirted, referencing the spooky holiday right around the corner.
That was all she needed to know that she wanted to spend the night with you in one of those private rooms. The whole reason why everyone was in attendance at this exclusive party.
"You can call me Nat."
"I'm Y/N." You offered your hand for the red-head to shake, not really caring to keep that a secret along with what sat under your mask.
An hour later, and a few more glasses of champagne, you were being led down a long hallway by Nat, a key with a ribbon tied to it, hanging from her free hand, some doors closed with occupants doing just as you were about to.
You didn't notice the flashing red light behind the large and elegant mirror on the wall. There was no way that you could. How were you to know you were being filmed... not that you'd be opposed to it, of course.
Turning around from the door you had just locked, you were gifted with the sight of the illuring red-head reaching for the zipper under her armpit, drawing it down. She then pulled the straps of her dress down her shoulders that you were so desperate to kiss, pushing it down her body while keeping eye contact with you, shallow pants pouring from her plump lips. Your jaw tensed when her voluptuous breasts were revealed to you, cupped in black lace, the material of her dress pushed down her tight waist and past her hips and thighs, letting it pool at her heeled feet.
"Jesus Christ," you breathed in reaction.
Nat's tits jostled as she bounced lightly on her toes, repositioning her matching black lace panties.
"Enjoying the view there, sunshine?" She smirked, loving the way you were gandering her, in a shocked daze.
"More than you could fucking know."
The red-head cocked her finger at you, waving you over with that look behind her mask. Taking almost uneasy steps towards her, when you were close enough to the woman, she reached under your suit and grasped the suspenders that lay underneath, using those to pull you closer. Smirking into your mouth, making you think that she was going to press an intoxicating upon your lips before pushing you into the lavish sofa.
Her hands were placed upon your shoulders, looking down at you as she stood between your legs.
"Are you ready to give me everything I want?"
"Only if you're ready to take it."
You had your hands upon her plump ass, caressing the soft flesh underneath, her lips massaging against yours as she held your cheeks between her palms, grinding into your lap where she straddled it.
"I want you," was muttered against your mouth, "I need you."
Unmistakable sounds hindered your reply to the red-head, coming from rooms away, almost identical to the one you were sitting in. Loud, breathy cries showing someone's pleasure. You swear, if you listened hard enough, you could hear slaps of thrusting into the moaning woman's core.
"You hear what's happening to her?" You nodded against Nat, nose brushing her own. "I want you to make me feel better than that."
If it were possible, your pupils dilated further than you could ever imagine.
Promising yourself that you would do just that.
With one hand holding her thigh and the other wrapped around her back, holding onto her farthest ass cheek, you helped her take the strap you had hidden under your pants. Controlling her movements as she rode you.
Lips pressed to her neck, following the tight column with every roll of her body, knowing that, even through your layers of clothes, there would be bruises from where she currently gripped your shoulders.
You could taste the champagne on her lips as she moaned into your mouth, broken only by breathy pants.
It didn't take long to manoeuvre the woman onto her back, laying her on the sofa you sat upon.
Nat's legs were crossed together, thrown over one of your shoulders, moans pouring from her jiggling chest thanks to your hard thrusts. Fingers digging into the leather seats below, trying in vain to hold onto something.
Even through her mask, you could tell that the red-head loved every minute of this. With your free hand that wasn't keeping her legs pressed against your chest, you fiddled with her nipples before your palm encased her neck, squeezing the sides to heighten her pleasure further. This position gave you the perfect opportunity to drill into her wet cunt.
A strangled moan tore through her throat, her hands snapping up to your wrist, holding you as she was repeatedly thrust up the leather sofa.
"Holy shit, you feel amazing."
"You look it."
Nat gave you a husky giggle, "Such a charmer- Shit!" her words cut off against her sudden cry. Back arching, with the moans that flowed through her plump lips as you thrust your strap into her from tip to base. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Natasha cried out, back arching as she came around your faux cock.
You practically came at the sight of her writhing around in pure ecstasy.
"Get used to that, honey. It's gonna be a long night for you."
---
You wanted to wipe that smile off Tony's face as soon as you saw him next.
"So, did you have a good time?"
"Shut up, Tony," you said, strolling past the man, heading straight for the elevators as the night and the party dwindled down. Rolling your eyes as you heard his satisfied cackle following you.
You were stopped by a hand on your shoulder as soon as you were about to follow Tony in exiting the building. Turning only to find the masked red-head there. Holding out a USB stick along with a folded napkin.
"Thought you would want your video," she said as you took the objects from her fingers.
"You would be correct. But what's with the napkin?"
A soft shrug from the woman, "Just a little something extra." A smirk graced her lips, and with that, she exited herself. Piling into a car beside a brunette woman, leaving you to watch the car drive off.
Glancing down, you peeled open the folded napkin, and in black ink, read a number along with the woman's scrawl.
'Call me. I don't think I can get enough of you.'
'-Natasha.'
"Y/N, you coming, or what?"
You grinned as you looked up at your friend.
"Y'know, I'm not pissed at all about losing that Cobra."
---
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smokestarrules · 3 years ago
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Masterpost and Breakdown of what we haven’t seen yet - s2b
So.
We have six episodes remaining of TOH, not counting the three specials that are also incoming eventually. Six episodes. And of those six episodes, we have roughly 14 new shots left from the various promos. (Possibly 15, because there’s also one I didn’t include of Hooty looking horrified and I honestly don't know if it’s new or not, but I digress.)
So let’s get through those. 
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#1: Betrayal?
Here’s the ones that are being INCREDIBLY censored. I mean, was the static filter, the grayscale, AND Luz’s head all necessary? Man. Makes my job a little harder! 
So firstly, The people in these shots are most likely Hunter, Raine, Darius, and Eberwolf. The latter three are all together and seem to be trying to hide their identities, which, with the reveal that Raine and Darius are working together against Belos (and Eberwolf is likely with them as well), makes me wonder if they’re carrying out some sort of plan. Hunter seems to be chasing them. Interestingly enough, Raine, Darius, and Eberwolf all tense up as they turn around, and Raine even pulls out a flute as if to attack, but as soon as they look at whoever’s behind them - likely Hunter - they relax. So take with that as you will. 
I have absolutely no idea in what episode this could take place in. I have a few ideas, maybe, but nothing very sure. Perhaps Edge of the World is going to involve a Coven Heads B plot while King and Eda head out to the skull to find King’s family? 
On the other hand, there’s also the possibility that this is going to happen in Hollow Mind, for reasons I’ll explain below. 
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#2: Luz pummels Hunter
Something that I find interesting about the background of these shots is that it’s fairly similar to the background on the above shots with Darius, Raine, and Eberwolf, though of course these ones are actually in full color. Could they be from the same scene, perhaps? 
Luz attacks Hunter -- to keep him from hurting Raine and co? It’s a bit of a stretch, sure, but it’s an idea! Sidenote: the screenshot I have is cropped a little, but Luz seems to be tackling Hunter into some sort of spell circle. I don’t know what that’ll be, but I do wonder if it’s going to be how Hunter and Luz somehow end up in Belos’ memories in Hollow Mind. Perhaps the Coven Heads are trying to perform a spell to look into Belos’ memories, and Luz accidentally tackles Hunter in? I’m not sure, but it’s fascinating. 
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#3: Belos
Words cannot describe to you how much I hate this still. What is happening to him. Why does this exist. 
The way I see it, there are three options for why this image exists. No.1 is this is Belos in Hollow Mind, either when Luz and Hunter get in his head or when he realizes they’re in there and needs them out. No.2, and the one that I personally think is most likely, would also be in Hollow Mind, but this is one of Belos’ memories that Luz and Hunter will be getting to see. And No.3 is..... Eclipse Time. Day of Unity time, whatever that entails. So.... King’s Tide, maybe? If that’s the episode the Day of Unity will take place in.
Either way, I hate it. 
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#4: Hunter pummels Luz
Okay, so, a few things. 
Firstly, this is definitely from Hollow Mind. The Collector’s face/area aside, the door is also here, and off to the far right and left, you can see the edges of those Belos paintings. Definitely the same episode. Secondly, I wonder if this is exactly the moment Luz and Hunter get transported inside, and if that’s why they’re so shocked/there’s some sort of spell circle surrounding them. I am fascinated by The Collector having such a huge impact, though, and with the memory of the door to the human realm being inside this area specifically... interesting. 
Also, does anyone know what’s up with whatever Luz is holding? To me, it almost looks like a bunny slipper, but like, what???
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#5: BABY BELOS(?)
Okay. I KNOW I keep saying “oh this one’s in Hollow Mind” but I hate to break it to you; FAR too many of these are from Hollow Mind. Which means we have barely any idea of the episodes AFTER Hollow Mind. I hate that, too. A lot. But it’s a good marketing strategy, so whatever.
Anyways.  This is probably either baby Wittebro or baby Philip himself, and the latter is more likely. He’s got Philip’s hair, Belos’ mask, and the same old-timey clothing from Philip’s time. Interestingly enough, though, is that we can’t see his ears. My theory is this: Luz and Hunter will encounter this guy a couple times during their trek through Belos’ mind and just assume that he’s Inner Belos/Baby Belos/whatever, and eventually, as some truths begin to dawn on them, the mask will come off, revealing human ears. That will be how Luz realizes. 
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#6: Propoganda galore!
Again, Hollow Mind. Obviously. And, I mean, how and why’s aside, they’ve got to be in Belos’ mind. Look at all this crap around these two; the golden, dramatic portraits of his glorifying actions. But Belos is over four-hundred years old. He has memories farther back that won’t be so golden and shining. Memories of a curse, of having to cut half his ears off (though we probably won’t see that one), of a brother. Of whatever happened to that brother. 
.....Methinks Hunter won’t be able to stay smug for very long. 
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#7: Gus being awesome
Finally, something different!! Gus seems to be demonstrating his power in Hexside? I assume so, with all the kids around. My thought on where this could be is actually Clouds on the Horizon, the penultimate episode. Perhaps this is some call to action right before the big eclipse; Gus is trying to show them something. 
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#8: House spazzing out
Slightly concerning right off the bat. What’s happening in the Owl House? Hooty seems to be in the door, so it’s not something he’s doing. Does this have something to do with opening a portal, maybe? Did Luz learn a new glyph combo? Beats me. Episode guesses would be either Labyrinth Runners, or O Titan, Where art Thou, if only because we know nothing about either of those as of yet. 
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#9: KING’S SPECIES 
So, this is almost 100% going to be in Edge of the World, due to the summary. Luz and King (and Hooty I guess) have set off to investigate King’s family tree, and since it’s this show, I’d bet they’re not going to like everything they find. Clearly, they DO manage to find his species, which is super interesting. Personally, I think they’re in the skull of the Titan, so we’ll see. You also just gotta love Luz’s “disguise” consisting of Eda’s jacket, the Hooty backpack, and her pirate cap. 
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#10: STEVE SUPREMACY
Last but certainly not least, Steve! Whether it’s his one day off or he’s finally broken away from the Emperor’s Coven, I support Steve in anything he does. I think this image is also probably in Edge of the World; on their search and before King and Luz make it to his family, they come across Steve living his best life. Maybe he even gives them a little info! Also, can I buy that “STEVE” shirt? Please? 
And that’s it. 14-15 stills remain. Six episodes remain. 
Are you ready?
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romansleftshoulderpad · 5 years ago
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I’m highkey salty that I can’t bring my spinner rings (or my cube) to camp because those are my only subtle ways is stimming and I’m gonna die
Do you ever just...wanna stim and you cant and you d I e
Oh that was me the ENTIRETY of yesterday
Just walking around the city like “IF I DONT DANCE AND FLAP MY ARMS I’LL PERISH BUT PEOPLE ARE S T A R I N G-“
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chronic-claire-universe · 3 years ago
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Pop Songs They Would Fuck You In The Club - Bonten Edition
It's 2000's pop night at one of Roppongi's club and Bonten executives get hyped and fuck you to the rhythm of their favourite adolescence's pop song.
Characthers: Ran Haitani, Rindou Haitani, Hajime Kokonoi, Haruchiyo Sanzu, Kakucho Hitto
Warnings: Smut, Public Sex, Oral Male Receiving, Use of Alcohol, Praise Kink, Choking, Minors DNI, 18+.
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Lady Gaga - Paparazzi
Have you seen the video? Corpses everywhere, revenge, bossgirl that kills her fiancè. This man craves to possess a girl like this, that's why when he recognizes the intro music, sit on the privè with you on his lap, he smirks and says "Mmm so fuckin hot" while you grind on his lap feeling his growing cock. "Yeah princess just like that, sit on this cock and fuck me to the music". Opening his suit's zip, you take his long cock out of the pants' prison, Ran takes your hips and putting your thong to the side, he thrusts his lenght grunting in pleasure. "Fuck yeah, like that" he says tilting his head above and groaning at your senseless bounces, "Might cum in seconds if you keep on fucking me like that" he says pushing you into his hips three times and shooting ropes of cum in your pussy.
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Katy Perry - I Kissed A Girl
Beg my pardon younger Haitani fans', I bet that Rindou in his youth thought about harem and girls kissing in front of him, he was virgin and he took him time to open up about sex and he fucked only because Ran let him know some chicks. But here you are, stripping for him in the privè, singing these words this was never the way I planned... Not my intention... I got so brave, drink in hand...Lost my discretion...I hope my boyfriend don't mind it. This song scream innocence and punishment and Rindou loves this, he loves how you sing grinding on his lap while you look at him with doe eyes like the girl in the song who begs to have some fun. Rindou isn't bold just like others executives that's why while drinking his Talisker he looks at you opening the zip of his customed pants and taking his cock in your mouth until you feel it grow inside you. Rindou will not profess a word, just sit calmly, caressing your hair still drinking his whiskey all while you gag at his cock reaching your troath. Only a grunt and tightening balls will advert you about his load in your tongue, "Mmm yeah drink it doll".
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Lady Gaga - Poker Face
Another Gaga fan! This song screams Koko from every pore, it's written for him. Gambling? Money? Sex? Hot Girl? Everthing a man like him desire is in this song and when it starts, Koko is in the privè just like the previous two, snapping the Moet & Chandon, gold liquid pouring in the flutes and on your boobs. Koko breaks open your dress and taking your boobs, he licks them and keep on pouring the champagne on your body. Putting you on four in the couch he takes just his cock out and starts to fuck you mercilessly following the rhythm of the music, slapping your ass and feeling your walls clamping down, he nears you and touching your clit he praises you "Cmon babygirl, cum on daddy's cock", and like that you snap your coil in your stomach and moaning his name he takes his cock out and cover your ass with his cum "Good girl" he says while kissing you.
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Kesha - Tik Tok
Drunk girl in her hangover, mess in town, Jack Daniels and brawls, I bet that Sanzu teenager rocked and pumped his cock to the thought of a girl like that. That's why you're on the dancefloor with him, drunk and hazy when this song starts and Sanzu push you to a column lifting your dress he takes his cock out and starts to fuck you in front of everyone. Banging and giving you merciless thrusts he takes your neck and chokes you all while your screams almost cover the music. Sanzu is out of his mind but he recognizes the people watching both of you, hoping to be in your place, and just like that, when you say "Gonna cum Haru" he kisses you filling you to the brim only to show you wasted and with cum leaking from your cunt, "She's mine" he declares with a smirk.
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Avril Lavigne - Hot
Precious Kaku pour his heart into romantic rebellious singers like Avril. He's not into commercial music but he grew accostumed to the deep lyrics Avril talkes about, and he loves this song. That's why when it starts he takes and slow dance with you while making out, he's passioned and driven by the words of the song that he doesn't notice that your on your legs and with doe eyes you open the zip and taking his cock out you start to lick his tip and suck passionately. Kakucho stay there zoned out and standing in trance, taken away by the pleasure and taking your head, he gently push you, through his lenght. Still dazed he cums moaning, "Thanks my love, let's go home and continue where we finished".
@httptamaki @thesimphouse @ravenina14 @eriskaitto @nanaminswaifu @ebiharachan @strawberrysanzu
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