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arabellasleopardcoat · 11 months

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Violent Delights (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As a dornish princess, you live by one saying. All is fair in love and war. When Prince Daemon stumbles into your life, you start to reconsider your stance.

Warnings: Fluff. Pining, yearning, childhood crush. Mentions of sex, sexual thoughts, noncon (Baby reader catching Daemon in the act, it doesn't last long, adults intervene) all the usual Daemon warnings.

A/N: Meet dornish reader! I wanted to explore how Daemon can be in character and be with an actual age appropriate woman. Enjoy.

The first time you see Daemon Targaryen, you are twelve years old. Twelve years old and fascinated by the rain. It’s not something you usually see in Dorne, so as you trail your older brother around the Red Keep, you slip away to get a closer look.

You have never been good at orientating yourself, specially in such large spaces. You climb a stair and go in circles, before you decide to start opening doors. Unsure of which wing you are in, you decide to enter the first empty room you see.

Much to your delight, it is a sitting room with large windows. You choose the biggest one, underneath which a tiny windowsill will do quite nicely for a resting place. The window is heavy to your child self, a monstrosity made of a darker wood unseen in Dorne. You manage to pry it open with great effort and sit by it, one hand extended to feel the raindrops.

It's freezing. It feels just like running water does, but much colder. You close your eyes, committing the feeling to memory. In Dorne, desert and sand extends for miles and miles. When it rains, it's never like this. There are small drizzles, but nothing like this absolute downpour.

If it were to rain like this back home, panic would spread among the population. Crops would get ruined, houses would end up sunk in mud. But as you look down, you do not see hurried servants spreading sand or sawwood in the entrances, much less dragging furniture inside. Everything here seems to be built to withstand the climate.

You close your eyes again, feeling utterly at peace. The soft patter of the rain, so frightening at first, now feels much more calming. This is nice. You could get used to this, you think. Perhaps, when you are older, Qoren might marry you off to a kingdom where there is rain. You would like it, you think. It's a very marvelous thing. Majestic, even. There is a certain beauty in the natural forces making themselves known.

The door opens. You startle. When you look up, you are greeted by the sight of a couple kissing passionately. It’s a blonde man, tall and handsome, and a serving girl. Frozen in place, you stay quiet. You aren’t sure what the protocol is for this, if you should clear your throat or walk out quietly.

The couple parts. The man, young, around her age, pushes the woman down to her knees and starts undoing his clothing. He is a noble of some sort, you know it by the gambeson he wears. It's too finely crafted to be otherwise.

And sure, you are dornish. Someone has given you the talk about the birds and the bees already, along with some necessary knowledge of the feminine mystique. It doesn't mean you want to witness an unknown couple going at it.

As you get down from the windowsill, your shoes thud a little too hard on the floor. The woman doesn’t take notice, her mouth already… Well. But the man, blonde, Targaryen blonde, you think, looks up.

At first, it is as if he doesn’t see you. His face is contorted with pleasure, eyes nearly closed. He is beautiful, you think. His features stand out to you, specially because you are not used to people being so…white. The way he is lost in his pleasure, too, speaks to you in ways you can't yet comprehend.

Then, his eyes meet yours and widen. He is surprised at your presence, but it barely lasts. Without any ounce of shame, he gives you a superior smirk and winks.

You shriek. The serving girl pulls off him as if he were on fire. The man groans.

“Shut up, little girl.” He says, to you, as he pulls the serving girl back on. “In a few years, you too will be on your knees for a man.”

“My Prince!” The girl sounds scandalized. You can tell she is on the verge of placing herself between him and you. It's all over on the way she stands, blocking your view of his nakedness. You wonder if she fears damaging your innocence or what the man might do to you in a fit of temper. You have heard these Targaryens are quite spirited. “She is a child!”

“A dornish one.” The man, the Prince, shrugs. “Now, she can either stay or get out, but I am…”

Whatever he is, he doesn’t get to say it. No, because the door opens yet again, slamming against the wall. You startle, and so does the Prince. The serving girl starts quietly weeping, something along the lines of how she is sure she is about to lose her job.

Helplessly, three pairs of eyes shift to the door. There are guards, spears at the ready, at the forefront of it. One of them even drops his weapon, before shielding his eyes.

“What in the…”

The King and your older brother step inside the room, pushing past the men. Your brother's eyes are frantic, his hands reaching desperately for you.

The Prince still has his pants down.

Your brother takes one look at you, and one look at the Prince and loudly declares:

“We are leaving.”

Safe to say, Dorne does not join the other kingdoms that day.

There are many thoughts in your head about Daemon Targaryen after that. That he is handsome, and bold, and you always smile when told of his exploits. It's not a trait you should admire, as a second daughter, but you like his rebelliousness. When he gets the moniker of the Rogue Prince, you think it fitting.

You grow, during those years. You turn into a beautiful woman, sharp and bold, flourishing in the way women do when free to pursue their interests. But in your suitors' eyes, you have one fatal flaw: You live as you please and bed exactly the number of people you desire to bed.

In Daemon's eyes, though, you are a ghost. A memory that haunts him, every once in a while. He has heard of you, of your beauty and independence. He wonders if he was the one to initiate you into the world of pleasure, if that's why you have turned into such a siren. It's not often that Daemon does, but when he wonders, he recalls the face you had made when shattering your innocence.

But you don't know that yet. The more you grow, the more you forget him, even starting to feel a mild annoyance towards his house.

“You can never trust a Martell.” Or so King Viserys said, when your brother's offer to fund his side during the war at the Stepstones reached him. But he certainly finds it convenient because he pockets the gold so fast, one might believe him a dornish lover.

While it was true that you had an unfortunate habit of deceptiveness, it was not as if you changed sides as fast as a viper shed her skin. You only do it twice a year. Every six months is the perfect time to conduct an assessment of your investments.

Because that was what it was. War was no more than profit, for you, and most of the nobles in Westeros. The only difference is that you were much more honest about it than most.

It wasn't necessarily profitable in terms of gold. No, sometimes it meant gaining lands, or getting other kingdoms to respect you, so you could retain your freedom. But regardless of what you were gaining, you tended to look at things in a rather practical way. Some things were worth the sacrifice, some weren't.

Qoren lacked a business instinct. You had told him time and time again that the Triarchy was not a good investment. You would be losing men and funds, only to stick it to the Targaryens. Grievances aside, it was not worth it. You had to think about the good of your people.

Yet no matter how much you insisted, Qoren refused to see reason. Too proud. He had argued that the Iron Throne was going to scam you, in some way or another. When he had finally conceded to jumping ships, you had found out that he might be right.

While much more profitable than your time with the Triarchy, considering that you were now about to win the war, you were pretty sure you were being robbed. The funds you gave them slipped though their fingers faster than sand. They were either very dumb and got duped every time they bought supplies, or they were inflating the costs on purpose.

The deal had been clear. You would foot one quarter of the expenses for the lasts months of the campaign. But it seemed like you were footing the whole war with how much they were asking for.

While Qoren ruled Sunspear, you had always done your best to be involved in his politics as much as you could. Having been raised with the freedom most dorsnishwomen were, you had not been eager to make a political marriage or leave your home for a land that would think you too unconventional. Instead, to guarantee not being sent away, you had endeavored to make yourself as useful as you could.

But as you grew, you had proven to be much more than so. While he had made a good marriage, with a kind woman, she had not been raised in the way that you had been. You had turned indispensable in the ruling of Sunspear, his Lady in all but the fact that you did not share his bed.

It helped that, unmarried as you were, you retained your title. And as the Princess as you were, you didn't stand for being made a fool. That fact, aided by the hot-blooded nature of the Martells, had been what had prompted you to travel by yourself to the war camp.

If the lords loyal to the Iron Throne did, why couldn't you?

Much to your surprise, when you finally arrive at the Stepstones, it seems like the war is over. You find men pillaging the caves where the Crab King kept his few riches. A few wounded lay on the floor, others already taken by the Stranger.

You step in the sand, kicking a few bodies away to make room for yourself. The whole place is a mess. There are some fires going. Some men are rounding up the enemy’s soldiers, either killing them or placing them in chains. You wrinkle your nose in disgust at the smell of blood and burned flesh.

Slowly, you start to make your way forward. You have made sure to be dressed in the bright yellows and oranges of House Martell, to avoid being confused with someone else. The heavy, male boots you are wearing contrast sharply with the daintiness of your attire.

As you make your way forward, some men try to approach you. You gesture to your guards, a second son of House Dayne and a young man by the last name of Sand, to block their paths.

“Who is that?” Some men ask, dumbly. You roll your eyes. What sort of allies were these, that they didn't recognize your standard?

“Hey, Lady, you can’t be here!” And oh, the sheer stupidity of them all. If you didn't know their lords to be much more cunning, this display might have actually led you to believe that they were, in fact, being duped time and time again instead of inflating the cost of supplies.

“… The Maiden…” Now, that one was a bit better. You looked good in your traveling dress, despite the chunky boots.

“What is she..?”

You bat them all away, set on reaching the center of the smoking ruins. You know the men you seek must be there. The faint screeches of dragons tell you that.

Your knights locate a rock for you to sit on. They stand guard, their backs turned to you. You eye the carnage around you and decide that yes, the rock is precisely where you wish to sit. It's high enough that you get a vantage point to watch the terrain, but not too tall you will need aid to get up on it.

When you sit down, carefully spreading your skirts to not let them touch the dirt, someone sits by your side. You don't need to look up to know it's who you seek. Your guards wouldn't have let him approach if he wasn't.

“Quite the entrance.” He says, casually leaving his sword on the sand. “You have grown.”

Pretending not to recognize him, you look at your nails, casually. His voice sounds exactly as you remember it.

“Do I know you?”

“More intimately than you probably wished at the time.” He laughs, and you finally risk your first glance at him. Daemon Targaryen is still in his armor, covered in so much blood he looks positively feral. His hair, in intricate little braids, is as beautiful as you remember, even if limp and tinted red. A shame he will probably have to cut it now because by the looks of it, the blood and sooth are not coming off.

You are no longer a girl of twelve years old, and he is no longer the young Prince you once caught in the act. Yet, he is still disarmingly handsome. Despite the years and the self assuredness you have managed to cultivate, he leaves you weak at the knees.

How could one say this in a polite manner? Daemon had featured in quite a few of your teenage fantasies, as you grew older. After catching him in the act, you had had an interesting conversation with Qoren. It had opened your eyes to a whole new world of pleasure.

Twelve years old was an impressionable age, especially for young maidens. You had flowered not long afterwards your first exposure to sex. Back then, you hadn't understood what you had witnessed properly, but as you grew, your imagination did too. And Dorne was not a place for the shy.

As you started to look at the world with the eyes of a woman, you had experienced your first infatuation, and it had been on him. Never before had you met a northern that was as open-minded about pleasure as Daemon was, and that fact had made you wonder what it would be like to share his bed. And then, the war at the Stepstones had reawakened your teenage urges.

“You!” You play it cool, as if you had not set up this whole thing on the odd chance of getting to see him. Dornishmen were no strangers to pleasure, after all. And you had never been good at denying yourself of anything you wanted. “The boy in the sitting room.”

“The girl at the window.” Daemon conceded, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “And here I thought I would have to lower my pants.”

You snickered. Daemon looked perplexed for a second, before snickering too. You could tell he was impressed by your lack of a reaction to his joke, probably because he had thought it would scandalize you.

The moment is cut short, though, by his own sobering up.

“You shouldn't be here, little dornish girl.”

“Oh?” You extend your legs in front of you, getting comfortable. Will he mention the elephant in the room, or will you have to?

“These men have not seen a woman in months.” Daemon answers, lightly curling his hand over the pommel of his sword. You look around you, noticing that some of the men are, in fact, staring hungrily at you. It's not something that bothers you, any longer. Despite the nickname Daemon has bestowed on you, you are no girl. Younger than him by a few years, you are more of an old maid. You were used to men's attention. As the Princess of Dorne, you had come to expect it.

“And that concerns me, how?” Because there are much more interesting matters you wish to discuss, rather than the ogling of some uncouth northerns. For one, where was your gold going. Second, what were you having for dinner. Third, if he was going to join you.

“Do I really have to explain?” Daemon arches an eyebrow. Deciding to play coy, you give him a sweet look.

“Please. Do not deprive me of the pleasure of your opinions.” And if it comes out a bit ironic, Daemon doesn't seem to notice, too entranced by the way you are twirling one of your dark curls between your fingers.

“Plenty of hungry cats.” He says, as if in a daze. Apparently, Daemon hasn't seen a woman in months either, if seducing him will be this easy. “And you are looking an awful lot like a little mouse.”

You fight the urge to snicker. You were no mouse, but a viper, and you were ready to strike. But if he fancied himself the protector, you didn't mind playing into it.

“Well, good thing you are here. Now they think this little mouse is spoken for.” You run a hand over his arm, softly. Your hands lift a trace of the blood in his armor, leaving behind a drawing made up of empty space.

“Are you?” He arches an eyebrow, unbothered at the contact. You retract your hand, staring at your now bloody fingernails.

A scattering of images comes to mind. Maidenheads, bloody sheets. The girl you were at twelve. The man he is now. Your nails scratching lines on his back, biting at his throat, nipping at his lips. Unable to connect the thoughts, you let them go until only a pleasant smile remains.

“Are you a hungry cat?”

“No, little mouse.” Daemon tucks a loose curl behind your ear. As his hand comes down, he caresses your neck, lightly. It's barely a brush of his fingertips, yet your breath falters. He leans in, as if sharing a secret. His next words come out in a whisper. “I am a hungry dragon.”

Predictable, if a bit witty. Targaryens and their dragons. Despite it, you enjoy how much of an effort he is putting in. As a Martell, people often expect you to do all the seducing, not noticing you like being seduced as well. It's good that someone finally acknowledges it takes two to dance.

“That explains the never-ending appetite.” You tease, leaning towards him as well. The sun is starting to settle around you, some of his men lighting fires. They do not seem about to stop their pillaging. You wonder if Corlys Velaryon is near, and if so, why he doesn't stop them.

“You have no idea.” His voice is low and smooth. His hand is still on your loose curl, lower, this time. Barely touching your collarbone. His eyes are dark, and you doubt it is from the change in lighting. "A taste would never satiate me.”

“Shame. Little mice make for small bites, I think.” Your lips quirk up at the corners, barely suppressing a laugh. Expert in denial as you are, you know now is the time to retreat. You want him hooked on you so badly, he never sees your next move.

“I would make sure to do so very slowly. Savor it.” Daemon's thumb rubs just between your collarbones, tracing a path towards the valley of your breasts. You move away before he can reach it.

“Maybe, hungry cat.” You stress the last word, already knowing how you will lead Daemon into your trap. It will only take a few well-placed prods at his ego.

“Hungry dragon.” He repeats, a bit annoyed. The idea that you do not recognize him by his proper title upsets him. You laugh.

“Oh, but you look like a starved cat. A stray.”

“I am no stray.” Daemon complains. You arch an eyebrow, coolly.

“What else is a Prince doing fighting a war so far from home?”

Daemon stares at you. You are willing to admit it was quite mean on your part. Perhaps a tad too vicious. But you have yet to accomplish what you wish to, hence why you take it even further.

“You have until tomorrow to deposit the gold you have stolen from us in coffers.”

His whole face shifts, flirty expression replaced by a mask of indifference that is not fooling anyone. Caught off guard by your words, Daemon resorts back to his only defense mechanism.

“And if I don't?” He thrusts his chin up, defiant.

“You will find yourself at war with Dorne.” Your tone is even. Your voice doesn't waver, as if you were discussing the weather and not defying a kingdom much larger than yours.

“And you will declare war with two knights?” Daemon laughs.

“Have you met Dalton Greyjoy, perhaps?” You lean back on the rock, tilting your face up to the sun. Soaking in it. “Awfully young ironborn. Eager to prove himself, much more so if it's to beautiful women. Or so I hear.”

“You have allied yourself with the Iron Islands?”

You say nothing. Instead, you give him an enchanting tilt of the head, as if he was no more than one of your suitors. Your lips stretch into a coy little smile, one that tells him you have a secret he is not privy to.

“I do not believe you.” Daemon shakes his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, before uncrossing them and shaking his head yet again. Stunned. “No. Prince Qoren would never allow it.”

“Qoren would not?” You repeat, mockingly. “And pray tell, since when do you know him so well?”

“Do you know why he dropped the Triarchy?” The question is unexpected. Before this, you had not bothered to wonder about your brother's motives. Used as you were at things going your way, you had assumed Qoren had seen the wisdom of your advice and decided to take it.

“Because I told him it was a bad investment.” You answer, refusing to back down. What could Daemon Targaryen know of the motivations of a prince of Dorne? Nothing. He had to be bluffing, searching for a weakness he could exploit to get out of this.

“Because the Crab King, over there…” Daemon gestures vaguely in the direction of the corpses. “Had eyes that lingered too much on you. And if this Greyjoy boy is the same…”

You blink a few times. It makes sense. The Crab King had never tried to seduce you, yet you know men like that are not used to asking. Instead, they order. You can only guess the face Qoren made when faced with such a demand. He is as proud as you are.

Daemon could be lying, of course. Trying to make you doubt Qoren. Divide and conquer, and all that. You can't let that happen. Everyone knows the two of you are a team. Whatever grievances you have to air with him, they will be on private. You tuck away the piece of information for later, and focus on what's in front of you.

“If Qoren is willing to turn into a turncloak for my sake…” You narrow your eyes at Daemon, menacingly. You know as well as him that the easiest way to stop you is to hurt you. Kill you, perhaps. But it would mean war. “Think of what he will do to you, if you hurt me.”

“You will have your coffers tomorrow, Princess.” Daemon says, bitterly. He knows he has lost. You outmaneuvered him. House Martell has never bowed to dragons. If Daemon declares war on Dorne, his brother will pull the support from the Iron Throne. Corlys Velaryon will not want to get involved, no matter how much he has benefitted from their plot. He cannot wage war alone.

You get up. You dust off your skirts.

“Good. And make sure you bathe before touching the gold. Wouldn't want you staining it.”

You do go back to Dorne with a chest full of gold, and then some. As it seems to be a tendency with Daemon, you almost forget all about him before he is barging into your life again.

It happens on an odd afternoon, while you are trying to broker a deal with a foreign King. The tart taste of the berries makes you scrunch up your face. It's more acidic than what you are used to, but good nonetheless. You smile at the King in front of you. He looks on the verge of drooling.

“I am glad you like it, my Princess.” He simpers. “I must say the shade compliments your caramel skin quite well.”

Caramel. Ugh. How you hate when men compare you to food. It's always your caramel skin, your cherry lips, your golden eyes. Can they get more unoriginal?

You beg to the skies for fortitude. This alliance is important, you remind yourself. Qoren needs them, Dorne needs them. They grow more fruit than you could ever hope for.

As it often happens, your prayers are heeded in a way you could not have expected.

“Princess.” A guard suddenly sprints into the room. “There is a situation at the gates. Prince Qoren needs you.”

You spring up from your seat so fast, one might think there were needles on your cushion.

“I apologize, my King. The berries were lovely. Perhaps you could send some more? For the people?”

“Oh, I understand.” The King gives a jovial laugh. “Duty calls and all. You are right, I shall send you…”

“Good.” You cut him off, and walk out of the parlor. As you start to reach the gates, you slow down your walk. You can't have Qoren thinking you rushed to his side, after all.

“Have you developed some sort of mind reading ability?” Qoren turns at your words. He is facing the gates, right in the middle of the watchtower. It's not an actual watchtower, but rather a ledge on one of your lower walls, right aside to the actual tower. Its slightly off center position allows for a better view of the gates, despite not being very high.

“What's that supposed to mean?” He asks, reclining precariously. Your stomach turns. This is a recurring occurrence, Qoren watching from places he is not supposed to. You often fear he will fall to his death, yet he has yet to even slip. He is noisy enough to not care about the dangers of the world.

“You knew I needed an out, I gather.” You keep your tone flat. While you enjoyed being his right hand, you disliked that so many of your allies thought flirting was the way to do business.

“I didn't. Come here and take a look.” Qoren sounds uninterested in your grievances, which is highly unusual for him. Whatever he is looking at must be fascinating. You start climbing the steps, aided by the guard that led you here. You try to do so gracefully, but it's daunting in a dress as the one you wear.

“How did you even get up here?” You huff, crouching on the ledge before slowly starting to stand.

“Invaders.” Qoren says, unbothered. You nearly fall off, shrieking. The guard pushes you upright again.

“At ease, Princess. We got you.” He says. “Look closer.”

So you do. You narrow your eyes at the horizon, and what you can see of the gate. You can barely make out a giant red blur. A dragon, perhaps? One you already know, by the eerie calm he is sporting.

You only know one dragon. It happens to be red.

“What did you do to that man?” Qoren laughs. Your mouth opens and closes. It has been almost two moons since you departed from the Stepstones, half of the gold you had originally given to the Iron Throne back with you.

You had gone on with your life. Taken a few lovers, here and there. Ate good food. Pawned off resources for alliances. You know, the typical. Daemon Targaryen, though, clearly has not. Because he now stands at the gates of Sunspear, dragon in tow.

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear.” You reply to Qoren, still open-mouthed. “Is he trying to declare war?”

Qoren laughs at you, poking you in the ribs. You squirm away, before remembering you are standing on a ledge. You slap his arm.

“Don't do that! We could fall!”

“The only falling being done here is that dragon prince for you, dear sister.”

“Huh?” You frown, confused. What is he on about? Despite your desire to bed Daemon, you had walked away from the meeting with the certainty that he was not interested in you. You were not a maiden like the ones he chased, nor were you young, and you had done a good job of alienating him after threatening him with war. This could not be a mere visit, for you had parted on bad terms.

But Qoren doesn't answer. He only raises his voice slightly.

“Truss him up in chains!” The order is clearly not meant for you. “And place him on the Princess' solar.”

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, as the guards hurry to carry out his order.

“I'll give you a chance to deal with him.” Qoren says, mysteriously. “I think he is about to ask for your hand.” And with an agile jump, he is off the ledge and getting down the wall. You scramble to follow.

“Qoren!” You scream, nearly falling off in your haste. He is too fast for you, already entering the palace. The guard steadies you again, and you gather your skirts and run after him, but it's too late. You do not know which direction he has turned. “Qoren, what do you mean by that? Have you spoken to him? He asked you for… Qoren, dammit!”

His cheery voice reaches your ears.

“Do try to get rid of him, alright? We can't have our people thinking we have been invaded.”

You chase after the sound, but he is gone. You could follow him to the throne room, but you decide for the more amusing option. No matter if Qoren is teasing about the marriage proposal, you decide to go and freshen up a bit. It will take a long time for the guards to subdue Daemon, and to drag him inside. Plenty of advice for you to change clothes.

Be it for declaring war, or rejecting a marriage proposal, you like to be well-dressed for the occasion. You take your time choosing your outfit, strapping a tiny dagger to your thigh.

Only when an hour has passed, you walk towards your solar. There are a few knights stationed outside, one of them being your Dayne companion. He approaches you cautiously.

“The Prince left instructions for us to enter at your call. One scream, Princess, and we will be in there before he can draw his sword.”

He sounds worried. It's actually kind of sweet.

“Don't worry. He won't hurt me.”

But despite your words, as soon as you enter your solar, you are grabbed harshly by the arm. You look up to find Daemon not only free from chains, but furious.

Perhaps the guards thought it would not be very diplomatic to chain him up. A shame. You jerk off his grip, and go serve yourself some wine. It's a very neat trick, one you have learned from the men in your life. One must let the other do all the nagging while pretending to be entirely innocent, so they sound insane. Often, it leads to the person reproaching you actually thinking they are going mad. You only use it when you feel particularly cruel.

"You took your time.” Daemon follows you, stomping and huffing. “I have been waiting for nearly an hour.”

“I was not decent. I had to change into my afternoon clothes.” You give a little twirl, enjoying the luxurious feel of the skirt against your body. You know it will only anger him further. “Do you like them?”

“You have some nerve.” Daemon scoffs. You offer him a goblet of wine, which he takes. “Do you know what men say of you?”

“Does a viper pay attention to the mumbling of worms?” Your voice is calm and sweet. In truth, you do pay a attention to what they say. Who doesn't? But Daemon doesn't need to know that for the game you are playing.

“You are hardly a viper.” His eyes narrow at you, in a flutter of pretty lashes and lilac. Good Gods, what right does he have to be so handsome. You hate him.

“I like to think I am one.” You drink from your wine, giving him a coy little look over the rim of your goblet.

“They say you are a witch. That you place your spell on them and have them dancing at your tune.” He complains, gruffly. So far, he seems very angered by you, which is fair considering the way you parted. What makes no sense is the fact that he has come this far to make his displeasure known.

“It's not my fault men are often led by their cocks.” You shrug. It's rather crass, but you are unbothered by it. If men are allowed to speak how they please, why shouldn't you?

“Perhaps not.” Daemon cocks his head. “But I do wish to ask something of you.”

“Oh?”

Daemon places his goblet down. He plucks yours from your fingers, all soft movements. He raises your hand to his lips, and kisses your palm. His eyes never leave yours.

“Remove your spell from me.”

You laugh. You stare at him as if he has two heads. You laugh some more.

"I'm serious. You have bewitched me. Ensnared me with your charms and feminine…” He lets go of your hand, angrily gesturing. The laughter dies in your throat. Daemon is not joking.

“I have what?” You repeat, confused. Now you are actually thinking him a madman.

“You have made it so I can't lie with another woman. I only get relief when I think of you. Remove your spell, or I shall…” And it's too good, too much of a joke not to laugh. You restrain yourself, knowing angering him more could be bad for your health.

“You shall what?” Despite your attempts, your amusement must show because Daemon grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a tiny shake. It's not enough to hurt you, but it startles you into seriousness.

“I have never wanted a woman as much as I want you.” His eyes do not show the emotion his words imply. While his face reflects need, Daemon has not drank nearly enough to have such a loose tongue. Something is amiss. “Let me have you. If you don't remove your spell, I need to have you.”

His eyes don't show need, but eagerness. He is trying to manipulate you. The thought of him implying that you must let him have you makes your blood boil. You are angered beyond belief. Has he really come all this way to make some half-assed marriage proposal, in the hopes of trapping you with him? Who does he think he is dealing with?

If you were another woman, more inexperienced, you would let this man manipulate you right into his bed. But you are not. You are old enough to know that lust can be cured with a few well-placed hot baths and enough time and distance. His excuses are a poor attempt. You almost prefer the other men's simpering.

“I am no witch, you fool. Now, out!” You point at the door.

Daemon straightens. He eyes you carefully.

“I need you.” He repeats. It's clearly a lie. You wonder what else is, too. Is it odd to feel flattered by him being so set on you, he is willing to manipulate you into marriage?

“You do not. There is nothing interesting here, go find a whore.” You cross your arms over your chest. Your traitorous heart seems to disagree. You don't want him to leave, says the heat in your cheeks. Not yet, answers the harsh ring of your pulse in your ears.

“I do.” Daemon steps closer. He seems slightly unsure and that is what gives him away. If you are trying to manipulate someone, you have to go all in. You can't hesitate because they call your bluff. His seduction techniques need serious work. “You have to let me have you.”

“I don't have to do anything.” You scowl at him, getting right up on his face. To you, it doesn't matter if you are shorter, you will put the fear of the gods in him or so the Seven help you. “And I do not believe a word you say. If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have merely asked. I do not appreciate you trying to manipulate me. I do not need to be coerced into it, I am no maiden.”

“And if I were to ask?” His nose brushes against yours, tenderly. Daemon's eyes have turned dark, his body nearly vibrating in excitement at your anger. You had heard Targaryens had queer customs, but had not expected him to be so aroused after getting yelled at.

“Too late, out!” You push your index finger into his chest, hard. Daemon smirks. He takes a step forward, forcing you to back off or get your finger crushed.

“You said I had to only ask for what I want.” He gets closer still, backing you against a wall. “No more games.”

“No more games.” You agree, a bit shakily. He noses along your temple, softly. You look up at him, all big, surprised eyes. How has he turned the whole situation into his favor so fast? And when, exactly, did you lose control?

“I want to know what is behind your eyes.” Daemon presses a soft kiss to your brow, then to your eye. You let go of the breath you are holding, eyes fluttering closed. Your lips tingle with the urge to be kissed, alight with the rush that comes from being seduced. But you do not intend to make it easy for him, no. He can't just expect you to submit just because he asks.

“No, thank you.” You duck beneath his arm, leaving behind your moment of weakness. He still tried to manipulate you, after all. He deserves a bit of suffering.

“What do you fear?” Daemon grabs your arm, pulling you towards him. He nuzzles your neck. “It certainly isn't modesty, you said so yourself. You are no blushing virgin.”

“I do not want to marry you.” You jerk free of his grip.

“Perhaps, you think I would enjoy you less. Or you fear I might not like what hides behind your eyes.” He kisses right behind your ear, softly hugging you to him. “The thoughts you have… The things you crave…” His hand traces an upward path, from your belly button to your collarbones. “To me, it only means you are already mine.”

“I'm not interested.” You say, but your whole body is saying yes. You just can't help it. His attention is overwhelming. His hands are gripping at your waist, your hips, everywhere. You shake against him as if you were an innocent still, and not a woman seasoned in the arts of love.

“I made you like this.” Daemon presses scorching hot kisses against your neck. You wonder if all Targaryens run as hot as this one. “Do you remember, little dornish girl?”

“You did not.” You pull away once more, and grab your wine again. You take a hearty sip. The memory you have obsessed over is one he has thought of too. Daemon had awoken something in you that rainy afternoon, and it's clear you had done the same to him.

“I taught you something, even if unwillingly. I always wondered, when I heard of your exploits, if you thought of me too.” And you have. Oh, how badly have you thought of running into him and bedding him, but you are not willing to admit it. You know if you look at him, you will give yourself away, so you keep stubbornly looking somewhere else.

Daemon chuckles.

“Let me see those eyes.” He gently grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. “Ah. So I was right.”

Furious at being caught, you place one of your hands on his hair and tug. Hard. Hard enough to force him to expose his neck.

“How do you feel about my eyes now?” You snarl.

“They are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Daemon's brows are pinched together, his back slightly arched. Your punishing grip on his hair is hurting him, and you are glad for it. Yet, his lips are parted as if experiencing the sweetest delights. “They are those of a woman in the throes of passion.”

“Do not test me.” You warn, forcing him to his knees. He goes willingly.

Daemon reaches up slowly, his much bigger hand curling around your wrist. He coaxes you to let go, softly massaging.

“I can taste the arousal cursing through your blood, Princess.” He pulls you into him, until both of you are sprawled out on the floor. “I see how your chest heaves, how your breath is getting heavier, how your lips plump… You are excited.”

“So what if I am?” You huff. It's all cornered animal. You cannot deny it any longer, you want him too badly for it.

“It means you and me… We are the same.” And he finally kisses you. His mouth meets yours in a hungry kiss, into which you pour all your frustration. But Daemon coaxes you to go slower, to kiss more passionately instead of hurriedly.

“I want you.” He says, when you part. His forehead rests against yours. “Let me keep you. Be mine. A woman as bloodthirsty as you cannot stay alone forever.” As he lays you down on the floor, as he gets on top of you and his hands pin yours down. “Let me keep you.”

And this time, you say yes.

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fierymiasma · 1 year

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ꕥ A Little Game // Sebastian x f!MC x Ominis - Silver Trio ꕥ

Summary: Ominis's smile was dangerous. "Sebastian here proposed a contest. Of course, we'll all be together eventually in the end, but while we are wooing you, why not try a fun game?" She gulped. "A game?" "A contest: whoever charms you more, gets your first kiss." Requested by holotapes

Words: 1.5k

A/N: This will be a short mini-series, I promise it will eventually get to the prompt, please be patient!

|| Masterlist || AO3 || Upcoming ||

Art belongs to @J_Kaluzhnaya

It was hard for her to see anything through the thick billowing steam of the Hogwarts Express. The hero of Hogwarts spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of her Slytherin friends amongst the crowd of bustling students. Despite her best efforts, she hadn't managed to find them in any of the train carriages.

Sebastian and Ominis had been acting strange for the entirely of their 6th year. She had naturally expected there to be some distance between the two Slytherin boys after Uncle Solomon's death. Yet, as the weeks dragged on and winter turned into spring she was surprised the find the utter vitriol that they two had for each other. It seemed like whenever the three of them were together, Ominis would sneer some passive aggressive comment aimed at Sebastian's character (or lack of). And Sebastian would scowl, and tug her closer to his side possessively, trying to keep her away from Ominis.

It was honestly a nightmare being the mediator between the two boys. She had absolutely no idea what could have exacerbated the rift that was in between them, but she prayed that it had been resolved by now.

"There's my favorite girl." A smooth, purring voice whispered into her ear from behind her. She squeaked in alarm, nearly jumping out of her skin to bump into the larger man behind her.

She spun around, hands on her hips, right about to give the rude interloper a piece of her mind. Any reprimanding words died in her throat. Her mouth became suddenly dry.

Sebastian greeted her with the confidence of a man who knew how attractive he was. His already smooth voice had dropped an octave. Only one summer has passed since she last seen him. They used to be the same height, but now she had to look up in order to make eye contact with him. Sebastian had filled in, shoulders a lot more broad then they used to be. His thick school robes failed to hide the muscular definition he had built up. The baby fat on his cheeks that she liked so much had disappeared, instead replaced with a handsome jaw line. His new tan failed to hide the freckles that dusted the bridge of his nose.

He was…well…Sebastian had always been devastatingly handsome-objectively speaking, of course- but this…this was far too much.

"You…look….you look-" her face turned bright scarlet, unable to find an adjective that was appropriate. It was normal for good friends to comment each other's appearances. Right?...Right? Sebastian's lips curled upwards teasingly, no doubt taking joy in her discomfort.

"-you look…well, Sebastian."

"The summer air in Feldcroft has been kind to me." Sebastian stared at her with the sort of intensity that made her look away from his gaze. "I could say the same to you. It seems that the sun has blessed your skin rather nicely over the long break."

Her brows twisted in confusion. Had her skin been that bad in their sixth year? She hadn't been the most immune to typical teenage acne woes, but surely, they hadn't been so awful?

She brushed her fingertips to her cheeks. "Sebastian, what do you mean-"

Before she could finish the thought, a new voice from behind her interrupted their conversation. "Hello, dove."

Again, she jumped a good inch in the air, nearly tripping over her feet into Sebastian's chest. Ominis's smooth aristocratic voice was recognizably familiar. However, the new nickname for her, "Dove", was certainly not. Since when was Ominis, the boy who was bred upon fine etiquette, ever so forward with his female friends? She turned around, blinking in confusion.

Whatever strange phenomenon happened to Sebastian over the summer seemed to have inflicted itself upon Ominis was well. In only a couple of months, Ominis had sprouted as tall as a giant. His legs seemed to travel forever. It didn't hurt that he was always dressed so well, the well-fitted expensive fabric clung to the sharp lines of his body. She couldn't help but rudely ogle at his pale neck. With his high cheek bones and beauty marks, Ominis had always been unfairly pretty. Unfortunately (fortunately?), it had only gotten worse over time.

Her brain finally caught up with her. She had been staring rather rudely for a while. Finally, she blinked, registering the new, odd, nickname Ominis called her. "D-dove?" She repeated dumbly.

Ominis smirked, getting closer to her. Wow, even if she got on her tiptoes, she wouldn't be able to meet him at eyelevel. "Is that not what you are: an innocent, beautiful bird amongst the sea of hawks?"

Her throat was dry. Who taught Ominis to talk like this? In their sixth year, Ominis was nothing but curt, overly formal, and incredibly testy whenever Sebastian was around.

Was this even Ominis at all? Perhaps this was Polyjuice. Or maybe it was a prank. Ominis hadn't taken too kindly to her prank as Headmaster Black all the way back in their 5th year. Yes, this was certainly some sort of jest to make her feel incredibly nervous.

It was working.

Her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips. "A-am I to understand, in your analogy, that I am your prey and Sebastian and you are the hawks hunting me?"

Ominis was so close to her. She couldn't help but take a step back, only to nearly step on Sebastian's shoes. It seemed as though the path blocked by Ominis in front of her and Sebastian behind her. Her head swiveled around. Neither of the boys seemed particularly upset at the violation of her personal space.

Sebastian threw his arm around her neck in a friendly manner that was anything but causal from her perspective. "Ominis, give our poor girl a rest! She's had a rather long journey after all." Sebastian winked.

Her muscles stiffened in surprise. Sebastian was always a more tactile person, always clapping his friends on the back, always pulling her close to his side in a duel. None of that was new…but the thickness of his biceps certainly was. As his biceps flexed around her neck, she shivered. She could feel the toned fibers of the muscle straining against his Hogwarts robes. Was Sebastian always so muscular?

What…in Merlin's name was going on? Her brain felt so foggy, maybe it truly was some type of hex they secretly cast on her. Shaking her head, she tried to get rid of her dazed state of mind. She needed to gain some type of normalcy to this frankly bizarre exchange.

Coming up with nothing to fix this rapidly escalating situation, she stuck out her hand for a handshake, as if she was greeting an old acquaintance instead of one of her closest friends. Even as she did so, she cringed, already feeling so awkward.

"Um….how was your summer, Ominis?"

Ominis's thin hand reached up to hold her hand, but instead of shaking it, he held it in his. Her body stilled, frozen in place, not wanting to ever let go of him. Before she could even react, he bent at the waist bringing her hands up to his lips. His cold lips brushed against the top of her hand, in a very polite kiss. It was a featherlight touch, barely there, but it still left a searing burn on her skin that travelled up her arm. Her heart was pounding in her ears.

This…wasn't…she wasn't trying to offer her hand for him to kiss it! Sure, it was normal, even respectful for any gentleman in this day and age to greet a lady in this manner but…common courtesy dictated that it last no more than a few brief seconds.

…and…well, time seemed to be moving differently, but she was certain that his kiss lasted far longer than normal.

As Ominis (quite sadly) pulled away, the bustling noises of the other students around them came back to life. She was suddenly reminded that they were not alone. Sebastian, jealous, envious, possessive Sebastian, had bore witness to it all. Even if it was a polite gesture between friends, there was no way in hell that he would allow it to happen.

She looked back fearfully, terrified that Sebastian's infamous temper would boil over and lash out at Ominis.

To her shock, the same flirty look was on his face. "Why Ominis, leave some for me next time?"

She felt lightheaded. She never labelled herself as one of those highbrow fancy ladies who needed a fainting chair everywhere they went but…at this rate, it might be a good idea to conjure one up anyway.

This all had to be attributed to the vapors of the Hogwarts train, a collective moment of craziness or delusion that they all shared. They were all having an active psychotic break. Or…some type of magical curse.

"I…I need to go um…" Her brain came up blank. "-say hello to Poppy and Natty!"

And, the hero of Hogwarts and the most powerful witch of their generation, fled the scene with as much grace as she could muster.

As she turned to look back, Sebastian sauntered close to Ominis, learning his shoulder against his. Their bodies pressed closely against each other, uncaring of the lack of personal space. They both looked completely unperturbed at how she rudely brushed them off.

She shivered. What in Merlin's name was going on with them?

Part 2

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hphl #harry potter #sebastian sallow fic #harry potter hogwarts game #sebastian x ominis #hogwarts oc #ot3 #ominis x sebastian #ominis x reader #hogwarts legacy ominis #silver trio

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peppermintstarsonamintyway · 6 months

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cacaoviar content from yours truly

woohoo finally finished that cacaoviar fic- believe me when i say i opted to cut it short cause i didn't know where to go (i am not a writer help me)

anyway cacaoviar mini-fic technically for @limboraptor under the cut :thumbsup: (y'all are free to draw stuff about this btw)

It was an early morning in the snow covered, cliffside, kingdom, truthfully a little too early for more than half the kingdom.

Dark Cacao, dressed in his royal kimono, furred cloak over his shoulders and crown discarded for the moment, was of the only few actually awake, a candle on the chabudai he used as his desk, and a cushion beneath his legs where he sat on his knees.

The contents atop the low built table consisted of paperwork and documents, mostly diplomatic things involving other kingdoms, a small ink vial, and the quill in the nobleman's hand.

If you were to ask him, Cacao wouldn't be able to give you a reason as to why he was up so early, mindlessly filling out paperwork. No one was to be visiting him, especially at such an hour of the morning, so it's not like he was just passing the time with paperwork.

Or, at least, he thought no one was supposed to be visiting him.

Turns out his seafaring, not yet boyfriend, boyfriend had different, specifically unannounced, plans.

Cacao was startled from the calm of methodical scratching against paper by the sound of the door to his quarters being forced open, rather unceremoniously too, the screeching of the sliding door against it's frame greatly unpleasant to his ears.

Before Cacao could look up, a familiarly warm hearted, albeit shivering, voice range from the door.

"Cacao!" A snow covered, and slightly frostbitten, Captain Caviar shouted with delight as he barged into the room, tossing aside his coat onto the wooden flooring.

With a soft sigh and warm smile, Cacao rose from his cushion, clasping his hands together as he moved to meet the sailor halfway.

"Caviar." Cacao greeted with a nod, before he brushed some snow off of Caviar's fluffy hair, unable to help himself from toying with the soft dark curls for just a moment. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too!" Caviar grinned widely in return, his hands placed on his hips as he leaned into that small moment of a gentle hand in his hair.

In the back of his mind, Caviar wanted that moment to last a lot longer than just a few seconds, but, he wouldn't admit that. At least not aloud.

"…You're freezing, aren't you?" Cacao suddenly chimed, narrowing his dark purple-ish brown eyes, as he moved to remove his cloak, draping the warm, heavy duty, fabric over the barely covered sailor, gently bundling him up.

"Whaattt?? I'm fine! A little cold never bothered me!"

"You frequent tropical seas more than you do glacial seas, you are more often on a boat than you are on land, and it's six in the morning."

"…Y-Yeah- so what?-"

"Do you truly expect me to believe that you didn't spend half a day tripping and falling through the snow just trying to get here? I'm well aware sea legs don't mix with multiple feet of snow."

"…Okay fine- I might have fallen a few times-"

Caviar crossed his arms, puffing up his cheeks as he snuggled up in the furred cloak, to which Cacao couldn't help but chuckle warmly at the sight of.

Cacao, taking one of Caviar's hands in his own, his own scarred fingers grazing over the callouses of the sailor's, callouses that he found beautiful in their own way, built from years of hardwork protecting his home.

With a small, gentle kiss to the back of the sailor's hand, the nobleman looked up at him through dark, white speckled, eyelashes, and spoke with loving concern. "My dear captain, do I need to remind you that you can't be visiting my kingdom without weather appropriate wear? One of these days, you'll end up catching a cold."

Caviar however, face flushed with bright red blush, looked away from Cacao, covering his face with his free hand.

"Look, I've been trying alright- wearing such heavy clothing just ain't comfortable-" Caviar tried to argue, yet was met with a look that quite clearly said "and yet you're soaking up being in my cloak".

Without even a proper word from Cacao, Caviar continued. "This thing's an exception alright!" The sailor argued, the nobleman giving not but a small laugh at the sailor's attempts to defend himself.

"I suppose, perhaps, I'll have to have something tailored for you then, yes?" Cacao offered, as he turned over Caviar's hand to nuzzle the sailor's palm, gently kissing the rough skin.

"Y-yeah…" Caviar managed to mutter, a rare sight for the sailor to stutter but one that Cacao reveled in nonetheless. "W-whatever floats your boat-"

Suddenly, Caviar stiffened, his face scrunching up, before he sneezed, his body reacting violently, his entire body bouncing a little. Rubbing his nose with his fist, Caviar was quiet for a few moments, Cacao staring at him in surprise.

Before inevitably bursting into a fit of soft laughter, pulling the sailor closer to him. "I believe my point has been further proven." Cacao murmured through his laughter, pressing his face against the sailor's forehead, brushing away some of his fluffy hair to kiss his skin.

The sailor sniffled, rubbing his face with his arm as he grumbled a little, visibly irritated by the fact the cold had gotten to him this time.

"It was just a snee-" Caviar went to retort, but before he could finish, he was cut off by a small yelp as Cacao clasped his hand, tugging him along after him.

Both grew quiet as Caviar stumbled after Cacao, the sailor's expression softening to match the nobleman's. Caviar would have said he was surprised when he noticed they were headed towards Cacao's bedroom, but truthfully he wasn't.

Nestling into the nobleman's bed with him had become a routine for the sailor, especially when making visits like these. It wasn't like anything had happened yet anyways.

So, without complaint, Caviar carefully clipped off any accessories he had and set them on the nearby nightstand after Cacao released his hand, the nobleman going to make the bed and get some tissues for the sailor's nose.

It took a couple minutes, but eventually, Caviar got comfortable.

Wrapped up in Cacao's cloak, with blankets pulled up over his body, and a plush of the nobleman in his arms, Caviar couldn't help but smile softly.

It wasn't long after Caviar got settled that Cacao joined him, carefully climbing under the covers with him, snuggling up to him despite the possibility of getting sick as well…if Caviar was sick.

"…You're a goof ball." Caviar grumbled despite shamelessly resting his head on Cacao's chest, pressing his nose into the slightest bit of skin the kimono couldn't cover.

The nobleman smiled, bringing his hand up to twine his fingers through the curly locks of Caviar's hair. "But I'm your goof ball, aren't I?" Cacao retort, grinning lightly against the sailor's hair.

Caviar released a soft chuff, rolling his eye in a manner that said "shut up and just cuddle", and quiet Cacao did grow. Aside from the faint rumbles that resonated from his chest alongside his beating heart.

It was an ever snowy afternoon in the cliffside kingdom when Caramel Arrow and Crunchy Chip found their king fast asleep with the sailor they'd come to know as his unofficial lover.

Neither cookie said a word, simply smiled softly as they looked between themselves and the sight before them. Eventually, they left after making sure the two were tucked in properly.

A small plushie of a rice cake hound was the only thing left behind that implied the two were ever there.

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #crk #captain caviar cookie #dark cacao cookie #cacaoviar #i'm surprised i didn't fuck up spelling anything ngl-#anyway enjoy your food cacaoviar community

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beth0ftime · 10 months

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Some thoughts about cpunk and mobility aids

I recently saw this post by @satellites-halo:

I think OP brings up a very good point here: if your mobility aid is obviously dangerous you can’t bring it places you’ll need to go. That said this isn’t the end of the story.

As a practitioner of HEMA (Historical European Martial Arts; using historical weapons from Europe) there are actually a lot of writings on using things like canes and chairs for self defense/offense. For example there was a several year streak in London where walking staffs were the most deadly weapon. When these books and treatises were written they weren’t adding spikes or barbed wire to these things.

I am pretty much a full time cane user due to my hEDS and POTS. I will not use it for a little bit but I end up unstable and in pain afterwards, I mainly do this for exercise/practice. So I have been very interested in learning how to use a cane in this way, as well as seeing how other, similar, aids have been used throughout history.

While not all of these forms of fighting are useful for all mobility aid users, such as full time wheelchair users or some forearm crutch users, there’s a surprising amount of people it will work for. For example, I’m currently reading a treatise by a man who is partially blind, that is his term with modern vocabulary we would call him legally blind, and he is good enough at fighting to be considered one of the most amazing swordsman and cane fighter. (It should be noted that he did not have access to glasses and mainly navigated the world tactually)

The only real requirement is that the aid should be built from a single piece (not any of the foldable kinds) and be of sturdy materials: metal, solid wood, etc. While I recognize that this does exclude a fair few mobility aids there’s still a fair few this works for: canes, rollators (though lifting them into position for fighting might be untenable for some people), forearm crutches (if used like a Roman forearm blade, again some may not be able to do this), and even some leashes for service dogs (used as a rope dart) to name a few. There are probably more in forgetting but it’s a lot.

The key thing about all of this is that you don’t have to add scary spikes that might make the TSA balk at you, you can just use a normal looking mobility aid to do the same thing. It should also be noted that most courts consider mobility aids to be part of the person using them for the purposes of assault charges; if someone touches your mobility aid in a way you don’t like, that’s assault and you can respond in kind. That isn’t legal advice and there’s still ‘appropriate force’ president to consider but twapping someone who is grabbing at your cane, especially maliciously, isn’t out of question for a normal reaction, and being good at doing so is preferable.

Ok, cool Beth, but what do I do with this info?

There’s a little part of this post that’s me trying to get more disabled people like me into a sport I love but I can’t do so without some caveats. Not all HEMA clubs are built the same and some can be downright nasty, please look up any club you consider joining and maybe ask a physical/occupational therapist before launching into a contact sport. If it’s not in your interest then that’s also fine, there are several forums that post book recommendations for learning cane fighting or uses of a chair in WWII fighting (what rollators are great for).

If you’re a cane user, there are actually custom canes that you can order that are especially made for fighting (that aren’t objectionable enough to be confiscated by anyone who does security) but also just getting a cane made from a hardwood works. The website https://canemasters.com has a great selection and a really nice custom ordering system.

I wish I had more for other forms of mobility aids but my research is limited, if you have more sources for this stuff please comment/repost with them. If that’s not your style my dms are always open for cool fighting stuff!

Be safe and stay punk!

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rosesart11 · 1 month

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Me and The Devil

Gordon, one of the oldest ghosts in the House on Phantom Drive, while on a calm fishing trip alongside his exceptionally large companion Nessie; has a strange visitor arrive at his door.

This is one of the first short stories I’ve written for Phantom Drive! inspired by unsurprisingly Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin. Gordon and Natalie’s dynamic is one of my top favorites of all of the characters that I also sadly don't think I’ll be able to highlight as prominently as much as I do here in the main story. Old man and his petty little shit nemesis is so funny to me.

Hope y’all enjoy!

Waves crashed against the shore, and grey clouds gently floated through the skies above the water. A gentle wave hit the side of the small boat, rocking it tediously.

“Nessie, you can’t be doing that… well, unless you want me to get hypothermia, I suppose,” Gordon commented as large ripples flowed near the boat. “I’m fishing girl. Do you need a treat, or are you just annoying me for the fun of it?” Another bump hit the side of the boat. This time, it was accompanied by a deep growl below the water. Gordon turned to face the source of the ripples. Out of the water emerged a beast coated with deep greyish-blue scales with large ears obscuring her eyes, again, she headbutted the boat (as gently as she could, of course).

Gordon squinted his eyes, “Okay girl, calm down are you bored? What is going on?” he asked reaching his hand into the water. Nessie let him pat her head as she emerged further from the water, towering over the boat.

“Mrrrrr”

“Nessie, you need to be more clear than that, I don’t speak fish monster,”

“Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

“Alright, time for charades, I suppose,” Gordon thought. “Okay, Nessie again, do you want something to eat?”

Nessie stared dead into Gordons' eyes clearly, deep in thought. Eventually, Nessie very gently shook her head. “Okay, I will get you a snack later, but I’m assuming that's irrelevant,” Nessie’s eyes lit up with joy.

“Alright, back to the original topic, I suppose the one thing I haven’t asked is… Is someone here? I can’t imagine that being true though-” Gordon began before being interrupted quickly as Nessie vigorously nodded. Gordon felt his heart drop, “What??? Are they here??? Did they just show up?? You have to explain-” Gordon began again until he stopped himself. “God, im talking to a fish… Okay okay, just show me where they are, Nessie.”

Nessie nodded as Gordon tied a rope to the end of a boat and passed the other end to Nessie. She held the rope firmly in her large jaws and glided through the water towards the beach. “Alright… okay, stay calm last visitor here wasn’t even threatening… just wanted to share some tea. Just be calm and don’t overreact, and it’ll all be fine…”

As they reached the dock, Nessie let go of the rope and tossed it to the boat. Gordon tossed up to the dock and tied it to the docks. Nessie placed her head gently on the dock. Gordon sighed and patted her head. “I’ll be right back, listen for a whistle. Y’know the drill.” Gordon reassured Nessie nodded as Gordon headed out to the beach.

A door laid patiently for him when he headed into shore. The wind started to pick up as he saw it. Built of dark wood its patterns were detailed and neat. Gently crafted spider webs engraved in its wood as if weaved by a spider. Gordon’s eyebrow raised as he stared at the door. The silence broken by a knocking at the door.

“Hello? Anybody there?” yelled from the other side.

“Who are you? What are you here for?” Gordon shouted back, tensing up at the sound of the voice.

And without a moment's notice, the door opened. A woman stepped through the door, long dark hair swooped to the side shaven on the other. She wore a long coat with a fluffy rim and a shirt with a strange skull, vines, and flowers growing from its eye socket. Her blue eyes caught his attention, a piercing icy blue that stared straight through him. Strange fashion in his eyes for an appropriately strange visitor.

“Sorry for the lack of a warning, I’m new to the neighborhood you can say,” she said with an awkward smile. “I will say, I wasn’t completely expecting a whole beach to be here but honestly, great work here.”

“I have had a long time to work on it… now back to the question, what is your name?” Gordon asked again.

The woman looked embarrassed, at least Gordon thinks she is. Her expression felt too exaggerated to be real, not his mind anyway. “Oh dear! Apologies for the lack of an introduction, I'm Natalie, it is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” She extended her hand towards Gordon.

“The name’s Gordon… hopefully, I will be able to say the same about you.” He replied, taking her hand and giving it a firm shake. She smiled brightly at him, “I guarantee it.”

It was warm inside the lighthouse, gently lit by the lanterns and fireplace; a table with a few chairs sat in the center of the room. A gentle breeze flew in through the open window. Natalie sat politely in her chair, tapping her feet as she glared around the living room as Gordon poured a kettle of hot water into a few cups.

“Do you have any tea preferences? I think I pretty much have anything and everything you could want for tea,” he asked.

“What a wonderful use for the infinite powers of the afterlife! Infinite tea flavors,” Natalie replied. “Black tea is a favorite of mine, well when I drink tea anyway”

Gordon nodded curtly, before pouring the leaves into the water. “I personally prefer green… I used to like black tea but its bitter taste just started to make me feel ill.” He passed the cup to Natalie.

“Ah! A coward’s taste I’d say” Natalie snickered.

Gordon sighed, “Black tea is the opposite of an obtained taste for me is the more accurate descriptor”

Natalie nodded, “I get that… I used to love coffee filled with sugar and milk. Can’t stand it anymore, black coffee is really the best option now I’d say.”

Gordon nodded, “couldn’t get behind it honestly, my wife loved the stuff and tried to get me to try it. Tried it once, far too bitter”

“Even with milk and sugar?”

“Even with milk and sugar,”

“As I said, cowards taste,”

A silence fell over the room as they drank their tea. Natalie never looked towards him constantly looking around the room. “Is she still looking at me? She can’t be… what is this feeling though?” he thought. Eyes glaring directly at him despite there being none at all. Gordon sighed, “Calm down, you know nothing is watching… except probably for Nessie.”

Abruptly Natalie’s chair scraped across the wooden floor as she stood up. “Mind if I look around, this little lighthouse is fascinating!” She asked.

“... sure, just don’t touch anything alright?”

“Oh, of course, privacy and all that, we’re chill,” Natalie assured.

Natalie stood up and looked around at old pictures, little trinkets from the past, some of Nessie’s scales lying around, and his old shotgun hanging on the wall. Gordon stood up and walked towards the window, leaving Natalie to peek around the living room.

He looked out to the beach and, staring out from the shore patiently sat Nessie from the water staring right back. Gordon smiled a little bit at the sight of the beast and whistled. Nessie immediately sprung into action and jumped to the shore, reaching the window to peer down at him more closely (albeit waddling on the land like a silly seal).

“Hey Nessie, everything’s good so far… Keepin' an eye out?”

Nessie nodded, looking past him. Gordon looked where she was looking. Natalie was looking at some old cups of his in a cupboard.

“The girl’s name is Natalie if you’re asking”

Nessie looked at him and let out a gentle growl deep from within her. Gordon's eyes raised, “not a good feeling?” he asked.

Natalie turned around to face them with a loud gasp. “WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THAT?” She shouted in surprise.

“Calm down, this is just a friend of mine”

“A friend??? That's a giant fish monster”

“A very friendly fish monster, give her a fish or two and you’ve got a friend for life,” Gordon replied, he turned to face Nessie directly and reached to give her chin a few scratches. “And I have given her many a fish in my time here haven’t I?”

Nessie let him scratch her chin with clear joy in her eyes. Still, though she had her eyes locked onto Natalie.

“So… I’m curious, who is this in the pictures?” she asked cautiously, quickly swiping up one of the pictures. A portrait of a woman with shoulder-length hair and streaks of white hair. She had a very gentle smile on her face.

Gordon froze at the sight of the portrait, “I will be rather honest and say I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me about her”

Natalie’s eyes raised, her eyes glimmered with intrigue like a cat who saw a mouse skittering through a hallway. “Are you sure? I mean, I won’t pry but I won’t judge at all,” she replied.

He sighed, “alright… fine,” Nessie turned to him in confusion and growled again. “Shhh Nessie it's fine, you can head outside.” Nessie slammed her head into him, staring dead into Natalie growling loudly.

“Are you sure she's friendly???” Natalie asked, taking a few steps back.

“Yes yes I wouldn’t lie about something like that, Nessie please back off” Gordon requested. “I will deal with her if your predictions are right, I’ll be okay” he whispered quickly.

That seemed to calm down the beast, as she stopped burrowing her head into his side like an attention-seeking cat. Her head slipped out of the window, Natalie and Gordon watched as she slithered back into the dark waters. It grew darker, and the rain started to pour outside the window.

“Now that thing is gone, would you answer my question if you’d be so kind?” Natalie asked.

Gordon sighed, “Yes yes… That’s just a picture of my wife, Delilah”

Natalie nodded, “Lovely name for a lovely-looking woman… I do have to ask though, why isn’t she here? Can’t she visit her husband once in a while?”

“I don’t need to answer that, that's not any of your business”

A silence fell over the room, Gordon couldn't make eye contact with Natalie. Taking note of the shotgun on the wall instead, “You can never be too sure can’t you”. He flipped his attention back to her when she put the photo back.

“Y’know I get it Gordon, I don’t know what happened with Delilah but I had someone of my own too, she left me too.”

“... First off Delilah never left me, she was at peace when she died… I wasn’t, I will never blame her for being at peace-” “Oh! You misunderstand me, I would never blame her for being at peace… Delilah and Piper,” Natalie clarified.

“Second off- wait, what was her name?” Gordon asked “Piper… Piper was her name,” Natalie replied. She reached into her pockets and pulled out 2 golden yellow buttons. “I keep these on me to remind me of her, I never really got to get any photos with her in all honesty…”

“How disappointing, I’d hate to not be able to remember Delilah’s face…”

“Oh I’d never forget Piper’s face, I don’t think I would be able to…”

Natalie started to trail off, staring at the buttons in her hands. “She was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met… one of the kindest too. I hope she moved on peacefully when she died”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed, “she sounds like a wonderful woman, did she die as well-”

“I don’t think she moved on in all honestly, she seemed troubled when she died… It gives me hope y’know? That I’ll see her again, I never got to say goodbye to her… not like how I wanted to” Natalie said, seemingly to herself at that point rather than to anyone in particular. Gordon shifted towards the shotgun on the wall, the way she looked at the buttons rang the warning bells in his mind, the way she looked at those buttons reminded him less of a woman in love, a woman grieving and hoping; but more like a predator waiting, hoping, and hungering for its prey. He reached for the shotgun and picked it up.

Natalie sighed, “I really need to stop being so uncertain, I know she’ll come back to me… she always has, she always has… She has to”

“Natalie?” “Where did she go? I don’t understand” “Natalie??” “I swear where did you go-” “NATALIE” Gordon shouted.

Natalie shook her head and shoved the buttons in her pocket, flipping around to face Gordon. “Oh dear! Im sorry about that, just got lost in my own little world-”

Gordon reached to load the gun in his hand. “I feel bad for her”

“For who?? What are you doing-”

“Piper, I don’t know her of course… but based on everything you’ve said she sounds like a wonderful woman”

“Yes of course she is, but what are you doing with that?” Natalie asked, her eyes widened.

“I want to hope she moved on peacefully, I can’t imagine what pain it must’ve been to be stuck with someone like you… However, I suspect that can’t be the case. Either way, I do request that you leave my home and domain,” He lifted the gun and snapped his fingers, and the door to the exit shifted turning into the dark intricate door Natalie had entered through.

“What an overreaction! Just tell me to leave and I’ll leave besides I know you won’t take a shot,” Natalie raised her hands in the air. “In fact, I dare you, take a shot out of that little shotgun of yours and show me that you really can-”

The shot echoed throughout the beach.

Gordon looked at the holes in the wall and back at the wide-eyed Natalie, her hands shaking. “Take the warning, I won’t give you a second chance”

She nodded slowly, stepping carefully towards the door facing him. “I hope-” “Not another word, leave and don’t come back”

She nodded again, opening the door and shutting it behind her.

Gordon took a deep breath and sighed. Putting the shotgun back on the wall Nessie slithered her head back through the window, her eyes wide with worry.

“It’s alright girl, just taking care of our guest… she won’t be coming back for a long... long time”

#oc #oc writing #original story #gun violence #Gordon Wilkes #Natalie Hart #Jessie the Nessie #Piper Hart (mentioned)#Phantom Drive

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almea · 6 months

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I've got 2.1 thoughts.

This was really the Aventurine patch. His perspective was definitely the longest one, especially considering he's the first one you explore both maps with. It's an interesting way to tell the story because with the kind of person Aventurine is, there's no way he would have confided even half of what we learned about him in the story to another character. I didn't dislike him after 2.0 (Although I did find it funny when he was trying to make us suspicious of Acheron because she's an Emanator and I was just like. Aventurine, you just told me that not only is Acheron hot but she's also scary strong and you expect me to not lay my life on the line for her?) but I wasn't that invested in him either. I'm still not Invested invested in him after 2.1, but I did really feel for him, especially towards the end. I'm just truly the weakest bitch in the universe when it comes to characters talking to their younger selves. I didn't expect them to get as into Aventurine being a slave or former slave as they did, but damn.

And by the end I was like. Is this man dead? Did they kill this man right before his banner? After everyone was like "Oh no, they drip marketed Robin so now everyone knows she's not dead because dead characters wouldn't be playable"? After his talk with Acheron my understanding is that he's not actually dead, he was just able to break in to a deeper part of dream because of Acheron and he may not be able to return so I guess he's effectively kind of dead for now???

I think it's such a weird choice that Aventurine's hat is clearly supposed to be important to him but he just. Doesn't wear it 95% of the time???? I feel like that final cutscene would have hit harder if he actually wore his hat so it would be more strongly associated with him. I don't understand why they designed him with that hat and then just like never make him wear it.

It's pretty clever that his perspective being so long also acts as an extra long trial for his character. I ended up using my Jingliu team for his portions of the story because she's the only DPS that I've even remotely built besides Qingque, and she was truly doing more damage to my team than the enemies were. Thinking about it now, I prooooobably would have been fine running him with my Qingque team but I would have missed the reliability of the mono Quantum. The extra long trial did not work on me though because I've got Stellaron Hunters to collect and I'm still waffling about whether or not to get Acheron's light cone. I also still haven't made up my mind about whether to pull for Robin yet.

His boss fight was kind of a pain in the ass though. My poor Silver Wolf and Lynx were getting bullied nonstop during the second phase while Qingque was overcapping the dice like crazy because she kept getting her follow up and Fu Xuan's ultimate was her saving grace. Using Qingque against Aventurine feels so appropriate because so many of her combat lines are related to gambling.

I liked Sparkle's conversation with Aventurine very plainly confirming that she has a very clear picture of what's happening but, true to her little animation, she prefers to work from the background and let the main characters do all the heavy lifting. Going off that animation, I'm looking forward to seeing what role she plays in 2.2.

March being so indignant that Stelle was getting bullied left and right by people with Agendas ever since they split up was really sweet. I love how people's general feeling after 2.0 was like "Everyone we met was fucking suspicious and hiding things from us, I don't fully trust anyone except the rest of the Express crew" and the characters were also like "Yeah, we can only trust each other."

The other side of that being that they kept running into people Stelle fought in 2.0 and March and Himeko being like "What have you been doing while you were unsupervised? Were you committing crimes?" was really funny.

I'm curious about whether Dan Heng is going to join in on the action in 2.2. He's already asked if they they need him in 2.1, so the possibility of him getting called in if things get really dicey is already there. And there's the fact that he does appear in one shot of the White Night trailer, and I watched a stream where his voice actor was saying Penacony's really good which makes it sound like he recorded more lines than just Dan Heng saying he'd stay on the train. Or idk maybe the other voice actors told him about stuff that happened. Is that allowed lmao? Sam also said Elio's instruction was "Get all of the Astral Express to track down the grand legacy," so does that "all" include Dan Heng?

It was very cruel of them to have one of the first things in the story be Acheron saying she knows who's in Sam's armour and then just. Not touching on that again until the last five to ten minutes. I figured they were going to do the Sam/Firefly reveal at some point in 2.1 so they'd be able to drip market Sam/Firefly for 2.3 (I've deluded myself into believing they're coming out in 2.3 because it makes sense to me to release them during Penacony's epilogue while they're main story relevant) since they're probably both in the splash art, but man did they take their sweet time getting there and slowly killed me the entire time.

I'm sooooo fascinated by the whole Sam/Firefly thing. I was tragically spoiled by a leak forever ago, but the leak I saw was just someone saying "I guess Firefly is the exploration model and Sam is the battle model" so I still don't know whether Firefly is an actual person who exists in the real world or if she's just a form Sam is able to take on in the dream world. If Firefly is a real person, I am so obsessed with the juxtaposition of Sam being the most ruthless Stellaron Hunter, to the point where Kafka said people are better off running into her, and Firefly looking like the sweetest, most gentle girl ever.

And if she's real, I'm so curious about whether the other Stellaron Hunters know about Firefly. They've only ever referred to Sam with male pronouns, but we've never had a scene with just them where they mentioned Sam so they could know about her and have Reasons for letting other people think Sam is male.

Looking back at 2.0, I assume Firefly might have transformed into Sam if Black Swan hadn't saved them because Stelle was in danger and their scripts from Elio aren't as detailed as the ones we've seen the other Stellaron Hunters reference, and her apology when she was killed could be read as "sorry I'm going to give you some trauma now so you'll have the motivation to find the Watchmaker's legacy." I'm not super clear on whether the memories of Firefly Stelle followed with Black Swan and Acheron was just an act she put on to lead Stelle to that place or there was something more going on there.

I just really want to know how much of Firefly in 2.0 was an act and how much of it was genuine. The main thing being when she tells Stelle she hopes they don't have to be enemies when everything is revealed. I love how Firefly's Sam persona was clearly leaking out a bit when she told Sampo/Sparkle "You talk too much."

2.2 really cannot come soon enough because I've got so many questions and I'm so excited to see the story pick up right from Stelle finding out Firefly is Sam. I can't wait to see what dialogue options Stelle gets for her reaction. Stelle's thoughts when you go back to Firefly's secret base are that she still cherishes the memories of the time she spent with Firefly, but she's confused about how to feel about her being Sam. I'm just like, Stelle, please hug her because I am a fool who would forgive her because she's cute and I love the Stellaron Hunters dearly, but I think if I'm not being self-indulgent I'm just expecting Stelle to be happy or relieved that Firefly's not dead but also feel very wary of her.

I think it's so funny that during the 2.1 livestream they were like. "Gallagher is so normal. He's the most normal person in the whole Penacony cast. He doesn't have a past, he's just a guy." And then by the end of 2.1 it's like. Actually Gallagher may have the biggest past out of everyone.

I'm not clear on what's up with that bird that's watching in some scenes. I thought it could be related to Sunday since he said he has servants that see everything, but its colour scheme looks like the Memory Zone monsters so it might also be related to Gallagher? idk if I'm even supposed to understand at this point.

I love that they made a special trial for Acheron so they could be like "Look how cool her technique is!!!"

It was very nice of them to let us collect the birds even when we weren't in Stelle's perspective, but Acheron and Aventurine can't actually see them so the dialogue options reflected that.

Black Swan talking to a memory? Of Constance wasn't something I expected. I'm still not clear on what was happening during that scene, but I'm interested to see where it goes in 2.2. Boothill getting an early cameo in that part was fun as well. It was so funny to me when he got drip marketed because I was just like. I have never seen this man in my life before lmao. I must have stopped looking at leaks before he was found.

Topaz's very brief appearances were very interesting. It seems like she feels at least a little conflicted about Aventurine's "death." I think Topaz herself is very kind, but she's still one of the Ten Stonehearts and that whole group seems a little shady. I don't think I trust Jade at all.

#Annie plays HSR #I'm off to watch other people play through the story because sometimes things become clearer the second time around

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ohmycale · 2 years

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...a butler's POV

I woke up Xmas day and chose angst.

Hope you like and did justice to Hans' POV in my AU.

"Hans, are you ill?"

Hans wasn’t expecting that answer. Granted, he already anticipated a multiple of possible reactions, which often ranges from burning looks, hardened brown eyes and even light arm shoves from His Young Master. The Young Master never resorted to physical reactions because everybody knows that the Young Master wasn’t built like their Master was. He had Ron for intimidation and Beacroix if he needed to have a little more ‘push.’ He never thought he would be on the receiving end of a disbelief look from the man he is currently serving.

"No, young master. I’m well and not under the weather. Why do you ask?"

"It’s either you are ill or you misheard."

"I don’t think so, Young Master. Master Deruth clearly said..."

"I heard you fine the first time. I believe you misheard still..."

Hans opened his mouth to answer but his Young Master beat him to it.

"Do you think it’s strange that I am invited to my own mother's memorial service when my mother died a long time ago? Are you not offending the Countess by such saying such things?"

Hans began to sweat. The late Countess Jour was the one who gave him employment when he had nothing to his name. He was young when the late Countess took pity on him as a small and weak child in the streets of the Henituse county. He and many servants in the house owe their life and livelihood to the Cale’s mother. The late Countess' death was a strike against the whole household. Even with the Master gone, the Young Master stepped up with aid of the Molan father and son to keep up the house. When the recent Countess came in, everybody’s nerves were affected by the tension of the new masters and the master who stood by them during such drastic change. Master Deruth even ordered that his former wife’s name will not to be mentioned in the house due to fear of alienating his new spouse. They obeyed reluctantly but they also knew that it deeply wounded their Young Master when he heard it. As servants of the household, they have no authority and no recourse but silently supporting their Young Master in any way they can.

Hans has no answer for his Young Master. As part of the service, he is privy to many things and truth in the mansion and the family. However, he is not permitted to speak nor even defend the young man whom he serves. He cannot talk back to his Master and Mistress of the House. As the years go by, the situation didn't improve. He understood the efforts of his Master's these past years trying to reconcile with his son. But he also knew how hurt his Young Master is and the why Cale delivers the same effort of dodging his father's every effort. Every servant knows that the Young Master does the same with Countess with an alarming success. Servants knew they are almost walking in a minefield every time the Young Master interact with the couple.

Hans understood both father and son. But even this round of trying to pull his Young Master using a memorial service is just asking for disaster. He understand desperation but stupid desperation is something he hasn't witnessed from a rich and powerful noble like Deruth Henituse.

What is the most appropriate thing to say to this? Hans questions himself. Hans sighed and when he looked again at his Young Master and saw surprised to see his master already dressed. Hans tried to apologize but his young master’s expression stopped him.

“Hans, we both live under this house. You know the unspoken rules and things not just about the upkeep of the house. It applies to the things about me and the people living here. You know my situation and I know your situation. I despise it but I still need to live with my father and his new family. As long it is the case, we are still subordinate to his will and wishes. No matter how stupid they are. The Count is still an authority figure in my life…although I wish it wasn’t the truth. Just tell them that you told me and you never got an answer.”

Hans hates lying, especially to the people who are giving him his livelihood. However, he doesn’t want to be the middle of this ongoing back and forth situation.

“Very well. Where will you be going, then?” Hans dreaded when he saw a small smirk forming on his young master’s face.

“Hans, I thought you know me so well. You know I’m not going to tell you.”

Hans took a breath and felt he aged a week instead of starting his day.

#tcf fic #tcf cale #og!cale #og cale henituse #original cale henituse #henituse family #deruth henituse #henituse family drama

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achitka · 1 year

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Doors (Chapter 40) Mariposa de Papel (Paper Butterfly)

Summary: Well, things are moving right along… Alma is figuring out what the tower doors are for, Luisa is having a better day, Isa is doing repair work and Mirabel is still the resident counselor. Fun times.

Yes, this took a bit longer…vacation, Zelda, grand baby fun. - All that said, off we go.

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Mariposa de Papel (Paper Butterfly)

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Puerta Amarillo

Alma and Valentina had moved from Mirabel’s room to hers when Camilo and Antonio came in carrying the wounded stuffed jaguar. She left the door open, and heard Antonio as he told Mirabel that talking to insects was harder than he was expecting. Mirabel asked him why as she fished through a small tin for an appropriate button to repair Little Parce’s missing eye. Antonio replied that Bubo was going to be an Empanadagist and that he knows everything about bugs. He told him how they talk with flashy light, but that it was too fast for him to understand. All this while he jumped on her bed. Camilo was lounging on the overstuffed chair. Not saying much, but he was definitely keeping an eye on his prima and little brother. Alma truly was looking forward to the play Camilo was organizing and would be putting on later next month. She also planned to set aside time to help Mirabel with the costumes she and her friends were making. There was also a chance she would be able to do some things with Camilo. He was almost grown, and she knew next to nothing about him.

Alma had been very relieved that when Mirabel ‘woke up’ she seemed much more at ease. Alma realized she’d pushed more on her granddaughter than she should have. When the Doctor told her she should consider doing less, she became impatient. Letting Julieta handle the folks on the mountain was only the first step and though Mirabel seemed perfectly fine, there was no way to know how this melding of the source of the magic and Casita would affect her in the long run. It was something that never happened before.

La Candela was an inanimate thing before it was possessed by the light of the previous miracle. Though this Casita was much like the old, at the same time it was not. This home had been built from the ground up, using as much of the old as could be salvaged. Similar to how Mirabel had grown up without a Gift, this Casita was built on more than just a magical foundation, so behaved differently. It was more aware of the family in general.

That brought her to the doors in the tower. Alma knew she’d triggered them somehow. Now that she had some time to think on it, she thought perhaps they were the remnants of her Casita, and they’d been put there for a purpose. Possibly something Casita had been trying to tell her before the breaking that she’d ignored. She knew she’d ignored much near the end, and it irritated her that she didn’t know the why of it. She’d asked Valentina to stay because she’d overheard Julieta and her talking about that yellow door up in the tower. Something about it was significant for her and every time she passed it now, her curiosity grew stronger. The answer was so tantalizingly close, hidden somewhere deep within her heart. Bruno would not have had a sponty with regard to it. But even that had only shown him it would be opened, not what lay on the other side.

“Toni, please stop jumping on the bed,” Valentina said and to Alma she added, “I don’t know how you handle all that rambunctiousness. Just makes me nervous. Aren’t you worried he’ll get hurt?”

“Not really. That’s just Toni, being Toni. Be thankful he’s too tired to do more than jump,” Alma said with a small smile, thinking of when her children were that age. They’d always had far more energy at the end of a day than should be allowed.

Antonio stopped jumping and laid down on his back with his head and shoulders hanging off the edge. He let out a massive yawn that Camilo noticed, and he said to Mirabel, “You done yet?”

“Almost,” Mirabel said as she tied off the last knot, “here you go, Toni... oh.”

Antonio was asleep, and the position he was in caused him to snore softly. Camilo shook his head, “’bout time,” he said as he picked up his little brother and took the stuffed jaguar from his prima. “Toni would say thanks, but he’s unconscious.”

“Thanks, Camilo,” Mirabel said, as she closed her sewing kit and got up from the sofa. “I really do appreciate everything you did for Tuli today.” Mirabel let out a huge yawn and said, “Wow, think I’m gonna go to bed too. Been a day for sure.”

Camilo turned toward Alma’s door and said, “Good night, Abuelas,” and to Mirabel he said, “You better get some rest, Mira. Can’t have that fluffy head of yours blanking out on me again. Remember, you’re supposed to help me study tomorrow.”

“Jerk,” she replied, but was smiling as she shoved him out the door. “Goodnight, Camilo.” Mirabel closed the door and glanced at the trees, and she touched the trunk of the oak, and Alma felt the light touch on her arm. Mirabel turned toward Alma’s door, waved and said, “Goodnight, Abuelas. See you in the morning.”

“Good night Mirabel,” Alma and Valentina said together, and Alma added, “Please close the door, mi vida.”

“Okay,” Mirabel said as another yawn escaped and repeated, “goodnight.” And closed the door.

“So, what was it you wanted to ask me about?” Valentina asked.

“You’ve seen all the doors up in the tower?”

“Yes, me and Esteffi took a look at them when you all went out adventuring.”

Alma nodded and waited until the light in Mirabel’s room went out. She went to the door and thought of the tower as she opened it and waved Valentina to her, and together they stepped out onto the path.

“So this is what Luisa meant when she said your door was not opening. Casita is truly a wonder, Alma.”

Alma nodded as she shut the door. Only the door to her bedroom had a light above it, and she wondered briefly why, then said, “All of these doors are tied to me somehow, but I don’t remember most of them. They must be doors that led me to… something significant that happened in the past. Truthfully, they frighten me.”

“All of them?” Valentina asked as she wandered down the path.

Alma nodded as they walked, and Valentina stopped at a simple brown door with nothing more than a rope pull attached to it. Alma looked at the door and wondered at it. She knew that she knew this door, but like the yellow one, she could not place it in her memories. She would need to talk to Bruno and see if he had any other visions about them. Or perhaps that was the point. She was again relying on her family’s Gifts to find answers she already knew she held. She touched Valentina’s arm and said, “So, I heard you mention that you might know where one of these doors went.”

Valentina nodded, and they moved to the yellow door, and she said, “Esteffi and I thought it looked much like the door to the Café Candelária in La Macarena.”

Alma’s eyes went wide, and her hands flew to her mouth, ‘It was that door” she thought. How could she have forgotten this place? She went down on her knees as she was overcome by that horrible pain she thought she’d set aside. It welled up inside her, and she could not hold back the tears as she whispered, “Pedro, please forgive me.”

“Alma! What’s wrong?” Valentina asked, kneeling beside her, but Alma could not answer. The flood gates had been opened. Valentina knelt with her arm around her and just let her cry. When the worst of it had passed, Valentina said, “Tell me what happened here, Alma.”

“This door…” Alma started, but had to pause as the remembered happiness tied to it crept in and pushed aside the pain. This made her smile and more of that joy crept in and said, “This door represents one of the happiest moments of my life,” Alma said as she reached out and touched the door. She felt a warm tingle as she did. “This was the place where Pedro asked me to be his wife.”

Valentina took Alma’s hands as she stood. She helped Alma up and asked, “Oh, Alma, why would you hide that from yourself?”

“I’m not sure,” Alma said and took a deep breath. As she let it out, she could feel the happiness she’d felt that day lingering, it helped calm the shakiness. “Thank you, Valentina, for helping me today.”

“Alma, I didn’t do anything,” Valentina said in her most practical tone, “You need to let those happy memories of Pedro help you to heal your heart. You’ve let it stay broken for too long, another way you and Mira are alike.” Valentina shook her head and said, “Not tonight though. You look as exhausted as I feel.”

Alma nodded and touched the door one more time before heading toward the stairs. All these doors were here to help her heal. The tiles above the door shifted, as they did whenever this Casita was ‘giggling’.

“Come on,” Valentina said from the top of the stairs. “Need to find Joseph, so we can go home.”

Alma nodded, but before going down the stairs, Alma looked at the yellow door one more time and thought she would need to bring her children here and share this with them. She looked back and could see that she’d not shared enough joyful memories about their father with them. They had pictures of him, but not the stories that went with them, and together they left the tower.

Coming down to the kitchen, they found the husbands all out on the patio, and Alma wondered where all of her children were. Agustín moved a piece on the chessboard and stated, “Checkmate!”

Félix grunted as he lay down the king, “You got me again,” he said.

“You’ve really improved, Félix. Had me sweating during the midgame.”

Both looked away from the board when Joseph said, “My long-lost wife has returned. Just in time, I was about to get a search party together.”

Valentina snorted as he bent to kiss her cheek, then said, “Come along then Joseph,” she was smiling as she took his hand and added, “I’m tired after all the excitement today.”

He nodded, and the pair said goodnight to everyone and left the patio by the gate that Casita had opened for them. Pepa arrived shortly after that, and she and her husband went inside Casita.

Left alone with her son-in-law, Alma was nervous, and Agustín just looked uncomfortable. There were so many reasons she needed to apologize to this man. It did not help that she’d put it off for more than a year. No, you cannot let this lie, Alma Madrigal, she thought, so she asked tentatively, “Agustín, do you have a moment?”

He let out an almost inaudible sigh, and Alma knew its source. In the past, when she’d asked to speak with him, it was because of something one of his girls had done… or not done. Never a compliment, never acceptance. It was a wonder he spoke to her at all, but Alma plowed ahead because she knew she needed to do this. She sat on one of the vacant chairs and indicated he should do so as well. He chose one, but it made it, so he was just out of reach, so she began, “Before I begin, please let me speak my piece before you respond,” Alma said and Agustín pursed his lips but nodded as he crossed his arms.

“Thank you,” Alma said and took a very deep breath, “First, I want to thank you for all that you’ve done and all the things you do for our family. I know I have not been as appreciative as I should have been. You’ve not only been an excellent husband and father, but you befriended and stayed Bruno’s friend when others could not.” Agustín had unfolded his arms, but his expression reminded her of Luisa’s when she’d talked to her. Suspicion. So, Alma added, “I know that all sounds a bit too much like too little, too late and you would be right. I know that.”

Agustín did not respond, and Alma realized that was probably not the best way to have said that, but she pushed ahead, saying, “I will be doing less in the coming months. The Doctor has brought to my attention that since my illness, my health is a little more fragile than I thought.” Alma paused because she could see Agustín’s concern, but she was not saying these things for pity. “And I feel Julieta is more than ready to take control of the day to day. Most already look to her for this, and Mirabel is still young, and I do not wish to overwhelm her.”

Agustín was now tapping his knees with his fingertips. A sure sign she needed to get to the point. Alma sat up a little straighter and said, “So, I wanted to get your opinion, on whether you think Mirabel should accompany her sisters when they go to Bogotá.” She noticed his fingers were still now while she said, “I believe she will benefit from the experience. She is also exceedingly bright, and new challenges will only help her grow.” Alma folded her hands up in her lap as she fell silent and waited.

At first, Agustín just stared. Clearly, allowing Mirabel to leave the Encanto was not something he’d considered. The silence stretched until he realized he was supposed to be answering and said, “That’s actually not a bad idea, though I want to talk to Julieta before I give you an answer. All three of my girls are still working on finding their places. Luisa is still learning to balance her requests with her everyday tasks. Isabela is just confused, and Mirabel is struggling with her anxiety regarding Casita again.”

“Yes, I agree with that. That is one of the reasons I felt going to the city would be good for her. The new things on the outside will make their way here eventually, and they are all young enough that they should be able to adjust to those changes.”

Agustín nodded and said, “When we were rebuilding, they had no trouble working together. Now that the magic’s come back… I know you are aware of the issues that have surprisingly sprung up. There is also Tuli and Señor Márquez to… factor in,” he took a deep breath as he trailed off and Alma nodded.

“Of course, I do not need an answer tonight. Just something to keep in mind when you go to Bogotá,” Alma replied. She turned in her seat when Julieta came out onto the patio, then rose from her chair and said, “Good night, Agustín, and thank you for listening.” She nodded to Julieta, then left for her room.

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

Heredera Aparente

Julieta watched her mother leave and then looked back at her husband, who was up from his chair and came over next to her. He looked thoughtful when he asked as he held out his hand, “Wanna go for a walk?”

She nodded, and together they went through the back gate toward town. Though Julieta was a bit tired, she often walked through town after a busy day to unwind. They made their way toward the plaza that was mostly quiet, and Julieta leaned on him and said, “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what were you two talking about?”

“The future,” he said cryptically.

“Oh? Who’s future?”

“Our three lovely daughters. I’m still in shock that she asked me for my opinion, out loud, like they’re my kids.” Julieta elbowed him, and he continued, “There was one other person she mentioned,” he said, holding up a hand.

“And they are?”

“You, mi amour.”

Julieta sighed and nodded, “I’ve noticed she’s been pulling back more since her illness. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been after her since the breaking to take it easier, and even more so now.”

Agustin stopped near one of the Encanto’s smaller cafés and said, “She said her health was fragile.”

Julieta nodded and said, “When she was ill, and her fever was so high, Dolores mentioned that her heart did not sound right, so, I had the Doctor in, and he agreed it was not beating properly. He said it likely suffered some damage from the infection. He let me listen to it with his stethoscope. He called it a heart murmur.”

“How serious is it?” Agustín asked.

Julieta gave his arm a squeeze and said, “As long as she listens to the doctor, she should be around for a good long while. Dr. Gonzalez said, given her age, it might be difficult for her body to repair itself. That, and this is not the first time she’s experienced an infection with a very high fever. He also told her if she ever feels lightheaded or out of breath she should come to see him or to send someone. She told me later that she’d never felt so old as when the Doctor told her she needed to adjust her schedule to include a lot fewer things, or should really consider retirement.”

“Do Pepa and Bruno know?”

“Mama asked me not to say anything to them yet, but Pepa’s noticed the change. She just doesn’t want to ask. Bruno’s been dealing with almost non-stop spontys. Who knows, he may have already had some sort of sponty regarding it. Speaking of spontys,” she said as she sat on one of the benches in the plaza, “Bruno says it is ‘essential’ that Mira and Luisa go with the group that is meeting up with Bubo’s Tío tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know specifically, but Bruno was doing his damnedest to not have to do a vision, you know how he feels about those. Apparently, he says it’s to stop an argument between Bubo and his Tío José.”

“So, something to do with Tuli, most likely.”

“Probably, you know his spontys can be light on detail. He also mentioned that Isabela aided him by asking the plants in Antonio’s room to support him. He said it made his sponty even out and made it a little more comprehensible for him... and no shakes afterward.”

“What did she do?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to her tomorrow. She overdid it again and was sound asleep when Pepa went to check on Antonio.”

“Ah, well, Félix told me he thinks Antonio has been up to something.”

“Bruno said something similar,” Julieta said, “but the weirdest part was that Bruno had a specific sponty with regard to Santiago that didn’t happen.”

“What?”

“He thinks Antonio somehow interfered with that. Bruno’s just not sure how. In the past, even if Bruno did something to try and mitigate, whatever he saw would happen, just as he saw it. This time though, it didn’t.”

“What didn’t happen?”

“In Bruno’s original sponty, Bubo Márquez may have killed the smuggler. Antonio showed Tuli his sketch and Tuli did not want that. That’s why he thinks Antonio sent Parce to the mountain. Santiago was going to die regardless, just not at the hands of the one person Tuli needed.”

They walked for a while in silence until they reached the edge of town. Julieta looked up at the mountain split, and thought for a moment about her father. This always made her a little sad, since she really didn’t know all that much about him. Sure, people used to talk about him like he was a saint, but no one talked about who he actually was. Their mother only told the vaguest of stories. Almost as if it hurt her to think about them. Pepa’s new room had a full supply of scrapbook items, and she had been gathering all the photos they still had of him and writing out some of the stories they had. Pepa was a born daddy’s girl at heart. When they were little, she would watch the other fathers in the Encanto and wish they were hers. Telling her siblings that she’d trade everything for that. There was only one person in town that would elaborate on their father as a person, but she had passed away almost ten years ago. She refocused on her husband when he said, “There was one other thing, Alma said something that I actually agree with. She thought that Mirabel should go to the city with her sisters and possibly even attend school.”

“So she did notice then,” Julieta said with a small smile.

Agustín nodded, and said, “You know Juli, when the magic came back, I had my doubts, but she truly is trying to do better this time.”

“True enough, but I’m not sure whether I’m ready for all three of my chicks to disappear at once. Not sure Casita would handle it well either.”

They turned back toward home and made their way through the mostly empty streets at a leisurely pace. They reached Casita and the door opened and something made Julieta look up in time to see a flash of white heading up the tower stairs.

“Gus,” she said, pointing, “I think Mira is sleepwalking up to the tower again.”

Agustín looked up, but was not about to contradict her as he took off at a run for the stairs. Julieta followed and though both reached the second floor quickly, there was no one there.

“Casita was there anyone up here?”

Casita clattered some tiles, indicating no. “I have to check,” she said, and quickly left the tower and went into Mirabel’s room. Her daughter was asleep in her bed, and Julieta let out a sigh of relief as she adjusted the blankets around her youngest. Then what did she see? Agustín put a hand on her shoulder, and together they went to their room. Julieta knew she’d seen something, but without some sort of idea of what she was looking for, she decided to head up to the tower tomorrow and poke around.

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

A Source of Strength

Luisa woke suddenly and realized it was still dark outside. One of the fun perks of having a literal private beach was that when the sun rose – it shone through that archway. She’d always preferred working out at dawn, not too hot and not too cold. Her room before had not afforded for this, and she’d had to rely on a regular alarm. Ugh, how she hated that sound, the only person she’d ever told that to was Mirabel. The sun was not up, but would be soon, she thought as she looked at the clock. She sat up and listened to the quiet whoosh of the surf that was barely audible, and she decided that since she was awake, she’d get an early start.

Dressed in only her bloomers and a light shirt, she headed through the archway and toward the beach. She slowed when she noticed dark shapes moving in the sand. A little freaked out, she moved closer and sat on a bluff overlooking the shore. Luisa realized the shapes were turtles. A lot of them. She wondered what they were all doing. Why were they all here? It irked her that she did not know.

She returned her attention to the turtles for a time, and when most had left the beach, she moved a little closer. There was one in particular that caught her interest. It was doing its best to fill in a hole on the beach, but to her eye it was moving very slowly. Concerned, Luisa went over and noticed the eggs the turtle was struggling to cover with the wet sand. So, that was what was happening. She looked back and saw that most of the other nests were much further up the beach, so the sand wasn’t as saturated with seawater. A wave lapped against her foot, and she realized the tide had started to come in, and this nest was too close to the water. It would be swamped if the mama turtle couldn’t get it covered. The turtle lifted its head and began shoveling sand a little faster.

Luisa was unsure if she should help. She didn’t want the baby turtles to die, but she also knew the placement of this nest was the real problem. All she could do was help the turtle with its task. She gently pushed some of the warmer dryer sand into the hole, hoping she wasn’t crushing them. She worked to keep the mama turtle’s body above the sand. Lifting it as she filled in the hole. Once the sand was even with her shell, the turtle started to move away. Slowly turning back toward the water. Luisa continued pushing dirt over the hole. Though she was certain this clutch would not make it, she wished she could move the eggs, but she would need help to do that for sure. Water continued to rush in, and Luisa noted the sand had begun to settle. She pushed a little more sand over, gently tamping it down until the next wave came.

The mama turtle was gone, likely back in the ocean, and Luisa stood up in the now ankle deep water. She returned to the bluff and watched the tide roll in and noticed only a few of the nest sites were covered by the tide. She wondered if the turtles came back to check on their eggs. Probably not, considering how deep the hole was and the amount of effort that likely went into digging it in the first place. The disturbed sand continued to flatten out with each incoming wave, little depressions appearing over nests that did not have quite enough sand.

The sun peaked over the horizon and Luisa thought about her future. She really wanted to start school. The more she thought about it, the more she felt her impatience growing. When would her someday come? When would she be able to choose? She’d almost lost hope when the magic came back, and Papa had told her it was too dangerous to travel. Abuela promised it was her future that mattered, and this room Casita had made for her was everything she’d wanted in a room before. This made Luisa pause in her thoughts. Being impatient would only lead to more stress. She was almost there. Almost to where she would be learning to be a vet.

The sun had broken free of the horizon, and Luisa decided to get ready for breakfast. She took off the wet clothes and used the basin water to help rinse off the rest of the sand. She opened her wardrobe and pulled out the pants her sister made and noticed the little weights interspaced with tiny animals embroidered on the hem. Seriously, when did Mira find time to do that? Once again, Luisa’s guilt at not knowing what was troubling her little sister reared its head. She’d been more focused on Isabela, and she was glad Camilo told her what he believed was the problem. For Mira, Casita had always been more than just a house. She dressed quickly and headed to Isa’s room and asked, “Casita, is Isa awake?”

Casita clattered some tiles in the affirmative above the door. Luisa nodded and gently knocked. There was a muffled “Enter,” from the other side, so Luisa opened the door. Isabela was fully dressed, sitting on her bed with her head in her hands. She looked up and smiled, then reached over and picked up the small bottle on her bed stand. She drank the contents and let out a relieved sigh. Luisa sat next to her and said, “Got a little carried away yesterday, huh.”

“Yeah, still have a bit of a headache, but I probably just need some coffee.”

Luisa nodded, she really wanted to ask about Bubo Márquez, but now was probably not the best time for that. “You coming down to breakfast?”

“Yeah, I’m starving, and I’m gonna be doing some field work today… hey as long as you’re here can you braid my hair for me. I don’t think I have the energy for that this morning.”

You betcha, Sis.”

Isa opened the drawer and pulled out a brush and some lavender ribbon to match the older skirt she was wearing. Luisa brushed out a few snarls and plaited her sister’s hair with practiced ease. Isa was humming to herself, and Luisa noted the scent of roses in the air. She tied off the braid and patted it. Isa turned to her and smiled as she said, “Okay, your turn.”

“But my hair is fine,” Luisa started to say.

“Turn,” Isa commanded as she waved the brush imperiously at her. Luisa sighed. The only time Isa would mess with her hair was when she wanted to talk about something, but didn’t want you to see her face while she did it. She did it more often with Mirabel over the past year, and Luisa sighed as she felt Isa pull loose the red ribbon that held her hair in a squat little bun on her head. As she brushed, she asked, “Why is there sand in your hair?” Isa didn’t wait for the answer, instead she asked, “So what do you think we can do to help Mira with her anxiety about Casita? I think we need to figure out how to lighten her load. I mean, the only thing that was obvious to me last night, was that we still take Mira’s abilities for granted. Do you agree that Mira was responsible for all those butterflies?”

Luisa nodded.

“I wonder how she did it.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think she knew she was doing it. It was so scary, Isa. She was so still when I went in to check on her last night. Mira’s never that still. She looked like a statue. Not moving at all, I couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. Doli assured me she was, and Mama said there was nothing physically wrong, but I could see the worry on her face. Tío Bruno told Mamá he thought she was working something out in her head and that Mira and Casita had become one. I thought you would be there, but she woke up before that.”

“I wanted to come but ended up babysitting Antonio in his room.”

“I wasn’t much help either, since Papá had to remind me that I was not a bad older sister.”

“Luisa, you’ve never been a bad older sister. I hold that title,” Isa said and Luisa felt her sister tug at an unusually stubborn snarl, “Dolores did kind of fill me in on what was happening just before Tío Bruno showed up. When he told Bubo that Santiago was dead, Bubo said he had to tell Tuli. He went off to do that and Tío had a sponty while we were waiting.”

“Was he okay?”

“Amazingly, yes.”

“Thank goodness. Did he tell you what he saw?”

“No, but he must have seen something unusual because he left shortly after that. I think he was supposed to be chaperoning me and Bubo. Anyway, I went to check on Bubo and Tuli and found that Tuli had fallen asleep, so I helped get Tuli into one of the hammocks in Toni’s room. Then I asked Doli to ask one of her parents to come to ask about Bubo staying over. Then I sat and talked to Bubo for a while,” as she said this the rose smell intensified, “but got a bit worried when Tía came in… now that I think about it, we were sitting pretty close. So, I asked and Tía said yes, then she asked me to stay with Tuli, so she could speak to Bubo ‘privately’. Don’t know what came of that, only managed to stay with it until Doli came. Don’t remember much after that.”

“Dolores did tell me you were keeping Antonio in his room, so I’m sure you had your hands full.”

Isa nodded.

“Wait, Bubo was here all night? In Antonio’s room?” Luisa asked, again Isa nodded, and she thought things really were changing.

“Bubo didn’t want to leave Tuli alone here because he said she was apt to have nightmares. That poor kid’s been through too much for someone her age. However,” Isa continued, “I did find this on my dresser under Mamá’s draft. Read it.”

Luisa took it and noted it was from Tía Pepa. It included a request for Isabela to mind Tuli while Bubo went to meet the group coming off the mountain, and she said, “I thought Mira was responsible for Tuli.”

“Yeah, but she could use a break, and I think I should get to know Tuli better anyway.”

The smell of roses increased, and Luisa noted the yellow rose that had popped into her sister’s hair. Isa noticed where she was looking and reached up and touched the flower there. She sighed as she said, “I can see you’re wondering about my oh so obvious interest in Señor Márquez.” Luisa shrugged as she nodded slightly and Isa continued, “Don’t really know what to say about that… for whatever reason, I think he’s adorable.”

Luisa smiled. “Sounds like as good a reason as any, Isa. He seems like he’s a good person. I mean, he took Tuli on without a second thought.”

Isa's stomach growled loudly, and Luisa laughed and said, “Wow, let’s go see if breakfast is started.”

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

Mirabel woke feeling weirdly at ease. She’d had a dream about the large oak tree on the mountain. The tree told her stories about before, what the tree called the great sadness, it did not explain what that sadness was. It also told her stories of her abuela and the triplets when they were small… before the Gifts. Mirabel decided she had a very vivid imagination. There was a brief knock and her sisters plowed into her room.

“Come on, sleepy head,” Isa said, “Got stuff to do today.”

Luisa nodded and was already rooting through her dresser for clothes. Mirabel noticed Isa and Luisa had braided their hair, and she was going to say something, but Isa yanked her blankets off and stopped.

“Why are your feet so dirty? They look like you’ve been tramping through the woods.”

“Ummm,” Mirabel said as she looked at her feet. They were dirty. That’s weird, she thought.

Luisa had finished making a small pile of Mirabel’s clothes, and she handed her that as well as her robe. “We’ve got so much to talk about… after you deal with that,” she said as she pointed to Mirabel’s feet. “We’ll meet you downstairs in the kitchen.” And ushered her out her door.

Mirabel stood for a second wondering what just happened and almost turned to go back, but she looked at her feet again. They were pretty bad, and she made her way downstairs to the bath. Once clean and dressed, she hung her robe and nightgown on the door. She crossed the courtyard and went into the kitchen to find her sisters arguing over the best way to prepare eggs. Their mother was cooking arepas and sausages, studiously ignoring them.

“They should be boiled, Isa.”

“Why? I would like to have them scrambled for a change.”

“Because we always have boiled eggs for breakfast.”

“Exactly. We need to make something new. Something spicy. Mamá, do we have - oh, never mind, I see it.”

Mirabel shook her head and wondered if this was why everyone was afraid to try Isa’s cooking. She went closer to her mother and said, “Good morning, Mamá, can I help with anything?”

Her mother looked at her and smiled gently, “Good morning, Corazón, can you please help Dolores and Tuli set the tables for me? They’re out on the patio.”

“Sure thing.”

She went out and saw that Tuli was wearing a light blue dress, daisy crown atop her head, looking as fresh as when Isa made it. Dolores was showing Tuli where to place the cutlery. Tuli was paying very close attention as Dolores explained what went where.

Mirabel noticed then there were two tables. A larger and a smaller table, then she remembered Doris and her brood. She wondered if they were all up yet. She picked up the tablecloth and spread it over the smaller table. The sideboard had a stack of dishes and cups which she collected and moving quickly she turned and ran into Bubo who had appeared from nowhere. He steadied her and kept her from dropping the plates and cups.

“Sorry, Mirabel,” he said and moved aside.

“You’re here early,” Mirabel said as she set everything down on the table. Bubo nodded and Mirabel asked, “Here for breakfast?” He nodded again and Mirabel waited. He said nothing, so she shrugged. Must not be a morning person. After setting out the plates and cups, she collected the cutlery and placed it around the table. Camilo appeared with a stack of smaller chairs, which he set around the smaller table.

Mira grabbed a pile of napkins and deftly folded them into flowers that she put in front of each plate. She looked over and saw that Tuli was now glomped onto Bubo’s arm, watching her with great interest. Bubo was leaning against the patio wall with his eyes closed. She hadn’t noticed before, but he looked tired, and his clothes looked like he’d slept in them. Tuli tugged his arm, and he opened his eyes and pushed up his glasses. Tuli said something that seemed to startle him, and he leaned down to answer her question.

Food was starting to appear on the sideboard and Isa and Luisa came out carrying their egg creations. The rest of the family started to filter in. Antonio ran over to Tuli and pulled her loose of Bubo, handed her Fura and brought her over to the food. Tuli was mindful of what her mother told her yesterday and took modest portions. Antonio filled his plate, and together they went to the smaller table. Abuela came in ahead of Doris and Inez, with the kids following behind. Her mother was setting the last of the food out and directed Inez and the children to the smaller table to get a plate and head to the sideboard for some food. Doris followed, but Mirabel noticed she was watching Tuli with an intensity that was a little off-putting. Thankfully, Tuli was not facing that direction. Mirabel could tell she was having a time understanding Tuli’s view of herself.

Tía Pepa was sitting at the table next to Isa and was whispering something that made Isabela turn a deep shade of red. Dolores had her hand over her mouth, clearly amused by whatever her mother was saying to her sister. Bubo was sitting between Tío Bruno and her father. He had a very stunned look on his face as her Tío said something that he punctuated by waving a spoon about. This was the most animated she’d ever seen him with someone outside the family, and it made her smile.

Mirabel sat in the empty seat next to Luisa, and her sister immediately started telling her about the turtle nests she’d discovered in her room. She also thanked Mirabel for taking the time to add the decorations on the hem of her pants. This was overheard by her father, who asked Luisa to show him, and he too remarked on the cleanness of her work. Mirabel knew she was blushing, and she felt like melting under the table, but it was nice to hear. Breakfast got underway with no announcements from Abuela, and with the extra children there it was quite noisy. When breakfast ended, Mirabel went to the courtyard. She saw Bubo talking with Luisa, who looked her way and waved for her to join them.

“Mira, Bubo wants us to go with him to meet his Tío,” Luisa sounded almost excited, “Oh, and don’t worry about Tuli, Isa has that covered.”

Mirabel looked at Bubo, who nodded. She wanted to ask more, but Camilo came in the front door and asked, “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” Luisa said.

Their mother came over with Mirabel’s mochila bag, as well as a shoulder sack, which she handed to Camilo, and said, “Don’t be out late. Try and make it back by dinner.”

Bubo, Camilo and Luisa nodded while Mirabel just blinked. They met the larger group that had gathered near the edge of town and headed up the road to meet Bubo’s Tío José.

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

A little bit earlier…

Cactus Lady

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

Isabela was very happy when breakfast ended, and she was finally able to escape the ‘advice’ her Tía Pepa was sharing. Some of the things she was suggesting were just… startling. Dolores, of course, heard everything but was too busy laughing to help. Her mother must have noticed because she came and collected her ‘hermanita’ to help with getting the new group of folks settled in town.

“Seriously, Doli, you could have… helped.”

“Oh no, if I have to put up with it, so do you,” Dolores said as she got up, adding her dishes to the growing stack, “Be careful or Mamí will have you married off before you can say boo.”

Married? Oh God, no, Isa thought. Dolores was heading for the gate and Isabela asked, “Where are you going?”

“To see Mariano before he leaves, and I have to stare at the floor in your sister’s room.”

“Oh right, okay, I’ll see you later then.”

“Bye Isa,” Dolores said with a small wave as she walked out the back gate toward town. Since it was Isabela’s dish day, she got up and stacked most of the dishes still on the table after dumping the leftovers in the pig bucket. She picked up the first stack and headed for the kitchen. There she found Antonio, Tuli and Bubo sitting at the worktable.

Isa paused and said good morning before setting the dishes on the counter. They all said good morning as she got an apron off the peg near the stove. She put it on and went out to collect more of the dishes. She stopped before going back in when she heard Bubo say, “Tuli, Señorita Isabela will be looking after you while I’m gone today.”

“But why? Where’s Mirabel?”

“She’s going to be busy,” Bubo said. It was clear he hadn’t heard about the cactus incident at breakfast the day before and added, “Señorita Luisa as well.” There was a pause and Bubo said, “Tuli, Señorita Isabela is the one who will be taking care of you. This is not open for discussion.”

“No! Can’t I just go with you?”

“No.” Bubo said flatly. “I have to get going, make sure you mind her. In fact, you can help with the dishes.” Tuli groaned and Bubo said, “Everyone has chores Tuli.”

“That’s not fair, Antonio doesn’t have chores!”

“Of course he does, and just because you’re a guest does not mean you don’t have to help out.”

Isabela leaned in and saw Antonio’s head was moving back and forth, listening to the exchange. He saw Isa near the door, and gave her a look that said, help me. So, she came in and said, “Hey Toni, Abuela says the donkeys need rounding up and asked if you could take care of that for her since Luisa is busy today.”

Antonio gave her a grateful smile and asked, “In town?”

“Yes, but make sure you check in with your sister, she’s probably at Mariano’s house,” Isa said as she set down her current load.

“Okay,” Antonio said, “I’ll catch up with you later Tuli,” and hopped off the chair and was out the door.

Isabela went back out onto the patio and picked up her last load. She almost dropped them when she heard Bubo shout, “É suficiente!” This was accompanied by the sound of the table being smacked, and Isabela stayed where she was. No one liked having others around when they were being scolded. She couldn’t hear what was being said but knew this wouldn’t be happening if she hadn’t been such a bitch the day before. Abuela always said, it was the first impression that stuck the hardest.

It was quiet now, and she moved closer to the door just as Bubo came out of the kitchen. He was rubbing his hand and turned to her and said, “I apologize, I don’t know what’s gotten into him… her. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Isabela nodded, “We’ll be okay, I think we just got off to a bad start yesterday.”

Bubo looked as if he was about to ask the question Isa was dreading, but the clock chimed, and he looked back over his shoulder. He looked back at her, let out a sigh and said, “Thank you, Isa.”

“You’re welcome,” Isa said, then added, “We’ll see you when you get back.”

He nodded, then went back through the kitchen toward the courtyard. Isa took a deep breath and went back inside. Tuli sat hunched with Fura perched on her shoulder. The rat watched Isa with accusing glittering black eyes and squeaked, as she patted Tuli’s ear. Tuli looked up at Isabela as she came through the door. The look of anger and defiance was clear, and Isabela thought, You made this mess, let's see if you can clean it up.

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

Mirabel was unsure why she’d been included in this adventure, but truthfully, she was glad to be out of the house. Once they got underway, the Madrigals stayed together, Bubo was walking with Mariano and old Arturo. He seemed to be listening very intently to what the old man was saying. Osvaldo and Señor Aguilar were each leading an empty cart in case anyone was too tired to walk. Mirabel jumped when she heard Dolores’s voice in her ear.

(Mira, the other group, is making good time and will reach the edge of the Encanto in a few hours.)

“I know,” Camilo said when he noticed her start, “Freaked me out a little the first time she talked to me that way.”

“It’s like she’s sitting on my shoulder,” Mirabel said as she glanced at it.

“And she sounds like she’s whispering,” Luisa added, “such an amazing ability.”

“So, what did she have to say?” Camilo asked.

“Oh, that the forest people are a few hours away from the outermost farm,” Mirabel replied.

“You should go tell Bubo,” Luisa said.

“Me?”

“Dolores told you, so go pass it along,” Camilo said.

“Ummm okay.” Mirabel picked up her pace a little and caught Bubo and Mariano’s attention. They dropped back, and she said, “Hey, Dolores just told me that the people we’re headed for will reach the edge of the Encanto in a few hours.”

“So soon?” Mariano asked.

Bubo shrugged and said, “Probably could see the farms from their last campsite. I know what that’s like. The last days of travel for my group were much quicker than the previous days. Just the sight of habitation was enough to get everyone moving a little quicker. That, and it was mostly downhill.”

“Bubo, why do you think your Tío came all this way?”

“Who knows, guilt maybe?” Bubo looked up at the sky and after a moment said, “Sorry, that was ungenerous of me. My Tío is actually a good man. He really does love his family above all else, even politics. I think he was right to send me out of Bogotá. The way things were going, I would have likely been severely injured or worse if I’d stayed. Anyway, I’ll let the others know what you told me,” And ran ahead to speak with Arturo.

Mariano stayed with her, and they walked on in silence until Mariano asked, “So, Mira, what do you think of his chances?”

“Who?”

“Bubo with Isabela.”

Mirabel wondered at the question, but then her sister did reject him twice, violently. “Better than most,” Mirabel said with a snort. “Why?”

“I’ve been a little worried about her. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or anything�� I think it’s nice that your sister is interested in something more than just plants. It’s more she… how do I put this… She doesn’t socialize with anyone outside of your family anymore… That goes for Luisa as well. It’s like they both just stopped. I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking it,” Mariano said, then nodded to Arturo, who was waving to him, and he said as he sped up, “Looks like we’re almost there.”

Mirabel slowed down and waited for her sister and primo. Mirabel wanted to believe that Mariano was wrong about her sisters, but looking back over the past year, she knew he was right. The truth was she was glad they stayed home more often, but for all her isolation within her family, she had friends in the Encanto that she still spent time with just messing around. Now she was curious.

After a few minutes, the group came to a halt as they neared the forested area where the coffee farms were. Arturo announced that they needed to pick up their pace. The extra donkeys they’d brought were now hitched to the wagons, and those who could not walk faster were loaded into them. The group changed from a leisurely pace to a quicker one and after an hour, Camilo asked Dolores if she thought they were getting close. Dolores responded they should be able to see them as they made the next turn in the road, which was about a kilometer away.

Mirabel was thankful for the break, since for the last few kilometers it was an uphill walk. Luisa wasn’t even mildly winded. Camilo adjusted the pack he was wearing, and Luisa asked if he wanted her to take it. He declined, and everyone came to a halt at the turn-off to Farmer Hernández’s coffee farm. Camilo verified the forest people were still on this road, and they would reach them in the next half hour. Food and water was distributed, and Mirabel walked with Camilo. They discussed his new job and Mirabel asked what sort of things they would be studying. Luisa was talking to Osvaldo about his donkey. She said Burrita looked a little lame on her left front side. Bubo was examining a coffee tree nearby and Mirabel watched as he pulled out one of his many boxes, plucked a few leaves and dropped them into it. He returned the box to his pocket and jogged a little to catch up.

“What did you find?” Mirabel asked.

Bubo paused when he realized she was asking him a question. “Oh, larva of leucoptera coffeella.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Coffee miner moth caterpillars.”

“I’m guessing that’s bad.”

Bubo nodded. That particular tree was out in the open, something these guys,” he said and tapped the pocket he’d placed the box in, “love.”

“Speaking of love,” Camilo said and shifted into Isabela before the breaking in all her distant, cold, magnificent glory and Mirabel cringed.

Bubo tilted his head and said, “Who is this?”

Mirabel smiled, realizing Bubo had never seen Isabela like this. This representation of her sister was so different from how Isabela looked now, that she said as she punched Camilo’s arm, “Someone that doesn’t exist.” Camilo shifted back to himself and snickered as he rubbed his arm. Mirabel wondered if he’d ever outgrow that habit.

Bubo’s eyes went wide, and he asked, “Was that supposed to be Isabela?”

“Only in my twisted primo’s head,” Mirabel said and shot him a look that kept him quiet. Mirabel kicked a loose stone on the road and stumbled a bit when Bubo asked, “Did something happen between Isa and Tuli yesterday?”

Mirabel said carefully, “Not actually between Tuli and Isa… More of a misunderstanding between sisters that Tuli got caught in the middle of.”

“About what?”

“You know, Bubo, I’d rather not say. No one was hurt, and Isa did apologize to Tuli, so I’d rather just leave it be.”

Bubo nodded and everyone looked up when there was a shout from further down the road. Bubo sighed and said, “Well, here we go.”

Next Chapter...

Last Chapter:

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haledamage · 2 years

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this started as a prompt fill over a year ago. I ended using that prompt for a different fic, and left this one incomplete... until yesterday, when I just happened to find it while perusing my library of untitled documents. since the timing was so perfect, I decided to finish it up for this year's N7 day 😁

Happy N7 Day!

Beatrix Shepard/Kaidan Alenko (with a bonus Beatrix&Ashley), ME1 pre-relationship pining & UST. prompt was originally "top of head kisses"

“Rough night, Commander?” Kaidan’s amusement was clear even before Beatrix turned to see him smirking at her from the medbay’s doorway.

“You should see the other guy.” She grinned as she hopped up to sit on the edge of one of the medical beds. She poked gingerly at the bruise around her eye. It was a spectacular thing, black and red and covering the entirety of her left eye and cheek. “Guess I got knocked around a little worse than I thought yesterday at that warehouse. It barely even hurt at the time.”

“I guess so,” he murmured as he dug around in one of the cabinets, clearly familiar with its contents. He pulled out a bottle and poured a couple of pills into his hand, casually popping them into his mouth and washing them down with a glass of water.

Beatrix didn’t comment. It was either a biotic thing or a migraine thing and either way it wasn’t any of her business. “Be honest with me, Alenko. How bad do I look?”

She had meant it flippantly, but Kaidan took her question seriously. He crossed the rest of the space between them and lifted her chin with a careful hand to tip her face toward the light. He studied her in silence for a long moment, gaze as gentle as his touch. She fought to keep herself still, to not lean into the warmth and safety that his smile promised her. Not the time, Triss.

“You look fine, Shepard,” he said eventually, letting her go all at once.

It was clearly not the word he wanted to use, and she couldn't help teasing just a little. “Just fine, huh?”

He chuckled, but didn’t rise to the bait. Probably for the best. “Do you want me to fix it up for you, or are you one of those people who wears bruises as a badge of honor?”

She barely even hesitated before nodding. “Would you mind? I was gonna ask Doc, but I guess she’s not in.”

Beatrix let her eyes flutter shut at the first cool touch of the medigel. She'd expected him to just slap a patch on it and call it good, but instead he carefully applied it by hand, gentle fingers sweeping over her brow and cheek. He probably just didn't want to risk a patch that close to her eye.

Or at least, that's the excuse he would use if she asked. Kaidan was always aware of how precarious their situation was. He always had an excuse and an escape plan at the ready, should he need them.

"There," he announced with a final brush against her cheek. "In a few minutes you’ll be right as rain."

She opened her mouth to thank him, but what came out was a playful “Not gonna kiss it and make it better?”

She cringed inwardly. All those carefully drawn lines they'd been dancing around and Beatrix just charged right through them. It’s arguably what she’d built her career around, true, but she didn’t want to be like that with him.

She was propelled out of her thoughts by Kaidan's sudden proximity as he leaned closer once more. Faster than she could react, he closed the gap entirely and pressed a quick but firm kiss to her temple, right next to the healing bruise.

She stared at him like she'd never seen him before. He looked very smug about it.

"Is that better?" he asked, in a voice as soft and rich as velvet.

Beatrix just gaped at him, still struggling to find her voice past her surprise. Before she could, the door opened with a quiet hiss.

"Triss, are you in--" Ashley stopped in the doorway, keen eyes darting back and forth between Commander and Lieutenant as Kaidan stepped back to a more appropriate distance. A shrewd grin spread over her face. "Hope I’m not interrupting anything."

"Kaidan was just helping me put my face back together." She pointed at the bruise. It was a flimsy excuse, but hopefully still visible enough to be a valid one.

“Damn!” Ashley stepped the rest of the way into the room and grabbed Beatrix’s chin to tilt her head around for a better look at the black eye. She was much less careful than Kaidan had been. “That’s one hell of a shiner, skipper. Did you get punched by a geth, or are you getting in bar fights that we don’t know about?”

"Part of an underground fight club, is my guess," Kaidan said lightly.

"Cute," Beatrix deadpanned. To Ash, she added, "I got hit with the business end of a krogan shotgun."

"Those mercs yesterday? Makes sense." She let go of Beatrix's face and leaned on the edge of the bed next to her. "I knew one of ‘em rang your bell pretty good, I didn’t think you had trophies from it."

"Hopefully not for much longer." She couldn't help but glance Kaidan's way; he smiled slightly when their eyes met.

“Could be fun to see what the tabloids speculate about it.” Ashley laughed and bumped her shoulder with Beatrix’s. “But that’s not why I’m here. Joker says he just made the last jump for that rescue mission of yours. Should arrive in twenty, if you wanna get ready.”

“And he couldn't tell me this himself because…?”

She shrugged. “Hell if I know. It's Joker.”

Beatrix shook her head, laughing. “Fair enough. Suit up, Chief.”

“Music to my ears, Commander.” She hopped off the table and gave Kaidan a look in which she was clearly saying something, though Beatrix couldn’t tell what. “I'll leave you to it.”

Then she was gone.

Kaidan rolled his eyes at Ashley’s antics, but his smile was fond. “She means well.”

“I know.” Ashley Williams was many things, but shy or cagey she wasn’t. If she had an opinion on something, she expressed it. Luckily, so far her opinions on their… potential situation, were positive. And impatient.

Beatrix shook herself back to the present and turned a considering eye on Kaidan. “Are you okay for a trip planetside, or should I call Liara?”

“I’m fine, Triss.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. He had come in here for painkillers, after all, and she caught him sometimes attempting to massage away a headache when he thought she wasn’t looking. Still, if he was in any serious pain right now, he hid it well, and she trusted him to know his limits.

“Okay. Suit up.”

She didn’t miss the brief, relieved sag of his shoulders before he said, “Yes, ma’am.” She didn’t call him on it, just followed him out of the sickbay and toward their lockers.

#beatrix shepard #triss/kaidan #shepard/kaidan #my favorite thing about this is the slow dissolution of formality over the course of the fic #from commander to alenko and shepard to kaidan and triss #I feel like they do that a lot in me1 #you know triss is an engineer but I'm half tempted to make her a vanguard if only because of that 'charging right through them' line

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inmyheaddd · 2 months

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in the dark, with you - averyjameson

wc: 620 a/n: currently having averyjameson withdrawals masterlist

avery jolted awake, her heart racing and her breaths coming in shallow gasps. she knew what to do. inhale for 4, hold for 7, exhale for 8. but she couldn’t. god, with the amount of times this has happened, surely it would’ve gotten easier by now.

the room seemed to closed in around her, the darkness eating her alive. she couldn’t hear, she could only feel. she felt hot, fire, the flames of the explosion, but at the same time, nothing.

she stayed frozen in place, even after she caught her breath. beside her, jameson stirred, his arm sliding off her waist as he woke. "heiress?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but laced with concern.

when she didn’t respond, jameson propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand reaching out to touch her shoulder gently. he had a tendency for seeing through her, even through all the walls she built around herself. “avery, i’m here," he said softly. "you’re here, in your room, your house. not the plane, not the hospital. you’re safe.”

her head turned away from him, she felt a lump start to form in her throat, and her eyes start to sting. she thought she was better than this, stronger than this.

“avery, hey,” jameson was fully sitting up now, and softly turned her head to face his. the sight of her tear filled eyes, those eyes he loved so endlessly, broke his heart in two.

“you can talk to me, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, i get it, i really do,” he said, his voice more genuine than ever. “you could talk for hours on end, or lay with me silently until the end of time, but don’t pretend that you’re okay. at least not with me.”

he knew what it was like to act like you were fine. but never with her.

“i’m sorry,” her voice quivered, and tears began to fall.

he would’ve told her she had nothing to apologize for, that seeing her hurt and alone is infinitely worse than hurting with her. but that’s not what she needed right now. she just needed to talk. he often knew avery better than she did herself.

jameson immediately brought her into a hug, and avery could suddenly really breathe. she hiccuped through sobs, “it just- it felt so real. i know it’s not, but it always, always feels so real.” he stroked her hair as she talked, murmuring words of affection and understanding when appropriate.

they stayed like this for a good while.

she clung to him, her face buried in his chest, the steady beat of his heart calming her own racing pulse.

avery sniffled, “thank you,” her voice slightly muffled by his chest, but he understood her all the same. “for always being here, for always listening.” she lifted her head to look him in the eyes.

jameson rose his hand to touch her cheek, “always.” he said softly, “you and i are a unit of two, no matter what. you’re never alone in this.” the love in his words was palpable. “the dreams? they feel so real, but they’re not. this, what me and you have? that’s what’s real.” his words stuck avery to her core. god, how she loved him.

she pulled back from the hug, leaning in to kiss jameson. it was slow, gentle, and it said everything it needed to.

jameson leaned back fully on the bed, his lips never once leaving hers, as she crawled on top.

she broke the kiss, leaning back just enough so she could speak.

“i love you,” she said, her voice tired, barely above a whisper.

“i love you, heiress.”

she laid her head on his chest, his arms around her waist, her arms around his.

and with jameson by her side, the darkness didn't seem quite so terrifying.

#avery x jameson #averyjameson #jameson hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #the inheritance games #jameson hawthorne fluff #tig #grayson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #the grandest game #tgg #the inheritance trilogy #javery #❦ jude writes

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roguephoenix85 · 3 years

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Final chapter - is Ymir badly written or is it something else? (spoiler for the end of SNK)

TW: mentions of child abuse, sexual abuse

So I’ve seen a few people confused, upset, and a little angry about the explanation for Ymir “loving” Fritz as the reason why things were as they were, and claiming it’s bad writing and rushed and what have you. I don’t claim to know all the nuances and in and outs of long form storytelling such as Attack on Titan, but I do know some things about being a victim of brainwashing, abuse, and defending the people who abused me. Some are saying it’s Stockholm syndrome, and while I don’t necessarily disagree, it’s a bit more nuanced than that. Because I did everything I could to get away from my family that hurt and abused me, but I still kept them in my life for some inexplicable reason, year after year, involving them in it and divulging information to them that they would use to harm me psychologically and mentally for their amusement and sense of power and superiority. Why? Everyone outside of my family who observed it could see that they were shitty and awful and I didn’t need them. But after 30 years of being told I’m incompetent, no one loves me like they would, I can’t take care of my life responsibly like an adult would, and that I’ll never have enough money to live unless they helped (and the condition of their help was to give them control over my care - they picked doctors, therapists, everyone, that would give them the diagnoses they wanted so it would be an easier case to be declared legally incompetent and have my mother control my financial and housing freedom), I had internalized it to such a degree that I truly believed those things about myself. My depression and suicidal thinking sprung from the conflict that this treatment wasn’t right vs. but they’re your family and they love you so they MUST be right, you MUST be an evil child to be controlled, and YOU’RE the problem. When that is all you know, you think that it’s love. Because the love you receive is conditional upon subservience.

Ymir wanted love and the only “love” was from the king once she acquired power. As much as she wanted the love she observed the only love available was manipulative and abusive. If you’ve never known actual unconditional love, you’ll take anything that you’re given. That’s why I was raped. That’s why I was molested. That’s why I allowed myself to compromise myself to stay with people who only sought to use and manipulate me for their own ends.

Because there was none around me. And when you’re terrified of death and attached to the world, wanting and hoping that someday something good will finally happen, you latch on to people, ideas, objects that end up doing more harm than good to you, because all you know is that abuse is what love is. Mistreatment is the norm. But inside, you know it’s not right. Something doesn’t feel right. So you hope. You pick the first person who gives you any value, even if it’s your value to them and not your own inherent value you’ve found for yourself. You never truly live for yourself. You’re living so that others will give you your value. Because when you did do things for yourself - you’re ridiculed. You’re betrayed. You’re humiliated and abused more. You’re kicked so much that you go back, again, and again, because the humiliation is worse than just letting them do what they want to you. That’s what happened to Ymir. The one time she did something she wasn’t “supposed to”, what happened? She got hunted and almost murdered. And when she found that power, she had value to her oppressor. Her tribe betrayed her to save themselves. This “king” tried to have her killed. But she found power. And once she had power, her abusers sought to capitalize on it. She had no one. So when you gain power and all of a sudden you have value to someone? You latch on. Because now you’re important. Now you’ve elevated yourself. But that value isn’t something for YOU. It’s something that is for the benefit of someone who only values you when you’re doing something for them.

I’ve noticed a lot of “I don’t get why Ymir would love the king, that’s bad storytelling”. My mother is a sociopath and allowed my molestation when I was a child because “everyone else went through worse and you’re a nasty little girl” - to a nine year old. She schemed to take my inheritance away from me. When my visitation with my father was over for the weekend, she would abuse and manipulate me for three days after every visit to “get me back to where I needed to be.” I would be choked, slapped, hit, have my room ransacked and destroyed if I didn’t comply with her wishes. When I wanted to kill myself because I found no solace with friends, teachers, therapists (that my mother sought out and paid for because she wanted someone to declare me incompetent or bipolar so she could take away my legal rights and exert control over every aspect of my life), neighbors, no one, even my own stepfather told me I was stupid for wanting to kill myself and that I’m ungrateful for everything. I would later discover this man was a heroin addict for longer than I had even been alive and that the only reason my mother stayed with him was because he had a large inheritance that would come to him and she could easily have his power of attorney taken away from him and control him because hey, he’s a drug addict and can’t be trusted. Better to let her take care of it all, right?

And even after all of this, I loved her. Well, I used to. I would keep wanting her love and respect because to give it up meant I had no value to anyone. The two significant others that I did have didn’t really love me, my last one was also a sociopath who convinced me to snort adderall, take hallucinogens, and stole my car to commit sexual assault against a mutual friend who had been assaulted not even 6 hours prior by someone else. When all you know is abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, and harming yourself to get a modicum of dignity and respect and love, of COURSE you stay. Because no one else loves you, right? You’re worthless and stupid and have no value except to me. I’m the only one who can love you. I’m the only one who can use you properly. Just do what I say and what I want and don’t complain or worse will happen to you. Families don’t do this to each other, you’re just mad that I’m better than you. Choices are hard, let me make them for you because clearly you can’t handle the “real world.”

When you are told these things and unduly punished for pushing back against it, of COURSE you think it’s love. Because no one is giving it to you otherwise. They isolate you, triangulate you so you HAVE to go back to them. And you do it. Because there’s nothing else around you showing you otherwise. It’s only when you share the story with others, or view it through the lens of someone else, that you understand how fucked it truly is. Under the under, Ymir is a child. She’s a child who wants to be loved. And all she’s known is manipulation and abuse. For thousands of years, because each “founder” was just her original abuser in a new body. Like Zeke.

Until Eren. Who saw her story, and instead of using her, validated her. Saw her experiences through an objective lens and said ENOUGH OF THIS. This is WRONG. It’s SICK. And it won’t end unless I do this. Until I give her the choice to break free. All it takes is one person to listen to you and hear you and your world is changed. But she never appeared as she did when she died. She was still a hurt child beholden to her abusers. And in this instance, the only thing that could make it stop is destroying it completely.

Is genocide wrong? Yes. Is scapegoating an entire race of people in the name of world unity wrong? Yes. Is using children for war and power and brainwashing them wrong? Yes. This world is cruel. It always was. That’s been the thesis of this story from day one. But. It’s also beautiful. But you have to allow that beauty in. You have to show it to people. Ymir wasn’t able to see any of it until it was far too late, but not from her own conscious choice. She’s just a child who wants to be loved and only found manipulation. And was scared of “death” because that meant there was no love in the world. None for her. Her existence was to be used and fucked to death metaphorically. And when that’s the only love you’re given and told to expect, you hold on to it and believe there’s nothing better.

Until someone or something objective comes along, hears your pain, shares it, validates it, and then tells you it’s fucked up that that’s how you were forced to live. When everything you’ve known is a fucking lie, you do want to scorch the earth somewhat. All these people that could have helped you and they said fuck you, I’ll use you too. Standing up to your abuser is scary. I’m currently suing my mother now, and I’ve been terrified of her retaliation even though I’m 35. Because she has money and people she can manipulate into harassing me on her behalf. Even though I’ve taken as many precautions as I can, there’s still things she can do - ensure I get none of my inheritance, destroy my childhood memories, slander me publicly, fly out to where I live and stalk me or have others stalk me, or find people loyal to her to assert that I should be declared incompetent because of my autism, even though I have my own doctors I see now who disagree with that sentiment. It’s scary, but it’s right. But I’m also an adult now, and when I realized that my stepfather was telling everyone in the family that when he was high on ketamine I convinced him to murder my birth father, and that it was MY IDEA, and that my mother lied about reporting my sexual abuse to DHS because she wanted to protect her brother, his kid that abused me, and their family over me, and also had me lie about my birth father abusing me by convincing me “Oh it was so traumatic you can’t remember” so she could get custody of me just because she hated him, I finally said enough. But I didn’t have an Eren to help me make that decision. Or a Mikasa to do what needed to be done.

Ymir is still just a child mentally. Separation from that, especially when you’re a child and have no other allies in the world and you’re told worse could happen to you if you separate from your abusers, is difficult. And sometimes nonsensical. I know a lot of people were confused as to why I would still try to involve my mother in my life after the insanely fucked up shit she would do. But you don’t know any better when you’re the target. My reasoning is that I’m an adult now and I have a life of my own I’ve built despite her. Ymir didn’t have, or didn’t understand, that choice. So she stayed. Asking for breadcrumbs of love and respect and dignity from lesser beings. To quote Chelsea Hart “You want to be worshipped by a goddess without having to be a god.” She had the power, and she didn’t know what to do because she was a child. So she gave away her power. And by then it was too late to be properly reasoned with. The only way to stop it was to destroy all of it. Because when you’re a child you don’t have the benefit of retrospect. You have a limited view of the world because you’re a child. You’ve been sheltered and told manipulative bullshit to keep you down, so breaking free is the radical thing. And when you’re a child, you don’t know moderation. You’re impulsive and your emotional intelligence is limited. So of course the rumbling is the result. But you also think you still love your abuser. Because that’s all you know truly, and when you don’t see it until it’s too late, this is the result. It’s tragic, but Isayama never said this was a happy story. And considering how he WAS going to end it, giving who remains another chance at life and evening the playing field by having Paradis’ army now be comparable to the opposition army, and having the curse of the Titans eliminated from the world, that’s a pretty good ending for them.

I mean, isn’t that what Eren’s goal was since he was a child? To eliminate the Titans from the Earth? I’d say that mission is fully accomplished now.

#snk meta #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk chapter 139 spoilers #snk ch 139 #I thought the ending was fine and appropriate to what he built up #but a lot of people don't seem to understand the pull of a deeply manipulative abusivve relationship and it shows #so I wanted to give context since them saying ymir staying with him is bad writing #it's not bad #it's just outside of certain scopes of imagination and experience #people who grew up in normal households have a harder time understanding why people stay with abusers #and some of the victims will claim its love #and i thought i was being loving by understanding her #but when the truth came out i had to be my own eren and mikasa #and i had and am still learning what true understanding caring and empathy are #getting rid of the bullshit from my mind #but for those who haven't experienced that kind of trauma and abuse yeah it pry seems poorly written and inconceivable #but i'm here to say it's not that crazy and not necessarily bad writing or characterization #it's just a deeply traumatic abusive relationship that one has no other workable context for besides you know its wrong but no one else will #give you what you need #so you take it where you can and hope that it's the right love #but it never is #hopefully this illuminates that choice for some of you guys

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viktorybell · 3 years

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Time’s Ticking

Viktor X GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none, unless, like, you really hate broken clocks or something.

Ask: i’d like to request viktor x gn character where y/n is a chaotic mechanic from zaun, attending the academy for experience and a topsider’s view on their inventions, they’re always covered in soot and motor oil but for some reason their engineering and inventions catch viktor’s eye. maybe one night they both end up spending late nights in the lab and y/n happens to catch viktor while coming back from a quick break outside and instead of trying to convince him to stop or call it a night they are actually interested in his studies and the two dump ideas back and forth all night while he works. just like keeping him company instead of trying to pull him away from work. cause i can imagine y/n having just as bad working habits

There was a small, modern alarm clock that was shoved to the far corner of your work bench. It had already been in the lab when you’d landed the once in a lifetime opportunity to continue your engineering work using the near endless resources of the academy at your disposal.

Which was just fine with you. After all, you’d brought boxes upon boxes of spare parts and half-built machines, but hadn’t once thought to bring your huge, shitty analogue clock that was bigger than your head and older than you too.

At first, you’d thought it was for the best. That old clock was just that, an old clock. You were constantly adjusting the time and it’s hands were the loudest you’ve ever heard, audible from the next room over.

Your fancy new Piltover alarm clock was nearly silent. It was sleek, painted gold and shiny like the entire rest of the endless academy building, all the numbers lovingly painted on it’s glossy face.

You were about to smash that clock into five billion fucking pieces if it didn’t stop looking at you like that.

It was who knows how late at night, probably almost morning at this point, and you’d been in the lab since the sun rose this morning. You’d been stuck on a singular problem this whole week, no matter what angle you chose to tackle this project from, it wouldn’t give you an inch. So, you’d woken up early this morning and stormed into work with a stubborn set to your jaw and your comfiest pair of lab appropriate sweatpants and settled in to work.

And work.

And work…

And work, until it was nearing four in the morning and your playlist had run out of songs hours ago and you had just tuned back into the utter silence that echoed between your ears. No music, no sounds from neighboring labs, no fucking ticking on your stupid Piltover clock.

Without thinking, you snatched the clock from the edge of your desk and brought it up to your ear, shaking it slightly. From inside, the gears and delicate machinery made the slightest sound, small scraps of metal hitting metal. There was no way this thing wasn’t ticking, you just had to be quiet enough to make it out. Taking a deep breath, you held it, puffing out your cheeks, straining with an ear against the back. If you could just focus a bit more…

BAM!

The fancy Piltover clock flew from your hand as you jerked from the sound of the heavy door to outside. The door slammed open, into the wall of your lab. You watched as your clock landed hard on the concrete floor and broke apart like glass.

It’s silent, again, as you sit and stare at the heap of scrap you’d been obsessing over seconds ago. You’d think it was almost poetic if you could actually think right now.

“Is everything alright in here? I thought I heard a crash…” A familiar head peered from around the edge of your door, looking around nervously. Looks like Viktor’s here late too.

You gestured lazily at the shattered alarm clock in the middle of the floor. “Luckily it was just a clock, muscles. What bills do you pay to go around slamming doors in here?”

“I…apologize,” Viktor looked slightly embarrassed as he stepped the rest of the way into the room, leaning against the door frame. “I had been taking a break outside and hadn’t realized the door would swing open like that.”

You knew intimately how easy that door swings open. It hit the wall of your lab. Every time.

Viktor’s gaze flitted around the room. From the mess on your floor, to the tools strewn across your bench, and then finally settling on your most recent project. Which wasn’t very surprising when it looked like a jet engine and it took up half the room.

“It’s Viktor, right?” You asked, hopping out of your chair to stand next to him as he continued scrutinizing your life’s work.

“Correct. You’re heimerdinger’s new assistant, yes?” From the corner of your eye you can see Viktor glance over at you, then right back to your engine. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to stop by and introduce myself yet. It’s been a busy month, what, with Progress Day coming up and all.”

“Tell me about it,” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you strolled over to stand beside your invention. The machine was truly massive, towering over you ominously. “I’ve been working nonstop for weeks and all I’ve got to show for it is a giant metal fan.”

“Oh, come one. I’m sure it’s more than that,” Viktor followed you further into your lab, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Maybe you just need to look at it from a different angle.”

“Oh, please. Did you get that straight from Heimerdinger?” You groaned, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “That’s what everyone keeps saying! Try a new angle, see it from a different viewpoint! I’m one person! How many viewpoints could I possibly-!”

Viktor was taken aback as you cut yourself off, whipping around to face him again.

“That’s perfect, Viktor, absolutely perfect!”

“Thank you, I do try.”

“Another angle! Genius!” Grabbing his arm, he stumbles behind you as you bring him to a side panel to your engine, working to pry it off and show your newfound audience of one the guts of what you’d been working with. “You’re a man of progress, right?”

With a shrug, Viktor made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. “Enhh, sort of, kind of. More of a title for my partner, I think but-”

“Perfect. I’ve been stuck on this stupid thing all week, you’re just the set of eyes I need!” In your excitement you hadn’t realized that you were still holding onto Viktor, his arm warm and solid in your grasp. God, you needed a nap. “You’ll give it a look, right? Something, something for the progress of Piltover, or whatever.”

He snorted at your oversimplification of the matter, but Viktor agreed nonetheless, leaning in to look over your shoulder as you began explaining the build and the purpose of your invention. While similar looking to a jet engine, or maybe a tricked out industrial fan, it was actually an air filter. One you’d been planning out for years now. It was the first project you began after Professor Heimerdinger first took notice of you and your creations.

“If everything goes as planned, it should be able to begin clearing the chemicals from the air in the fissures,” You finished your explanation, Viktor at your side nodding intently. He’d been focused the entire time you explained, asking for further details when needed.

“A noble cause, I see why Heimerdinger sought you out,” The other scientist hummed, giving the machine one last lookover. “And what does it run on?”

With a heavy sigh that turned into a groan towards the end, you slumped against the side of your machine.

“That’s my issue, doc. It doesn’t run,” You lamented, stroking the metal plating the engine was made of like a pet. Propped up against the machine, you continued with your monologue. “I haven’t found a viable power source. Any sort of fuel that would go into this would only cause more, different environmental issues. I can’t do electric either, it’s too expensive to be practical. I’m stuck. Stagnant. Distraught. A week before my first Progress Day and I’ve got nothing to show for it.”

“Have you ever given the energy produced by Hextech a thought?” Viktor mused. He was leaning on his cane, watching your dramatics with an amused smile on his face.

“What?” You whipped around to face him, unaware you’d gotten grease smeared across your cheek in your antics. “You’d be willing to do a collaboration like that? Isn’t Hextech, like, your baby?”

“I will have to discuss it further with my partner, but I doubt he’ll see issue with it,” Viktor hummed, grabbing a clean cloth from a bucket on your desk and handing it to you. “You’ve got something on your face.”

You gratefully accepted the cloth from him and scrub vigorously at your cheek. Not that it mattered very much, knowing you’d somehow find a way to get covered in some sort of grime in a couple of minutes. It made you recognizable at least.

“As I was saying, you’re correct in that I don’t collaborate often, but there’s rarely ever been reason to. Most of the scientists here are focused on…much less productive means of invention. Your drive for a better Zaun is inspiring, and that’s something I’ve been lacking recently. I believe our team up could-OK I cannot watch this any longer, you are missing the spot entirely. Would you let me..?”

Before you could realize what was happening, Viktor was taking the rag from your hand and catching your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. You stood, frozen in place, as he wiped at the oil that stained your jaw. He was much more gentle than you were, delicate movements like he was scared you’d break. It was reflective of the intricate work he did, and a direct opposite of the heavy-handed kind of jobs you tended to take on.

Maybe it was the late hour, and if asked you would blame it on exhaustion, but you found yourself leaning into his touch. You were so tired and his hands were so nice and if you hadn’t been on the verge of falling asleep standing up, maybe you’d have noticed him staring back, hands lingering even after he’d gotten the smudge from your face.

Clearing his throat, Viktor took a step back and jolted you back to full awareness, although you couldn’t quite hold back a yawn.

“I think maybe my break has tired me out a bit. How about I walk you to the dorms and we talk a bit further about this collaboration, hm?” Viktor offers, tossing the now soiled cloth into a second bucket with other To-Be-Washed rags.

“And how could I say no to one of the brightest minds from Zaun?” You teased, already in the process of locking up your tools for the night and shutting the lights off.

“Nevermind, you can walk on your own.” Viktor turned, heading towards the door, deliberately slow enough for you to catch up.

“Too bad! You said the magic collaboration word and now there’s no getting rid of me!” You cheered, stepping over your shattered clock and chasing after your newfound partner. “Now more about this Hextech business you’ve been talking about.”

#viktor #viktor arcane #viktor lol #viktor x reader #viktor x male reader #viktor x fem!reader #viktor x gn reader #gn!reader #male reader #lol #arcane #arcane x reader

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head-empty-only-sunshine · 3 years

Text

Built 4 Love

Ch. 7 - Built 4 Love

Description: That's it. That's their purpose. It what they were built for. According to you and them, that is, but who else's opinion matters anyway.

Pairing: Sun/Moon X Reader

Word Count: 1833

Chapters: [Index] [Ch.1] [Ch.2] [Ch.3] [Ch.4] [Ch.5] [Ch.6] [Ch.7]

They were fine really. At least… ninety percent of the time they thought things were fine. Being as sentient as they were with unlimited internet access, there was bound to be a day where they questioned their purpose. Hell, they were always questioning it on the odd occasion. Was it really their purpose just to be a daycare bot? Was that all there was to their purpose, their character, their life? It was a question they asked themselves constantly in those quiet moments while the data ran rampant in the backs of their minds… and then you came along.

The usual pondering that they did on the subject was drastically different this evening. Sun was out and about cleaning, speaking silently with Moon about their purpose again, almost forgetting that you were in their life so prominently now. He forgot he was in love, and muttered about his use as a bot over and over with Moon.

“This is really all we’re built to do, huh?” Sun sighed. “Sometimes I wish there was… more.”

“Yeah… More would be nice but…” Moon paused. “Hold on. We… There is another purpose for us now. Oh my stars, how could I… Damn, I thought you were the dumb one. I’m dumb too.”

“What? What do you mean? What revelation have you come across?” Sun questioned, his interest piqued.

Then your voice called out. Sun’s name could be heard across the entire empty daycare in your sing-song tone, and he knew.

“Maybe we were built… for love.” Moon finally finished.

Sun could tell that Moon’s entire thought process had clouded with your image, because his did too. His sun spikes gave a little flutter while he nodded in agreement, finding no other answer to be appropriate. Yes he was created with the intention to care for kids, but there was a lot more to him than originally anticipated. The things he felt, did, and expressed were far too advanced to just be called a daycare attendant. Because of all you did and still do, they were allowed to feel this way, and they loved every bit of it.

“It sure does feel that way, Moon. Can I… tell her that?” Sun asked tentatively. “She’s coming this way. I… She needs to know.”

“Of course. Go for it Sunny. I can tell her too. She’s so… kind. I don’t care who says it first because she’ll probably have the same reaction both times.” He hummed in a clearly infatuated tone.

Moon’s presence shifted back a little more as he decided to swim in those thoughts, allowing Sun full front and silence. A moment alone with you, and nothing more. The excited whirring of his fans couldn’t be stopped, and Sun ran towards your voice as he always did when you came to visit. If he had a heart, it would be pounding against his chest right now, but the static was enough to be a telling factor of how excited and nervous he was to speak of this revelation to you.

Your meeting went a little different than it normally did though. Sun was usually the first one to draw you into a bone crushing hug, but this time, you had thrown yourself up at him and into his arms. He was surprised but still caught you, that intoxicating smile of yours brightening his mood while you clung to him. The jump was rather impressive, honestly. You’d do anything to end up in his arms now though.

“Sunny~! I’ve come to spend some time with you~!” You cheered, nuzzling into his face.

“Sunshine! Won’t the higher ups get upset though? It’s about the time you usually run diagnostics on the building security!” Sun fretted, always worried for anything that might take you away from him. That included firing.

“Don’t worry! I did that earlier in the day. I specifically made time to come see you~. As long as I’m clocked out, they won’t get mad. Speaking of… I am now officially-” You drawled out, pulling out your phone and tapping a button that said ‘clock out’ in red letters. “- clocked out for the day~”

Both of you laughed excitedly like kids in a candy shop. Everything was lined up so perfectly to the point where Sun’s servos could explode with delight.

“Ooo! This is perfect then! I have something very important to tell you.” Sun said.

“Secrets? For me? Oh how juicy. C’mon, what is it~?”

“Well! Moon and I were pondering the meaning of our existence again; you know, as you do.” He said nonchalantly while he sat down with you.

“Oh my lord Sunny please. Don’t have a crisis on me. I don’t know how to fix existentialism.” You laughed.

“Oh don’t worry! We’ve always pondered our purpose from the very beginning. We always thought that there would be more to us than just taking care of kids and… there is. I… I know what I was built for now. What we were built for.”

“Oh? What is it then?” You edged, looking up at him from where you sat in his lap.

Sun got a little nervous for a moment, that familiar pink rising on his faceplate again. It needed to be said though, because he felt so strongly about it. You needed to know, no matter how cliche it sounded.

“I was built for love. I was built to experience and share love with someone special, and that someone is you! I’m sure of it. No one else has seen me as more than just the daycare attendant. You give life to so many feelings that I can’t help but think it was meant to be!” He blurted out.

Hearing this news made you smile so big it would be on par with his old faceplate. The only appropriate response of course would be to plaster him with kisses, which you did enthusiastically. No matter how many times you experienced the incredible upgrades done to him, you’d still be amazed and ever grateful. There was an emotive set of lips you’d always be able to kiss, and that’s all that mattered. He was warm and full of life, squeezing you tighter with every little kiss you gave until both of you were a giggling mess of idiots in love.

“You know what Sunny, I believe that! Perhaps you were built to love me. You are the sweetest person on this earth I swear to god.” You grinned, resting your forehead against his.

“Moon wants to tell you the same thing too. I… hope I didn’t spoil it for him by being first…” He mumbled with a sheepish chuckle.

“Nonsense. You each have your own special way of saying things. You could never spoil anything, because I love you~” You hummed, kissing him again.

“Please upgrade my processor. I'm going to physically combust.” Sun mumbled, nuzzling into you.

“I’ll get that on the table right away I promise.” You giggled.

“Can we… Keep the lights on for now? The next power cycle is in twenty minutes. I want a little more time with you~”

“Of course Sunny. C’mon, let’s play around~!” You offered.

That seemed to perk him up right away. He may be flustered and all sorts of pink, but the idea of playing games with you was always a dream. Those twenty minutes were soon occupied with a vigorously handsy game of tag. It was more like… Run away as fast as you can before one of you is tacked violently to the ground in a death grip hug. You had an even score in this game. The speed you had was no joke, and both of you were definitely getting caught on purpose.

The power cycle eventually took place in the middle of you tackling Sun to the ground, leading to Moon shifting out while you sat atop him like a fool. He wasn’t paying attention while Sun was active, so he was admittedly flustered and confused to see you practically straddling him on the floor. You laughed sheepishly with a deepening blush, backing up a little to let him sit up.

“Sorry~ We were playing tag and… I got a little carried away~”

“Maybe I should’ve checked in at least once…” He chuckled quietly as he sat up.

“I can get up if you want. I don’t wanna… weird you out.” You offered.

“No. Stay, please.” He said abruptly, making his first conscious affectionate gesture towards you and wrapping an arm around your waist. “I still have something of my own to tell you.”

“Ah, that’s right!” You nodded, comforted by his touch.

“Sun already told you about the conclusion we’ve reached I presume. I hope… That when I say it, that doesn’t lessen the weight of my words.”

“Nonsense. I haven’t heard it from you, therefore I haven’t heard it.” You smiled. “C’mon, tell me what you need.”

“I… As he said, we believe we were built to love, right?”

You nodded, leaning in closer to him.

“Yeah… That’s just it. I was built to love. To love unconditionally…” He paused, tightening his grip on you. “I believe I was built to love you, and only you.”

“You are really good with your words, you know?” You hummed.

“Funny, because Sun told me I was awful with them not too long ago.” He huffed.

“Aww, poor Moony~. Here, let me kiss you better.” You giggled.

It was his turn to be showered with your affection now. You gave him the same treatment as Sun, peppering gentle kisses all along his face until the space on the floor was lip up by the blue glow of his blush. His eyes turned into spirals once again as he melted completely, a wide lovesick smile spreading on his face. Once you caught sight of that smile though you gasped big, holding his cheeks as you looked him over with a bright smile of your own.

“Aaah! You’re smiling! And it’s not a sinister one either! You look so cute~!” You squealed, genuinely in love with the look he was giving you.

“Oh come on, now you’re the one being mean!” He whined.

You both ended up laughing, taking in the sight of each other beaming so brightly because of the other. There was nothing but bliss between you as he leaned back against the nearby wall, finally getting to hold you in a hug where you were both awake. You were snuggled up atop him, a content sigh finally leaving you now that all the flustering was done and over with.

“You know I love you, right?” You said quietly.

“I do now. And it’s the only thing I ever care to know about. You’re all I need.” He replied.

With smiles on your faces, you sat and enjoyed each other’s silence, happy with all the words that were said. This love was real, and the proof was you lying in his arms.

They were absolutely, without a doubt, built for loving you.

#sun x reader #moon x raeder #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf moon x reader #sunny #moon #sun #fnaf #fnaf security breach #security breach x reader #sundrop #moondrop

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whatissleepeven · 4 years

Note

Okay so imagine the brothers are offered back their divinity if they kill the MC. How would they react? (Oh or for more angst- get back Lilith in exchange for MC’s life?)

Ohohoho, is this angst hour I sense? Thank you for this ask, and I’m...sorry in advance for the heavy feelings-

(Me: Okay angst time, time to play the appropriate song

*begins playing Spiderman Pizza Delivery Theme*

Me: let’s begin)

Trigger Warnings: Panic Attack (Beel’s Prompt), PTSD Symptoms (Also Beel’s Prompt), Talk of Loss

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

Obey Me! Brothers’ Reactions To An Ultimatum

Lucifer

Well, he certainly does think about it.

No, not about the divinity...but about Lilith.

They could have her back in their lives? All for the price of one human?

This human, who has caused him nothing but grief and throws themselves head-first into danger.

If this was towards the beginning of the program, he’d be more inclined to take it-

But he doesn’t.

He can’t do that to you. Not you. You, who had repaired their broken family. You, who had seen all of their flaws and strengths and passions and fears and embraced them.

You, who continues to smile so brightly and say his name with utmost faith in him.

He lowers his arm. You look fearful, but...resigned. Like it will be fine, like it was okay if he killed you.

He hates it.

“Does your life matter to you that little?”

You smile sadly, and a small portion of him wants to scream. No no no, it cries out, this isn’t how you’re supposed to be! Your smiles aren’t supposed to be full of sorrow!

“Your sister meant-...means a lot to you. To all of you. Who am I to take that away, huh?”

He walks over to you, his steps measured. You close your eyes, waiting for the killing blow-

A weight settles on your head, giving it a few rubs. “You are worth more than you could ever know. Remember that.”

He continues to walk, heading out the door. A few tears drip from your face onto the floor.

He could care less about his divinity. If he had to choose here or the Celestial Realm, he’d much rather stay here. He knows, deep in his heart, that Lilith lived a long and successful life.

You, however, are irreplaceable.

Mammon

“H-Hey...ya gotta be kidding me.”

“Well?” You grin, holding your arms out. Your stance is peaceful, like all you’re asking for is a hug. But he knows better.

Divinity and Lilith? All for killing-...

For killing you?

He hates this. He hates the look in your eyes, hates the trust you’re showing him, and hates your bleeding heart that’s just waiting to be taken for granted. Hell, it already has been taken for granted.

“What do you think you’re doin’, playin’ the hero? Wanting to sacrifice yourself? You think that’ll make us happy?!” Tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

You lower your arms, shocked. “Wha-”

You let out a small oomph as he tackles you into a hug, pulling you close.

“You’re trembling, ya idiot.” He mumbles, and you feel something wet drip onto your shirt. He’s crying, you realize. He’s crying because this hurts him.

“Mammon...I-”

He pulls back to clamp his hands down onto your shoulders. “Save it!” He barks forcefully, making you blink. “Ya really thought I’d give all this up? For something that’s already happened? I like what we got goin’ here. My brothers like this life way better than the ones we had in the Celestial Realm. Everyone’s happier lately, and it’s ‘cause of you.”

The minute trembling that ran through your body before returns in full force, tears pooling forth as you grip his shirt. He pulls you back into the hug, and you feel safe. That’s right; he’s your number one protector, the Avatar of Greed.

How could you forget that?

He grins, reaching a hand up to ruffle your hair in a playful manner. You laugh thickly, your tears still falling. “You’re stuck with the Great Mammon, and don’tcha forget it!”

Because you are his priceless treasure. Not Lilith, not some stupid divinity...

You.

Leviathan

Leviathan has always been the outcast.

His passions, his fears, his confidence...All of those are wildly different from his brothers’. He’s not as close as Beel and Belphie are, or as Lucifer and Mammon are, or as Asmo and Satan are.

He’s the black sheep of the family.

“Y-You’re leaving it up to me...?”

You nod. Oh, how he wishes this was just a run-through of an anime script. You two would spend long hours into the night reading the lines and acting them out, repeating each scene until it was done flawlessly.

But reality is far too cruel.

“It’s your family. Your story. I’m just a side character, if you will.”

Your smile is cynical. He wants nothing more than to throw his spare Ruri-chan blanket around your shoulders and force you to marathon the entire series of “I Love My Best Friend But I Get Everything Back If I Kill Them...I Have A Choice To Make!”.

He takes a step forward. Then another. “You...Why would you do that?”

You laugh, a warm sound that serves to make his stomach knot with dread.

“Because I love you guys, why else?”

Silence. He doesn’t know what to say. What’s the right thing to do? What can he do, with his small confidence?

He’s struck with a memory, of the two of you gaming in his room. He had felt terrible due to his brothers critiquing his love for anime to the point he started to berate himself for it, and you merely patted his shoulder while telling him words he’d never forget.

“There’s things only you can do, Levi. So when you start to overthink...just feel, and let your body handle the rest.”

It’s time to take you up on your advice.

“Ghk-!” You stumble as he lunges at you, the both of you toppling to the floor. He’s crying, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“I-I could never kill the Henry to my Lord of Shadows...Every Lord of Shadows only has one Henry...!!”

Leviathan has always been the outcast. He still is, but when he’s with you he feels like he belongs.

Satan

“No.”

“...Huh.” You blink at him. You’re not sure if you heard him right. Did he just-...say “no”?

“No.” He says again, his eyes narrowing. “Please tell me you’re joking about this.”

Why? Why would you throw away your life like that? For their “happiness”? Give him a break.

“What do you think you’re accomplishing by doing this?” His voice starts quiet, growing in volume as he steps towards you. You backpedal, not expecting the angered response, which only serves to fuel his fury.

“Do you think it’d make us happy? Do you think we’d jump at the chance to sacrifice you for something that’s better long forgotten? Do you really think so little of us? Well? ANSWER ME!!”

You flinch as he gets in your personal space, only to freeze when arms wrap around you and squeeze you tight.

“I was born from Lucifer’s wrath, the only bona-fide demon among my other brothers. For a long time, all I knew was anger and hate,” he whispers, stubbornly refusing to look at your shocked gaze. “I began to read to learn more, to be able to feel other emotions. But the anger and hate stayed, concealed by the thin veil I constructed to make myself more likeable. More polite. More charming.”

He wanted nothing to do with Lucifer. He wanted it so bad it hurt. So he built himself a brand-new personality, becoming someone others could rely on, all so he could spite him.

And then you came along.

Your eyes water as you realize that you feel him shaking. “I never met her, you know, but I’ve seen her through his eyes. I feel his lingering pain, and sometimes it makes me want to tear my own chest out,” he says, voice wobbling. “But to ask you to do that...to give you up for something I have no right to feel upset about...it’s something I won’t do. Ever. Not when you saved me.”

You rest your hand on his back as you return the hug, a choked sob escaping you. “Satan, I-”

“You saved me.” He whispers fervently. “Do you understand? That means everything.”

You claw the back of his shirt, your breath hitching as you succumb to your tears. You both end up falling to the floor, hugging each other like your lives depend on it.

He doesn’t need divinity he’s never had. No, not when he has you.

Asmodeus

“Oh, love...you...”

He could go back? He could go back and get his little sister back?

But if he did, then you’d-...you’d...

“I know how much you miss being the Jewel of the Heavens.” You say, sitting next to him. It’s supposed to be a quiet night, one where you both relax and take care of each other, but then this opportunity appeared and-

He...didn’t know what to do.

- No, that was a lie. He knew exactly what to do. There was only ever one option for him.

“I’m hurt.”

You look over at him, surprised. His voice is small and he’s pouting, but there’s a tremble in his bottom lip as his eyes shine with unshed tears.

“I’m hurt, you know!” He repeats, and by now you’re pretty sure your mouth hangs open. “I’m hurt that you’d think so low of me!”

You scramble to explain. “Asmo, that’s not-”

“But it is!” He cries, interrupting you. “It’s exactly that! Did you think I would actually take that chance?!”

Your eyes soften. You go to place a hand on his shoulder, only to still when he slaps it away. “...Asmo.”

He throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck as he clings to you. You don’t have the heart to throw him off, wrapping your own arms around him.

“We’ve come all this way because of you.” He murmurs against you. “And you’re the only one who loves me for me. Although, my looks are definitely a strong point-”

You chuckle weakly, feeling your own tears start to fall. He smiles once he hears you, happy to know that he lifted your mood even if it was just by a little.

“-if I gave you up, these past years would have been for nothing. So, no; I won’t do it. Besides, have you seen the following I have down here? I’m on my way to becoming the Jewel of Devildom!”

You move one hand to rest on his head, a warm smile spreading across your face. You don’t notice how he looks at your expression with awe and adoration, giving his head a few pats.

“I know you can do it.”

Well. With you by his side, he can do anything.

Beelzebub

This isn’t happening. This- This can’t be happening.

Not again...not again...!

He grasps his chest and stumbles back from you, and he hears the way you call his name with worry in your voice. You sound far away, he thinks to himself. Are you already dead? Where is he? Did he fail again? Is this the Celestial War? Maybe that’s why he smells iron, hears screaming, hears himself screaming. It’ll explain the pain at least, and he would chuckle if he wasn’t too busy gasping for air.

Ah, his heart feels like it’s on fire it hurts so bad. Is it tearing itself in two? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do...he doesn’t know who to choose-

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It hurts...!

“Beel, can you hear me? Take deep breaths. Okay? Please, breathe!”

- Huh?

He feels something on his face. What is that?

Oh, this warmth...It’s almost like-

Your name falls from his lips. You sigh in relief, sitting back.

“I’m glad you’re okay. How do you feel?”

How do you feel? You just said it was okay if he chose his angel status and Lilith over you, and you’re asking him how do you feel?

He lowers his hands, frowning at you. “...Why did you ask me?”

His voice is small. Fragile. Your heart breaks at the sound of it, tears building as you see his form shake.

“Why did you ask me, when the last time I did something I murdered my sister?”

You pat his arm, reaching a hand over to give him a side hug. “Remember what Lucifer said. She wasn’t murdered; she lived happily as a human, right up until she died of old age.”

All the more reason not to do it.

He sinks into your hold. You shoulder his weight with no complaints. “I can’t do it. You’re family; I-” he swallows past the lump in his throat, tears streaming down his face. “...I love you too much.”

Because he could care less about his angel status. Because Lilith already lived her life of peace. It still hurts, but you were the one to hold his hand when he had nightmares. You were the one who saw past his intimidating form and hung out with him.

You are important, and Beelzebub will take on the Celestial Realm himself if anything happened to you.

Belphegor

...He’s quiet.

Well, it’s to be expected. He hates humanity, and it’s his younger sister we’re talking about here, not to mention how close they were.

“So?” You ask as you lean back, the wall of the planetarium supporting your weight. “I don’t mind if you choose her and your status. It’s-”

“I could give a rat’s ass about my status as an angel.” He snaps. “Just shut up for a second and listen.”

You shut your mouth. What were you gonna say to that? An angry Belphie is not a Belphie to speak lightly with.

You jolt a bit as you feel hands lightly smack against your cheeks, smooshing your face. He tugs your head so that you’re staring at him, and it’s then that you notice how his eyes waver.

“I killed you,” he says, his brows furrowing, “I killed you. And yet you’d let me choose?”

You snort, raising a hand to cover his own. “Yep. Your move, Sleeping Beauty.”

He doesn’t understand. Why would you give him that power? He had robbed you from your family when he took your life. He temporarily washed out your future.

Did you really trust him that much...?

“It tore Beel and I apart when we learned she was dead. I-...I blamed myself.” He starts, and you don’t have the heart to stop him. Not when you already made peace with your end. “I started eating less, sleeping more. I despised Lucifer, and I despised all of humanity for taking my little sister away from me.”

You remained quiet. He lets out a frustrated huff, shaking you a bit.

“And then you came. You freed me from that place, you mended what was broken, and you-...you forgave me. And I will never betray that trust; not now, and not in the future.”

He bumps his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. You close yours as well, feeling the tears drip from your face and onto the floor. He’s...choosing you? Over everything he’s ever wanted?

What did you do to deserve someone like him in your life?

“So don’t you forget it, you idiot.”

#obey me shall we date #my heart tore to pieces writing this #this was wonderful to write for though thank you anon #om swd #swd om #shall we date obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me hcs #obey me headcanons

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beskar-cowboy · 3 years

Text

Petrichor, Humidity and Self-Preservation

Part 1 of 2 in The Moon Series

Summary: The retelling of two reluctant partners - a biologist and a harvester - on the Green. (8.3k words) read it here on ao3

Pairing: Ezra x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, slow burn, sex pollen so some implied dub con elements, a hint of somnophilia, accidental domesticity, let me know if i missed anything!

A/N this was totally inspired by Elegy to the Void by @jangofctts so if you haven't read it, please do yourself a favour and get on that, it's so perfect, it inspired this whole mess and the second part that's yet to come <3

It was the evening when you submitted your application for an off-planet partner.

Scientists and harvesters were no longer permitted to travel to the moon alone, it had become too dangerous; the mortality rate going up by the day it seemed - it was all they ever talked about on the radio.

A transmission came back for you around midnight as you were reading, skimming an old book unable to fall asleep, hoping the ancient words of old worlds would lull you.

The screen flashed bright with the notification. It hurt your eyes.

Match found.

You weren’t very specific in your requested for a partner, just anyone but a CIS male. You preferred it that way. Less…. issues, less conflict - tension.

Apparently he had put in a specific request as well - only male. He wasn’t too pleased about this either.

Ezra.

The unusual name flashed on your screen and you were intrigued. No last name - something that was not out of the ordinary these days; with people separated from their Earth families, people never having known their families in the first place, people needing to distance themselves from an old past, detach. There were lots of logical, rational reasons not to have a last name but still, he intrigued you.

Ezra. You like the way it sounds. It fits his scruffy look. That odd, blonde patch that sticks out from a mess of brown and light bits of gray.

45 years old. American, the transcript read. Great.

He’s older, the oldest partner you’ve had and it makes something flutter in your stomach despite yourself. He’s got a patchy beard, spots missing near the jawline. You wonder if it bothers him. You think it suits him just fine.

And he’s ruggedly handsome, his age no doubt adding to that fact. You briefly wonder what he looked like at your age.

Ezra is handicapped, missing an arm - his transcript had mentioned that much. You didn’t give it much thought, as long as he stuck to his job and let you do yours then you didn’t really care what shape or state he was in.

A biologist and an aurelac harvester, this would be interesting.

Looks like we both got the short end of the stick this time, birdie he had laughed, as the two of you buckled yourselves into his pod, preparing for the slingshot to the moon.

You ignored the nickname - if his southern accent told you anything, it was that he probably called everyone by some convoluted, meaningless nickname he deemed appropriate. You ignored the way his voice made your insides warm, how he reminded you of something familiar, something now long gone.

Ezra had insisted on taking his pod. You couldn’t complain too much; his was a newer model than yours, it had a built in shower. You had never seen a pod with a built in shower. Ezra had mentioned something about reparations for what happened to his arm - a work incident, you eventually gathered. Good to know they considered a shower equivalent to an arm…

Where is everyone, anyways? You asked, serious and genuine.

Dead, he replied, serious and genuine.

The engine roars to life, you’re both catapulted towards the moon.

Or busy dyin'. He chuckled. Your stomach turned. But maybe it was just the excessive G’s from hurtling through space.

Ezra thought he was amusing. He smiled all the way down to the new terrain below - or up, depending on which way you’re oriented.

You didn’t talk to each other for the following 12 hours.

The Green is humid, you remember that much from your last time on the cursed Moon.

It’s humid and wet and constantly smells of dank moss and the afterbirth of rain. You don’t completely hate it.

The last time you were on the Green was just a short trip - 3 weeks, in and out pretty quick. You were just there to gather some samples, bring back a few bug specimens, that was it.

This time would be longer, much longer.

6 months.

For long trips like these, they usually like to pair people up who are compatible, or who work in compatible fields, at least.

A biologist and a harvester, you scoff to yourself. Everyone really must be dying.

It’s not that harvesters and biologists are inherently incompatible as individuals, the work schedules just operate on complete opposite ends. Ezra wakes up early with the sun, you can stay up late with nothing but the darkness while he sleeps, recuperates from his day of physical labor.

He needs as much daylight as possible to scavenge in the literal dirt and mud, trying to find what's left of the aurelac deposits scattered across the Moon. He’s got headlamps and powerful flashlights he can bring out to the sites with him, but it’s not safe alone at night, having one arm surely won’t make that any easier for him.

Some days you wake up early, follow Ezra out and search for your own samples, bringing them back bit by bit to the little station you’ve built in the pod. You’ve got your own lamps; desk lamps and magnifying glass, a computer screen that burns your eyes and a surplus of pens, pencils and erasers.

You’ve managed to fit a desk, electrical wiring and a computer generator all into a little corner that Ezra’s so graciously afforded you. He had to move stacks of books and paper to accommodate you but he didn’t really have a choice, did he? He was stuck with you, and you him for half a year.

But Ezra keeps his distance and you appreciate it. He doesn’t talk much, and neither do you. You like it this way. It’s easy - easier.

Sometimes he’d come back from a dig and you’d be hunched over your desk, fingers flying across your keyboard or hands covered in lead and ink, working on a sketch of some little critter or plant you found. He’d scuffle behind you, undress, and read himself to sleep.

Ezra mumbles to himself as he reads. His hushed, murmuring voice soothes you, you regretfully have to admit.

That low tone, his sweet drawl reading soft words from long ago. You’re not even sure if he’s aware that he’s mumbling to himself as he reads tens, hundreds of pages per night. Ezra is an efficient, quick reader, you’ve quickly learned. Voice warm and familiar somehow in the night like this. Your chest bubbles with something sickening, something homely. You ignore it.

You still don’t speak to each other.

You leave with Ezra in the morning this time. Suited up, your old camera and notepad tucked securely into your suit. You help him carry his equipment since you don’t have much of your own, he thanks you with a silent nod in your direction and a sheepish smile.

You don’t take it personally, you figure it's a hard thing, being a grown man and having to ask for help in some capacity for such miniscule things. So you don’t make a fuss, for Ezra’s sake.

Sometimes you catch a glimpse of something - something old and left behind; perhaps a glimmer of Ezra’s former self. He’ll curse and lash out quietly to himself during his digs, kick a rock or tree root, sneering at nothing but his own self as he messes up a pull.

You catch the way he sneers, the way he’s cold to you afterwards (yes even though he’s silent. There’s a warm silence, and a cold silence, you’ve detected). You’re well versed in studying animals, learning their behavior, their evolutionary patterns. Humans are no exception. And Ezra flashes his broken fragments of a man adjusting to a new, disadvantaged state of being. You feel bad for him in a way, but you don’t want to pity him. So you ignore the feeling, ignore the observation that’s so plainly written all over him.

You stand in front of him, adjusting the air filtration cartridge on his suit but Ezra fusses, shoving past you. You say nothing and head out into the humid jungle behind him.

The walk could be long, every time Ezra sets out, he has no idea how long he’ll be gone for. You never know when you’ll just stumble by a aurelac deposit.

So you walk seemingly aimlessly behind him, watching not to trip over protruding roots or dead carcasses of harvesters past. You try not to think about how many bodies are buried in the ground beneath you - you can’t think about it, it’s not your job to, nor Ezra’s, really. Ignorance is bliss, ignorance is bliss, you repeat to yourself.

You pull your camera out and wait to find something more worth your time instead. You can hear birds flying amongst the tall trees, you can hear the leaves brustling with the wind that passes through them, propelled onto them from the wings of a bird unknown to you.

You search for it, amongst the foliage. You take your pictures once you find it, smiling to yourself as you watch it fly out of view again.

You let your camera fall against your chest, you turn to search for Ezra again but instead you find that he’s been waiting for you, impatiently so, it seems.

“Y-You don’t have to wait up for me.” You tell him, trying to find your footing around a particularly muddy puddle. Your voice comes out a croak, you’d nearly forgotten that it’d been days since you last spoke, save for the quiet muttering you do while scribbling down notes back in the pod, late at night.

Kevva, he makes you nervous when he just stares at you like that. Your eyes flit from his menacing gaze to the ground around you. Your stomach flips and swarms with something like butterflies. You hate it.

You come to stand near Ezra and he pushes a water filtration pouch into your hands. You nearly drop it into the mud - nearly fall in yourself.

“Go to the lake, just down the path there. Water should be clean enough to drink as is.” He tells you, voice deep and gravely, nodding in the direction of a little worn down path. You can see the lake just beyond the thick bush.

“Okay, sure. Where are you headed?” You ask, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You don’t exactly want to get separated from him. You’ve never been this far into the Green before. The two of you have probably been walking for an hour now.

“Just here, girl. Looks like there’s a deposit under this branch.”

Ezra kicks at the thick root with his foot, you can see the way the earth gives underneath, he’s probably right, not that you know much about aurelac, but he seems to have found something prosperous.

You nod at him and head towards the lake without any other words shared between the two of you. You’re nearly out of breath, you think that’s the most he’s ever said to you since you’ve met.

You wonder why you enjoyed it so much.

You’re drawing when he comes back into the tent, in that little notebook you carry around with you every time you go out into the jungle with him.

Your hands are dirty, smudged dark with ink or something. You’re hunched uncomfortably over your infuriatingly small desk as you scribble and jot things down in a seemingly disorganized manner.

You’ve got your headphones on, those scrappy, metallic and wiry little things that barely cover your ears. You don’t bop along to whatever you’re listening to, you’re completely focused on your work. Ezra admires you for a moment, right at the entrance to the pod, he hasn’t even taken off his suit yet, not even his helmet.

You’ve struck him in place with your simple beauty - he’s not sure why it’s hitting him like this, all at once, now, in this moment. It’s odd but warm. You’re quickly becoming familiar to him, homey, safe.

The light from another far off moon streaks through the overhead windows, painting you dark, white, and blue - you shine. Ezra bites his lip, scowls at himself for that warm feeling that threatens to burst over.

He approaches you regardless. He places his only hand on your forearm and you jerk, big eyes looking up at him in a panic and he suddenly feels bad. He scared you. He thought you would have heard him come in - you should have. He forgot you were blasting music in those headphones, even he could faintly hear the foreign tune from where he stands, towering above you.

“Ezra-”

“Sorry, birdie.” He cuts you off, speaking over you with a soft, hushed tone.

That nickname. He hadn’t dared utter it since the two of you first met that day when you got assigned. He hadn’t even meant to say it just now, it slipped out, slipped out when you looked at him like that.

Helpless, like a goddamn deer caught in the headlights.

You hate the way it makes something flutter in your belly, deep in the pits of you, when he calls you that - birdie.

“It’s okay, just- don’t look.” You grumble, folding your arms over your drawing, hiding it from him.

Ezra suddenly feels bad, he really does. He had startled you, now he’s made you feel embarrassed.

That shameful, small look you gave him would surely haunt him for the following months, that he’s sure of. Maybe for the entirety of his life, long past this work posting, long past having worked with you. This feeling will outlive him.

Ezra admires the pages and pages of notes, ripped and torn from your notebook that are scattered across your work station, tacked up on the walls, his walls. Little doodles, mock ups, sketches of animals and bugs and plant life, beautiful handwriting covering every inch of the rich paper.

Your computer is dead for the night, the sickening light from it thankfully not penetrating the soft moonlight that fills the pod for once.

It’s late, he’s surprised you’re still up after walking with him so much today. You don’t usually follow him so far out. He’s privately glad you did.

You’re surprised he was out so late as well, it’s not safe out there, at least not alone.

Ezra turns from you when he realizes he’s been staring. He peels off his suit as best he can with one arm before hanging it up and heading for the shower. You turn back to your work, trying to forget that nickname.

In the shower, Ezra thinks about your drawings. He wants to know what you were drawing.

He wants to know what captured your eye.

Sometimes you stay up for days.

Okay maybe not days, but it feels like much too long in Ezra’s opinion.

Your eyes will grow tired, red where they should be white, dark where your skin should be vibrant and plump.

At some point he grows worried about you, more often than he would like to be if he’s being honest. He can’t remember a time when he was ever worried about his harvesting partner.

But you aren’t a harvesting partner, that’s the thing.

You’re different, unlike any of them in every way.

He knew getting paired up with you would be a problem. He just didn’t see it being this kind of problem.

The soft kind of warm problem. Big eyes looking up at him and squeaking when he comes into the pod too abruptly, scaring you, kind of problem.

Ezra sighs to himself, deep in the mud, trying to get this damned aurelac. He’s tired. He doesn’t sleep at night - his mind fills with you while you sleep or work across from him, fighting sleep for an entirely different reason than his own convoluted reasons.

Ezra fights off the image of you now, in his waking hours, when he’s sleep deprived and starving if he’s honest. He wonders how much of the rations are left back at the pod, where you’re currently working.

After successfully harvesting three hefty gems, Ezra calls it quits and heads back to you- to the pod.

You’re not at your desk when he enters quietly. The light from the bathroom shines through the door that’s left slightly ajar, letting the steam float out into thick clouds that nearly choke him. He’s glad you’re using the shower, glad you’re not too shy to take advantage of the rare luxury he’s so graciously been offered due to his lost limb.

He peels his suit from his tired, sweaty body. He’ll need a shower too once you’re out.

The light of your computer is still on, illuminating the contents of your desk. Ezra tries to focus on that, he tries to study the little pieces of you instead of imagining you damp and wet and warm and nude in the shower, only mere feet from him.

Your desk is messy, he’s not quite sure why he finds it so endearing but he does. He admires the jars and plastic containers filled with withering bugs and plants and feathers you’ve collected from the grounds and plains of the moon. But then his eyes stumble onto something not entirely yours - his, in fact.

You little thief, you had snatched one of his books.

Ezra smirks to himself. You placed it upside down, spread open on your desk to keep your page. You’re far into it by the looks of it. This isn’t your first offense.

Ezra approaches it, runs his finger down the old, worn spine.

The Grapes of Wrath, interesting choice.

He imagines you, perched at your desk (on your bed too, perhaps?) sick of your work and tired, in need of a break, in need of an escape. Maybe you wanted to remember Earth in the only way anyone can anymore - in the form of a distant memory not entirely their own, an old story no one can memorize for the life of them.

Ezra pictures you oh so carefully, with those delicate hands of yours, rummaging through his things, careful not to make too much of a mess like you’re so used to with your own things. He imagines you trying to pick one that interests you most, one that would appeal to you.

Why on Kevva did you pick this? Were you fond of Steinbeck? Did you just recognize the name and settled on the familiarity? Had you read it before, perhaps? Is it your favorite-

“Hey.”

Ezra nearly gasps, yet he manages to hold it together. You’ve emerged - like a goddamn, cursed goddess he thinks - from the bathroom with a halo of steam around you. Hair wet, dripping, soaking into the plain uniform that everyone wears, literally the most basic, boring pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt yet you manage to make it look so fucking sexy-

“Hey yourself.” He says back, only glancing at you quickly, offering you a crooked smile and a curt nod of his head.

Ezra backs away from your desk, kicking the remainder of his suit off of his feet before depositing the auerlac into the white plastic bin that he keeps his gems in before settling himself onto his bed.

Here lies your second incriminating piece of evidence.

Another book, one he’s surely not touched in years, strewn across his bed almost haphazardly.

Pride and Prejudice.

Ezra chuckles to himself so quietly, so darkly it's barely audible. How silly of you. How fucking adorable and precious of you. He puts the book back in its place without a word, without a snarky remark, no - Ezra’s decided to spare you this time.

When he looks up at you, he finds you already distracted by your work again, your back already hunched painfully over your books and notes. Ezra thinks he can smell the soap emanating from off your skin, it smells divine.

He wonders if you know how obvious you’re being, if you know how bad of a thief you are. Ezra wonders if you know how annoyingly enamored he is with you.

Ezra begins to take more of an interest in what you do after that.

The interest was always there, he assures himself, he’s just being more obvious now - less cold.

He goes out of his way to ask you questions about the bugs, plants, animal life you’re studying. He follows you around, ignoring his own tasks and getting distracted by your voice describing the flora and fauna of the cursed moon that he never found interest in before.

Ezra looks at it differently now because of you. He sees beauty in it where there was none before, nothing but death and decay and war.

It makes you feel… good, this new found interest of Ezra’s. None of your previous partners had ever asked you about your work, always so focused, so engrossed in their own studies. Granted, you didn’t talk to them much either. Their work was just so similar to yours. Ezra’s is different.

You’d never known a harvester before, never knew the ins and outs of their work, their incredibly specific, precise work that must be done with such a steady hand, such surgical precision it almost made you sick to watch sometimes - as the sickly white skin of the aurelac sac oozed and peeled open at his touch. Ezra made it look easy.y

And you admired it - admired Ezra. You liked watching him work. You liked watching how focused he got, how his brow creased in between his eyes, how he grunted and groaned and pulled from it, taking its precious gems with pleasure. It made your stomach heavy with something.

He showed you a few times, how to pull aurelac. You denied any offered attempts to do it yourself, worried you’d waste it and ruin the precious gems, but Ezra said he believed in you, believed in your own, albeit artistic, steady hand.

I’m not a geologist, Ezra.

Neither am I, little bird.

Your stomach swoops. Well… you’re pretty fucking smart. You whispered - so quiet you thought, hoped he hadn’t heard you.

But he did. And Ezra blushed at your mistakenly kind words.

You managed to get one single gem. Ezra nearly cried he was smiling so much. It made your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling too. It had been a while since someone was proud of you. It made you want to hug him, bury yourself in him somehow. You wanted to latch onto that feeling.

The days went on and Ezra’s interest in you did too.

He became sickeningly accustomed to you - the way you were, the way you lived and worked. The way you dog tag the pages of the book you read, unbothered by the permanent crease it’ll leave in its wake. Ezra likes it far too much, he likes that you’ve left your imprint on something of his.

He asks to see the pictures you snap with your old camera. He marvels at your little bureau where you developed them underneath a sheet with a red lamp; your own makeshift studio. He asks what music you listen to while you work - he seems interested in nearly everything about you. It flusters you.

You like his quiet knowledge, his eloquent, unique vocabulary that you’d never encountered in anyone before. He uses words, phrases you’d never heard of. It enchants you. Every time he speaks, it’s like a carefully curated poem, despite the words flowing out of him like an all-knowing, wise priest. You wonder if it’s a Southern thing, if everyone talks like him back where he’s from, but you doubt it. You decide no one is like Ezra.

You find yourself dazed by him, completely enraptured, surrendering to him any time he opens his mouth. You listen to anything he tells you, and he does the same to you. You quickly become each other’s private, unspoken religion.

You enjoy his sudden trust in you, how it seems to have gone from 0 to 100 and all of a sudden he was just there with you all of the time even though he technically had been for the last two months or however long it’s been. He was here all along but now he’s with you - present.

Ezra follows you now - way too far from his dig site, running after you as you run after a bird through the jungled moon. You follow it naively, like you’re lost in some sort of trance, dumb and curious, like a cat.

“Birdie-”

“Ssh, I think it went over here.”

Ezra is close behind you, you can hear him panting in your ear over the comlink you two setup within minutes of meeting each other. You remember how procedural it was, how dull everything felt, how ordinary your meeting was. You marvel at how much it’s grown, how magical he’s become to you in just two months' time. You hadn’t expected it, but you welcome it nonetheless.

You look back at him, smiling as he catches up with you, as you dig deeper into the bush. His eyes meet yours, you can tell he trusts you. You should have known better.

You lose sight of the bird quickly but still, you persist. You push through the dense bush and take note of the surrounding foliage. You recognize the thorns - you know them from your textbook you studied so adamantly to become a biologist. You had to know what dangers would arise when you were in the field - poisonous, venomous, sharp and deadly. You know practically everything that could harm you. You just can’t believe that this particular one grew here, on the Moon.

By the time you identified it, it was too late. As you stupidly continued to walk through the bush, a thorn ripped straight through your suit, ripping your skin and your suit alike, as if they were made of tissue paper.

You hiss, quickly pained as you feel your blood rush to the injury, pouring down your ribcage, hot and syrupy. You gasp, grasping your side, trying to close the opening in your suit, and apply pressure to the quickly infectious area.

“Fuck.” You groan, removing your hand, staring at the blood stained glove, dark and crimson.

Your eyes begin to dance with colors, your lungs inhaling the spores of the Moon and the plant. You can feel the venom of the thorn course through your blood the harder you think about it. Your blood pulses, heart pumps, it makes your body throb everywhere - one spot in particular.

You squeeze your eyes shut, suppressing the moan that bubbles in your chest, your throat as you press on your ribcage, willing the toxic aphrodisiac out of your system.

You’re fine, it’s just a plant, it can’t hurt you, it’s not real, it’s just the toxins, you’re fine, you’re not in any danger, just head back to the pod, you’re fine-

You think you hear Ezra call to you. You’re sure he rushes over to you, scanning you over with those brown, rich and dark chocolate eyes, eyebrows creased far too much, far too worried for such a handsome face. He calls to you again, it’s distant, far off.

“Birdie- hey, hey. What happened?” He asks, panicked.

He’s panicking, fuck, Ezra’s panicking. You’ve never seen Ezra panic before, especially not about you. Fuck it’s kind of endearing, it’s kind of hot-

“M’fine, Ezra. Just need to go back to the pod.”

Be professional, you’re fine, it’s fine, he’s fine. He can get you back, he can help you.

You try to walk but the pressure in your legs, the weight they bear creates this tension that goes straight to your cunt and you crumble under your own body weight, whining at the sensation.

But Ezra catches you. With his one good arm, he blessedly wraps it around your body, hauling your weight against his as he leads you out of the bush, back the way you came.

But the thorns are ruthless. They show no mercy. They rip Ezra’s suit as easily as they ripped yours, if not easier. He wears an older model, it’s worn down, the duraweave weakened with time - he couldn’t have known.

Couldn’t have known that the spiky sharp plant that’s now ripped through both of your suits could be so powerful, so small but so potent. You choke on it as it’s syrupy liquid swells inside of you - dark and red, making you throb all over.

“Fuck.” Ezra curses, shifting your weight against your body and you moan at the way he manages to manhandle you with just one arm, with his surprising strength that makes your cunt flutter and clench pathetically.

Being so close to you, holding you, touching you, it burns straight through him. Never had someone’s touch made his heart lurch in his chest, make his cock pulse with blood. It confuses him, the sudden onslaught of his desire for you - how it seemingly came out of nowhere.

But you’re hurt. You’re hurt. And Ezra may be a selfish man but Kevva help him, he would get you safely back to the pod, regardless of the painful erection that suddenly protrudes his suit despite - or because of - his instinct to protect you.

You’re practically rubbing up on him, walking with an odd limp to your step. Your pace accelerates as the pod comes into view. You whine, pushing your face into the crook of his arm, where his bicep would meet his chest, like you’re trying to smell him and Ezra growls, concealing it by trying to hold more of your body weight for you. But you hear it, and you wonder if he’s just as infected, just as fucked up as you are.

You’re peeling at your suit as soon as the pod door closes behind the two of you, desperate to get it off - you feel like you’re suffocating, dying. Ezra hauls you over to your bed, dropping you as gently as he can with one arm and poor balance. He drops to his knees in front of you, clumsy, dazed.

He rips his helmet from his head, loosening his suit as you kick yours off your legs right in front of his face.

“Birdie…”

You whine as you kick aimlessly, squirming on your back, withering in front of him in nothing but your thin tank top which starts to stick to your skin uncomfortably. He watches as your nipples grow erect, protruding through your top, he wants to kiss them over the soft material - he wants to bite you all over. He can see you sweating, can see the way the sickly sheen paints your skin damp, the way your blood seeps from your skin and soaks the fabric. Ezra suddenly feels too hot himself, acutely aware of how much he can fucking smell you.

“Birdie you gotta tell me what’s wrong with you, t-tell me what I can do, how I can help you?”

You just whine and moan some more, panting, chest heaving and Ezra has to forgo any attempt at manual thought because all his brain is telling him is fuck her, fuck her, that’ll help, it’ll feel so good, bet she’s tight and sweet and syrupy and-

“Please-” You whimper, helpless, like an injured bird and Ezra leans into you, leans over your lower half that hangs awkwardly off the side of the bed, placing his torso between your thighs, your suit awkwardly hanging off your knees.

“What is it? What do you need?” He pleads, voice strained and weak and rough and gravely and you moan for it, for him.

You pathetically squeeze your thighs together, right in front of his face and you moan - arching your back and throwing your head back, too ashamed to look him in the eye.

“Tell me.” He demands a final time.

“Please just- keep talking, Ez.”

His mouth hangs agape, mind gone blank at the way you uttered this new nickname. Never had anyone made his name sound so filthy, so beautiful, so broken, it’s adorable and cute and makes his cock rage all at the same time. You breathed it like it was your only salvation, like he was the only thing that could save you. Maybe he is.

Maybe he is, he thinks as your thighs squeeze again, as they release - you wither so pathetically it breaks his heart in feigned pity. Ezra notices the dark spot which grows every second with your wet, syrupy cyprine, seeping from your cunt. For him.

No, no, it’s because of the plant. It’s not you, she doesn’t want you, she couldn’t-

“What- what's happening to us?”

His voice goes straight to your cunt - like it always does but this time you don’t blame yourself, your baser instincts - you fold into them instead.

“Why do I feel this way birdie, why do I want to fu-”

“The plant! It’s the plant, it’s poisonous.” You cut him off, nearly scream, sparing him, sparing you both from the embarrassment, from the admission of want, of pure sexual desire you feel and that you suffer through together.

Ezra groans, pained at the way you squirm for him. His eyes, they glare at you. “Poisonous how?”

You shoot up, sitting on your elbows and glare right back at him. Your skin glimmers with sweat and Ezra wants to lick you, needs to taste you, the salt of your skin, the metallic tang of your blood.

“You know how.” You whine, despite your frustrations.

“Enlighten me.” He asks and it comes out a beg, his eyes big and brown and beautiful, eyebrows creasing in what seems like sadness but it’s something else entirely.

“Ezra-”

“Tell me, sweet girl.”

His body betrays his mind, his somewhat still rational mind. His hand reaches up, to your thigh, resting on the hot, feverish skin. You jump at his sudden touch, the feeling of flesh on flesh. You squeak your ascent.

You’re panting, breathing impossibly heavily and maybe it’s always been there. That desperate, fucking tragic desire for the other, the need to consume the other whole, lose yourself in something other than work and feel like a real person, like you mean something. Maybe this plant is making you fucking crazy-

“Is that it? Is that what you want?” He asks and fuck what of that did you say out loud?

You stay silent, you just look at him as he goes to peel the rest of your suit down your legs and off your feet. He can fucking smell you, you’re sickeningly sweet pussy.

“Is this what you need?”

You whine, loud and impatient and Ezra’s cock is raging painfully hard in his flight suit and he’s rendered you speechless already.

You can’t find your words. You who’s so smart, so intelligent, writing thousands of words every day on each new plant or insect you find - you cannot in this moment conjure a single fucking word on how to tell Ezra what to do. Ezra feels smug about it.

“Tell me how to make it better, little bird.”

“T-Touch me.”

Ezra’s face cracks, his lips quirking up to one side with that crooked sideways smile he gives you like those cowboys in those old westerns that just got the bad guy, or the girl - what was ever the difference anyways? You’re guilty and he’s caught you.

A single eyebrow shoots up, emphasiszing that lopsided, goofy smile of his and you bite your lip, finding it impossible to breathe with him so close to you, with his stupid hot gorgeous face in between your thighs like this.

“Yeah?”

“Yesjusttouchmealready-”

Ezra shoves his face, unabashedly so, into your clothed cunt without a single word more. He’s never been more thankful for your stupid habit of not wearing your flight pants underneath your suit more than he is in this moment; when he can lavish you with his mouth, appraise your skin like he’s always wanted - needed.

He inhales and you both moan, deep and throaty as his nose presses itself through your folds, as he feels your dampness on his face through your underwear. He runs the proud bridge up and down, letting your panties get creased up in your glossy folds and making them stick to you uncomfortably.

Ezra doesn’t let up, he doesn’t make any such indication that he wants things to progress. He seems all too utterly content with his face pressed right into your center, mouth kissing and licking at you over your underwear. You helplessly grind and wither against his face. His arm shoots out, gripping you, wrapping around your waist to pin you down so he can breathe you in without a struggle.

“Fuck, you smell sweeter than a pansy.”

You’re completely embarrassed, unsure of what to do as he just mouths at you, ruining the already damped fabric. You stare down at him, mouth agape. No one’s ever dared to be so depraved about you, so disgustingly sexy and needy. You’re unable to look away from the whole thing, frankly.

His golden cheeks, they flush, even in the low light of the pod you can see it. What time was it anyways? How much time had passed? Was it always this dark in here? Neither of you bothered turning the lights on, you hadn’t even thought about it until now, when it hindered your view of his stupid handsome face. You want to see him, you want to look at him forever.

“Please-” Your words get choked up, swallowed down by a moan, voice caught in your throat - you can’t fucking speak.

Reluctant, Ezra peels his face away from you and his lips are swollen, eyes gone black like obsidian, hazy and shiny - drunk.

“What is it, baby?”

Baby.

You whine, pathetic and hopeless, unable to look him in the eyes. You throw your arm over your eyes, dramatically shielding you.

“More.” You whisper, voice gone hoarse and tender. You’re embarrassed at how badly you need him.

Ezra says nothing and goes straight to nudging his nose through your folds once again, finding his way down to wear the sides of your panties crease into your skin. He bites into the embarrassingly girly frills of the trim and pulls them off to the side, revealing your dark hole, fluttering and weeping for him.

"Ain't you a vision." Ezra growls, low and deep before he’s shoving his face back into your core, the black hole of your being.

He fucks you with his tongue, he kisses you sloppily and its all so fucking wet - you can feel it smearing over your thighs and your ass as he messily eats at you, making no effort to tease you because neither of you can fucking afford it when you’re both dying.

He shoves two thick fingers into you and it comes fast - there’s no way you could have lasted when you were pulled this thin, stretched beyond your limits, so fucking horny and needy for him because of the toxic flower. You cum nearly as soon as he curls the thick digits against your most sensitive wall, as he prods and pokes at the textured, ridged wall and you fucking gush all over him.

You cry - sob, actually. You sob like you’re mourning, like all you know is death and darkness and this world has done nothing but take and take from you but finally.

Finally something is granted to you. It’s thick and syrupy and drips down your subconscious as relief and you sob. You sob so suddenly that Ezra nearly stops. But he doesn’t. He couldn’t, not when he feels like his world is ending and beginning right here with your little pussy.

You fucking poison, you desperate, tantalizing, addictive little thing. I’ll never get enough of you. He doesn’t know if it’s the flower anymore, the spores that infect his system or if he’s always felt this way about you. He can’t remember anymore.

Ezra does eventually pull away and you cling to him, your nails forever embedded into his burning flesh and he finds himself not wanting you to let go, not wanting you to untangle yourself from him in a jumbled mess of flesh and limbs and sweat, sex and blood and spit and fucking everything. He wants everything you can offer him, he’ll drink anything from you.

He doesn’t remember when he peeled his own suit from his body but he finds himself naked for you, cock hard, leaking and weeping for you as he ruts it against your thigh shamelessly. You look up at him through tears that well in your eyes and stain your cheeks.

Ezra is quick to shove his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling and kissing at your fevered skin, unable to stop rutting against you - fighting the urge to just push in, it would be so easy, you’re so wet, so pliant, so ready for his-

You wrap your legs around him, wrap them high up on his thin waist, his wide ribcage and you pull him towards you with more strength than you realize you have. His cock naturally finds your sopping folds and you both moan, gripping each other like it’s a matter of life and death. Your fingers lose themselves in his scruffy curls, that blonde patch that you think you love now and would cry if you never saw it again. Ezra pants into your neck, kissing your skin so tenderly that you might actually start crying now if he doesn’t stop.

You stay like that for a moment too long. Whining and grinding against each other and Ezra moans into your skin, presses his need into you, his cock big and all too enticing. You arch your hips up into him, trying to get the flared, angry head to catch on your entrance.

Ezra’s hips stutter and pull back from you for a moment and you panic - scrambling to hold him to your body, digging your nails painfully deep into his back so that he growls at you.

If he stopped now you think you’d die. But Ezra just leans back, he sits up only to take his own cock into his hand, dragging it against your folds, teasing you with the hard length of him.

“Can- can I…” He begins to ask but he’s already found your dark opening, already notching the angry head of his cock into your entrance.

He pushes it in, dangerously slowly and teases you with it in a half attempt to wait for your answer. He pushes the head in, and then draws his hips back, pulling out without ever fully entering you, mesmerized by the way your pussy gapes for him, how you rhythmically clench around nothing and try to swallow anything he gives you. It’s fucking hot.

You can barely speak, you're so desperate for it, it consumes you whole.

“Fuuuck,” he moans, “Can I put it in, birdie? Please can I-” He repeats.

“Yes- yes just fuck me, please.”

Ezra eases himself into you, slow but rushed somehow. Your eyes roll into the back of your head - you think you cum again, instantly this time from the feel, the fucking girth of him stretching you beyong your limits.

“Beg me, t-tell me how you need it.” Ezra groans, nudging his hips into the slick and messy slot of yours, already beginning to fuck you. He can’t stop, he can’t stop.

“However, however you want it.” You cry, mind gone blank as you try to work through the fastest orgasm you’ve ever experienced.

“Fuck,” He begins to pummel into you, your spine digging into the mattress with each grinding swing of his hips, “what did I do, hmmm? To be blessed with such a pretty little thing like you?”

Even when he’s fucking you into oblivion, he’s still waxing poetic.

You moan into his shoulder, biting at his supple, tanned flesh. “Make me take it, Ez.”

Ezra growls, digging his own knees into the bed, pulling your hips along with his and fucking down into you, beginning his onslaught on your pussy. You cry as you cling to him, desperate to latch yourself to something tangible and real because he surely can’t be.

“I will.”

You don’t kiss each other.

You can’t. If you let his tongue in, you’d suffocate on it, you wouldn’t be able to pull away, you’d want him to consume you whole and you’d die by his mouth, by his plush, pouty lips.

So he presses them into your neck instead and you at his shoulder as you both just desperately cling to each other as he fucks into you helplessly. It’s all grunts and groans and pleas for more as you both give each other everything you have.

It’s hard for Ezra, hard for him to keep his weight above you when you make him feel so fucking weak and all he wants to do is be able to pound you into the mattress like he knows he could if he had two arms, if only he had two arms, he’d be able to fuck you like you deserve, like you need.

He bites your neck at the thought, growls as his hips snap harshly into yours, harder than they had before and you wail, you shatter.

His hips stutter against the back of your thighs hiked up high on his torso. He thrusts become harder, slower as he just holds himself inside of you, jabbing as he holds back from cumming deep inside of you. He collapses over your sweat drenched body. You thrust yourself downwards onto him in an attempt to get more of him, more of his cock inside of you but Ezra isn’t teasing you on purpose, he’s losing energy.

“More, more, Ezra, please. Don’t fucking stop-” “I-I can’t, birdie, I-”

You pull his face from your neck and force his forehead onto yours, searching his eyes for something, for whatever indication that something’s wrong but his eyes are closed, ashamed. That’s answer enough.

You don’t know what’s synced you two together but you’re swinging your hips into his and throwing Ezra onto his back, placing yourself tall on top of his hips, holding yourself up on his chest, squeezing his pecs in each of your hands while you start rolling your hips against his again.

Ezra throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut at the tight clench and drag of your sweet pussy over his cock, as you work yourself back and forth, up and down over him - he’s yours to use. He surrenders gladly, more than happy to let you use him for your own convoluted pleasure that you’re both so drunk off of.

His hand finds its home on your hip, your waist, your tit, whatever he can grab and paw at as you just fuck yourself on his cock.

He’s fucking drowning in you, looking up at you with eyes you don’t ever want to forget.

“That better?” You ask him, breathless and wrapping your hand around his own, where it’s latched itself onto your tit.

Ezra nods, flushed and perfect underneath you. He smiles a bit and you fucking beam back down at him, your smile so wicked Ezra thinks he cums again, for the third or fourth time tonight, he’s not sure, everything’s begun to blend together in a mix of limbs and orgasms and cries for more, cries that it’s not enough.

“Yeah, yeah that’s fuckin’ perfect, pretty.”

You keen at his praise, bearing down on him hard and draping yourself over him, squishing your chest down onto his and you wrap yourself around him, moving nothing but your hips over his and letting him fuck up into you as much as he can.

“You’re perfect, you feel perfect, I’m-” He babbles.

“Cum for me again Ez, give me another one.”

He does.

You’ve become greedy like him.

Absolutely fucking greedy, desperate for any piece of himself that he’ll give to you.

It’s been hours, multiple orgasms and the pod has grown darker, more humid with the smell of sex and your combined sweat. It’s delicious.

You can barely see the outline of him as he flips you both back over, presses you back into the mattress and onto your side so he can fuck you sideways. It’s easier on his arm, his back you figure. He grunts something about it but you’re just shoving your ass back into his crotch so he can keep fucking you, so you can cum again, so you can finally sleep and rid this flower of both your systems.

You don’t want to stop - you really don’t but your body craves completion, craves finality and totality by Ezra’s doing.

“Please-” You barely finish whining about the absence of him inside of you before Ezra’s shushing you with soothing mouth sounds.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’ve got you, birdie.” Ezra groans, southern twang thick as he pushes his raging cock back into your abused hole. You whine, curling and arching into him like a bow and he’s the arrow, splitting you and half and firing off into the void.

It’s as desperate as it was at the beginning but now there’s something heavy added to the mix, something that looms over the two of you as you near the end, unbeknownst to either of you. Something like the threat of tomorrow, the threat of what happens after this, how do I act around you now that you know my insides, my guts and my blood like your own?

You think you cum again, you cry and shatter all over again like you did the first time this afternoon, hours and hours ago - it seems like an eternity. Ezra wraps his arm around your front, around your shoulders and he hauls you back against him, arching and bending your back beautifully for him. He growls in your ear.

“That’s it, good girl.” He grunts, pressing his praise into your skin in between kisses. Tears bleed from your eyes, you feel him cum again moments after you and you beg for it to be over all the while desperately sucking him back into your body.

You think you fall asleep after that, you don’t remember how it ends.

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #reader insert #smut #ezra prospect smut #my writing

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