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just-some-random-blogger · 5 months ago

Note

AN: bc I can't get the damn tiktok audio out of my head

CUZ I SAW THE TITLE OF THIS AND IMMEDIATELY STARTED SINGING THE EDITS IVEEE SEEEENNNNN BESTIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WE NEED TO BE TIKTOK MOOTS

“Can't get comfy,” he mumbled, lifting the hem of your shirt to bury his nose into your skin, the tip of it like an ice cube.

👁️👄👁️❓❓❓❓❓❓ WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOR

“Sirius! Merlin, you're a handful,” you rolled your eyes and looked towards Remus for assistance. He was stretched on the other end of the bed, watching the two of you over his own book. Sirius’ feet were in his lap, tucked between his thighs for warmth.

?????? HES A BRAT???? HES A BRAT?????? 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵 BRAT 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵 IM FREAKING OUT

“But I love heeeerrrr,” Sirius whined, clutching you tighter. “Smells s’good,” he hummed.

HES SO ME IM LOSING MY MIND

Remus shook his head, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, dove. I tried.”

ME TRYNA FIND WHEREEEE WHICH PART YOU TRIED????? HEEELLLO you were like. Hajima 🤚 then left it alone???? REMUS IM GOING TO BITE YOU

Studying your hands as you wrote, groping beneath your robes to squeeze your flesh, nuzzling into your necks, whining pitifully in your ears.

Mans down BAD bad. GET THE FUCK UP

[...] before Slughorn kicked him out for being a nuisance.

😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰 HE FUCKING WHAT SIRIUS YOUR HORNY GOT YOU KICKED OUT HELLO????? ARE YOU JOKING ME

You'd even given Remus a full kiss when you'd returned to the common room, tugging at his lower lip with your teeth the way you knew Sirius liked, but only gave Sirius a chaste peck, leaving him dumbstruck at the bottom of the stairs.

See now that's a hate crime. That's just nasty behavior. I would NAWT be surprised if Sirius committed arson

“Because you cunts have been torturing me all day,” he huffed, but it was toothless, softened by the breathless edge of his voice.

BESTIE ILL SAY IT AGAIN I DONT GO HERE BUT WHAT THE FUCK IM FREAKING OUT IS THIS BIBLICALLY ACCURATE SIRIUS BECAUSE I NEED HIM BIBLICALLY HES PATHETIC PATHETIC SWITCH WHO HES A NASTY LIL SOBBY SUB

“You’re right, maybe you wouldn't have been such a needy brat all day.” Remus tickled the bottom of Sirius foot and he yelped, flipping over onto his back to try and bat Remus away, but you held down his shoulders, keeping his upper body in your lap.

I WANT TO BE SIRIUS ATP MANHANDLED AND TORTURED BY REMUS

Sirius gaped at you and Remus snickered. “That is the meanest thing you've ever said to me,” Sirius said, clutching his heart. “Like you don't even know me.”

Me and Sirius^ 🤝🤝🤝🤝🤝🤝 trust

“This what you wanted, pet?” Remus said, spitting on Sirius' cock and stroking it with his fist. “To be smothered by us?”

In the words of the great Sirius Black himself WAHHH WAHHH IZ LIKE YOU DONT EVEN KNOW MEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY

“Hi, dolly,” Sirius hummed, drawing you up by the chin for featherlight kiss. “Ready to get fucked out of you mind?”

“Shh, there's our sweet girl. Rem’s gonna get his now, okay? Can you do that for him? Take it like a good little slut?” Sirius asked, petting your hair and smoothing a hand over one of your trembling legs.

OK OH WOW THERES THE SWITCH AHAHHAH IN FINE

Remus brushed his lips along your spine, still teasing your clit with his cock. “You always are, precious,” he murmured, straightening. “Just try not to wake the entire castle.”

I WANT HIM I NEED HIM WHAT IF I JUMP THROUGH THE SCREEN AND CLAW INTO THE FABRIC OF YOUR UNIVERSE

“You wanna come around our boy? Let him stuff that greedy little pussy full?” Sirius reached beneath you, his middle finger finding your clit like it was magnetized to it. “Absolutely dripping wet for us. Fuck me,” he praised, removing his hand to steal a taste before returning to massage quick, tight circles around the puffy bud.

HES SO NASTY FUCK I WANT HIM YOU OUT HERE MAKING MY HANDS SWEAT LIKE SHAKING MY HEAD LIKE IM INSANE KEKJDNSNNSJNSSJJSNNSN

“Didn't mean to be so rough with you,” he murmured, skimming your jaw with his thumb. “M’sorry.”

You can stop on my throat and I'd thank you

You shook your head, silencing him with another kiss. “I love you. That was amazing. You're amazing. If I wasn't 90% gelatin I'd tell you to do it again “

Me. Also... You can overstim me if u like 😋🤪✌️😗

The boys chuckled, Sirius climbing up to lay beside you both. You settled into your usual sandwich, Remus wrapped around your back while you nuzzled into Sirius' front, his arms draped over the both of you, and your legs all tangled together.

DESPERATELY need to see your take on poly wolfstar smut. sorry if thats too broad but youre an amazing writer and i just need to see you bring it to life.

had me at poly wolfstar 🫡

LOCKJAW | poly!wolfstar

feat. poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

CW: MDNI 18+, no plot just smut. oral, piv, dirty talk, cursing, softdom!Remus, switch!Sirius

AN: bc I can't get the damn tiktok audio out of my head

masterlist

Sirius was draped face down across your lap, nuzzling into the crease of your hip while his hands kneaded your thighs.

“Sirius, quit squirming,” you huffed, lifting your book to glare down at him.

“Can't get comfy,” he mumbled, lifting the hem of your shirt to bury his nose into your skin, the tip of it like an ice cube.

Remus tsked under his breath, pinching Sirius’ calf and earning an annoyed grunt. “Leave her alone, Pads. She has an exam tomorrow.”

“But I love heeeerrrr,” Sirius whined, clutching you tighter. “Smells s’good,” he hummed.

Remus shook his head, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, dove. I tried.”

Sirius had been a needy, pouting wretch all day. You woke up with his morning wood digging into your stomach, his hips twitching in his sleep as soft, mumbled moans dripped like honey from his lips. Any other morning, you would have taken full advantage of your drowsy, wanton boyfriend, but when you checked Rem’s watch on the side table, you realized the three of you were about to late to Charms…again.

And later in class, Sirius seemed incapable of focusing, every spare scrap of attention he had devoted to you or Remus, or both of you. Studying your hands as you wrote, groping beneath your robes to squeeze your flesh, nuzzling into your necks, whining pitifully in your ears. He even pulled you into his lap during Potions, his boner pressed against your uncovered heat for a dizzying, thrilling moment, before Slughorn kicked him out for being a nuisance.

At dinner, Sirius was practically eating out of your hands, desperate for even a little contact, an ounce of physical touch. By then, you and Remus had put together what was ailing your poor boy and started to play along, keying him up even further only to deny him the smallest satisfaction.

You fed Sirius grapes, bits of bread and cheese, but wouldn't let his lips touch your fingers. Remus rested a hand on Sirius’ lower thigh, tracing the bones of his knee through the hole in his jeans, but didn't dare twitch a finger higher, no matter how much Sirius whined and squirmed. You'd even given Remus a full kiss when you'd returned to the common room, tugging at his lower lip with your teeth the way you knew Sirius liked, but only gave Sirius a chaste peck, leaving him dumbstruck at the bottom of the stairs.

If you didn't relieve him soon, you feared he might combust.

You glanced up at Remus again, and he caught your eye. “Ready?” You mouthed, and Remus nodded with a sly smirk.

With deft fingers, Remus started massaging Sirius' feet and calves, increasing the pressure until Sirius was moaning against your skin, going languid in your lap with a pleased hum.

“That feel good, baby?” You cooed, running your fingers through Sirius hair. “Rem is so good with his hands, isn't he?”

Sirius nodded, his hips twitching into the mattress as Remus worked higher, pushing his thumbs up the back of Sirius' thighs in a straight line

“So tense, pet,” Remus hummed.

“Because you cunts have been torturing me all day,” he huffed, but it was toothless, softened by the breathless edge of his voice.

“Torturing you? I would never do such a thing,” you pouted, feigning indignation.

Sirius nipped at your hip before laving his tongue over the sting. “I know you felt me this morning,” he chastised, pulling down the waistband of your skirt to kiss along your hips.

“Yeah, I felt we were all going to get detention for being late to Charms,” you said, trying to ignore the blooming heat between your legs from his touch.

“Would've been worth it,” he grumbled.

“You can't let him get away with—oh fuck,” Sirius' complaint was interrupted by Remus gliding his fingers between Sirius’ thighs, caressing over the thick ridge in his pajamas bottoms.

“You want me to stop him?” You asked, batting your lashes, and Sirius shook his head side to side vigorously, his hair falling across his face.

“Don't you dare stop,” he whined, canting his hips into Remus' palm.

“Poor thing,” Remus cooed, trailing his finger through the puddle of precum bleeding through the fabric of Sirius' pants. “Been suffering all day at the hands of our beautiful girl.”

You scoffed, unable to stop the grin rising on your lips. “Me? You were the one that wore that slutty little sweater vest.”

“It was temperate today! You were the one that conveniently forgot underwear this morning,” Remus shot back, winking at you.

“You what?” Sirius squawked, jolting upright to glare at you. “And you didn't tell me?!”

You shrugged, toying with the hem of your skirt. “Didn't think it was relevant.”

Sirius gaped at you and Remus snickered. “That is the meanest thing you've ever said to me,” Sirius said, clutching his heart. “Like you don't even know me.”

Remus shifted to lay between Sirius' legs, licking a stripe up his cock over his pants, distracting him from his tirade. Sirius collapsed back onto the bed with a moan, and you slipped off the edge of it before he trapped you beneath him again.

“Oh, we know you well enough, Pads,” Remus chuckled, mouthing at the head of his cock. “Don't we, dove?”

You nodded, stroking Sirius’ hair out of his face while Remus toyed with him. His eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed, fisting the quilt beneath him.

“Rem, don't tease me,” he whined, the muscles along his abdomen tight with the strain of keeping still.

“But you like it,” Remus said matter-of-factly. “That's why you kept up with whiny puppy-dog thing instead of just asking.”

Sirius huffed, looking at you for help, his green eyes pleading.

“We love you, Sirius,” you said, bending down to kiss his forehead. “And if you need something, just ask, yeah?”

“We're here to make you happy,” Remus added, dragging down his waistband of Sirius' pants to kiss along his hip bones.

“Just need you two,” Sirius panted, reaching for you while Remus licked up the smear of precum along his pelvis. “Please, baby.”

You unzipped your skirt and let it fall to the floor, showing Sirius the drooling, sticky mess between your legs that his desperation inspired, and he groaned, his pupils dilating instantly.

Remus chuckled. “Look how hard that made him, darling. Making a mess of himself,” he teased, though his eyes were locked between your legs too while his tongue traced over the root of Sirius. Another flush of arousal made you pussy throb, and Sirius practically whimpered.

“If you don't bring that sweet pussy over here now,” Sirius warned, grabbing you by the hip to tug you closer.

As soon as you kneeled back onto the bed, he yanked you over his face, throwing one leg on either side of his head so you were facing Remus, who had paused his own work to watch you through heavy lashes.

Sirius immediately laved his tongue through your soaked slit, a deep rumble of satisfaction reverberating from his chest when you cried out, bucking against his tongue.

“This what you wanted, pet?” Remus said, spitting on Sirius' cock and stroking it with his fist. “To be smothered by us?”

You felt Sirius nod, his tongue fucking into your sloppy channel with ruthless, hungry precision, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open. Syrupy thick pleasure pulsed through you, making your toes curl and your head fall back while he drank from you, fiendish as a vampire.

“Take your blouse off, pretty girl. Let me see you,” Remus instructed, using his thumb to massage under the head of Sirius' cock, making him whine and twitch beneath you.

You obliged, fingers clumsy as your arousal deepened. You tossed your blouse off the bed, followed quickly by your bra, and Sirius’ hands immediately shot up to grope and paw at your chest.

Delicious, spiralling heat surged through you when he tweaked your nipples, his tongue moving to circle your clit, his nose pressed against your entrance. Sirius was a master with his mouth, and his eagerness only made him more merciless in the hunt for your release.

You leaned forward, resting on your forearms on either side of Sirius' hips, and licked a stripe up his cock, tasting the heady combination of Sirius and Remus' drool.

Sirius cried out, his hips bucking up at the unexpected contact, and you giggled, repeating the motion.

“I c-can't take both of you—” his protest fractured when Remus licked along his base, your mouth suckling the head, and his cock gave a hard lurch as more blood rushed south. “Fucking saints, so good.” He dove back into your pussy, sucking your clit between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue, payback for your dirty tricks.

You cried out, spine arching as he devoured you and you felt your peak start to build, a steady stacking of pleasure that grew more precarious, more overwhelming, by the second.

“You're perfect,” Remus hummed in appreciation, lifting from Sirius’ cock to give you a messy kiss, his tongue tracing your lips before licking into your mouth, making you loose your breath.

After a few moments, and a whine in protest from Sirius, Remus broke the kiss and turned his attention back to your needy boyfriend, finally taking all of him into his mouth with a smooth, practiced swallow.

“Merlin, Moony, fuck,” Sirius grunted. “So tight.”

You combed your fingers through Remus' hair as he sucked Sirius, earning a sweet hum from your sandy haired love.

“You're perfect too, Remy,” you cooed, trying to distract yourself from your mounting orgasm. “My beautiful boy.” You kissed along his jaw, feeling the tension and tremble as he worked Sirius deeper into his throat. You saw his hips twitch, his hands fisting the sheets. “Finish him off and then you can fuck me just how you like. How's that sound?” You purred in his ear and he groaned, creating a domino effect of moans as the vibrations worked through each of you.

You felt two fingers prod at your entrance and you keened, feeling Sirius sink to the knuckle and scissor your open with his long fingers.

“Shit, Siri,” you whined, rocking back into his hand while his tongue lashed your swelling bud.

“Want you to come all over my face, darling. Taste so good, need—fuck—need it so bad,” he mumbled against your sex, lapping at the creamy mess his fingers coaxed from you.

You rested your head on Sirius’ hip, watching Remus gag on his length through a rosy haze, the combined stimulus making your mind you fuzzy, your heart pound. It was too much, an onslaught of erotic sensation, and your body was pulling apart at the seams, nerves fracturing under the strain—

You came with a scream, trying to muffle the sound into Sirius’ skin as you shattered, a gush of moisture surging from you at the intensity. You were rendered matterless, a floating speck of dust, drifting on the current of the stars.

Sirius grunted beneath you, his muscles tensing in a wave, and he bucked hard into Remus' throat, the root of his cock pulsing as he came a heartbeat after you.

Remus took it all in stride, milking Sirius with his mouth while petting your hair as you came down, tethering you both to the earth.

When you were finished, you slumped sideways onto the bed, panting and slightly shaky from the intensity of it all. Sirius rested his cheek on your thigh, breathing labored and eyes closed, his face shining with your slick.

Remus pulled off of him with a pop. “Worth the wait, Pads?” Remus asked, kissing along Sirius’ thighs.

Sirius shook his head. “We could have done that at least three times since this morning, but noooo—”

You swatted his stomach and he chuckled, nipping at the tender skin of your inner thigh. You glanced up at Remus, who was watching the two of you with so much affection it made your heart twist.

“Come here, baby,” you murmured, and Remus leaned over, capturing your lips in an airy, open-mouthed kiss that stoked the dwindling fire in your belly. You could taste Sirius on his tongue and it made your head swim, your thighs clench.

“Think our girl is ready for more, Moony,” Sirius said, untangling himself from the two of you and stepping off the bed to retrieve something.

“Is she?” Remus asked, flipping himself around and bundling you into his arms, raining kisses over your face, neck, chest and making you giggle. “What say you, my love?”

“Please, Rem?” You whined, grabbing at his cock nestled between your bodies, already rock solid and hot to the touch.

“Oh, suddenly she's polite,” Sirius scoffed, swatting your ass as he climbed back into bed.

Remus chuckled, kissing you one more time before passing you into Sirius’ arms. You snuggled into Sirius’ chest, kissing along his tattoos, loving your two boyfriends so much you could hardly breathe around the fullness in your chest.

“Hi, dolly,” Sirius hummed, drawing you up by the chin for featherlight kiss. “Ready to get fucked out of you mind?”

At the same moment, Remus lifted your hips until you rested on your knees. Face down on Sirius chest, ass up. Sirius adjusted his legs so your feet were pinned beneath them, and Remus grabbed your wrists to fasten them with Sirius’ tie behind your back, seamless in the only the way the two of them could be. Like they shared the same, filthy mind.

It made your cunt clench around nothing, your knees weak beneath you, desire pumping thick and sludgy through your blood.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, squirming in their hold until you felt the head of Remus' cock tap against your still-sensitive clit.

You nodded, burrowing into Sirius' neck to ground you. “I'll be good,” you answered, and both boys cooed in approval.

Remus brushed his lips along your spine, still teasing your clit with his cock. “You always are, precious,” he murmured, straightening. “Just try not to wake the entire castle.”

In one, brutal thrust, Remus slammed into you, his hips slapping against your ass with a definitive smack. You cried out, the sound barely muffled by Sirius’ skin, as pleasure streaked beneath your skin, frying the last functioning neurons in your brain. The maelstrom of feeling only increased as he fucked into you, ruthless and rutting.

“Fuck, Moony. Look at our girl, takin’ it so well. Aren't you, darling?” Sirius caressed your cheek, dropping a kiss into your hair.

“Yes—mmph—fuck, so big,” you mewled, fingers tensing around the tie securing your wrists, your whole body desperate to move and release some of the compounding energy that was drowning you alive.

“So fucking tight, Pads. Squeezin’ the hell out of me,” Remus grunted, his grip almost painfully tight on your hips. But you barely registered it, completely awash in the seizing, spiraling ecstasy taking over your body, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please, please, please,” you chanted, fucking back into Remus as you chased your high, feeling him hit every angle, every inch of your stretched out cunt.

“Go on, dove. Come for us,” Remus gruffed, reaching forward to fist your hair and pull your head up, your cries of ecstasy ripping through the air.

Sirius grinned, kissing the tears as they rolled down your cheeks. “So fucking beautiful,” he said, his free hand wrapping around your throat. “Let go, love.”

And you did, your orgasm slamming into you like a branch of the Whomping Willow, knocking your soul out of your body and into the stars. You were nothing, everything, a mindless tangle of flesh and blood and feeling, the only tether you had was your boys hands on your body, Remus’ cock swelling and the scalding heat as he painted your insides.

You collapsed onto Sirius, breathless, boneless, so sensitive that even the brush of his hair was agony, the thump of his heart like a roaring train.

“Sh, sh, sweetheart, I’ve got you. You did so well, all done now, dolly. You were such a good girl for us,” Sirius shushed, his voice growing clearer as the fog lifted. You were crying, trembling in his arms as the pleasure worked itself out of your system. “She's alright, Rem,” you heard him say, and that was enough to bring you fully back to the present.

You turned to look at Remus, who was watching you with a worried crinkle in his brow, slumped against the pillows at the other end of the bed, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his scarred chest.

You wiggled out of Sirius' hold and threw yourself onto Remus, kissing him with a much strength as you could muster until you felt him smile.

“Didn't mean to be so rough with you,” he murmured, skimming your jaw with his thumb. “M’sorry.”

You shook your head, silencing him with another kiss. “I love you. That was amazing. You're amazing. If I wasn't 90% gelatin I'd tell you to do it again “

“I need to shower,” you grumbled, feeling Remus' release trickle onto your thigh.

“No, you need a cuddle,” Sirius retorted, already sounding half asleep.

“I could get us into the Prefect bathroom,” Remus suggested, and Sirius snapped awake.

“Why didn't you say that sooner!” He cried, shoving you both towards the edge of the bed. “Let's go, you lazy asses!”

You and Remus groaned, but let Sirius drag you up and wrap you into your robes.

Looks like you'd be sleeping in tomorrow, too.

Thank you so much for reading!

#Im fine its fine #wolfstar huh #✍️w✍️o✍️l✍️f✍️s✍️t✍️a✍️r✍️#k #marauders #wolfstar #poly!wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar smut #remus lupin smut #sirius black smut

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daydreamerdrew · 2 months ago

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rewatched the first two episodes of Invincible season 1. I watched the season as it was coming out and enjoyed it, but I guess I didn’t hear when season 2 came out and then it became too much of a time commitment to get back into the show, but I’m finally starting that process now.

I find Mark’s situation really compelling- that he’s a normal teenage boy with normal teenage foibles, but he’s also incredibly powerful, which means he gets into these really extreme situations that he’s ill-equipped for.

I will say that superheroes having a bad day and then going out on patrol to find people to beat up, either because it’s fun or to vent their frustration, is a big pet peeve of mine that I just have to deal with because it’s so common. I like what this show is doing with that concept so far- Mark going looking for a fight in ep 1 because “I need something to punch” and winning the fight even though he has no idea what he’s doing because he’s just so powerful, but also unnecessarily endangering people and then being criticized afterwards for causing more property damage than was necessary; and Mark suddenly and harshly finding superhero fighting extremely not fun in ep 2. this is interesting particularly with the characterization that Mark’s original motivations to be a superhero are primarily to be like his dad, to be strongest, and to have the cool, adventurous, fun life of a superhero, as opposed really than wanting to help people. and also knowing already that Mark is going to become disillusioned with being a superhero later this season and become briefly committed to not using his powers to help people.

I understand that training for using superpowers you haven’t gotten yet is largely not possible. but it’s interesting to me that it’s been Mark’s dream to be a superhero for so long, but that’s been limited to fantasizing being a superhero “kids will draw on the margins of their notebooks while they daydream about being a school as you” and Mark is so ill-equipped in the beginning to be a hero, rather than having prepared in other ways he could have, like studying superhero battle tactics. on one hand Mark would have had an advantage in that because he knew what superpowers he was going to get; on the other, perhaps in-universe superhero media is largely limited to what would be aspirational or not-concerning to the general public so he wouldn’t have been able to get a realistic picture. and also Mark isn’t particularly more knowledgeable because he’s grown up right outside the superhero industry since his dad is the uniquely powerful Omni-Man. but still, Mark truly has no idea what he’s doing in the beginning.

I would like to see a superhero media that leans into that conflict with superheroes motivations for fighting, as well as non-fighting superhero training, deeply in a different way. like, to put it simplistically, the purpose of a soldier is to kill people, which means that attempting to use soldiers as law enforcement without taking the time to train them for that role first is a terrible idea, because they’re not experienced in and trained for anything other than killing people. and, similarly, cop that enjoys fighting and is itching to be in a fight is a terrible cop, because then they’re motivated to escalate and not deescalate situations.

I’m at the beginning of wrapping my head around a superhero story premise that leans into that, delegating certain superheroes based on their powers and training and motivations as being equipped to kill a bunch of people (like, say, stop an alien invasion) or to ideally non-fatally defeat someone while limiting bystander casualties (like fight a villain in the middle of a populated city). or as trained as able to do both, as well as having some superheroes whose work exists outside of this binary.

I’m also charmed by the concept of a ‘superhero ethics class,’ but I don’t currently know enough about ethics to take that very far. I’m thinking of a philosophy class I took in community college, where we were briefly talking about self-driving cars and the teacher posed some hypotheticals: if a car is malfunctioning and cannot stop and so has to hit someone, should it turn left to hit an elderly person or turn right to hit a young person, or should the car not designed to make decisions like that at all. or if the car could stop, but the sudden stop would kill the passenger, should the company protect their paying customer and run over the pedestrian, or should it be designed to stop and save the pedestrian but kill the passenger. this also ties back to what I said above about it being a pet peeve of mine for superheroes to go look for battles because it’s fun, or not even battles but just go a bar with bad reputation and threaten or torture the random people there in case one of them happens to have useful information about the supervillain scheme or whatever, which is also pretty common. I would like to see superheroes directly interrogated on their motivations and actions as a part of the setting.

I’m not criticizing Invincible for not being this other story I’m describing, to be clear. I’m just using it as a jumping off point to talk about these other things watching it made me think of.

#my posts

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laraphleb · 5 months ago

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Open Your Career: Top Reasons to Enroll in a Phlebotomy Technician School Today

Unlock Your Career: Top Reasons ⁣to Enroll in a Phlebotomy Technician School Today

Unlock Your Career: Top Reasons⁢ to Enroll in a Phlebotomy Technician school Today

are ⁢you considering a⁣ career in the healthcare industry? One of the‌ fastest-growing fields is phlebotomy—the practice of drawing blood for⁢ tests, donations, ‌or transfusions. Enrolling in a phlebotomy technician school can be your first‌ step toward a rewarding career. This article explores the top reasons ⁤why you should consider phlebotomy training today.

The growing Demand for Phlebotomy⁢ Technicians

The healthcare sector is booming,and with it,the demand ‍for skilled professionals. According to the U.S.⁣ Bureau of Labor Statistics, the employment of ⁣phlebotomists is projected to⁣ grow by 22% from 2020 to 2030, much‌ faster‌ than the average for all occupations.This surge is fueled by an aging population and advancements in medical ⁢technology, ‍making now the perfect time to enroll in a phlebotomy technician‌ school.

Benefits⁤ of‍ Becoming a Phlebotomy Technician

Phlebotomy is more than ‍just‍ a job; it offers numerous ⁢benefits, including:

Quick Entry into the Workforce: Most phlebotomy programs can be completed in a few months, allowing you to ⁣start your career sooner.

Job Stability: With a growing demand for medical professionals, job⁣ stability is a notable⁣ advantage in this field.

Competitive Salary: The average annual salary for phlebotomists is around $36,000, with opportunities ‌to ‌earn more based on experience and location.

Possibility to Help Others: Phlebotomists play a crucial role in patient care by helping diagnose and treat ⁢illnesses.

Flexible work Schedules: Many positions offer shifts that fit around other commitments,ideal for those balancing work and ‍life.

Skills Gained in Phlebotomy Technician Training

Enrolling in a phlebotomy technician school will equip you with essential ⁢skills, ‌such as:

Understanding blood collection procedures and techniques

Knowledge of human anatomy and physiology relevant to blood collection

Mastering safety ⁣protocols and ⁤infection control measures

Developing interpersonal skills for effective patient interaction

Case Studies: Success Stories from Phlebotomy Graduates

Many students ⁢have transformed their lives through phlebotomy training.‌ Here are two inspiring success stories:

Name

Before Training

After‍ Training

Alice

Unemployed with limited⁢ options

Employed as‍ a phlebotomist at⁣ a local hospital, earning $40,000 ⁣per⁣ year.

Mike

working odd jobs

Now a certified phlebotomy‍ technician and working full-time in a laboratory.

Practical Tips for Selecting a Phlebotomy School

Choosing the⁣ right phlebotomy school is crucial for your success. Here are some tips to ⁤guide you:

Accreditation: Ensure the school is accredited by a relevant body, which often affects job opportunities after graduation.

Program⁣ Duration: ‍ Look for a program that fits your timeline�� and goals.

Hands-On⁤ Training: Opt for schools that offer practical training with real patients under supervised conditions.

Job Placement assistance: Some schools provide job assistance and networking opportunities to ‌help you land your first job.

Real-World Experience: A Day in the Life of‌ a Phlebotomist

Curious‌ about what it’s like‍ to work as a phlebotomy technician? Here’s a typical day:

Morning Routine: ⁢ Arrive at the lab to ⁣prepare for the day’s patients.

Patient Interaction: Greet ‌patients, explain the procedure, and answer any questions to ⁢ease their nerves.

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reidyoulikeabook · 4 years ago

Text

Invisible String

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: None, this is just fluff.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Spencer Reid don’t know it, but you’ve almost met quite a few times. What happens when you do?

A/N: This is potentially a bit on the wrong side of the cheesy line, but I was listening to invisible string by Taylor Swift and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Pls bare in mind I’m from the UK and my only understanding of the US college system is from Google searches, so pls be forgiving of any misunderstandings about that.

November 6th, 2007

Dr. Spencer Reid. As you sat, thumbing through the article he’d written about the formation of ionic compounds in a chemical whose name you could not for the life of you spell or pronounce, you couldn’t help but resent the man.

Sure, the paper was very well-written and as cohesive as possible given the complex subject matter. But Dr. Spencer Reid, whoever he was, was the current source of your resentment at selecting chemistry to make up your science credit. Highlighting the name of a substance you’d have to look up later, you sighed. It was getting late but you had to hand in a critical summary of the paper on Friday.

It didn’t help that Dr. Reid was: a) a triple doctorate holder by the age of 22, or b) that your chemistry lecturer was none other than his old chemistry lecturer from Caltech and practically glowed with pride whenever he got to bring him up.

You chew on the end of your pen, having now distracted yourself from the notes. Not that you were particularly focused anyway.

In another life, maybe you’d have been a budding chemist who could describe an ionic lattice off rote. In this one, however, you’d just have to settle for slogging through the list of chemical processes and hoping you understood it well enough to please Dr. Reid’s biggest fan.

***

April 16th, 2008

Spencer hated flaking on commitments. It caused him a great deal of anxiety, the feeling of disappointing someone. He didn’t have much choice in this circumstance though.

Diana had taken ill over the last weekend. Nothing serious, some stomach bug or other. She’d become severely dehydated though, and had been hospitalised as a precautionary measure. Truth be told, he might not have gone if she hadn’t caught him on the phone. He was already feeling guilty for not having visited since Christmas. He wrote her letters everyday, yet still felt like he was neglecting his duties as a son. Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a deep sigh. Then takes out his laptop, to send another email.

Dear. Dr Abraham

I sincerely apologise again for my last minute cancellation. Excluding any unforeseen circumstances, myself and SSA Hotchner will be available to present the lecture on May 12th.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

May 12th, 2008

Considering this was your third year on campus, you sure were bad at finding your way around. In your defence, they were doing maintenance in one of the main buildings, meaning that lectures got shuffled around and relocated. You probably had a higher change of attending the right lecture by accident than on purpose.

It doesn’t help that you’re running a little late this morning. You rush into Room 203. A lot of the seats are taken, you have to meander your way past quite a few people until you end up sat almost directly in the middle. Only moments before the lecture starts.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Reid. We’re members of the BAU which is based at FBI quarters in Quantico. Today, we’ll be talking to you about profiling.”

This is not your forensic linguistics lecture.

Panic hits you, hot in your gut. Scanning the room anxiously, you suddenly become conscious that you’re drawing attention to yourself when you feel the eyes of the man who is not SSA Hotchner on you. Fuck.

There’s no way for you to escape now, not without disturbing half the lecture hall.

So you sit back in your seat, resigning yourself to sit awkwardly in the lecture you’re not supposed to be in and hoping nobody notices.

But then, it’s really interesting, actually. The work that Dr. Reid does sounds similar to work you’ve done in forensic linguistics, analysing patterns of speech and minor phrase formations that can give things away about the perpetrator. By the end of the seminar, you’re sat leaning forward. Enraptured by almost every word coming out of their mouths.

It seems to be the general mood: everyone is enamoured. People are clammering to speak to them at the end. After a brief inner battle, myou decide that you should talk to them too.

What’s the harm?

You’ve decided that you’ll speak to Dr. Reid, since he seems to share more of a field focus. However, as you’re heading down, you spot him. Dr Adams, your chemistry lecturer from last year. Oh shit, it’s that Dr. Reid.

Speaking to SSA Hotchner will just have to do instead.

----

“I’ve been majoring in forensic linguistics and criminal psychology,” You tell him, “Do you think ... I mean, I know it’s a pretty exclusive team to get on to. But is that the kind of thing that could maybe get me there one day?”

Hotchner nods, “Forensic linguistics is something that comes in very useful in the investigative aspects of cases. The FBI is always looking for new angles and perspectives, those are both good subjects to study if you were thinking of signing up to the academy.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” You say, suddenly a little bashful as you notice the queue of people lingering behind you, “That was a really interesting lecture. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

“You should talk to Dr. Reid if you have a particular interest in the linguistic aspect of profiling. He’s more specialised in that area than I am. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss any research you’re conducting at the moment and suggest materials that might be helpful in furthering your understanding of the area.”

“Thank you,” You smile, and he nods at you again.

Stepping away from Agent Hotchner, you look to your right. Dr. Reid is still engaged deeply in conversation with Dr. Adams. You glance at your watch. There was time before your next class, you supposed, so you could wait. It couldn’t hurt to find out more, could it? It wasn‘t like you were getting your hopes up or anything.

It’s then that you feel a pair of arms around your waist, a familiar scent of cologne.

“Hey!” You whip around to see your boyfriend, grinning widely.

“Hey,” You reply, “How’d you find me?”

“I was walking past when I saw you talking to that FBI agent. Seriously, FBI?” He asks, with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow, “You want to grab a coffee before Psych?”

You want to say no. But he’s got his hand on the small of your back, leading�� you out of the room before you even get a chance to reply. You glance back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Dr. Reid for all of two seconds before you’re swept away.

“Seriously though babe, FBI?”

Unsurpisingly, you don’t mention your potential change in career path to him.

***

March 8th, 2009

“Come in,” Hotch calls. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to see Spencer entering the room, clutching a report in his hand.

“That last case we were on. I was doing some more research, just for future reference about linguistic patterns. Have you read this?” He asks, sliding a copy of your paper across the desk.

Hotch gives it a cursary look over, nodding, “Yes. It’s interesting. She’s signed up as an NAT. I believe I actually spoke to her at one of our lectures last year.”

"Her work is really impressive for somebody whose only studied this at a master level.”

Hotch almost smiles, “Yes. That’s exactly why I’ve recommended to the bureau that she signs up for profiling classes. Her work shows a lot of promise. They’re sending over a copy of her completed thesis, if you’d like to read it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you,” Spencer says, struggling to conceal the smile playing on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll email it to you as soon as I receive it.”

Spencer nods, smiling properly to himself as he leaves the room. It wasn’t unusual, exactly, for him to share new research that was relevant to cases. It was important that they all kept themselves fresh and acquainted with new theories about the field. Hotch, however, didn’t miss the excited way Spencer had presented it to him. Talking about how impressive you were, as if to subtly hint. He thinks it’s quite typical, actually, that Spencer could take such an interest in someone he only knew via an essay.

Although Spencer’s response does get Hotch to send a follow-up email, inquiring about whether you’d agreed to the classes. If Spencer was this impressed with your work, it must be good.

***

June 1st, 2009

The Metro that morning is packed. It doesn’t help that you’ve not been living here long, and don’t exactly know the route from your flat to the station off by heart yet.

You'd also had to make a detour to the post office. Your, firmly ex, boyfriend had mailed over the last of your things. Really, it was good riddance. His hounding you about your choice in job had only worsened. The relationship had been hanging on by a thread long before you’d moved away last month. You were more than a little grateful that it was finally over, that you could draw a line under it all and focus on your career.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped you having a little cry to yourself on the way over.

Rushing, you make it onto the Metro just as the doors are about to close, falling against the railing on the left side. You grip onto it for dear life.

On the other side of the carriage, Spencer notices someone hurrying for the train. He had been buried deep in the paper he's reading, but the bustle had pulled his attention. Your back is to him, and there’s a scarf at your feet. He wants to say something, to try and get your attention, but he can’t from where he is.

“Miss, I think you’ve dropped something,” The woman you’re standing in front of says, gesturing to the scarf pooled at your feet.

You meet her eyes, sniffling slightly, “Thank you.”

Spencer watches as you pick it up, back still to him. Crisis averted, he turns his attention back to what he's reading: the published copy of your thesis Hotch had emailed him last week.

***

September 2nd, 2009

"This is SSA ____, the newest member of our team. She’s recently graduated from the academy and has an excellent knowledge of linguistics that the bureau feels will be a great advantage to this team. She’s had her induction and now will be joining the team on a probationary basis. She’ll be spending a little time with each of you in between cases to make sure she forms well-rounded knowledge of all aspects of what we do.”

It’s a little overwhelming, having everybody’s eyes on you.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily is the first over, offering her hand for you to shake.

“You too, it’s really nice to meet all of you,” You say, shaking hands in turn with her, Morgan, Rossi, J.J, and Garcia.

“Hi,” Spencer calls from behind you.

You turn around to face him. You remember what Hotch had mentioned to you about him being a bit of a germaphobe, so you keep your hand by your side.

“Hi,” You say, “Dr. Reid, right?”

“You can call me Spencer,” He says, a little bashful, “I read your thesis, the study about you did about the construction of passive clauses as an indicator of guilt in adolescent offenders. It was fascinating.”

You feel yourself getting a little warm under his gaze, “Thank you. I'm surprised you’re even aware it existed.”

Hotch interrupts then, “Reid, do you want to sit with ____ while she goes over the case file? It’d be useful if you could go over how you’d go about constructing a linguistic profile.”

That’s how you end up spending much of your first day: with Spencer, huddled up over case files as he explains his profile-building process to you. Spencer’s an incredible teacher, you think. He explains his thought process without ever being condescending, leaving little gaps for you to answer.

You’re incredible, Spencer thinks. You seem to grasp exactly what he’s saying, filling in the gaps based on the clues that are actually in front of you, not letting yourself be guided too much by bias.

***

October 29th, 2009

Spencer loves everyone at the BAU. They’re all the family he never had, and he has relatively good friendships with all of them. Just, they aren’t quite the same as they are with you.

He struggles to put his finger on it, exactly. It’s a unique relationship. He shares very familial bonds with a lot of them: he and Morgan are brotherly, Rossi is fatherly, Garcia’s somewhat like an overexcited little sister.

The friendship he has with you is special. You always listen to him, even as he rambles on about inane things that anybody else would tell him to shut up about. In fact, sometimes about the exact things that they do tell him to shut up about. Just last week, he was rambling on about Star Trek when Morgan told him, not altogether unkindly, to “give it a rest, kid.”

“What was that you were saying?” You’d asked, sidling up to him, “I’ve never watched Star Trek but I thought the quote was beam me up Scotty.”

He’d looked at you, considering you for a moment, “You don’t have to-”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know Spence. You think I’d ask for a 15 minute lecture on Star Trek if I wasn’t interested in it?”

A warm feeling flooded his chest. The look on your face was so genuine, and you’d perched on the edge of his desk as he gesticulated, getting deep into the lore and how the misconception had come about. He still didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, until he got to the end of his spiel. And then you asked him a question. You asked him a question to make sure you understood what he was talking about. You were listening the whole time, and you genuinely cared about the point he was making.

It's then that he realises, it was hard to pinpoint because it wasn’t friendship. He likes you. Shit.

***

November 2nd, 2009

You like everybody at the BAU. They’re all quite patient with you, really, happy to walk you through how they do things. Morgan’s taught you quite a bit about the tactical side of things already, and Rossi has been working with you on your interrogation techniques. Emily’s generally just a great mentor, always happy to listen and support however she can. She’s more experienced, but still relatively new to the team too, so you feel like there’s a certain understanding between you.

However, you’d definitely be lying if you said the person you hadn’t learnt the most from, or spent the most time with, was Spencer.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, either. You seemed to gravitate towards one another, forever sitting side-by-side on the plane. Sharing a line of thinking that usually led to devolved rambling, and scribbling, until you came up with something coherent.

It isn’t until November 2nd that you realise you have feelings for him.

You’re sitting at your desk, filling out a case report that Emily had promised to go over with you before she left for lunch.

“Hey,” Spencer’s familiar soothing voice comes, as he sidles up to you, “I got you something.”

Looking up, you notice the coffee cup in his right hand, “You are my caffeine lifesaver.”

He hands it to you, smiling a little nervously, “It’s actually not that.”

“Oh?”

His other hand is tucked behind his back, and he pulls it foward towards you, brandishing a red sweatshirt.

“I know you uh, left your red sweater behind at the hotel on the last case. And I know it was your favourite one, and I was shopping yesterday and I saw this and...” He trails off, embarassed, “It’s not the exact same, but it’s the same kind. I just thought you might like it.”

You swallow, hard, “Spencer that’s so sweet. C-Can I hug you?”

He nods. Standing up from your desk, you wrap your arms around his frame.

“That was so thoughtful.”

He squeezes you a little, really leaning into the hug, his face pressing against your shoulder. His tousled hair tickles your nose a little and you smile, clinging onto him, relishing in the feeling of safety and warmth.

It hits you then. When you realise you don’t want to let go. When you realise he makes you feel fuzzy. Loved. Cared for in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. Eventually, you have to let him go, and it’s in a daze that you return to your desk. You’re so concentrated on your overwhelming realisation, you don’t realise how reluctant he is to let you leave his embrace.

***

December 22nd, 2009

Driving Spencer home from the office was really just an excuse to get some time alone with him. You’d said something about the Metro being busy, one of the services being cancelled. He hadn’t factchecked you on that.

The BAU had tentative plans for boxing day, with the caveat being that no emergent cases arrived in the meantime. It was only really four days you wouldn’t see him, but that was longer than you’d ever gone without seeing him in all the time you’d known him. You worked together everyday, and it was unusual for you to go a full weekend without seeing each other. Recently, you’d got into the habit of going out for Sunday brunch together.

Pulling up outside his house, you hear him sigh.

“I know it’s only four days, but I’ll miss you.”

Smiling, you turn to him, “I’ll miss you too.”

Something in you changes then. He’s looking at you. You may be relatively new to profiling but you can see something behind his eyes, feel the charge of unsaid words electrifying the air.

“Can I hug you?” He asks.

“You can always hug me,” You reply, undoing your seatbelt and opening your arms for him.

He embraces you the way he always has: tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go, couldn’t imagine ever letting you go. His face nuzzles to the crook of your neck, and then you feel his thumb brush your chin. Tilting your head down.

You exchange a look. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, and back. You nod your head, just slightly.

He kisses you then. Tender. You melt into one another, lips moving quickly as you drink one another in. Kissing each other breathless, your fingers intertwine in his hair and his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Nothing has ever felt so right.

***

June 10th, 2011

Neither of you have ever really believed in fate. It’s hard to - especially in your line of work - to want to interpret the workings of the universe as deliberate. Maybe you’d think a little differently though, if you knew about all the near-misses. All the times you could have met. But fate knew better. She waited until you were ready.

And as you exchange vows, promising each other your forever, you both know you couldn’t possibly deny that this was meant to be.

------

Taglists: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician

(let me know if you would like to be added to/removed from this list!)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #imagine spencer reid #criminal minds x you #imagine criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagines #pls like this it took me so long

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fellulahh · 5 years ago

Text

Random relationship headcanons (all characters!) - F!MC

I’ve done HCs like these before but not for all of the characters - I thought I’d do an updated version with everybody☺️

Lucifer:

Lucifer effectively never refers to MC by her name ever again, he either calls her ‘my love’ or ‘my dear’

He sets Friday nights aside to take MC out for dinner no matter how much paperwork he has left at the end of the week

Lucifer always unconsciously makes MC a cup of coffee in the morning when he’s getting his

He’s not the sort to hold MC’s hand while at RAD, but when they walk together he does subtly place his hand on her lower back

Often their more intimate moments involve laying in front of the fireplace together, sipping glasses of wine as they discuss and joke over their day

Lucifer helps MC with her every goal and when she succeeds, he is always the first to congratulate her. After all, having MC as his partner is what he is most proud of

If he catches MC sassing one of the brothers, he’ll smirk and boast “That’s my girl.”

Sometimes if he’s feeling stressed, he’ll ask MC if she’ll keep him company by sitting in his lap while he works

Mammon:

He’s an absolute sucker for MC calling him ‘babe’ and tells her off if she refers to him as anything else

Mammon’s 100% the little spoon (but don’t you dare ever tell anybody else that)

Expect random booty slaps throughout the day whenever Mammon is near

He loves showing off MC - if they’re at RAD together, he’ll always have his arm around her; nonchalantly planting kisses on her head every now and again when they’re talking to someone

Mammon tells his brothers off if he thinks they’re spending too much time with his human

“What are you doin’ over there?! Come give me some sugar!” He pouts at least 20 times a day

Mammon never grows tired of seeing MC’s body. Every time she undresses for bed, he gawps at her - practically drooling - just like it’s the first time he’s ever seen her

He often randomly buys MC cards and will write little notes inside with his scrawny handwriting simply stating how much he loves and appreciates her (he’s very soft when it comes to MC)

Levi:

If MC is doing something that Levi deems as ‘adorable’, he will immediately pull out his D.D.D and photograph/film her so if he’s ever feeling down he can go through his album and just gaze at her in awe

When he’s talking to Henry 2.0, he refers to MC as the fish’s ‘mum’ and him as ‘dad’ (but don’t tell MC that he ever said that)

He loves to show off that MC is his girlfriend whenever he’s gaming. If he gets insulted over his headset, he’ll reply with ‘yeah? Well I have a girlfriend who’s super hot! Beat that!’

Movie marathons are a must

Levi loves taking MC to the beach and having her straddle him while he wades through the sea (a bit like Baloo and Mowgli)

When he’s gaming, Levi lets MC style his hair. Considering how long it is, the human is very intrigued by what it’d look like pushed back

He gets incredibly excited if MC gets dressed up for something and practically implodes: “that’s my girlfriend!!”

Satan:

Satan is 100% husband material. MC needs help studying? He’s there. MC needs help with cooking dinner? He’s there. MC is feeling stressed and wants a massage? He’s already offered before she can ask.

He’s quite a tease too and will wait until the worst time to show this side of him. MC and Satan could be at the palace having a really formal dinner when he will start whispering in MC’s ear, telling her all of things he’d love to do to her later that evening

MC’s name is now ‘darling’

Satan’s favourite part of the day is when he and MC are sat in bed each night, both reading a book

He loves to hold MC in his arms with her head on his chest whenever they fall asleep

He always makes the bed while MC’s in the bathroom so she doesn’t have to

When he’s on dinner duty, Satan purposefully cooks his and MC’s dinner first so that they can have it alone with a candle lit

Asmo:

Refers to MC as ‘sweetie’

He’s always surprising MC with little gifts - if he’s out shopping and sees something he thinks she’d like he immediately buys it

He helps relieve MC of any stress - if he senses she’s had a bad day he’ll pull out the nail varnish and give her a full on pamper while she moans about whatever is bothering her

His Devilgram is full of candid photos of MC

You can bet he’s super affectionate toward MC - there will never be a day that goes past where she doesnt wake up with a kiss from him

They’re the fiercest couple at RAD - they’re effectively the Devildom equivalent to Posh and Becks

They also go on really cute dates, whether it be little mini breaks, a simple coffee date at a nearby cafe, a day at the beach or beauty salon etc

Beel:

Movie nights with everybody always consist of MC falling asleep in Beel’s lap and then him carrying her up to bed

He’s always calling MC ‘cute’ no matter what she’s doing. She could be having a full on go at him for eating her dinner and he’d just smile at her while thinking ‘could she be anymore adorable?’

Lots and lots of piggy backs

Beel loves hugging MC, he always does that thing where he wraps his jacket around her so he trap the human with his love

Always invites MC to his sports game and whenever she goes, he manages to perform that little bit better to usual

He always offers MC his jacket if she ever gets cold

Everyone dubs them the ‘cutest couple at RAD’ because they’re always holding hands and have the biggest smiles on their faces whenever they’re together

Often they spend their evenings in the kitchen cooking/baking which results in a food fight and eventually sex on the kitchen counter

MC always wears Beel’s top to bed and it makes him so happy to see her in it

Belphie:

He gives MC all of the comfy pillows in their bed - after all he doesn’t need them anymore because his favourite thing to fall asleep on is his human

He’s always coming to MC’s defence. If a lesser demon ever does so much as scowl at her, he immediately puts himself between the two. Nobody is ever going to hurt his human

Belphie wants to learn everything about MC including the things she likes. And if that means he has to sit through hours and hours of a TV show to do that then he’ll commit to it!

He’s always genuinely interested in how MC’s day went and whenever they reunite at the house, he always asks how she is and will listen for however long to what she has to say

He hides food in the fridge for MC “I bought this cake earlier and have hidden it from Beel so that you could have the first slice”

Belphie always wants cuddles from MC - he has to have his head on her chest

He’s also not ashamed of how much he likes to snuggle his human, even if his brothers do tease him for it

Diavolo:

Diavolo is always going above and beyond for MC and acts like she’s already his Queen

He loves taking her on little walks around the castle grounds; telling her all about his ancestors

If Diavolo has to get up early for whatever reason and leave the palace, he’ll always leave a single rose on the bedside table next to MC so she doesn’t wake up feeling forgotten about

He puts MC before his duty - if any nobles ever dare speak ill of his relationship, he immediately dismisses them from their role

Always compliments MC, expressing how ‘positively radiant’ she looks with a huge grin on his face

He loves making MC wear his crown and sit on his throne, in fact he finds it quite the turn on seeing her in a position of power (that’s not the only position he likes seeing her in)

His favourite part of the day is when he gets to return home and see MC in her element doing whatever (studying, drawing etc) looking like the absolute beauty she is

Diavolo always accidentally lets it slip that he wants to have a future with MC - they’d just be talking about something random and then he’d come out with “well I like to think that when our children grow up...” before quickly blushing, realising what he’d said

Barbatos:

He invites MC to the castle a lot to keep him company when he’s serving Diavolo

He’s always surprising MC and leaving her feeling flustered - he could have a completely serious look on his face while he’s doing something for Diavolo but will then turn and whisper to MC “perhaps when I finish this paperwork, I can do you on this desk too” before walking away

Barbatos is always showing off to MC by taking her to different realms and dimensions. Having dinner at a fancy restaurant is too mainstream for him - you want to see France during the Renaissance? Sure, he’ll take you there!

He takes good care of MC and will often sense something is off with her before she even knows. This demon has a different tea for everything

Barbatos loves cooking all of these elaborate dishes only for MC to try and you can bet he’s already memorised all of her favourite meals from the human realm and has perfected them

In fact, some of the very rare moments where he grins is when he and MC are baking together

Even if he’s the one who’s had an incredibly long day, he’ll still run a relaxing bath for MC with candles and salts

Simeon:

Even if MC wakes up and looks like she’s been dragged through a bush backwards, Simeon never fails to compliment her surreal beauty

He calls MC ‘sweetheart’ all the time

Simeon always gets up early so that he can make MC breakfast in bed as it’s the most important meal of the day!

They always bath together

He and MC often go for walks in the park and will bring Luke along if he’s feeling lonely and wants to spend time with his parents

Simeon is incredibly intimate and passionate in their relationship. There’s no such thing as a ‘casual’ kiss with this angel - he never fails to caress MC’s cheek and gaze into her eyes before laying one on her

He always offers to carry MC’s bags while they’re walking through RAD and will effectively treat her like a goddess - opening every door for her, pulling out her chair etc

Simeon’s always gushing to Lucifer about his relationship with MC

Solomon:

MC and Solomon are such a chaotic couple

To show his love for her, he will quote vines (*insert ‘I love you bitch, I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you, bitch’ vine here*)

He is not afraid to show off his love for MC. She could be walking through the corridor at RAD and when he spots her, Solomon will shout ‘DAYUM MY GIRL IS FINE’

Solomon is always making MC laugh. He’s not one for being traditional when it comes to compliments - he’d definitely hit her up with “I would drag my balls through lava just to hear you fart down a walkie talkie”

He’s quite a show off too - the demons are all jealous that MC loves him and not them so he always gushes about his human

If he ever takes an unflattering photo of MC, he immediately turns her into a meme much to his amusement

Although he jokes a lot and isn’t always serious, when they’re alone together, Solomon is incredibly loving and would easily be happy to just sit there and stare at MC in silence for ten minutes so that he can take a moment to appreciate how lucky he is

#obey me #obey me shall we date

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wizkiddx · 4 years ago

Text

unusable faces

i have exams hence why i needed to write something exceptionally cringe :)

PSA: this is completely inspired from one of my fave writers own blurb @blissfulparker --> completely recommend u go read hers its much better than anything i could ever write!!!! (and just her whole account) = link

Summary: pure exhaustion and mutual pining, Tom Holland x actress!reader

^(just thought this was cute, doesn't really fit aha but full credit to op!!)

A scheduling nightmare would be putting it lightly. Perhaps almost unavoidable but that didn’t make it any less of a hellish form a torture. Harry had very helpfully said it actually was a form of torture, that is sleep deprivation. Y/n loved her job - it was all she’d ever really wanted - yet that thought was quickly becoming not enough to get her through the day. Not when it felt like an interrogation tactic used by the CIA.

To give a quick timeline of the past few days may give a little context:

Thursday - filming the fight scene all day plus an evening-turned-half-the-night-shoot due to some technically difficulties delaying the process.

Friday - flying to New York while doing read throughs of scenes for the next few days; followed immediately by getting glammed and filming the tonight show with Fallon; then a dash across town to the late late show with James Corden; then straight back on a flight to Atlanta that landed at stupid o’clock in the morning

Saturday - a full day of shooting in a mock grand central station set

The press trip to NY had been unplanned… to say the least. But the star of their studios other new release had taken ill - meaning they had slots booked on some of the biggest talk shows in America that would just be abandoned (angering the shows bookers too). It was a waste of perfectly good promo time and since the studio had their two other stars together doing a block of reshoots - it wasn’t a conversation. Much more a call demanding the two of them to be on the plane.

Normally this wouldn’t be such an unmanageable ask either, except the reshoot block was really rather time pressured. You see, the promo tour wasn’t far from beginning meaning they really needed the final film in the can. So really it was a bit of a mess. Just to free up that single day the two were in New York the whole schedule had had to be rejigged - in doing so they’d lost a rare day off too. It was just typical.

The joys of success hey?

Well, that’s at least what Y/n was making herself think whilst her incredibly talented SFX artist was in the process of crafting a deep wound onto her upper arm. The reason why she would be ‘dripping with blood’ whilst at a train station was beyond Y/n to be honest - she hadn’t been allowed to read a lot of the script so even now as filming was drawing to a close, the story arc of the movie she was headlining was still a little ‘fuzzy’.

“So I watched your ‘spill your guts’ thing on YouTube” Ellie giggled whilst reaching over for more prosthetic putty- a technical term apparently

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed the experience” Y/n replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the mischievous smirk on her face - no doubt Ellie took great joy out of seeing her suffer through eating a thousand year old egg. Which Y/n swore the taste of was still in her mouth… and it seemed as though it’d never leave.

“Oh don’t worry darling I did too” Nelli called over from the next chair along, where she was doing Tom’s makeup for the day of shoots. “Between that and the animals on Fallon, you made a hell of a lot of people laugh last night” Tom’s artist was referencing the fact one of Jimmys other guests was a zookeeper, so at the end of the interview he had you and Tom join in trying not to scream at the snakes and spiders.

“You mean laugh at us?”

“Well of course darling!” Nelli exclaimed back in an overdramatic bronx accent making all three of the women burst out laughing, Ellie’s unceremonious snorts echoing through the trailer only egged them all on more.

Tom in response, who had otherwise been absent from conversation for the majority of the morning, exclaimed a curse and jumped up in his chair. While you and Ellie collected yourself, Nelli apologised to him.

“Oh sorry love, I’m interrupting your snooze with my uncontrollable comedic gift” She spoke sweetly, even if still taking the moment to flaunt to the other women, as she squeezed his shoulder compassionately.

“No no” Tom waved off her apology, attempting to rub his eye before Nelli swatted his arm away - a stern look for the risk of ruining all her hard work she’d put into making his face look half presentable.

“I’m impressed you can sleep while they poke you with all these er instruments” Y/n added in, having only just realised Tom had been in a light sleep for god knows how long they’d been in that chair. It did seem a bit unlikely, being able to fall asleep as you were dabbed, prodded and brushed.

“Maybe you should try though Y/n… your purple eye bags are proving a struggle even for me” Ellie quipped back, now it was Y/n’s turn to give the stern look. Tom took the explain though, shutting her off from whatever kindly meant insult she was about to throw back at her friend.

“No normally never, I just….” He was cut off by an ear splitting yawn, appearing almost powerful enough to crack his jaw - which would be a disaster, for no one should ruin such a beautiful and sharp jaw line. “…uh-sorry. I just think I ended up taking my NyQuil and DayQuil the wrong way round in the madness of yesterday.” Only Tom, the poor kid often seemed to lacking in any form of common sense - even if those closest to him knew just how intellectual and passionate he could be about the right topic. Affectionately, Nelli scalded his idiocy by jokingly swatting his head with a little tut.

“I can’t believe your still standing then! I’m barely alive and I don’t have any sedatives in my system.” It was true, Y/n was at that stage where every part of her body felt ridiculously heavy… eyes included … eyes especially.

“But I did sleep on the jet back while your stupid self was studying the script!” Tom replied with a pretty inarguable point - at the time he knew her actions were stupid; when their flight took off at 11 PM he was certain that the most valuable asset to his ability to act in the reshoots today would be sleep - rather than character development. And he’d tried to convince Y/n that briefly, but gave up. She was bloody stubborn when she wanted to be.

“Stop competing about who has it worse cos I think it’s me and Nell”Ellie announced - making Nelli agree empathically with her coworker, nodding her head as she looked first to Y/n in her chair then back at Tom.

“Yeh because we have to deal with your unusable faces!!”

After much sarcasm thrown back and fourth, the trailer slowly ebbed it’s way back into serenity and peace as both artists focused on their work. Once Nelli was done she excused herself, Tom staying in the chair in favour of studying (more like staring blankly) at the dialogue for this mornings scenes. His pretence didn’t last long though and while Ellie was busy adding the final touches of fake blood to the now almost completely believable gash that she’d crafted on Y/n’s arm - Y/n had her attention focused the opposite way.

At poor little Tom. He looked so childlike, his slightly puffy eyes looked as if they had weights tied to them - they way he was having fight against gravity to flutter his eyes open, before loosing the next second only for the process to repeat as they dragged downwards. The broad muscles of his neck occasionally seemed to occasionally let up a little, letting his head tilt slowly at first until it gathered enough momentum to throw him off balance. The then sudden movement of his head unconsciously pulling itself back in line caused his eyes to bolt open prior to the whole cycle repeating again. All Y/n wanted to do was let him lay down someone, her heart feeling a tug in her chest just seeing him like that.

Ellie proclaimed her completion of the wound, leaning back to admire her work before looking to get an affirming nod from Y/n. Yet instead, she was too preoccupied gazing at the boy slouched across from them. “Someone seems a little distracted.” Ellie smirked, finally garnering Y/n’s attention, only feeling more and more smug watching a light tint appear on the actors cheeks.

“I-well-no… we need to go.” Y/n ignored her words as though nothing had happened, instead rushing off the chair to get Tom out the chair and onto the awaiting set. They had places to be.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (bcos im lazy)

Honestly when the director, Ed, called for lunch break, it was pretty apparent to be purely as a compassionate gesture to Y/n and Tom. Both of them had tried so hard this morning to fully commit, even so they’d both been almost completely useless. Y/n kept missing cues whilst all Tom’s actions and lines where slow, dragged out and at times completely prompted from someone behind the cameras.

So when the lunch break was called there was only one thing on Y/n’s mind and what sandwich was available in the mess tent was not it. Still standing on the set next to her fake holdall bag she looked toward Tom, who was pulling himself up to standing from the train station bench - the pace of his movement making him look more like an old man.

“You good?” His answer was predictable.

“I’m so fucking shattered”

Tom swore he’d never heard anything sweeter come out of Y/n’s pink lips than her next statement.

“C’mon I know somewhere we can lie down.”

Without any sort of thought Tom blindly agreed, nodding as he took her outstretched hand in his. The gesture in itself brought a fresh wave of comfort to his aching limbs and as his feet stumbled to catchup with her slight head start he leant the majority of his weight into their connected hands.

Neither would admit it but they were ‘a thing’… whatever the hell that meant. It was clear as day to everyone and anyone that worked closely to the two but neither of them had ever broached the topic with each other. They’d worked on a few films together over the years; each time they got closer and closer to the point any job without the other simply wasn’t as good. It was scary though, especially for two actors in the prime of their careers. If they weren’t working the same film they’d likely be the opposite side of the world to each other most of the time - quality time together would be few and far between, Really their jobs didn’t suit dating at all, yet it would be perhaps easier if one half of it worked a ‘normal’ job. Something with consistency, a regular structure. A level of dependability that neither Y/n nor Tom could offer to the other.

So it was terrifying, acknowledging the growth in their magnetic attraction to each other. Both were acutely aware that doing that, confronting their feelings, would most likely signal the beginning of the end.

Although none of this stoped Y/n from returning the gesture, tilting her shoulder into Tom’s left side as they took slow steps through and then out the set building. She steered the two past the hair and makeup trailer and round into a store and extra equipment trailer. Tom tilted his head as she climbed the stairs whilst beckoning for him to follow - it didn’t seem like the most obvious choice. Rolling her eyes, Y/n explained.

“It’s where all the blankets and coats and kept for the raining scenes plusssss no one will disturb us in here.” Again Tom was not in a position to disagree, eyes drooping as his shoulders sagged to the floor. Right now he’d take anything.

So he climbed up the stairs and shut the door behind him, just as Y/n flipped the light on. She was right, it was well equipped and with an almost mountainous supply of red blankets that normally the crew and extra would all be wrapped up in after the freezing rain scenes with all the ‘waterfall machines’ as Y/n called them. However it was also um…. It was cosy. “Oh I don’t think I realised how small it was” She chuckled lightly, since now the door was closed her back was pressed up against the far wall of cabinets and still her front was mere millimetres from Tom.

“I…I don’t mind… if-if you don’t?”

“I’m too tired to care” She giggled in response, and Tom , now with her seal of approval, immediately started ransacking the piled shelves for all their worth creating a floor carpeted in the pale red of the blankets, in an attempt to make it more cosy. Joining in, it was almost remarkable how quickly their bodies suddenly agreed to move, with the new promise of rest mere moments away.

Once the trailer was fully drowned, Tom kicked off his costume shoes and threw his jacket off - it haphazardly landing by the doorway. Y/n copied him, leaving her stood up whilst he had the advantaged of already settling down on the floor, her standing and looking down at him.

The space between the two opposing shelving units was not close spacious enough for two people to lie down whilst keeping a respectable level of personal space. Suddenly feeling a wave of awkwardness, Y/n stayed standing, wringing her hands slightly - whilst fairly certain Tom could hear her heart running at 100 mph.

“You er… gonna stay there or?” Tom, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a complete idiot - he could see she was suddenly self conscious. He got it too - they’d never crossed this boundary of choosing to cuddle into each other. It had happened once of twice accidentally over there 2 years of knowing each other. Both of those times it was completely accidental, falling asleep watching a movie with a safe distance of space b between the two, only to find hours later their bodies almost completely intwined. Tom would be lying if he said that his heart didnt skip a beat when he had awoken to Y/n’s soft and gently breath fanning into his neck. He’d loved it, but understood that was unconsciously breaking down part of the wall they’d both been the constructors of.

For fear of getting hurt.

So now, as Y/n awkwardly bent down and lay on her side, he thought it was imperative to make her feel comfortable. Naturally then, his arm slid round her shoulders and pulled her down toward his chest, releasing a little breath as he felt her relax, her legs slowly wrapping round one of his.

“This okay?” He murmured, now into the crown of her head as she lay half on her side half on his chest. In reply she nodded into him and Tom couldn’t help but grin- unbeknownst to him but Y/n was doing the exact same thing.

The peace lasted all of 3 seconds until she groaned again.

“What?” Tom enquired as she wriggled out his hold and stood up. Instead of replying though she just leant over and flicked the one harsh light bulb off making Tom chuckle as she fumbled her way back onto the padded floor in the darkness, earning a few grunts from both as she accidentally kicked Tom’s thighs or banged her head on one of the now empty shelves. Fumbling her way back into a comfortable position, occasionally cursing when she stubbed her toe- or Tom did when she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs.

“Comfy?” Tom asked a little sarkily as he squeezed her a little more into his side.

“Mhmmmm… I’m gonna sleep for 100 years”

“Yeh me… me too”

And with that they both almost instantly and in complete unison sagged into each other and the blankets - the pent up stress and tension of the past few days ebbing away.

What the pair had neglected to remember was that sleeping for 100 years wasn’t really an option. The whole crew of 50 people, who wanted to restart filming after 45 minutes, had not been told about Y/n’s little hiding place. The pair were so completely safe in their own little cocoon of comfort they were completely oblivious to their teams calling there names more and more frantically. Completely oblivious to the game of hide and seek the situation had descended into, completely oblivious to Harrys natural annoyance as the director asked him for the whereabouts of the two stars - as though Harry was childminder to the pair of them.

It was Nelli who found them first. She’d and Ellie and Tom’s manager had all been recruited by Harry as part of the man hunt. Both girls, having seen first hand the state of the two this morning, were fairly certain they’d both crashed out somewhere. So Nelli, already with a sneaking suspicion, opened the door gently, her figure blocking the majority of the light from seeping through to the dimly lit inside. The sight she was met with had her actually pouting at the cuteness - and yes its a cringey word but also the only one appropriate.

Between bedding down and barely an hour later the two had managed to become impossibly tighter pressed to each other. Y/n’s face was pressed into the crook of Tom’s neck and his arms seemed to have pulled her on-top of him almost completely. Her left leg was hooked under his right, which was then sandwiched by his left too. They both looked so pure and innocent and god did Nelli know they both needed any extra time they could get.

Nelli cared a lot about Tom, she’d been working with him from the beginning, from the child star days to now. She cared about him like her very annoying surrogate son and she wanted to see him looked after. She also so completely wanted the two stars to stop pining after each other. Because frankly it was getting a little frustrating for everyone else.

So she chose to tactically forget about her discovery, sneaking a photo on the sly before silently pulling the door closed and leaving them to their sleep.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #fluff

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kythed · 4 years ago

Text

synopsis: it’s a tragic case of boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl has a boyfriend. [un]luckily for you, semi doesn’t play by the rules... and you don’t really want him to.

tagged: semi eita x reader, fluff, mediocre writing.

commitment level: 2,583 words.

table of contents | next chapter >>

They say young love is a rite of passage. They say it’s fresh and light, it’s wading in the shallows of a swiftly flowing river and letting the deliciously frigid water take you wherever it flows. They say young love comes easily.

But they don’t tell you youth is not a remedy for pain. They don’t tell you the cold of that water burns your skin, too — it leaves your fingertips numb and kisses your palms an angry red. They say “it’s just puppy love,” but they don’t tell you puppies grow into wolves.

You’re eighteen when you first meet Semi Eita, and he’s twenty-two. It’s not a highly significant age gap, but it’s noticeable enough.

“She’s a baby,” he says, eyes grey as the southern sea and just as unforgiving. Though he’s young, the weight of an iron giant rests on his slender shoulders.

“She’s talented, Semi,” says Akamine, tone wheedling. He fiddles with the lapels of his coat — it’s Italian, all cream silk and bronze buttons. “She’s capable.”

Twenty year old Akamine Keo is a trust-fund kid, born into the arms of an oil empire he’ll someday fall heir to. He’s charming, clever, and sweet, with distinctly expensive good looks, fine features and black hair like raven’s feathers. He also happens to be your boyfriend.

“That means nothing,” Semi says, peering into your face. An uncomfortable chill tickles the back of your neck as you fight the urge to look away. “There are toddlers who can shred Led Zeppelin, but they’re not musicians. They’re puppets controlled by overzealous tiger moms. They can’t take the heat of the real industry.”

“I can take the heat.” Your words bleed out heavy and sharp, a rough gash through the palpably thick tension. Fingernails leaving painful half-moons on your palms, you clench and unclench your fists down at your sides. “And I can sure as hell shred better than any toddler.”

For a split second, surprise flashes across Semi’s face, only to be quickly replaced by a wry smile. “Brave.”

You stare at him, lips sucked in and eyes narrowed as Akamine slings an arm over your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temples.

“See?” he says with a laugh. “She’s talented, capable, and brave.”

“Well,” says Semi, drawing the word out. He cocks his head, giving you one last hard once-over, before extending a hand for a firm shake. “We’ll see. I’ll give you two months. A trial.”

You accept this compromise, returning the shake. Semi’s still skeptical, you can tell, but you make a vow to yourself — you’re about to blow this sonuvabitch out of the water. As Akamine crows in delight, Semi’s eyes don’t leave yours.

Good luck, they seem to be saying. You’ll need it.

You smile, and he smiles back.

I won’t.

Semi’s a phenomenal bassist. When you’d first started dating Akamine and he’d just joined Semi’s band, he could scarcely shut up about it — “His name’s Semi Eita, and I swear he’s got magic in those fingers, babe.”

Well, Semi Eita’s about to be dethroned, because your fingers are magic, too.

For those two months, you’re the band’s lead guitarist, and you pass Semi’s test with flying colors. It takes a couple weeks to fall into step with the other guys — Semi on bass, Akamine on drums, and a quiet college kid called Yasuda on keys — but you’re a quick study, and soon you’re a cornerstone, expertly weaving searing arpeggios of dashed dreams and fiery hopes up and down the band’s underlying tunes.

(You should’ve seen it coming.)

You and Semi somehow become co-songwriters. He has a knack for melodies, and you have a knack for lyrics. Akamine doesn’t seem to mind the long hours you spend in Semi’s company, working in a whirlwind of messy notes and empty energy drink cans — he trusts you.

(Sometimes you feel like maybe he shouldn’t.)

“What do you think of this?” Semi says, idly twirling a pencil between his fingers. It’s 10pm on a Friday night, and you’re stretched out on his couch, inhaling chow mein from a greasy paper box. “For the second verse, I mean.”

“Lemme see,” you say around a mouthful of noodles, snatching the paper from his hand. You furrow your brow. “‘Tear me open like a scarlet letter, cruelly addressed ‘return to sender…’’ Jeez, Semi. Who hurt you?”

Semi scowls. “It’s a breakup song, isn’t it? It’s supposed to hurt.”

“You might consider being a little more… subtle,” you suggest, offering him a fortune cookie. He takes it and sets it aside.

“Heartbreak isn’t subtle,” he says, shooting you a look that speaks of throbbing phantom wounds. “It cuts deep. All the way down to the heart. Hence the name heartbreak.”

“Wow. I had no idea,” you say drily. You swing your legs over the couch and sit upright, snatching his pencil. “I just think we should tackle this with nuance, not just write another ‘eff you’ ballad.”

“This world can always use another ‘eff you’ ballad,” Semi says humorlessly, resting his chin in his hand.

You regard his suddenly silent demeanor as he stares, unseeing, out the window. It’s dark outside, and it’s a darkness that speaks less of peaceful sleep and more of emptiness.

You sigh, nudging him with your foot. “What was her name?”

“What?”

“Her name. This demon of a girl that hurt you so badly.”

For a moment, it seems he’s going to argue, to deny ever being afflicted with something so childish as lovesickness. Then he runs a defeated hand through his hair and shakes his head, laughing. “You’re too curious for your own good.”

You wait. There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence as Semi chews his lip.

“...Her name was Aiko,” he says finally, inspecting his nails with a faux nonchalance. “Smokin’ hot. Met her in music school three or so years ago, I think — she was a TA, a few years older than I was.”

“Older women, huh?” you tease. This is new territory — you’re dipping a toe into the forbidden arena of flirtation. A shadow of guilt creeps into the back of your mind as you think of Akamine, but the bright light of Semi’s crooked grin swiftly flushes it away.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to flick your leg. “I don’t date babies like you.”

“Maybe you should consider it,” you say, unthinking. Semi stares at you, eyebrow raised, and you flush, frantically backtracking. “Not me specifically. I’m just saying — well, I mean, ‘cause this Aiko chick was such a bad time and everything.”

“If you have a crush on me, just admit it,” Semi says. You’re sure it’s meant to come across jokingly, but the way he’s eyeing you twists your stomach into a pleasurable knot. Then he sighs, leaning back on his arms. “She was a great time, actually. It’s the ending that sucked ass.”

The question lingers at the tip of your tongue, hesitant like an ill-trained acrobat, but before it even attempts the leap, Semi answers.

“It burned.” He looks straight at you, and you can taste the bitterness in his words. “It burned, and not a day goes by that I can’t remember how awful it felt.”

That’s the first of the many secrets you trade with him.

Later that night, you tell Semi about your first kiss, about how the recipient smelled like Old Spice and tasted like chapstick, how he walked you to your front door and introduced himself to your mom. About how he took your virginity six months later, and how you soon realized there are some things in life you don’t get an exchange receipt for.

Semi tells you his favorite color is green, and that outer space scares him more than anything. (He doesn’t like thinking about life in other galaxies because he can hardly handle thinking about life right here.)

You tell him you like milk tea with 75% sweetness, and he promises he’ll take you to his favorite cafe sometime. (“Not a date,” he assures you, and you internally scold yourself for wishing it was one.)

He says he once accidentally kicked a stray cat while trying to find a volleyball he lost in the bushes near his house, and that’s why he considers himself a cat person now: as repentance. (He has a pet cat called Haru, and he shows you a picture — Haru is small and black with bright yellow eyes. You say he’s cute, but Semi corrects you: “Not cute. Fierce.”)

You say you used to wish life had a restart button, so you could turn back time and dance through each year without making a single mistake.

Semi says he still wishes that.

(Another thing they don’t tell you is how secrets are really currency. Secrets can’t help but pay for familiarity, and familiarity often leads to something more.)

It’s a couple weeks later when you have your first gig. It’s at a bar downtown, and Yasuda nabs fakes for you and Akamine, though you don’t plan on drinking. Not much, anyways.

(Speaking of Akamine, your relationship with him has grown strained over the past month. He’s stretched himself thin between the band and his business degree, and you — well, whenever your phone pings, you can’t stop hoping it’s from Semi.)

Five minutes before show time, Semi turns to you, eyes wide. “We don’t have a band name.”

“What?”

“We don’t have a band name.” He looks around, frantically trying to draw inspiration from something in the dimly lit bar. “Quick, think of something.”

So you think for a moment, chewing your inner cheek, before reaching out and tugging on Semi’s sleeve. “Paper.”

“Paper?”

“Paper.”

Paper is fragile, it’s thin, it’s easy to come by. But it’s also a world of potential on one sheet, a story waiting to be written.

When the bar owner walks onto the stage and introduces the band, you know you’ve made the right decision. And from the glittering smile Semi flashes you before nodding at Akamine to count you in, you know he thinks so too.

The show goes on without a hitch, and even though the bar is far from packed, you’re just as proud as you’d be playing in a stadium of screaming fans. The air smells of stale whiskey and fresh beginnings, and as your fingers dance up and down your Gibson’s fretboard, you hear colors — rich teal, smooth mahogany, creamy gold and silver brighter than the stars. Akamine keeps the rhythm like a war drum, and Semi, as always, is perfect. Yasuda, doubling as the main vocalist, sings until his voice gets wonderfully low and raspy, keyboard taking some of the heat as he grins back at you, mouthing how badly his throat hurts.

You’re sweaty when the set’s done, and Akamine buys you a drink, giving you a quick, half-hearted kiss and a tired smile.

Akamine’s always been kind to you.

“I gotta go,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Essay due tomorrow at ten.”

He looks so genuinely sorry to leave, you almost feel guilty.

You’re packing up your amps into the back of Semi’s van, alone in the parking lot save for the moon many miles above, hanging bright and full in a clear sky. The moon has seen all your most indulgent sins, and she’s going to see one more tonight.

“You did well.” Semi heaves the last of the equipment into his truck before turning to you, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Consider me impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you say, giving him a mock bow. “So glad I’ve finally managed to impress the Semi Eita.”

He regards you for a moment, arms crossed. A small sigh escapes his lips. It’s both a sigh of resignation and one of anticipation.

Then, in one smooth motion, he steps close, reaches out, and pulls you close by the waist.

You stare up at him, all too aware of the heat radiating from his body. His skin is burning, and his cologne is different from Akamine’s — it’s not expensive, it’s not a multilayered, deep, woody scent. It’s cheap, the sort of cologne a struggling musician can afford, but it smells of home.

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he whispers, sliding a hand up your jaw to cup your face. His hair glows silver and ghostly under the streetlamps.

“And what are you about to do?” Your voice is deadly quiet, and your chest feels a deathly cold despite Semi’s proximity, refusing to thaw as you await his answer.

“Kiss you absolutely senseless.”

Semi’s never been one to make empty promises, and right now is no exception. He presses his lips to yours and you immediately melt into his arms, suddenly craving him and only him. You’re not entirely sure how you’ve managed to avoid devouring him whole up until this point, because he kisses like Eros, full of pomegranate seeds and crimson blossoms, of days spent in clandestine bliss. He kisses like a man on death row, desperate and longing, hands squeezing your waist like your body is his only anchor to life itself.

Semi Eita wants to be a rockstar, but right now he’s just a boy kissing a girl he’s bound to fall deeply, inexplicably in love with.

When he finally breaks away, you’re breathless, staring up at him like you’ve just seen an angel. Your hands are still curled in the front of his shirt, you’re still standing on tiptoe, lips just inches from his.

“Semi…” You swallow hard. “Akamine’s a good guy… I can’t.”

Semi tenses his jaw, taking a finger to lift your chin. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hungry.”

He’s got you there.

You’re standing on a balance beam splitting two vastly different worlds. On one side there’s the known: Akamine and his bright, blue-eyed optimism, his willingness to shoulder burdens he shouldn’t have to. There’s his sweet touch and soft kisses, his firm words of reassurance and his sunny laughter shedding light on your hidden depths.

The known is comforting. It’s familiar.

But on the other side… there’s the unknown. There’s Semi Eita in all his scalded glory, his sharp tongue and headstrong determination. There’s his burning touch, his fingers leaving scorch marks on your cheek and his lips depositing glowing embers in your mouth, ready to ignite at a single inflammatory word. There’s his moonstone enigma, the shadow underlying his every sentence like smudged eyeliner.

The unknown is frightening, almost overwhelmingly so… but there’s something in you, something willful and terribly thirsty, that draws you to this unknown and the possibility of knowing it.

“Because I am.”

And you grab his face and pull it down to yours, impatient, frustrated by months of dancing around that painfully tangible attraction, that magnetism — finally, you allow yourself to fall, hurtling through a chasm of fallen stars and ancient suns, hanging on to nothing but Semi and his carefully guarded secrets.

You kiss him hard, pouring your soul into his mouth, all your youthful doubt and hope. You knot your fingers in his hair, and he pulls you into his chest, pressing your body so close it’s as if he wants to make it a part of himself.

And when you part for the second time, chest heaving, you know you’ve fallen completely, entirely, without a doubt.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #semi eita #semi eita x reader #semi eita fluff #semi eita angst #semi eita fic #semi eita imagines #semi eita headcanons

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legionofpotatoes · 4 years ago

Note

I love your art, it is very detailed in a neat way. Was wondering how you got started making it as a source of income? How did you get your first paid work, I'd love some advice on how to get started, if that's ok

Thank you. Of course it's okay, although I doubt I have enough work experience in art to really delve into this. I only went full freelance this year, and had been juggling art as a side hobby until then. If you're still interested in my somewhat narrow perspective, and are okay with my long-winded rambles, I'll give it a shot:

So to answer your question fully, I'll describe how I started and move into personal advice and learnings later on. As a disclaimer, I am a white cishet dude in my late twenties with a moderate cocktail of mental illnesses, but overall I can pass for a functioning adult so a lot I have to say may come laced with privilege I cannot fully identify.

So uhh I began drawing in around 2012? I think? Maybe halfway through 2011? And I mostly made fanart for things I enjoyed and tried to branch out in communities that felt nourishing to my style and interests (I caught a bug for alt posters and enjoyed mainstream movies so I spent a long time on posterspy early on). There were a handful of opportunities that came from there but I could only accept a couple because of primary workplace commitments. Still, it showed that networking in a focused community was definitely a good place to start; I myself have huge trouble committing to social networks and really staying socially active, but I knew it was an essential ingredient in succeeding so I tried to make myself be involved in challenges and art support trains etc. as much as I could.

In parallel to all that I also ran a few third party online stores (redbubble, teepublic) for disposable income and would sometimes, if rarely, hit around $100-150 a month from those sources combined. It is a sort of thing that requires helper accounts on other social media sites to promote it on, because the stores themselves have a huge volume of content that translates into low organic discoverability. Obviously it was never gonna be the way towards financial independence through art, and with community projects being few and far between, I opened private commissions in around uhhh 2017 I think, focusing on offering a few styles I knew I could do well, and sometimes operating in individual fandoms (it was mostly a bioware thing to be frank). But I had to close them back down after a year or so, again because of work-life conflict and how badly it was burning me out. The reason I kept trying to monetize this hobby is because I honestly hated what I did for my main job and wanted to see a way out in some shape or form in the future.

And then in 2020 I had to quit my main job altogether because of *gestures at pandemic* and deal with a mental breakdown from all the wonderful things it did to us and me specifically. I took a short break and decided to give art a shot full-time, and that was around May this year. I was planning on opening up commissions again (and I still am), but a few sudden opportunities that fell in my lap moved that timetable down and now I'm grateful to even be doing something I am getting adequately paid for.

So, with that somewhat limited perspective, here's what I've learned that I'd tell myself if I was just starting out:

1. Being a fan of something can be a shortcut towards effective networking kickoffs. Which are important evidently. If you love something and enjoy making content for it, join communities, settle into a combination of social media websites that feel right for those interests + your body of work + your inner rhythm, and try to play to content discovery as much as your mental health allows you to. Like I said, I know that I myself am incredibly bad at self-motivating to talk to people, so I found that synergizing common interests into fanart - which I enjoyed making anyway - could be a way to give myself a gentle nudge forward and build those bridges leading to community activities, which then net experience and coverage. Sometimes even freelance projects from official avenues. Again; picking the right spaces for what you're after is key. Companies roam twitter, concept art recruiters scour artstation or linkedin etc, instagram can land you private commissions and collab opportunities, so on and so forth. Find your niche and try to kick up dust. However...

2. I do not believe that any social profile can replace a good portfolio. The thing that made an immediate difference to me this year was building a coherent, simple website with my best work front and center and a contact form on top. Every single opportunity I got came from that form (maybe via twitter or instagram initially, but always sealing the decision after going through the website), so I firmly believe that showcasing your skills and portfolio in a visually arresting and user-friendly way is a big priority. I had some reservations about tackling that task but fortunately I had help from a savvy life partner and we slapped it together via wordpress in less than a day. Twitter/whatever social media is prevalent in your target groups is definitely important to get the right eyes on your shit, yes, but those eyes will then look for a second stop where your work and rates are more clear and concise. Simplicity is key imo, I cannot overstate this. So make a cute, simple portfolio!

3. Your skills and rates will grow and change as you do. Let them. Over the years I built several lasting professional relationships from my obsession over mass effect and kept getting opportunities both from bioware and their partner companies, some small and some a bit bigger. A one-off job earlier this year opened an unexpected door to another much larger commitment, and then the work I did there brought some attention from small businesses looking for commercial commissions. These were all incredibly different projects in terms of scope and budget, and I've been tackling them all on a case-by-case basis and slowly coming into my own irt my needs, rates, and SOW thresholds. It is still a work in progress (and a LOT of literal work as well), and very much a thing I struggle with in publicly marketing, which is why I felt a tad underqualified to answer your question in the first place (obviously I did not let that stop me). But what it means for me now is that I am rapidly developing into whatever my "version" of a functioning freelance artist is, and when the conditions for that guy are met, I need to be able to confidently plant myself and operate from that space despite past precedents. Do not let anyone bully you into downpricing what you yourself perceive as legitimate products of personal growth and development. Speaking of which...

4. The shitty challenge of turning envy into inspiration, and paddling outside your comfort zones in full riot gear. it is hard, but realizing that being a miserable, self-hating artist in my early days got me nothing but more misery back was the first real step I took and what truly blew the hinges off. I was just not pleasant to be around, I would badmouth my work all the time, and it all somehow made sense in my broken mind because the validation I sought was purely external and the way I sought it was through eliciting sympathy via self-victimization (even when I made something objectively nice). It all led fucking nowhere. Except perhaps to my own narcissism that I one day managed to identify and start managing. So I started looking at things that made me seethe with envy and calmly deconstruct and figure out their inner workings instead, do studies, and find nuggets of inspiration or discover new ways to approach rendering or building up specific elements. It was an application of analytical diligence to what I wanted to be a purely emotional, esoteric workflow, but that I deep down knew wasn't. Art is a discipline and a skill, and maybe it isn't a straight line, but you gotta find some line to thread nevertheless. Being self-hating was almost an identity I had to break out of, and despite it still being like, 4-5% there? I realize its cause and effect on me, my work, and those around me, so it is with a conscious choice that I gently set it aside when I work and especially when I learn. It won't always stay quiet, but the effort is the difference. Your doors towards accepting true growth and venturing into uncharted territories, art styles, and networking will really open from there. But there's a huge caveat...

5. Toolsets, accessibility, privilege, and all the good things that enable artistic expression and profitability are not given equal to all. you might do all the mental work I mentioned to be ready to rock and roll and learn and draw your way out of anything, but digital art is a fucking money pit that asks almost too much at times. I don't got a good case study here but identifying and ensuring accessibility to the tools you need to do your best work is, like, super important. The ergonomics can improve as you make money and settle into the job, but the basics have to be made available to you. And some of that might not even be under your direct control. That can be anything from pen tablets to software subscriptions to opportunities in hiring sullied by sexism or what have you. You gotta navigate all that through careful networking and money/time management. I don't do a good job of devoting specific slices of time to work/study, and my primary clutch is iPad software which went from a good deal to a nightmare scenario over the years. So all I can say here is do what I didn't; network, invest in a PC/tablet, and pick a software you'll learn that won't burn a hole in your pocket.

6. Be nice to work with? This one is hard to articulate and has landed my own ass in hot water in my early years because of how socially inept I am, but nothing is more worthwhile than being.. like. a good person to work with. That can be anything like meeting deadlines, or sometimes missing them but eloquently articulating why, being generous in early stages, being communicable and not too wordy in your emails, having a good grasp on abstract artistic concepts and how to describe them in simple terms, having a clear, laid out framework of your working rates in commercial and non-commercial projects and sticking to those guns with grace, understanding when you need to say no and saying it well, the works. Just being nice. Sometimes that might mean going headstrong with something you believe in, or simmering down and sucking up to the big man, all relative and adaptive. Part and parcel of the service provision dance that we all have to do in order to make bank. Know your lines here, obviously, and don't like. work for nazis. or uh.. *shudders* exposure. but be nice and empathetic and communicable and word will travel eventually. Skill may be in abundance these days, but good people are most certainly not, and capitalism has a way of bubbling up scarcity. Grim, but uh, them's the breaks.

I know I'm ultimately telling you to like. Have a body of work, make a portfolio, grow, and network. But that's really how I see it for now. And being nice can be a cherry on top that sets you apart, along with the inherent irreplaceable voice of your artwork. I think I rambled on enough, but if there is something specific you need my help with, even if you want to come off anon and talk in private, please feel free.

#anon #asks #long post #sorry I cant actually condense ideas better :(

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that-damn-girl · 5 years ago

Text

(5) Bucky and The Bed

Completed

Chapter 4

Bucky and The Bed Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (cis)fem!reader

Words: 3700+

Summery: You and Bucky are stranded in the middle of a snowy nowhere when there is an 'electronic blackout' during your mission. With no back ups or any way to contact your team, you take refuge from the worsening weather in the only cabin you find in miles. Not to mention, with no power, Bucky has become your personal heater and there's only one bed.

Chapter type: Fluff.

Chapter/Triger warning: None that I can think of except for ‘highly self-indulgent’.

A/N: This is in submission to the lovely @sweater-daddiesdumbdork ‘s Any-Fucking-Fandom Fic Challenge. Check it out! My prompt is below.

Calloused fingertips ran slowly through your hair, absent-mindedly drawing varied patterns with gentle prolonged strokes. Eyes closed, you basked in the alleviating motion. The faint pressure of his tips combing through your scalp lulled you into a deep state of relaxation. Not that you'd been stressed before, but you welcomed the calming drift with open arms.

Head perched on Bucky's lap, you laid comfortably along the width of the bed on your back. The headboard of the bed supported Bucky's back as his legs were stretched, ankles crossed.

Flesh hand racking through your locks, his metal one was encompassed in the heat of your hold. It felt cool to touch, much cooler than the rest of him, but it had a certain aura of warmth. Languidly, you traced the smooth plates making up his palm and fingers and the back of his hand, committing every cranny, every nook to memory.

Your tips climbed up and down the dips of his knuckles, rounding the impeccably curved tips now and then. They seemed crafted as well as the natural human ones. With the whole of his metal arm being that way, you didn't know why you were so amazed by the uncanny resemblance.

Sweeping over the sleek black and gold plates over and over again, mapping the blend of contours and arcs, you said, "Never did I ever think I'd be tired of being uselessly free."

From studying the simple joints of wood panels on the ceiling, Bucky's eyes drifted down to you when you spoke, trailing over your delicate features and then again. Just because. He never thought he'd ever get tired of admiring your beauty anyways.

Eyelids shut, you looked content and yet dejected as your head rested on his lap. He knew you felt bored, hence the look of dejection maybe. He only hoped his presence was the cause of the slight contentment you felt.

It had been a couple of days since Bucky was able to contact Sam; three since they took refuge in this small cabin. There really was nothing to do except for eat, sleep, and repeat.

Chuckling, Bucky said, "It kinda reminds me of the time in Wakanda."

Opening your eyes and slightly craning your neck, you glanced at him. Though he looked at you, his eyes held a faraway gaze, as if having found a distant memory and reminiscing in it. Closing your eyes, you settled in more comfortably. You loved hearing stories about his experience in the astounding African country.

"Tell me about it."

Though you couldn't see him, you knew he wore a bright smile as he remembered the days. You interlaced your fingers with his metal fingers as his flesh ones occasionally twirled a few locks of your hair.

This was new, the touching at every moment, only for more to be followed in the next. Bucky Barnes was a reserved man. He did want a soft and comforting touch, but there weren't many people to give him that.

Steve, yes. Sam, sometimes. It wasn't as if he was open to letting others touch him either. He sought out the familiarity in the amiable contact, the assurance of no ill content behind it.

The past decade had taught him to believe a touch only meant one thing. Pain.

You had been with him as long as Sam had, but he was only able to open up to you in the recent few years. He had become comfortable with you. Didn't have any qualms about feeling your skin on him.

But there was always a limit. There was always a limit to how much he'd let someone in.

In the past few days, however, you and him seemed to literally keep in touch at all times of the day. Asleep or awake. It happened involuntarily, really. As if your hearts made decisions of their own, claiming what they desired.

Bucky had noticed that and so did you, but neither dared to comment on it. Afraid of making the other more conscious. Of losing the closeness it had brought along. Of losing the joy it brought to your hearts with just a touch.

Bucky tried to convince himself that it was because you needed it, the warmth the super soldier serum provided him. But what was the explanation of the warmth you gave him, without any enhancements?

You needed him, but he was no longer able to deny that he needed the feel of your touch much more desperately. He needed it every second of the day since he'd had a taste of it. A taste of what it felt like to be around you at all times. A taste of heaven which you brought to him.

From every fortunate moment he woke up with you in his arms to sleep in the same way, he'd cherished it deeply. He loved cuddling with you and being cozy. Whether you cooked, or ate, or just were together, you'd always found a way to touch each other.

Your touch had become familiar to him in such a soothing way; he'd been accustomed to it so well, he didn't even want to imagine how being without it would feel like once you'd return.

But he didn't want to burden the pleasant moment by worrying about the future. Choosing to savour it as long as he could, he clutched your hand protectively in his as your fingers linked. Warmth spread across his metal arm and it tickled as the heat made its way through his heart.

Sighing contentedly, he began, "After Shuri was able to get the effect of the words out of me, I was free to live outside the palace and with the crowd. I'd go to therapy daily at first, but the frequency decreased eventually.

"My only purpose there was to recover, to relax, so I didn't really have anything productive to do. The children would play with me and braid my hair, but there's only so much of that which could be done.

"I felt so useless there, I begged T'Challa to give me some work." He paused, laughing before he continued, "I remember the look Okoye gave me. She thought I was a dumb old bitch. Wanting to work when free time was gifted to me on a gold platter."

Bucky looked down at you when you chuckled. A beautiful smile graced your face, lightening up the glow already there. His pride swelled up a little, knowing and liking the fact that he could make you smile.

Beaming widely, he added, "I did the work they already had machines for. Loading and unloading. Carrying things from one place to the other. Just helping anyway I could, even if they didn't require it." He sighed, "Maybe I really was a dumb old bitch."

Chuckling again, you tried to imagine as you said, "Ah, city boy turned farm boy. What a sight it would have been."

"Picture oily, greasy hair, and mud ridden clothes. That's how it was like." He said.

Opening your eyes, you cheekily grinned at him, "I bet you still looked damn good, Bucky."

Feeling colour rising to his cheeks, he was sure he would've stuttered had he spoken anything. You saved him from that, "I've always wondered if the serum prevented you from being ticklish."

"Why?" The word wasn't even out of his mouth when your fingers teased the sides of his torso. The furrow of his brows instantly morphed into a merry stance as he snickered.

"Stop," He wheezed when you sat up and tickled him with all your might. Hands roamed over all the tickle inducing spots you could reach.

"Y/N, wait," His eyes crinkled as he laughed. Seeing him squirm under you, you giggled along with him, enjoying the elated mirth on his face.

Pleading requests reached your ears between huffs of gleeful laughter. His hands tried to reach yours, swiftly shifted out of his reach. Not for long though.

Soon the tables were turned. His hands caught up to you. When he started tickling your spots, you tried to shrunk into a ball.

"Bucky!" You cried, eyes closing as you laughed joyfully.

"Nuh uh, doll, you brought this on yourself." Snickering along, Bucky said mischievously as his hands lightly stroked your sides and under your chin.

You wiggled under him, but he didn't let you escape. His fingers danced along your body. You shrieked with mirthful laughter when he reached a particular spot.

Your arms thrashed about as you tried to stop him. Bucky caged your hand in his when they hit his chest. Laughing still, he placed them by your head bent over you.

Giggling softly, you slowly opened your eyes as you calmed down from the high. You saw Bucky holding you down, a light chuckle playing on his lips. Suddenly you realised how really close he was.

Long dark locks framed his features as he leaned over you. His scruff had grown in the few days you were here. You decided you quite liked the look on him.

You wondered if he was open to the idea of growing his beard again. Bearded Bucky was a spectacular look after all.

Delight was clear in his expression as his blue eyes stared into your own. Upon such close inspection, you realised there was a bit of greyish touch to his eyes. Almost as if they could be called ocean grey.

How many before you had realised it? Or if it was your mind making you see things because it was clouded with the fact of your close proximity?

Bucky's lips were plump and pink. They seemed much more bright and colourful against his pale skin in the extreme cold. Did his lips look this rosy before?

Bucky saw your eyes drifting across his face as a realization struck them. Your smile faded slowly but the dazzle in your made up for it as they took in every feature. When your eyes dropped to his lips, they stayed there for a while.

He couldn't help but glance down at your lips. Slightly parted, they looked so soft. He wondered how sweet they tasted. Overcome by an urge to kiss you deeply and find out for himself, he looked at your eyes and back down at your lips.

It was only then that he realised how close he'd gotten to you. His breath hitched at that moment. He became nervous all of a sudden.

Yes, you two had been close ever since this fiasco started, but never like this. This was new to the both of you.

Something must have given him away, because he felt you stiffen under him. You too had realised close proximity.

He was worried you'd pull away. Not that you could with bed beneath you, but you could always turn your head sideways. You didn't. Instead, your lips only parted a little more.

Only inches apart, he could feel everytime you exhaled. His heart raced with the possibilities of every outcome if he leaned down just a little more. How it could turn out, just like he'd dreamed about it. How he could finally have you as his.

And then the negative outcomes swarmed his brain. What if he was reading all the signs wrong? Granted he was an expert in body language, yet he wasn't a mind reader.

If he did close the gap but you didn't want it to happen, he could lose a good friend to awkwardness. There were also days to be cut until either of you would separate from each other.

The tension would be unbearable if you rejected his advances. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let any of that happen at all.

Bucky Barnes was a fucking coward and so were you.

Reluctantly, he pulled back. You didn't want him to, but you didn't stop him either. Freeing your hands, he sat on his knees beside you. Leaning on the heel of your palms, you sat up too.

Bucky couldn't meet your eyes as he looked down at his lap. You were much the same beside him.

The tension was so thick you swore it could be cut with a knife. Bucky didn't want to make things awkward, but it had already gotten so.

After spending a pleasant time together, you didn't want anything to become a thorn between the two of you. Without thinking, you quickly spoke, "Let's dance."

Bucky furrowed his brows, confusion overtaking his expression, "You wanna dance?"

"Yeah, let's." You shrugged, "It's not like we got anything better to do."

Bucky opened his mouth but closed it when nothing came to his mind. If you were trying to steer the two of you away from the unwanted tension, you were definitely succeeding. There was just one problem though. "I don't remember how to dance."

"It's okay. It's not like I'm Micheal Jackson either." Bucky was glad the reference wasn't lost on him. The spider kid was doing a good job updating him with all the highlights of the past century he'd missed.

Getting off the bed, you extended an arm towards him. Figuring just rolling with your idea would be easier than acknowledging the moment earlier, he followed you suit.

As he stepped in front of your form, you were unsure where to place your hands. Keeping some distance, you kept arms on his shoulder and linked your fingers behind his head. He brought his hands to your sides, holding you loosely.

You were close but not like before. He seemed to be fine with it and so were you.

You started with shifting your weight on either of your legs, proceeding to sway your body gradually from side to side and moving about in the small space of the room. He directed his body along with yours, going at it with the pace you set.

"There is no music, you know." He remarked.

You pretend to give it thought, "I would be all poetic and say the birds are chirping and that's music enough, but the thing is there are no birds around. Or any living things for that matter."

Bucky scrunched up his nose, "Sounds a little creepy, doesn't it?"

You nodded, "Yeah. Why don't you sing?"

"Uh, no. I don't want your ears to bleed." He chuckled.

You tilted your head, "Come on, you can't be that bad."

"Well, I am that bad. Deal with it." He said

You rolled your eyes comically at him, "Fine."

He raised a brow, "Why don't you sing?"

Not wanting to disclose your singing abilities to him, or rather the lack of it, you said, "Oh, just shut up and dance with me."

Snickering, he replied, "As you say, Ma'am."

Bringing your hands down to his side, you encircled them around his waist and placed your head on his shoulder. Swaying softly to the beat of your own heart, you enjoyed the rhythm already set.

It wasn't really dancing per se, but it sure was relaxing. His warmth seeped into you through the embrace and. You relished in the feel of it. His heartbeat was clear under your ears, lulling you into a tranquil state.

Bucky liked the weight of your head on his shoulders. The way your hands were clasped behind his back. He felt whole in a way he couldn't really describe. Resting his cheek on your head, his hands tightened their hold around you.

The quiet around you was comforting instead of unnerving like you had anticipated. You didn't complain.

You spent a long time swaying in each other's arms. It felt good, being held like this in Bucky's warm embrace. You enjoyed the moment as long as you could.

Slowly, in a voice so low he thought he might have missed, you said, "I miss Sam, you know."

Bucky felt a pang of jealousy hit him. Not that he had anything against Sam. In all honesty, he missed their banters and the constant quipping at each other. He missed his friend too, but a sense of insecurity followed as well. Would you have preferred Sam over him to be here with you?

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you continued, "Ever since we were active paramilitary, it was I, him and Riley, together everywhere. When Riley..."

You trailed off. Memories of the wonderful times with your late friend surfaced up. A lump formed in your throat at the onslaught of pictures flashing before your eyes of Riley pummelling to his death.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and tried to calm down. You bit your lower lip to prevent it from trembling. Years later, the guilt of not being able to save him still lingered.

Who else would know better than Bucky how it felt losing your best friend? The constant guilt which ate you up when you thought it was your doing. The rethinking of every decision made which led you to lose them. The never ending 'What if's.

He had fallen down that rabbit hole too many times, and you were always there to pick him up. He wasn't about to back out when his turn came.

Feeling a warm hand pet your head softly, you looked up at Bucky. He didn't say anything, but he smiled sweetly, encouraging you to continue.

"It was hard to deal with it, but we coped up together. Sam and I, we got closer than ever. He became like the brother I never had."

Bucky knew it wasn't the time, but he sighed in relief. It was all brotherly and sisterly and platonic love between you and him. Before he could celebrate though, you proceeded.

"Sam and I were inseparable after that, you know. Imagine my surprise when the one time I don't go on a morning run with him and he meets Captain fucking America."

You laughed at the memory of how mad you'd been at yourself for oversleeping that particular day. Sam had had to do quite some work to cheer you up.

"After the both of us became Avengers, we usually went on missions together. If we weren't on the same missions, or when I was on one while he was at home, the work to be done didn't let my mind wander. Even after he took the mantle, it was the same between us."

You sighed, "It just feels weird, spending all of my free time being away from him."

Glancing up at him, you kept your chin on his chest. Displaying a cheeky grin, you said, "But I am glad I have you here, Bucky. I like spending time with you, getting to know you better."

Bucky felt his heart soar within his chest. He couldn't contain the joy he felt at hearing that. Smiling widely, he tightened his arms around your waist, "I like spending time with you too, Y/N."

Placing your head on his chest once again, you said, "I think I'm gonna miss this when we get back. All these moments. This closeness we've had." You added for good measure, "You were the best cuddle pillow I've ever had, after all."

Bucky chuckled softly, his chest reverberating as he did. Perhaps the intimacy you'd developed was only because of the circumstances you were put in, but he didn't want to lose it. Only if as friends, the two of you had grown much more closer than before.

Just like you, he feared that when you'd be back to your normal lives, this connection would be lost. He didn't want to squander all the progress he had made with you.

But he also didn't want to fritter away the time he had with you right then only to worry about what would or could happen. He promised himself to appreciate and cherish any moment he had the chance to spend with you.

Softly, he said, "Don't worry about it, doll. We got enough time for that later. All we have is now."

"All we have is now." You repeated, snuggling closer to him, luxuriating in the feel of his arms around you and savouring the warmth of his embrace in the cold.

The bliss didn't last long though. There was a petty itch in your eyes, promoting you to bring your hands up to rub your lids.

Bucky pulled back when he felt the movement against him, "Hey, what happened?"

Face half covered with your palm as you tried to get rid of the itch, you said, "Something got into my eyes maybe."

"Don't rub your eyes. You're only going to worsen it." He tried to pull your hand away from your face.

Whatever it was, it irritated and burned the sensitive tissue of your eyes. You had to forcefully will yourself to let Bucky drag your hand away.

Leaning into you, he cupped your face in his hands and puckered his lips to softly blow on your eyes. Hot puffs of air hit you as he tried his best to relieve the itch. Keeping your eyes open was hard, but soon the unwanted particle was driven out.

"Better?" He asked.

"Yeah, thanks." You muttered.

You realised a little too late the close proximity between you too. It was that moment again , rekindling the fire which wasn't really put off before.

Your breaths slowed and your heart thumped loudly in your ears. Bucky could feel the erratic beats of your heart against him. He heard you gulp as you stared intently into his eyes which looked hungry yet gentle.

Your pupils dilated as your gaze fell down to his lips, lingering there before coming back to his eyes. Pushing your tongue out, you tentatively licked your lips teasingly slow.

Your lips glistened as Bucky glanced at them. They looked soft and delicious, and Bucky had never wanted to taste anything as bad as them.

He had stopped himself from doing exactly that for a reason before, but with his brain clouded with thoughts about you and your lips, he couldn't remember why. It was as if his mind had stopped working, which he didn't doubt it had.

Bouts of confidence hit him in that moment, overhauling his senses and preventing him from thinking about anything else. Would it really be wrong to have your lips on his, to taste the sweetness of you? It was all he'd desperately wanted to do since a long time but never dared to.

Throwing all caution to the wind, he finally leaned down...

The divider is made by @writeyourmindaway

Chapter 6

I think you all know ensues next. 😏

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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7. Leshen Indruck your choice of rating!

Here you go! I went with SFW

It’s old wisdom that humans fear that which they do not understand.

Indrid really hoped he would never learn the truth of that wisdom the hard way, but here he is. One misplaced attempt at aiding someone using his foresight and he’s been caught, blindfolded, and dumped in the middle of the vast Monongahela Forest.

He just wanted to help.

His foresight renders him less fearful than he’d otherwise be; he’ll be able to see threats coming and locate the resources he needs. If he takes his time, he might be able to use his visions to locate the nearest (friendly) village. And, like anyone who grew up near the woods, he knows how to hunt, fish, and forage. For someone who’s been left to die, he’s rather confident.

Still, it sting a little.

After a few moments of rightfully-earned self-pity, he buttons up his coat and starts the slow, halting journey towards safety.

Two days later, he’s pushing his way through branches and miserably pointing out to himself again and again that a town where everyone grew up with basic forest survival skills would exile one of their own somewhere that required high-level survival skills.

The topography and scenery is so disorienting that he may have better luck if he covered his eyes, spun around ten times, and chose his path from there. It’s a dense landscape of deep greens and browns with splashes of bright color that he’d no doubt enjoy were he not constantly snagging on branches or catching his toes on roots.

Worse, he’s had no luck catching food, and cannot for the life of him locate water. The fact it rained last night is the only reason he’s not dangerously dehydrated.

A sharp, high chirp draws his eye to the foot of a tree. Flapping sparsely feathered wings, a baby bird hops through the mud, her nest visible but unreachable. A meager meal, but a meal nonetheless.

Indrid scoops her into his palms, clambers into the lowest crook of the tree, and sets her back among her siblings.

His stomach chastises him the rest of the day, though the rest of his body rejoices when he finds a hollow in the base of a tree large enough for him to shelter within. From within the trunk, he spies vine sprawling across the ground, berries glinting in the light rain. Deep purple, meaning they’re Brambleberries.

The handful he shoves into his mouth brings tears to his eyes, even though they’re not the ripest. How else do you explain the bitterness chasing the sweetness down his throat.

Wait. Brambleberries don’t go purple until mid-summer. This is early spring. Which means those were-

“Chokeberries.” He curses himself, darting outside the tree once more, finger down his throat until his meal comes back up. Maybe he was fast enough.

His throat tightens in a prelude to closing. Sinking to his knees, gasping for air, he swears the ground vibrates with heavy steps. His eyes flutter close as he falls forward. As darkness slips over his eyes, he thinks it’s taking him a long time to hit the ground.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Bitter metal on his tongue.

“Nnnnf” Eyes still shut, he pushes at whatever is holding the spoon and it’s vile contents in his mouth.

“None of that. You’re gonna need two more doses of this before that Chokeberry is outta your system, and they were hard enough to get into you when you were passed out. Swallow.”

He swallows.

A large hand pats his head, “There we go. I know, shit’s gross, but if you were fool enough to eat those berries, might stun some sense into you.”

Indrid sits up, rubbing his eyes, “I was delirious with hunger, forgive me for not remembering the exact seasons of fruits. Did you heal me only to insult me or-” his visions flicker back full force, revealing his host before he opens his eyes. He scrambles back, but instead of a wall or an edge he just finds a vast expanse of bed.

Watching him with an amused set to his lips is a man three heads taller and much bulkier than Indrid, dark hair streaked with grey-green moss, eyes the dark green of pine needles, and nails like treebark. He crosses arms tattooed with green, gold, and bronze swirls, waiting for Indrid to collect himself.

“A Leshen.”

“Yep.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

“What? No, I’m not gonna fuckin eat you. I don’t know which of my kind chowed down on humans but if I ever find out I’m gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind. Ain’t great to have people thinkin I’m a man-eater when the worst I done is throw a tree at someone.”

“That is still very alarming.”

The Leshen shrugs “I’m a forest guardian; I’m gonna guard.”

Indrid studies him, wary, drawing the covers up his chest without noticing.

“Look” the Leshen sighs, “I ain’t tryin to scare you. Hell, made myself the smallest I can so I could be all comfortin. Noticed you in the woods earlier today and kept an eye on you, since humans-”

“Don’t often come here, yes, I am aware. I was extremely, forcibly exiled into your part of the woods.”

Green eyes blink, “Huh. Well, point is it didn’t seem right to leave you there to die, so I brought you here. Chokeberry is real easy to undo, assumin you got the right herbs.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. His foresight tells him the Leshens promise of no harm is true, but there are so many timelines for what he could say and how his host could respond that he freezes.

“You’re welcome. You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“You oughta rest up more, Indrid. I’ll be back with the next dose in a bit.” His host steps out to the hall.

“Wait, do I, ah, get to know your name?”

“Duck.”

He snickers, replies to the raised eyebrow with, “Apologies, I expected something tree-related.”

Duck smiles, “It’s a nickname.”

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“What’s your plan?” Duck asks from across the breakfast table. The morning found Indrid well enough to walk and to eat without feeling ill, so he’s been perching awkwardly on a chair that’s too big for him as the Leshen makes plates of toast and eggs that don't come from any bird Indrid is familiar with.

“I, ah, I don’t really have one other than ‘avoid going home’.”

“You were just gonna wander around until you found a village? I hate to tell you this, but there ain’t one for at least fifty miles, and I’m guessin that’s the one you came from. They must’ve used and enter to navigate here, because this part of the woods is hostile to travel by design.”

“Yours?” Indrid sips his tea, face to hide his distaste for its bitterness.

“Yep.” Duck slides a jar over to him, it’s copper lid revealing sugar cubes within, “Don’t much feel like runnin into humans every damn day, and it means that even as y’all sprawl out more and more, there are parts of this wood that stay wild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it does little to improve my situation. Unless…” he bites his lip.

“Unless?”

“Unless I could stay here. I’m not bad company, and I have some skills which could-”

“No” Duck shakes his head, “savin you is one thing, takin you on as a roommate is all whole other kettle of fish.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.” He sips his tea, reflection crestfallen. Maybe he’ll just finish this and then go back to sleep.

Duck sighs, expression one of someone who already regrets the offer he’s about to make, “You can stay here for a month. After that, I’ll get you as close to a safe village as I can, and you’re on your own. Deal?”

Indrid grins, appetite returning in full, “Deal.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck has a good guess as to what’s making all the scratching and clanging in his kitchen, but it’s still a surprise to see Indrid moving from counters to chairs doubling as stools to tend a pot that he can barely peer into.

The human’s gotten nimble over the last week and a half, thanks to his routine attempts to help Duck around the house. Everything is scaled to Duck’s smallest possible form, but that still leaves Indrid at a disadvantage.

He’d be more inclined to help him if it wasn’t so obvious that his help is a ploy to convince Duck to let him stay. Look, he feels bad for the guy, but humans don’t have a great track record with his kind and he generally likes his peace and quiet out in the woods. He also notices that, left to his own devices, Indrid is messy. The area around the couch he uses as a bed is strewn drawings and unfolded clothes that Duck conjured up. Which means this is about Ducks favor, not a commitment to household cleanliness.

That’s not to say having Indrid around has been unpleasant; the human is good company but also understands Ducks' need for space. He’s odd, and even though the foresight was the given reason, Duck suspects his fellow villagers would have found reason to exile him regardless. Indrid even said that living with Duck was the happiest he’d felt in some time. That wasn’t a ploy; Indrid is prone to saying unnerving statements without registering them. Thorns pricked Duck’s heart when he heard it and, that night, when Indrid fell asleep on the bed during their conversation about deer, he didn’t move him. Just brushed the white hair from his eyes and laid down a respectful distance away.

“Oh! We’re in the timeline when you’re early.” Indrid waves distractedly as he wrestles open a jar, “I checked on you during the day through my visions and it looked as though you got drenched, so I thought something warm was in order.”

He’s smiling, and Duck’s gaze lingers long enough to see there’s no trickery in it. Yeah, being a forest spirit means storms are refreshing more than freezing, but the one today was so relentless he felt like it was eroding him away.

“Thanks, Indrid. I’ll join you in a sec.”

The next morning, before he leaves he forms some nearby stumps into a proper step-stool, and transmogrifies the minerals of the earth into a solid set of human sized pots and pans.

-------------------------------------------

“I know you’re there, Duck. I may not have eyes in the trees, but I do have visions that tell me when someone is dithering about coming to speak with me.” Indrid smiles, checking the fishing pole he’s dug into the shore. He feels rather than hears Duck approach; in spite of his size, the Leshen moves through the woods more softly than a butterfly.

“Guess those visions do make you harder to spy on than the average human.”

“A not at all creepy statement.” Indrid teases, then tips over when Duck playfully shoves him.

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright” he brushes off his arm, “the sand is nice and warm.” He picks up his sketchbook (stray pieces of paper sewn together) and pens (Duck turned flowers, fruit, leaves, and wood into them until Indrid had every color) and continues drawing. Half the reason he likes fishing is that he can draw futures (and for his own pleasure) while he does it. The other half is that he doesn’t want Duck to view him as a parasite in his home. Yes, for the first week, he did everything he could to demonstrate that he would make an excellent addition to the house made of twisting trunks and mossy floors.

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his time with Duck, even if that means not tidying constantly or cooking every meal. He hopes Duck enjoys it too, regardless of whether he lets Indrid stay. The Leshen is lonely, even if it only comes through on those days when his voice is like the wind through a weather-beaten log. Indrid wishes he knew how to assuage it, but a month is not long enough to learn such things.

He’s slept in Duck’s bed these last three nights. It’s not purposeful, Duck is just so interesting to talk with and Indrid will lose sight of the time, will slump sideways and mumble that he ought to turn in, and then wake up in the early hours atop his host. It didn’t occur to him until this morning that Duck does that to keep Indrid from being uncomfortably squashed by his larger bedmate. And that Duck chooses to do that rather than carry Indrid to his own bed.

“Hey, uh, ‘Drid?” Duck’s voice brings him back to the riverside, “would you, uh, wanna come with me on my rounds sometimes? Might be some nice things to draw, and that foresight of yours could be real helpful with some of the stuff I need to keep an eye on.”

His host looks nervous until Indrid nods, “I would be honored.”

--------------------------------------------

Never has the folding of clothes made him so miserable. Yet still he tucks the garments into the large-but-manageable rucksack Duck gave him, placing his sketchpad safely between the layers of fabric.

“Weather oughta be good tomorrow.” His visions show Duck behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s going to miss that voice, the way leaves rustle underneath the drawl.

“That’s good.” He pulls the ties on his rucksack, sets at the end of the couch but doesn’t turn around.

“I’d, uh, say you’re welcome to visit but, uh, well, you know how fuckin hard this place is to find.”

“Mmmm.” Indrid wants him to go, wants him to be brusque or happy, not awkwardly fond in a way that gives false hope of shared affection.

“‘Drid there’s, there’s somethin I wanna, that is I’m thinkin...aw, fuck it.”

Indrid yelps as arms nearly as big around as he is scoop him up. Duck’s lifted him to examine flowers or see over trees, but the hugging is new.

“Duck?” Carefully, he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Duck always smells faintly of pine needles and green wood, and Indrid buries his face in his neck, inhaling in hopes of remembering it forever.

“Then stay. I changed my mind, ‘Drid, life is so much better with you around.”

“Okay” Indrid can’t get his voice above a whisper; this wasn’t in the timelines, which means Duck changed his mind at the literal last moment.

“Really? You wanna stay?” Duck shifts him back, Indrid functionally sitting on his forearm with his legs half wrapped around his chest.

The seer summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so closes his eyes before going in for a kiss. His lips find Duck’s cheek until a firm hand cups the back of his head, guiding their mouths together. At this size, their mouths are compatible even as Indrid remains pleasantly dwarfed. Duck breaks the kiss first but Indrid, hell-bent on making up for lost time, continues kissing his face until they’re both laughing.

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #reader requests #leshen

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allyactually · 4 years ago

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So if you didn’t know, now you know.. I have several diagnosed mental illnesses. i’ve been through more medications and doctors than I've been through diets. yesterday (christmas eve) i went to pick up my medication because when it comes to timing, i’m top tier. While I was there I handed the pharmacist my prescription for my ADD medication and she was like “sorry, I can't fill this one. we can only fill prescriptions within 21 days of them being written” and i guess i can understand that but i’ve been walking around with this prescription for a month because i’m not really focused enough to remember to refill my meds if i’m out of my ADD meds and the pharmacist was like, “yes, but you’ll still have to get a new one” and that sucks because first of all, the fact that i’m making my meds last long enough that my next prescription expired proves that i’m not abusing them , so if anything i should be rewarded. Plus, now i have to make an appointment to see my doctor to get another prescription and i’ll have to tell her i kept getting too distracted to fill the prescription that i insisted that i needed because my ADD was making me too distracted.

but technically she already knows i’m irresponsible and have ADD so really it’ll probably just make her happier that she’s doing an excellent job diagnosing me. although she’s not really doing that great if she actually expected that i was going to fill my prescription myself within a normal time limit. i suspect it’s a test and i failed it. or she did. Maybe we did as a team. I'm not good at evaluating right now because I’m low on ADD meds… Anyways, she’s been asking me to get blood work done because we are trying to figure my entire life out and because I'm convinced I still haven’t gotten that done because the unknown absolutely terrifies me. I work in an office where I could literally draw my own blood and yet I haven't done it because who knows what’s next. I'm bad at commitment and I have 400 dreams going through my head constantly. That's why new year's resolutions have never been for me.

this is probably my last blog before the new year & i want to not write what exactly i want to accomplish next year. realistic things. personal things. I'm not setting myself up for disappointment, I'm setting myself up to change things for me and my future. People who write resolutions usually end up letting go and I think it’s because we set ourselves up for unrealistic expectations. In one study 8 percent kept their resolutions. less than 25 percent followed through after 30 days, but after the 30-day mark more than 90 percent quit. you should create goals. Goals should not be rigid. Goals provide a direction to follow to achieve desired outcome. Goals involve intention setting, planning, preparing, and taking REALISTIC action.

Goals have a line to cross and something to celebrate.

Resolutions are general intentions to do better

Goals are time-bound.

Resolutions are all about your willpower.

Goals enable you to track your progress and see progress.

Resolutions are what you tell yourself you have to do no matter how much you don’t want to do it.

Goals give you purpose.

Resolutions hope to transform hope into habit.

Goals are quantifiable – you did, or you didn’t.

Resolutions give you a push, and goals have pull and power.

Goals allow for incremental change.

Resolutions are a promise of all or nothing.

example:

goal- i will lose 25 pounds by Christmas.

resolution- i will eat better every day.

if you lose 20-pounds instead of 25, it is still a win. You can do a little victory dance. If you’re overweight, a 20-pound loss is huge and should be celebrated.

If your resolution is to eat better and you slip one day because you ate a donut at work, you failed.

we always tend to take on these huge habit projects upon ourselves and try to squish achieving them into one year of work when the habits themselves have taken years to build. Then, when we don’t see that flat stomach, or we feel like having 200 more calories or we snap at the next person to get in our face all by January 2nd, we get discouraged and we feel flat.

The best advice I can give to be a successful goal reacher is to break down your goals. I want to write a book but first, I have to write it. i have to have a first draft, second, third, find an editor. This is more realistic than writing a book in a year. It's the very reason authors have mediocre pieces that don’t get sales. Do you want to lose 100 pounds? That's great. do i want to be 100 pounds lighter for 2022 or 100 pounds lighter for good.. anyways, i wanted to write my goals out for the year so i can look back and be proud that i can accomplish anything. ADD and all.

2022 goals

write the first draft of my book.

Read the entire bible in a year

Finish a fast

Learn to say no

Book at least 10 photoshoots

Shoot 2 weddings

Post a blog weekly

Eat 3 meals a day everyday

Stop questioning my worth

Let people love me

Complete 250 workouts and track them

Get started in nursing school.

Book 1 speaking engagement

Strengthen my photography ability

Get to 1000 followers on my blog page

Tell someone you love them everyday

Pray everyday

Pay off debt ($3000)

save $5000

Tithe consistently

Believe that even if i slip, i am not a failure,

#goals #resolutions #blog #fashion #blogger

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k7l4d4 · 4 years ago

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Two New AUs (Loud House & Amphibia)

Today I am rolling out two new AUs for all you folks looking for something to help fill the hole in your lives that only inspiration can! ...That was too over the top and I apologize for it. First off, my Loud House AU, Ring Me Up!

Did somebody call for a hero!? I had an idea for DC Crossover with The Loud House, and I was hoping to share it with everyone. Has anyone heard of the H-Dial? Not to worry for those who haven't, as I will explain! The H-Dial, also called the Hero Dial, is a device that allows someone to tap into a location known as the Hero-Verse, a dimension where every possible superhero that ever was, is, or will be, no matter how improbable, is connected. By dialing HERO, the wielder of the H-Dial can turn into any hero throughout the Multi-Verse! But it's totally random, so you can get either something totally amazing, or incredibly bizarre, and the second is far more likely unfortunately. Enter Lincoln Loud, a seemingly ordinary boy with a less than ordinary family who find the H-Dial. The version he finds is a bit different, as it is an experimental proof-of-concept with an unusual nature; rather than turn the wielder into a hero, it turns someone close to the wielder into one instead! To use it, Lincoln enters HERO into the Dial, and then presses a number. 1: The Determined, heroes with nothing special to them, with either very weak powers or none at all, they became heroes due to the hard work they put in and nothing less. The avatar of this number is Lori. 2: The Gentle, heroes whose greatest strength isn't their powers, but rather their compassion and connection with others, they will reach out to save anyone, even a villain. The avatar of this number is Leni. 3: The Gifted, heroes who were lost in life, without purpose or direction, until something or someone not only inspired them to be more, but gave them the ability to do it. The avatar of this number is Luna. 4: The Manic, heroes who don't always fit in to society, filled with boundless energy, and a though process that is absolutely unique. The avatar of this number is Luan. 5: The Mighty, heroes of strength and prowess, the ferocity within them can never be restrained, whether for good or ill, they invariably have powers that either let them hit, or be hit, harder and longer. The avatar of this number is Lynn. 6: The Tired, heroes who are not accepted by society, defined by the suffering they have endured, they constantly walk the border between the light and the dark. The avatar of this number is Lucy. 7: The Wild, heroes of nature, they aren't afraid to get rough and tumble, and thrive off of what most civilized folks struggle with. The avatar of this number is Lana. 8: The Elegent, heroes who have it all, grace, beauty, power, they constantly battle the temptation to do bad with all that they have, as beneath their beauty lies something twisted. The avatar of this number is Lola. 9: The Brilliant, heroes defined by their minds, who dedicated themselves to using their gifts not just to benefit mankind in the long-term, but the here-and-now as well. The avatar of this number is Lisa. 0: The Future, heroes who embody all the hopes and dreams of a brighter tomorrow, who have walked to the abyss and seen not horror, but unrealized potential and beauty. The avatar of this number is Lily. What do you all think? The above AU requires no hard knowledge of DC Comics, as the only element from DC is the H-Dial, one of the most obscure relics of power in all of DCU Publishing History!

The next AU is for Amphibia, and is what I like to call, Alone Together. Note: This is meant to be a Superhero Reconstruction AU, in which the idea is to breakdown the premise and uplifting notions of comic books heroes, and then build them back up. Here we GO!!! Also, the name of the AU is Gifted Calamities.

Long ago, the Outer Rulers were, well, bored. They had existed for so long, experienced so much, that they struggled to find anything to break the monotony of their immortal existence; it would not be wrong to say that they had been driven mad from boredom!! Yet, soon, they came across a world, just starting to fill with life, and thought of an idea. They had experienced so much, why not make something instead? Falling to the world, which had only just started developing its civilizations, they came upon its people, the humans. With mischief and intrigue within whatever counted for them as hearts, they blessed upon the simple race three gifts: Wisdom, Strength, and Heart. With the seeds of their entertainment planted, the Outer Rulers vanished, eager to see what fruits would bloom under the labor of their unknowing pawns.

As humanity found the Three Gifts, they were enthralled; with Wisdom, no knowledge was beyond their understanding, with Strength, no feat was too daring to accomplish, and with Heart, no soul was beyond salvation. But as with all power, there came those who coveted it for themselves and themselves alone; the Order of the Hungry Beast. This ancient brotherhood found the power as enthralling as their brethren, yet where the others saw beauty, they saw only their most depraved wants and whims come to life. With Wisdom, no scheme could fail, with Strength, no nation could not be conquered, and with Heart, no soul could not fall under their sway. As the Order grew in influence, they encroached upon the Gifts, drawing them deeper and deeper into their clutches. Yet, one day, a young nomad, gifted in the ways of Heart, came upon them in the dead of night, as they schemed to kill the village that held the Gifts and seize them for themselves. Horrified, the nomad, roared in alarm, her furious shriek rousing the village to action. Coming in droves, the humble village, tasked for all these years with guarding the Three Gifts, stormed outward, horrified to see that the members of the Order, those they called brother, sister, mother, father, son, and daughter, were plotting against them.

A great clash rocked the land as the Order of the Beast and the Villagers, headed by the young Nomad, battled to decide once and for all how the power of the Gifts would be used; would they be gifts of wonder, bringing humanity closer together, or gifts of strife, driving humanity against one another in eternal darkness? As more and more members of each side fell, the Nomad looked on in sorrow; for every one of the Order who were taken, three or more of the villagers were lost. It was a battle of attrition, one that they were losing! What could be done? Yet, over the din and cacophony of battle, the Nomad could here two fierce cheers; the young inventress, barred from the conflict due to a broken leg, and the chief guard’s apprentice, who volunteered to protect the children, both yelling to the heavens: “Don’t give up. You haven’t lost. You can still win. We believe you will win, so win!” As the Nomad, heard them cheer, her heart filling with joy and resolve, something... sparked.

Just as the feeling came, it quelled at the sight of two soldiers from the Order rushed the cheering onlookers, hell-bent on silencing their voices that bolstered the hearts and resolve of the Villagers. As her heart filled with dread at the no doubt bloody sight to come, the Nomad reached out, screams of warning resting on her lips, only to fall silent as the two cheering onlookers sprung into action; the injured inventor pulled a peculiar apparatus, and launched a bolt of sharpened wood into the soldier nearest to her, and apprentice guard sprung into action, crashing down onto the hapless enemy with a fierce grin. Both turned to the Nomad, seemingly seeing her across the carnage and chaos of the battle field, and nodded. As the spark once more burned into her heart, the Nomad turned to the oncoming hoard of Soldiers and said this: “You may rage and struggle, lash out and torment with your cruelty and selfishness all you like. But you will never win. Not because we are stronger than you, that we are more than you, but because, unlike you, we have not forgotten the first Gift humanity ever had. The Gift of HOPE!” With a roar, hearts filled with the Hope burning through the Nomad’s cry, the Villagers, resolve honed into an unstoppable force, leapt into the final clash.

It was over. The Villagers had one. With the final rally of the Nomad, they pulled together the strength to break and scatter the cowardly Order. Yet, in the end, the victory was bitter-sweet. The Nomad, a kind stranger who none knew the name of, had fallen in battle, the corpse of the Order’s leader cooling beneath her. The apprentice guard, so full of life and fire that drew all into her orbit, died standing, guarding the door to the children held within, the corpses of all who tried to cross the threshold piled around her, unwavering in her duty even in her death. The inventor, heedless of her injuries, had lured a platoon that had broken into the Hold into her workshop, and collapsed it all around them, a defiant smile beaming across her face. As the Villagers took stock of the ones who had given so much for them, a noble stranger who could’ve left them to their fate, an absent-minded inventor who constantly worried the village with her studies sacrificed her prized inventions, that which she held more sacred than even her own life, to fell the enemy, and the young guard who went above and beyond her duty for those she loved, they knew what must be done. Taking the Three Gifts and the bodies of their three heroes, the Villagers committed all to fire, both to honor those who gave them their future, and to keep the Gifts from EVER falling into the hands of the Order and their selfish crusade. The Gifts were destroyed, the heroes bodies lost. All they had to do was pick up the pieces.

Thousands of years have passed, and a new era has dawned. The Gifts have returned, as has the order. The only question is: what happens now?

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solynaceawrites · 5 years ago

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End of Sanctuary

Fandom: Nanatsu no Taizai | The Seven Deadly Sins Characters: Mael, Meliodas Tags: Post-Canon, Character Study, Canon Character Death, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort written for @nntzine Summary: After the defeat of the Demon King, Mael returns to the only home he knows and engages in a festival to honor the ones who were lost.Originally written for Nanatsu no Taizine: Volume II and published in celebration of autumn.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The sun is low in the sky when he reaches his home. Former home, he supposes, landing lightly in what was once the grand courtyard: the immaculate marble has cracked and fallen, the flowers overgrown by thistles and weeds. Mael tilts his head back, taking in the ruins of the spires of the Supreme Deity’s palace, listening to the wind whistle forlornly through the shattered windows and holes in the walls, and wonders if this is their punishment for their hubris. Dead leaves whisper through the grass, like the voices of so many ghosts; with a sigh, he kneels, sweeping dirt away from the walk. This is the place of his birth, and he remembers with a fond sort of ache the feasts and festivals that were held here, one in particular which was always dear to him.

The Feast of All Souls began as a prayer. To remember those who’d come before, goddesses lit candles within their homes and laid offerings of food and wine on their doorsteps. Eventually, with the war looming over their clan, the Supreme Deity had made it a public event, one which all were encouraged to attend. Private offerings were still left, yet the majority of the evening was spent in the city streets, buying masks and scraps of finest parchment upon which to write hopes, dreams, or words of remembrance. And, once the sun had set and the world was cool and quiet, in the grand courtyard a chosen member of their race would light the torches and dance, and those little bits of people’s lives would be fed to the bonfire, to reach the next life. Mael rubs a dandelion between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. There is no one here, and yet . . .

He has no place in Britannia, nor a reason to return there. Too much suffering is on his shoulders, too much grief for him to express his own. And with the role he played in Escanor’s passing — how foolish he had been to believe that Elizabeth could heal the damage inflicted by Sunshine, how naive to trust in Escanor’s words over his own understanding of the man’s life — he would no doubt face scathing ire from the Sins, who loved Escanor as a comrade and a friend. And the Celestial Realm is in ruins, hardly fit to live in. Mael is well and truly alone in this world, and he presses himself to his feet and lifts his gaze to study the first blooming stars. He does not know where he will go from here, but he decides that, before he meets whatever fate is in store for him, he will honor those who lost their lives in this senseless war.

He will reignite the flames of the Feast.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Mael stands in the center of the courtyard, watching as the sun begins its slow trek below the horizon. It is cold now, the seasons caught between autumn and winter, and the ivy that climbs the stone pillars is a vibrant, otherworldly green against the tawny hues of the rest of the world, and his breath condenses on the inside of the mask he wears. Only the Grace that had returned to him keeps him from truly feeling the chill; he is shirtless, his feet bare, and without Sunshine he would be trembling. Surrounding him are torches, burning brightly against the oncoming gloom, plates of food and wine at their bases, and a pile of dead branches waits for him to set it alight. His mind is as clear as it can be, his limbs tense for the dance he will perform. When the sun kisses the edge of the sky, he leans over and presses one of his own torches to the kindling, and the bonfire, soaked in oil, roars to life.

Then Mael begins to dance.

It is Ludoshel he thinks of first, the brother he had all but worshipped in his youth. He remembers his first flight—more of a glide, really, his wings too small and his feathers too new to hold him aloft for more than a few moments—how Ludoshel beamed with pride as he landed awkwardly on his feet and ruffled the hair that never laid as prettily as his own. Nights passed with stories, his brother tracing the constellations in the sky and telling them how they came to be: the Warrior, forever chasing the Queen he loved; the clever Fox that marked the beginning of autumn, the Saint and the King and the Dove, until Mael’s head was full of starlight and dreams. Ludoshel’s comfort when he was injured, his hands calloused yet soothing as he bandaged scrapes. Ludoshel, his voice hoarse with held-back tears as he clapped Mael on the shoulder and congratulated him on becoming an Archangel. His brother, and confidante, who had his flaws yet was always good to him.

Mael flicks out an arm, the torch in that hand dangling by his fingertips. To my brother, without whom I would not be. I thank you.

Escanor comes next. Though they had barely known each other at all, the man had been full of kindness and love, the type of person Mael wished he had been three thousand years ago. Their meeting had been violent, to be sure, but even then, even as Estarossa, he had felt a genuine respect for the one who stood against his decree, and knows now that Sunshine did not aid him in that feat. Escanor had not been capable of hatred; his heart was too pure, his capacity for understanding too great. Even in his grief, he had not been cruel, each action meant to end Mael’s life as quickly and cleanly as possible. Well, perhaps that is too generous, but whether or not Escanor knew that Cruel Sun would cause a slow death, Mael does not know. They had been bound by Sunshine and Mael had found him, and Escanor had pleaded with him, not once but twice, refusing to accept the self-loathing brewing within Mael’s chest.

He crouches, twisting the torches over his head in a shower of sparks. To Escanor, who was all that I hoped to be and more. I thank you.

Sariel, who taught him to read the affection that lurked beneath abrasive words, and Tarmiel, the one who had never given up his hope that Mael was good, both dead by his hands. Sariel’s tongue had always been like sandpaper, yet he had been the one to teach him how to be agile, how to stay moving in the air so no one enemy could get close enough to do him harm. Tarmiel, gentle and sweet, had encouraged him, shown him the proper way to grip a sword and how he could use his size to make his opponents think he was slower than he was to keep the upper hand. Monspeet, an unwilling victim of the illness that had festered within Mael as the decree at away at his sanity; Derieri, who sacrificed herself in an attempt to save him; Oslo, who was Rou, a loyal companion that devoured Mael’s magic so that the Fairy King could live.

Without that, without them, he would not have survived, and he lets the fire lick his shoulders as he draws the torches along his chest. To those who gave themselves so that I would be free. I thank you.

In one fluid movement, he lunges forward and places the torches atop the fire, his magic working to heal his hands even as they burn. Then he steps back, removing the mask he had carved from silver aspen and the ceremonial trousers woven from red-dyed wool before placing them within the pile as well, the flames devouring the hopes and prayers held within the objects, turning them into smoke that will hopefully reach the souls they are meant for. The sun is long gone now, the moon at the apex of its journey, and the sweat that had formed as he danced grows cold along his legs and back. Mael picks up the flask of wine he’d brought for himself and opens it to drink, uncaring of his nudity. He must watch until the fire dies, and then he can rest until dawn. Checking the offerings will come in the morning; so he sits and drinks and fasts till only embers remain, smoldering against the shattered stone.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The next morning, he exits his makeshift home, exhausted and more than a little hungover. A quick Invigorate cures him of the latter, but his bones ache as he treks by to the courtyard to clean up the remnants from the Feast. It is an unusually bright day, the sky clear and free of clouds, and the sun warms his back as he kneels down to inspect the first of the offerings, finding it nearly gone. With a faint smile, he moves to the next, and the next, and the last, and each of them has been disturbed more than the birds are capable of, the gifts picked thoroughly and more than half-missing. The sign of a good Feast and answered prayers lifts a weight Mael hadn’t realized he was carrying from his shoulders. He knows that he is by no means forgiven for the atrocities he committed, yet the sight of empty baskets puts him at ease; perhaps now those left behind can begin their healing. He pauses next to the remains of the bonfire to tilt his head back, studying the clear blue stretching endlessly above his head.

“Autumn,” Ludoshel says, placing a hand on his shoulder with a smile, “is a time of rest so that we can be reborn anew, like all that the Supreme Deity’s light touches.”

“I miss you,” Mael replies.

His voice echoes flatly in the air, and he closes his eyes against the grief that swells within him. Rest to be reborn anew.

Footsteps crunch over the dirt, drawing Mael’s attention to the ruined stairs. To his surprise, Meliodas is standing there, his hands in his pockets as he surveys their surroundings, his brows furrowed with what can only be contemplation. Then his green eyes cut across the theater to Mael, and his usual grin slides into place. “I thought I’d find you here,” he says cheerfully, crossing to him. “Or hoped, actually, but Elizabeth said this is where you were most likely to go.”

Mael can only stare at him while his mind tries to comprehend Meliodas being in the Celestial Realm. “Why?” he asks.

He supposes it could have meant why are you looking for me, or why did Elizabeth send you, and Meliodas chooses to answer the former. “I have a proposition for you.” He scratches the back of his head. “Well, the Sins do. With Escanor gone, we’re short one, and all of us are used to fighting with Sunshine around. So we want you to join us. There probably won’t be much fighting,” Meliodas adds when Mael stiffens, “since the war is over, which means you’ll mostly be helping run the Boar’s Hat and keeping the peace when we have to.”

He isn’t sure what to make of the offer. “I’m not sure I’m suited to becoming his legacy.”

Meliodas waves his hand dismissively. “No one’s asking for that, or for you to become the Sin of Pride. We’re offering a home, and a chance to do something other than stay here, alone.” His gaze is calculating now as he looks at Mael, almost as though he is daring him to refuse, and he nearly smiles as the old, Estarossa-like desire to meet the challenge swells within him.

“Alright,” Mael agrees. “I’ll go with you. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Buy me a drink.”

Meliodas grins, holding out a hand that Mael clasps warmly within his own, and there’s a rush of fear, longing and hope that makes him tremble. Be reborn, he thinks. I’ll try my best, brother.

#nnt #nanatsu no taizai #mael #nnt mael #nnt fanfic #nnt fanfiction #my writing #myfic #oneshot #zine work

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featherwriter · 4 years ago

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<< Read from the beginning! >>

In the weeks to follow, Sylvanni’s captivity started to fall into a kind of routine. Not a good routine, but at least predictable. Erxaris’ deal held: so long as Silveks remained obedient, she was no longer subjected to the torturous experiments she’d initially endured. It wasn’t much of a reprieve, but it was better than nothing.

As Uldren had predicted, the shining stay and her new station afforded her a strange kind of status within House Kings. Most of the days, she was requested to be at the Baroness’ side as she held audience with other members of the House. Sylvanni was to be a silent but eye-catching trophy, the Guardian brought to heel. She was a quiet piece of furniture, staying near proceedings so that all present could be reminded that House Kings was powerful enough to accomplish such a feat. Or perhaps, seemingly powerful. The longer Sylvanni observed, the more she began to see just how much pageantry went into propping up a House of ailing numbers and the part she herself was made to play in that act.

On some occasions, when the Baroness truly wished to show off the command she wielded, Sylvanni would be commanded to make another bloody showing of loyalty. Just another death, she’d tell herself when handed a weapon for the deed. That it was by her own hand made no difference, other than that she learned how to do the deed quickly and cleanly. On the other side of the resurrection, she would kneel and hand back her Ghost silently to be contained once more, trying to empty herself of thoughts and emotions as she did so.

He was there in the audience room with her most of the time, locked away in the containment canister. The Baroness liked to keep the little prison under-claw, tapping it in a clicking wave every so often to draw attention to her prize. Sylvanni tried her best not to look, not to think about him. Sentiment was a distraction she could ill afford before an opportunity to escape came. At this point, keeping herself fully blank was an almost meditative process. There was a strange kind of comfort in it, in the nothingness of it all.

She watched days of the Baroness’ proceedings without speaking, without reaction, keeping the loose attention pose Erxaris had taught her. The Fallen of the House seemed to find her empty stare intimidating, and she took comfort in that even in this humiliated state, she could still inspire fear. In fact, those who bore witness to her acts of forced self-sacrifice often seemed even more nervous around her than before. She took satisfaction in that as well.

Her silent observations gave her plenty of time to try to decipher the Eliksni conversations which took place around her. Between her appearances in the Baroness’ chamber, when there was no need of her decorative function, she was returned to her cell. Whenever she wasn’t sleeping, she worked with Uldren to study the language, committing the alien sounds and overly intricate grammar to memory with practice and repetition. The lessons gave both of them something to work on, something to focus on other than the circumstances of their captivity.

During one such lesson, Uldren paused to give her a long look. “May I ask where you were raised, Duv?”

She shifted her posture, trying to find a different position where the metal edges of the stay would dig in at least somewhere else from where they had been. There was never a comfortable position for the ill-fitting contraption, but she’d grown used to shifting it periodically to spread the discomfort out. “You know I have no childhood to remember, so when you say ‘raised’ you mean…?”

“Your first time, back from the dead.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this somehow relevant to the usage of the neutral-tone interrogative?”

He gave her a stern smile at the cheeky response. “Indulge me, if you would.”

She let out a long sigh, shaking her head. “It’s not exactly a pleasant story, Uldren.” She looked at him for a long pause, hoping he might let her out of the question, but he simply stared back, expectant of her answer.

“Do go on.”

“Fine. My Ghost, M-Mandala–” It was still difficult to say his name down here, too present a reminder of his absence from her. “–he found me floating in ship wreckage, 83rd sector on the inner edge of the Reef. Most Guardians would tell you their first resurrection was a difficult, shocking experience. But I can say with certainty that the experience is even less enjoyable when done in the void of space with nothing to breathe.”

Uldren sat up a little more, leaning forward. “What happens in a situation like that? Do you just immediately decompress and die again?”

“No, not exactly.” Sylvanni rubbed a hand over her upper arm, finding the memories difficult to recount. “With the Light, we’re… we’re more resilient than you are. A Guardian doesn’t technically need air to continue living. The Light alone can sustain us, can heal the damage to our bodies constantly enough that we don’t pass away. There was no decompression because there was no air in my lungs to begin with. My corpse was as pressureless as it could be, and so too was I, once I was returned.

“But even if we can survive in the vacuum, it isn’t pleasant. The… the body remembers its former need to breathe, your instincts scream that you’re choking, suffocating, dying. But it doesn’t actually end. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t know how to make it stop. Just… trying to gasp for air that wasn’t there, everything empty and silent and agonizing.”

Uldren made a small hum, considering. “I’m surprised a Ghost would do such a thing to his Guardian, especially upon her first resurrection. Would it not have been possible to bring you somewhere with atmosphere before waking you for the first time?”

Sylvanni looked away, her shoulders curling forward slightly. This was a difficult thing to talk about. As terrible as it had been, she couldn’t blame her Ghost for it. She couldn’t. “It… It wasn’t his fault.” She forces firmness into the words, trying to reinforce them for herself as well. “He’s just a little machine; floating through the vacuum of space is no different from him than strolling the streets of the Last City. When he finally found me, after so long searching, he was just so excited to meet me, and Guardians can survive in such conditions. He just… He wasn’t thinking about what it would feel like.

“When he realized what was happening, realized I couldn’t even hear him to explain what was going on, he immediately put out an urgent distress call for ships in the sector. Another Guardian found us eventually, took us both into their ship and ferried me to the Last City. My first real breath in, well, I don’t even know how long it was, it was the most wonderful thing I could imagine.

“Mandala felt terrible about the whole thing. My first few moments in that ship, catching my first new breaths, were such a mixed jumble of apologies and introductions and explanations about being a Guardian. I don’t like to bring it up, at least not around him. He still feels guilty that my earliest experience as a Guardian was so distressing. Like I said, it wasn’t his fault.”

“That’s quite forgiving of you, Duv. I didn’t realize your resurrection was so… unpleasant.”

“I did tell you so at the start.” She bristled slightly, wondering if he was mocking her somehow. “Are you satisfied? Have I indulged you well enough, Your Highness?”

He ducked his head. “I’m sorry to have made you recount it then. Though it does offer me some insight. The reason I asked in the first place.”

“And that reason was…?”

“I have a theory,” Uldren said, a touch of his humor returning, “which I believe your experience may corroborate. I think you may have been Reef Awoken before your death.”

Sylvanni stiffened. Given the location of her death, she’d thought along the same lines herself, but never for very long. Seeking out information about one’s life before was forbidden. “Guardians aren’t meant to know our pasts or question what our lives were before. Whatever we once were does not matter. It’s not a topic to speculate upon.”

“Oh, come on, Guardian. You can’t tell me you aren’t even mildly curious about who you once were. I’m certain I would be, if our positions were switched. It’s certainly not impossible to figure some things out.”

“What?” she asked, lifting her chin in a challenge. “Are you saying you think you knew me before I died? Is that it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Nothing so specific. I very well may have, but no, you aren’t particularly familiar to me in that way. I simply have a theory that you may have been fluent in Eliksni in your former life. Many Reef Awoken are. I’ve been suspicious of how quickly you seem to be picking up what is, at its heart, a very complicated alien language. We can’t have been down here much more than a month and I’d say you’re at basic fluency, Duv.”

“I, well… I had previously studied some of the written glyph structures. That’s probably what it is.” Sylvanni’s brow furrowed, unnerved by the idea that she might have retained skills from her previous life to such a degree that they would be noticeable to someone else. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“Studying glyphs wouldn’t explain how you learn to pronounce things so well so quickly.” He narrowed his eyes at her, smiling as though pleased to think he might have struck a nerve again. “You seem offended by the implication that you might be Reefborn. Would it really be so bad if it were true?”

Sylvanni took a moment to stand up, pacing a little bit to try to get her blood moving again. Constantly sitting in the cell was terribly stifling. “I simply prefer not to think about it at all. The past is the past, it doesn’t concern me. We should continue the lesson.”

He chuckled, much to her annoyance. “As you wish, Guardian. I believe you were asking about the neutral interrogative?”

The lessons were useful when surrounded constantly by Fallen and their chatter. Clearly, Sylvanni learned, those guarding their cells didn’t care to pay attention to the fact that their prisoners were practicing their language and many in the House seemed to believe she couldn’t understand anything they discussed in front of her. To their detriment, as steadily, more and more, that was becoming no longer the case. She wasn’t by any means a highly proficient speaker, but as Uldren had noticed, her comprehension had come a long way in their short time taking lessons, and she listened in Eliksni better than she spoke. She could grasp the overall meanings of most conversations, and she often kept note of any wholly unfamiliar terms or phrases to later ask Uldren what they meant.

Between the time in her cell learning with Uldren and her time as an intimidating decoration for the Baroness, only one other assignment was routinely given to her: participation in the arena for the House’s entertainment. These occurrences weren’t frequent, but Sylvanni savored whenever they were given. Against the emotional blankness of most of her days, a chance to fight, to feel even her meager trickle of Light sing to her in the contest, it was the only time she ever felt like herself again.

It always seemed a tossup whether or not they would give her a weapon before sending her out, but she learned to be just as ruthlessly efficient with only her hands as when armed. Even small amounts of Light, it turned out, could be put to devastating use when employed with precision. Against these hapless foes they sent to die before her, she was wrath unbridled, destruction unchained, and she relished that. She didn’t always win; sometimes the groups she faced managed to rally enough coordination to overwhelm her, but she usually emerged victorious. These days, there were no stealthed swordsmen waiting for her in the wings of the arena. If she made it through alive, she was expected to bow and then make another ‘show of loyalty’ for the audience’s amusement. In those cases, she was always raised again in the preparation room, away from the eyes of all.

The one true constant of her new life’s routine was that terrible, accursed servitor. Every few hours, she would be subjected to its influence again, draining her reserves of Light before they could get high enough to be dangerous to her captors. Always immediately after her times fighting in the arena, the servitor was ready to catch her in its grasp as soon as she was back to life. This was another detail she wouldn’t have expected the Fallen to know about Guardians: how her Light flourished within her more quickly when she fought and killed enemies. Yet somehow this secret too was known to them, and they were always prepared to ensure she couldn’t use that Light against them after a fight.

That moment, she realized, was likely her best chance at escape. She could gather Light in Erxaris’ makeshift Prison of Elders, sparingly using her voidlight to pull as much life as she could from those she slayed. She would have her Ghost back after the resurrection, and assuming she fought wisely, she might have enough Light to fully unleash her abilities on her guards and make a break for it. All it would take was a bit of sloppiness in the transition from raising her to the servitor drain, enough of a pause for her to make her move. Their greed for the Light-derived ether they synthesized from her would be their undoing. It would just take one mistake.

She watched carefully for an opening, but despite her vigilance, time and again it failed to manifest. Over and over, with terrible efficiency, they bade her fight, resurrected her, and then drained her Light away immediately, before it could be useful.

As these weeks passed, Sylvanni learned of House Kings, all the important conversations she bore witness to, quietly putting these scraps of information together into a picture of what her captors were really like. The House of Kings, despite the Baroness’ showy displays of power and spectacle, was struggling. Its most important members had almost completely retreated down into these warrens to try to escape the scrutiny and scavenging of the other Houses. The crowds Sylvanni saw in the broken arena were apparently almost the entirety of the House, its membership having dwindled to only a few hundred fighting soldiers and half that of untrained civilians.

The Baroness was the only Fallen of her size in the House—aside from their reclusive Kell, of course—and she hoarded their scant ether rations, raising none any higher than captaincy. One of the Kings priests had recently been named an Archon, but had not had his rations increased in measure with his new station. The Baroness herself was greedy, paranoid, and ambitious. She distrusted most of her advisors, aside from the unwavering Erxaris, who apparently was spared suspicion by virtue of technically not being a member of the Kings. House Judgment’s claims to service through neutrality towards the other Houses was a powerful tool in politics, it turned out. The Baroness, meanwhile, saw Sylvanni’s Light-ether as a final opportunity, perhaps, to get out of this mess. It was clear she hoped to glut herself and grow strong enough to supplant the Kell and take his place, whenever he deigned to return.

Sylvanni thought it clear that the House’s problems almost certainly stemmed from such selfish, short-sighted leadership, but of course made no comment to anyone. She had no desire to see the Kings’ fortunes reversed, after all. She didn’t know whether or not to feel insulted to have been captured by such a weak House, or grateful that their crumbling hierarchy would hopefully lend her greater opportunity to get away. She suspected Uldren had guessed some of the internal political problems here as well, even though he didn’t have nearly the same level of access she did. She never missed how his eyes tracked every exchange from their cells, every expression, every morsel of gossip passed between bored guards that he could witness. He often asked her if she’d heard any valuable information during her time in the audience room, and she shared what she’d learned with him as she could. He turned out to be right after all: down here, they were all each other had. House Kings thought the Prince as beaten down and broken of will as their pet Guardian, but Sylvanni knew he yet had some kind of scheme he hoped to undertake.

One of them would make it out of this hellish nightmare, of that she was certain. And after months of patience, waiting for something to change, some opportunity to make an attempt at freedom, a whispered rumor brought hope. The message spread quickly through the ranks of the once great House, from the official scout report to the Baroness, overheard by Sylvanni listening blankly at her side, to chatter among the lowest dregs as she was walked back to her cell. The same news was on every alien tongue she passed:

The House of Kings was to make its highest preparations. The Kell was coming home.

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#destiny fanfiction #destiny #uldren sov #eliksni #destiny fallen #Sylvanni Duv #Recompense #A Crow's Rescue #I think we've only got one chapter left #maybe an epilogue #eyes emoji #those of you familiar with D1 grimoire cards may be able to guess some of what's coming next #but i hope it'll be enjoyable anyway #y'all just wait im gonna finish this fic if it kills me

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