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jolapeno · 2 years

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trouble keepin' my eyes off you

john 'soap' mactavish x f!reader wc: 4k | warnings: angst, jealous!soap, pining summary: soap has been aware of it for longer than he’d like to admit. each time his eyes land on your mid-smile, each sound of your laughter—all he thinks is, I want this, I want it all with you. an: prequel to yours to keep and a thousand — and dedicated to @guyfieriii who i adore, and dedicate all my soap too. teehee.

soap masterlist

It’s uncomfortable, the heat. It clings, wraps and drapes over everything, smothering any breeze or fresh air.

The sweat builds on his brow, dripping down the back of his neck, leaving puddles at the base of his spine. Worst of all, beads drop from his hairline, sliding down his cheeks, dropping from his jawline as he runs his hand through his hair.

His hair has grown—the shorter sides having gained some length, beginning to conceal his very deliberate mohawk he had going. Which is another string to the bow of annoyance. It tells the tale of how long they've all been here, sweating, not sleeping, watching and waiting.

But the bow, the real thing which has been grating him is that you’re on the other side of a slightly ajar door, sparring—and it isn’t with him.

Soap has been trying not to listen.

But, they’re loud—you are loud.

Even his attempts of burying it have been futile. He's attempted to recall songs from home. Ones where there’s a scotch or beer in hand, swishing from side to side as his voice cracks as he screams the words—arms around a friend or two. The words which he knows are embedded into his soul—into the very fibre of his being—and yet, you’re making it hard for him to finish a verse, never mind a song.

He’s tried to focus on the quieter noises. The ones he wouldn't usually pay any fucking attention to—like Gaz tapping the keys of the laptop in the kitchen and the hot breeze trying to brush through the open window. The background noise, never loud enough to cause any impact—but he needs them to. He clings to hope that they will. He practically claws out for them, grabbing them with metaphorical hands—anything to drive the much louder noises away.

The ones coming from the door he’s forbidden from entering all because of stern words from even sterner eyes behind a balaclava.

On some level, he understands.

The whole place is small. Privacy is not something any of you are granted. But, he knows Ghost is trying to provide that for you in this case. Because you, little Squid, rarely ever ask for help—especially from him.

Gaz, yes. Price, maybe. Even him, occasionally.

Ghost—never.

But, he’s softened. He has jokes with you, purposefully having chosen to spend time with you on watch. Something rare, and very out of character for a man who initially didn't even show any of them his bloody face.

Soap knows you've done it again. Seeped under his layers, like you did with all of them, weaving your way, making it hard not to instantly take a shine to you.

He doesn't blame Ghost, he understands why. He can see that time was taken making you, carving each element of your personality, creating someone that is both good, clever and funny. You're strong-willed, giving-a-shit attitude is most likely the reason Ghost is helping you—training with you, offering guidance and support.

Handing you fucking praise.

Because he too has caught on to what they’ve all seen. He’s taken notice of how fucking splendid you are, how you’re capable and fucking gorgeous all rolled into one.

That’s it, Squidlet. Use your—perfect, that’s it, you got it. Atta girl.

He’s sure he’ll need bleach to burn Ghost’s words from his brain.

Even if it’s his fault—because he knows he shouldn’t be listening.

Having created his own personal torture chamber that he’s taken the time to design, construct, and build. Because there wasn’t a table and chairs here before—he moved them here. Choosing this spot so he could be close, just in case. Of what? He's not sure. But he needs to be here, something within him compelling him to be.

Under his jealousy, he doesn’t blame you, and he doesn’t blame Lt either. He knows the two of you can hardly be expected to spar outside, where every pair of eyes could be the enemy. Out there, the air isn't just thick with heat, but tension too.

Apprehension simmers as they come closer and closer to completing the very thing they are here for.

So, he's sat outside the room. Pretending to be interested in the latest report. Not wanting to move. Twisting and turning his emotions like playing cards, wondering why didn’t you ask him?

He bristles, chewing the inside of his mouth, breathing heavy, hating it—hating it all. His cheeks burning, coated in sweat as he stares at the words on the page, unsure why none of them are soaking in.

Why wouldn't you choose your lieutenant? That's the thought that gnaws, that sinks its pointy teeth into him. And it makes his bones ache.

Because he's so close, and yet so far. He almost has you, but not entirely. And it pecks at him, weaves into his insecurities, his need to prove himself—so much so he can’t rid the image of his lieutenant looming his big fucking frame over you. You under him, eyes staring up, lips parted, shredding your clothing for the man who rarely shows his face—

Your groan punches the air.

A sound he knows is from you being knocked on your arse, but it makes his fingers turn white. The sound so painted with frustration, and tiredness. He can tell—christ, he can even imagine the look on your face that accompanies it. Yet his brain twists it, morphs it, transforms it into something so ugly it almost breaks his heart.

It makes him want to claw at his brain, scratch out the images the tortured parts of himself keeps creating.

Because he knows you’re both sparring, that Lt is likely knocking you down, over and over again—not knowing that you’re stubborn, not knowing he should stop, that you’re running on nothing.

He’s your lieutenant, yes, but he doesn’t know you. Doesn’t know that you push yourself until you snap and shatter, leaving fragments of yourself in your hands. Pieces he’s tried to help guide back into place when he’s found you, lost and broken in such a way he’s not sure how to glue you back.

But, you didn’t choose him.

You chose Ghost.

Asked, practically pleaded with him.

So, he had to listen—even if he really fucking didn’t want to. He had to take the few sightings of you through the cracked door—the proof that you’re not on the floor, broken, breathing hard with sweat blending with tears.

Which means he also sees your body sheened with sweat, hair sticking to your face, neck and shoulders, and your tiny, tight shorts. It means he's seeing you looking ethereal, almost too good for this goddamn place.

And it nips at him—fueling his jealousy. It peels at his skin that Ghost is seeing you like this without a filter, without anything getting in the way.

All of it whisking against the vexation of the heat, the fear of failure and the growing tiredness. It makes his knuckles almost crack, his skin almost translucent as his wrists ache from the way he continually clenches his fist.

He’s down bad. He knows that.

Soap has been aware of it for longer than he’d like to admit. Each time his eyes land on your mid-smile, each sound of your laughter—all he thinks is, I want this, I want it all with you.

Not that he says those words. He just thinks them. Lets them swirl around his godforsaken mind until they try to drag him under.

Sometimes, he can’t even think because of it. The depths of his own thoughts like water, drowning him from the inside, made so much worse by the simple fact—he’s not the one pinning you to the floorboards. That he has barely seen you, spoken to you, been around you since they all landed here.

But Ghost has. His lieutenant has. The same Lt who is funny, witty, and even has his own nickname for you. The one who has height even on him, who is broader, and who your eyes land on immediately when briefs are given out.

Not his.

Each time he almost wants to exit the room, his teeth cutting the inside of his cheeks. Instead, he sits and silently stews. Bubbling away like a broth his mum used to make—hoping, waiting to get back to base where things feel easier.

And then, your squeal pinches the air, Soap unaware he's even standing until he blinks.

Then he hears the unmistakable gruff, Manchester twang of “Y’alright, Squidie?”

His heart pounds, attempting to crack his ribs and fly out of his chest. More so as each millisecond ticks on, as they add up into seconds and your voice hasn’t cut through the air—

“Not broken. Winded. But—“

You cough. Heavy. Chesty.

Soap’s mind fighting, urging him to push the door open more and visibly check you over himself. But, he hears movements, feet—boots.

“And. Stop callin’ me, Squidie.”

“Prefer Squidlet?"

"Fuck no."

"Get up.”

“Alright, alright,” you hiss, and the floorboard creaks again as you do. “Anyone tell you that you're the worst sometimes, Ghostling.”

Each night, he hopes the air will be easier to swallow. But, each night he wishes, it brings a new fresh hell he feels ill-prepared for.

Tonight, it’s sticky—the air clogged with thick, stubborn heat. There’s moisture, but it’s wrong. It smothers, makes his clothes chafe against his muscles.

All of it is made worse by you being difficult. You're kind, warm-hearted, and beautiful—but fucking difficult too. Especially on low sleep. Especially when you're woven so tightly, you're going to snap.

He’s heard Price order you to get some fuckin’ sleep—your back against the dingy wall, his palm flat against the wall, eyes close to yours. Soap watched as you lifted your chin defiantly, muttering back, I’ll sleep when you do, Captain.

Anyone else, he suspects they’d have their neck wrung. Sharing a look with Ghost—one he wasn’t able to translate—as you spit that you'll do the next watch, climbing the stone staircase and the ladder at the top before anyone can argue.

It reminds him of months ago, when you’d driven yourself to near exhaustion then. Your stubborn, difficultness being the backbone for you not to sleep, something always needing to be done—as if you’re the sole person who can stop all of this and put the world to rights.

You’ve always taken on so much.

The fire in your chest is both a blessing and a curse. He’s heard Price chew you out for the same reason. You try to do it all, not because you don’t rely on them or because you don’t trust them, but because:

“I care about you, all of you.”

Soap had been lingering, hanging outside the door of Price’s office when he heard his response.

“What makes you think you’re alone in that, hmm? You’re one of us, Squid. So, be one of us.”

When you’d emerged—tail between your legs—it didn’t take a genius to see you’d taken it hard. Not the berating, but the statement; the fact you fit in, that you were cared for.

And, even then you’d tried to shift the emotions dancing in your eyes from him. The mask not slipping down quickly enough, and the smile was not being presented fast.

“Y’alright?”

He always wondered if you’d have lied if he’d found you one minute later. If you’d have done so because you’d have known he hadn’t seen you undone, exposed—walls at your feet.

“No. Not… not really.” “C’mon, lass.”

It wasn’t the first time, but it was one of his favourites.

He’d held you against him, his sheets over both of your bodies, comfortable silence surrounding the two of you, clothes a welcomed barrier to anything else—as you held him like he was your rock in a storm.

Just like the two of them did on that first mission together.

I trust you. You know that, don’t you? Course, lass. Be bit awkward if y’didn’t? I mean, I don't do this with anyone else. Sleep with them... like this. I hope fuckin' not. You're special, Johnny. That's all I mean.

Sleep took you seconds later. Gently stealing you from him, breaths turning heavier and body relaxing and moulding around him.

Soap had found, in that space between reality and sleep, that’s when you were the most free. When your tongue is loosened and your heart is without chains. A side of you he sees in fleeting moments when he’s alone with you, but in a greater capacity like this—when you’re about to leave him for your dreams.

Now, though, it’s different.

You're weighed down by more than stress and pride, but rocks and fucking anchors. Whether because of the growing casualties or because you missed your bed, because it brought up memories you only ever half told him about.

He knows this because he's overheard Gaz ask you if you’re okay—Soap watching from the sidelines as you lie through your teeth. Something you’re getting better at, somewhat able to control your features, almost a poker face.

He knows you hate lying, to them at least. Each lie you spit opens a sore inside of you. It’s why he’s not asked himself. Not wanting to give you something else to churn and worry over, knowing it knots your insides and makes you spiral.

It’s not his turn to keep watch, but he follows you up the ladder all the same. He leans, the air coating his skin, making him already dream about the dribble they call a shower. Because even the rooftop wall is boiling, almost cooking him through his vest and clothes.

“Talk to me, lass. What’s keepin’ y’up?”

You don’t look at him, continuing your pacing, eyes trained in the distance. But your breath audibly catches, clearly startled, clearly rattled by his question—his presence.

“I hate losing.”

“We ain’t gonna lose, Mari.”

Your chin lifts, tongue swiping across dry, cracked lips. “I know… we’re the best of the fucking best. But…”

He knows.

He’s been feeling it too.

That thing. Unexplainable. The shadow in the corner, the one which has been haunting and hunting them since the wheels touched down. Sometimes, it’s easy, and sometimes it’s methodical—it’s torturous observing until the perfect moment. And when it’s the latter, it has a way of scratching at sensibility.

They all have a past. A failed mission that stands out from the rest—one that reminds each of them not to relax, to not let their guard down—what a single mistake can cause.

Your head turns, the moon casting a shadow across your features, and the hold you have on his heart tightens—nails digging in deep as the muscle tries to thump.

“Johnny, I’m just so t—“

But it’s stolen, your explanation.

Heavy boots and a masked face cut off whatever you were about to say. Eyes sitting around darkness, staring from him to you, bouncing, before frowning.

“It's not your watch, Johnny—"

"—I know—"

"You should get some sleep."

He wants to argue. Almost bloody does, too.

Wants to dig his heels in, and get you to continue, but he’s tired—his shoulders aching, his eyes stinging.

But, it's your words from another mission that come to mind. The ones from when you’d emerged like a phoenix—fire and smoke behind you as you stumbled into his arms—

Dunna do that, lass. Scare me. Need to stop worrying, Soapie. I always find my way back. I promise.

So he nods. He leaves. His palms descend down the ladder, half-stopping when he realises he left the window opening pausing.

He's not sure what he’s expecting—if anything at all. A confirmation, maybe? That the girl who drives him mad, has feelings for the more obvious choice. The brooding, big lieutenant who spits army jokes like he has an arsenal of them; the one you spend more time under, even if it’s sparring, than any of the others.

He’s about to move, shaking his nonsensical thoughts when he hears Ghost.

“Y’gotta stop fighting us all, Squidlet.”

“I’m not.”

“You fuckin’ are, and you know it.”

Silence. Horrid, fucking silence. So much so, his mind begins to fill with images of your bodies moving together, arms pulling the other close, ripping, shredding—

“You’ll be a piss poor shot if y’don’t sleep. Plus, you’re wearing Johnny out.”

His face flushes, bloody burns in the space between the second floor and the roof.

He doesn't miss you mumble that you’re not. All dismissive. Making his hands grip the spindle of the ladder, releasing a puff of air.

“If I sleep—“

“The world will keep turnin', trust me.”

“You almost sound like you care.”

His heart sinks, drops—and fucking plummets. Because you’re right. It does. It sounds exactly like that. The nickname. The way he’s come up when it’s not even his watch. All of it screaming that it’s something—all flashing lights and loud music accompanying it.

“Go to sleep, Squidie.”

“It’s my—“

“Go.”

He has to move.

He needs to move.

Even if he wants to pull you close to him. Even if it feels like you’re slipping through his fingers.

Just like he had done when he first realised how he felt, how he’d been feeling. When he’d almost told you. Rain hammering down, drowning you both to the bone. The two of you sent east, the rest west. Splitting a building each, finding his empty, and telling you as much. Your radio silence still haunted him. His blood thumping in his ears, ripping through each room, doing what he does best—cleaning fucking house. Finding you, bruised, bleeding, your knife in hand trembling under a dead body. The sound of boots drawing nearer to the opening they’d made—

“Thanks, Simon.”

He blinks in the present. The memory faded into nothing, vanishing like smoke—like it was never even there. Whatever held the last parts of him, snapped. His eyes staring up, pricking with the heat and the moment—stinging, aching.

You called him his name.

It left your tongue wrapped in intimacy, in care.

He’s unsure how he reaches the bottom of the ladder, his palms closed, fists clenched, nothing else in his head except getting to his room. Crossing the landing, passing the room with the others, only focusing on reaching his own room. The small thing—the cupboard with a single bed he’d managed to cop.

Everything he's squashed down, rises. They all begin to angrily fuse, mixing with the heat and his pent up frustration that he’s still here—so much so he almost slams the door. Almost.

His fingers instead press the thin wood into its frame. The click blessing the air like the first strum of a guitar, his heart beating like a drum—and then a knock, one belonging to a smaller hand, calloused, but still soft, the bass that sets the mood. All of it blending, creating a song he's not sure if he'll love or hate.

He knows it’s you. Knows it as he opens the door, watching you stare up at him, sliding your vest from your body, all defeated and knackered beyond belief.

Deep down, no matter what his brain says—what he hears, what he sees—he at least knows it’s him you choose to curl up to. That when you really need comfort, it’s him you look for. It’s him you pull close until your bodies almost merge into one.

“Hi.”

“Lass...”

You look troubled, more weighed down than he really noticed. Not even bothering to hide it, to plaster a smile over the cracks.

“Can I… Soap, I can’t…” you chew the inside of your cheek, avoiding his eyes as you sigh.

He tugs on your wrist, pulling you to him. Your body falling into him like it’s weightless, like you’re all attitude and feathers. Bringing you close, holding your head to his chest—almost swaying with you.

It always starts like this.

One, long hug. Rooted to the spot. Nothing—not a single thing able to penetrate the two of you. Frozen in a moment no one can ever take. And then, he’ll turn, finding shorts and a different t-shirt, hearing you undress before finding something more comfortable. Sometimes it’s your own, sometimes it’s his.

And fuck, when it’s his.

Your wicked, but sleepy smile is a picture for sore eyes and one he wishes he could take a photo of when you wait for his invite, as if you ever need one to climb into his bed.

Your bodies slide against the mattress. Usually, the springs protest, but the cot you’re sharing just groans in frustration as both of your sets of limbs find their place.

It should feel awkward, but it never does. He shouldn’t crave this, should be able to sleep solidly without a person on his chest. But, he finds he sleeps better with you. Finds that dreams are easier, that there’s more sunshine, more hope and fucking rainbows in the world when you’re on top of him, softly breathing.

“Night, Mari.”

He waits.

Your usual sleepy ‘Soapie’ or ‘Johnny’ blessing his ears. But none come, none. And he almost tenses, almost moves you to see your face.

“You… you don’t mind that we do this, do you?”

His hand tilts your chin up, staring into those eyes, begging them to give him a reason—either to close the gap or begin the process of getting over you. Something. Anything.

Because how could he mind this, when he wants something more?

He’d ask for it too. If he weren’t afraid. The big demolition man scared of losing you, of losing this, by being greedy and wanting more.

“Neve’, lass. I like being the person y’come t’when you need somethin’.”

He doesn’t miss the smile. The soft one. The one which you rarely show, but is bloody beaming for him now.

“It’s only you, Soapie,” you say, curling tighter into him, leaving no space.

And it takes all of his control.

Thoughts of his great-aunt with her harsh accent and wiry moustache to be able to pull you closer. Your head on his chest, fingers dancing up and down your arm as he feels you relax, muscle by muscle.

“Only me, y’say?”

You let out a soft breath, one that dances warmth over his t-shirt—almost over the hair on his chest. “You’re an idiot, Johnny. Course it is, who else?”

And he smiles.

Not at his name, not at the insult, but the fact you’re falling asleep—something you’ve not done for two full days. And it’s on him.

Only him.

He buries the rest of your words. The ‘who else’ and the instant answer that appeared on the tip of his tongue. He can unpack it another time.

There’s something about waking on top of him. Clothes are a horrid, but necessary barrier between the two of you.

You don’t want things to change, for them to spoil, to wilt and fade from grasp. So, you’ll put up with only having this, having him in this way. At least then, you'll always have arms around you that you know won’t hurt you. You’ll accept the hugs, and long for the cuddles; you’ll settle for sleeping alongside him, rather than with him.

And, you won't tell MacTavish that you think he’s handsome, no matter how much he dares you to drink. That even asleep he is beautiful, even minus the evidence of his smile, and the dimples you wish to trace with your fingers. He’s still everything, without being anything.

He’s your best friend, your safety, your person.

He feels like home, a soul that grounds you and keeps you rooted. He makes you better, helps you grow and—

Your fingers draw a circle on his chest. Watching his lashes flutter, his eyes slowly opening, and your throat going dry—like it does each time he looks at you with so much softness.

I think I’m in love with you, Johnny.

That’s what you should say.

Instead, you say, “Morning, Soapie.”

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yuri-is-online · 2 months

Note

Since enough time has passed that I can reasonably assume you saw the Book 7 update, any thoughts on what happened with Kalim and Jamil? It’s certainly interesting how Malleus’s very naive/limited idea of happiness and his lack of understanding of his schoolmates are very much on display here.

The girls are fighting

- 🦐

So I want to get ahead of a few points, namely that "Malleus isn't creating the dreams himself" and I want to point out that while he isn't personally creating each and every detail, when casting the spell he did so with the intention of creating a world in his image of happiness. That means a world where no one knew loss, which he says before using his magic so while it is fair to critique posts like the one I am currently making for claiming "Malleus doesn't know his classmates is putting too much blame on him personally when he isn't tailoring their dreams-"

It isn't exactly because if he did really know his classmates he would understand why his idea of happiness is so flawed, which I think is sort of the idea of the chapter. Malleus does not understand humanity because he is (practically) immortal, and he is actively resistant to it for a variety of reasons, all of which have to do with the fact he is still practically a child. He is experiencing character development because he is growing up, me saying "wow he doesn't understand shit" is not meant to be a personal attack on him it is just me reading the chapter. This bit with Kalim and Jamil really made me think about him weaving a world with no loss into his spell, the dreams are actively removing things that would cause the individual students to experience loss, as a result creating more of it. Kalim loses the real Jamil, but he also loses his gained awareness of the reality of the Scalding Sands's class system. Jamil loses his status as a servant, but he also loses his perspective on life. Going back to the previous dreams, Rook loses Vil's friendship, but gains a world where his idol achieved his dreams. Loss hurts, but it is essential for growth. Malleus hates this because, as he says at the start of Diasomnia, he fails to see why he is so powerful if it doesn't get him what he actually wants. What he wants is Lilia and genuine friendship like he has with Yuu, and his magic can't get him that for real so he's accepting store bought.

Keeping this theme of removing the possibility for loss from people's lives, I'm most curious about what Ruggie and Cater's dreams will be like. Will Ruggie have both his parents? I can't even begin to think about Cater- I think his dream might be genuinely depressing. There's a lot of potential for it to be super disturbing and I kind of hope he gets a card, just because it would suck if his dream was used for comedy. I think that should go to Deuce, I think he should be wearing glasses and using a bunch of big words he doesn't understand and that Ace and Grim should call him a dork.

Speaking of Ace I want his dream to involve Yuu staying in Twisted Wonderland. I am manifesting it, I am begging Miss Yana please, he was so chill about Yuu leaving saying it was a bridge they'd cross when they get there, Miss Yana please I want him to cry. I want him to break down sobbing when he has to admit Yuu can't stay in Twisted Wonderland forever I want his unique magic to manifest in a goddamn dream because of how desperate he is- why are you running and calling emergency services, hello I am so very hinged and not remotely sleep deprived- PLEASE PLEASE PLAESE AKSAJBRGKJRGDRHGJ

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst spoilers #twst book 7 spoilers

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

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For the bangathon…

Can I get 69 with Dieter?

This is such a fun idea! I’m excited!

Kat, of COURSE you can 69 with Dieter! I adore how polite everyone is asking for these drabbles, it makes me feel like a smut barista.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Position: 69

Word Count: 917

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex (m and f receiving), titty fucking, rimming, a glimmer of self-conscious combated by a bit of body positivity for both.

Notes: Hi hello this is my least favorite position for reasons and I just want all of the boys to change my mind so here we gooooooo

Dieter’s endearing smile almost makes up for the dread in the pit of your stomach.

“I dunno, I always feel weird on top like that,” you say, hoping he doesn’t regret letting you into his bed. You were normally up for everything (and then some), but this twinges a little insecurity in your chest that you can’t shake.

“Oh,” is all Dieter says, looking up at you from where you’re leaning over him. “That’s okay, I’ll be on top if you like that better.”

Your eyebrows shoot clean off your face (you imagine).

“Oh,” you parrot back, shock slowly receding. Dieter’s smile turns from carefree to incredibly devilish.

“Lay down, baby,” he purrs, slipping his hands along your skin until you’re flat on the bed, dipping in for a sweet kiss that turns filthy. He shuffles to press his mouth down between your breasts, along the line of your stomach and one final slick purse of hips lips on your clit. Your body is humming by then, hands weaving their own sensual path along Dieter’s thighs, the little pooch of stomach that forms when he’s on all fours, and the delicate curve of his lower back.

“Knees up,” he commands, tapping your calves. Your brow furrows but you comply, folding them up to your chest, your bare pussy spread out for him. A low groan rumbles in his chest as he leans over you, planting his hands on either side of your hips with your knees tucked into his armpits. His broad shoulders pin and press you down, heart hammering at this vulnerability. It's new and intoxicating, and when Dieter presses your knees wide and further down to the bed your hips curl onto his waiting tongue.

“Oh fuck,” you rasp, completely at Dieter’s mercy as he licks a slow, snaking stripe from your clit down to your entrance, teasing the tip inside. Pinned as you are you can’t move closer or further away, only taking what Dieter gives you no matter how intense. Your nails dig into the back of his thighs, hips still off to the side.

“That’s it, baby, see how good I can make you feel?” he preens into your cunt, finally lifting his knee to settle over your face. Before he can get another lick in, you lap at the underside of his cock, scratching your nails along the back of his thighs before taking one of his balls into your mouth.

“Oh shit, baby, ohhhhh you’re gonna make me bust on those beautiful tits if you keep doing that,” Dieter moans, confident facade slipping before he messily circles your clit, spit and your arousal dripping down. Angling his cock, you suck him in and urge his hips to shallowly fuck into your waiting mouth, tongue curling while playfully squeezing his cheeks. He begins flicking your clit in time with his thrusts, rocking harder against your cunt so the thick bridge of his nose can tease your folds. You’re both humming and whining at the other’s efforts, Dieter finally pulling away from your hot mouth.

“Can I fuck your tits? Want to cum on them so fucking badly,” he begs, request shredded with desire as he suckles your clit like a promise. Guiding his cock between your breasts, the slick spit lets him slide easily through the plush channel. He practically wails, a debauched wretched noise that makes your cunt throb.

You have Dieter in a mess over you, and you caused it.

The tiny cleft of his butt is right by your face, tensing with his thrusts growing rapidly forceful. He redoubles his effort to rip an orgasm through you, sucking and spitting and lapping anything that makes you moan. He feels close, your own not so far behind, when a wicked thought tickles your brain. You’d never done it before, but looking at his sweet little ass so close to your lips, the pretty pink of his asshole, makes you bold. Leaning up, you swirl the tip of your tongue over his tight hole and press.

Dieter shouts, hips stuttering as he spills suddenly between your tits and over your stomach. His thighs shake, your tongue still pulsing against that fluttering ring of muscle as his breaths slow and fade into weak gasps. Once you’re sure you’ve soothed him through his aftershocks you lean back down, admiring the sheen of your spit and his cum sliding along your belly. You also admire Dieter’s strong thighs around your head, the way his tummy dips, the dimples of flesh around his hips. Maybe you shouldn’t feel so self-conscious on top anymore. There’s a beauty in the vulnerability and trust that this allows.

“Oh baby, you just rocked my fucking world, holy shit,” Dieter gasps, shifting off to flop on his back beside you. You tangle your fingers with his, pulling his palm to kiss.

“That was fun. I’d be up for doing it again,” you say coyly to get the face-cracking smile you covet.

“All right, enough talk, get up here and sit on my face,” he urges, tugging you closer. You wrinkle your nose.

“Let me wipe your cum off first,” you placate, but he’s already pulling you up his body.

“I want it to drip in my mouth while I’m tongue-fucking you to another dimension,” he husks, licking your stomach as if to prove it to you.

“Filthy,” you chide, but you’re already straddling his head and gripping the headboard.

“You love it,” he quips back.

And oh, you do.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble fanfiction #prolix fics

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catknifetime · 1 year

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The Wheel of Time Ajahs ranking + reasoning. From best to worst. Inspired by a late night conversation I had with my sibling. (Full series spoilers)

1: Brown. They are the best Ajah for 2 reasons, one: they actually do what their Ajah is supposed to do and don’t just fuck around doing politics like roughly 80% of the other Aes Sedai. And two: they are, on average, some of the least insufferable Aes Sedai to talk to. + Verin bias.

2: Blue. They, like the Browns, do also actually do what their Ajah is supposed to do. The unfortunate thing is that what the Blue are supposed to do is basically whatever they want. But they seem generally the most likely to actually help normal people and be invested in making the world better. + Moiraine bias.

3: Grey. They also do their stated job pretty well and consistently. They are the last Ajah until the Red (arguably the white) to do so. tbh the Grey is mostly here because we get so little information on what they’re actually like. But they seem to be doing a pretty good job and not fucking up in any significant way, so they get 3rd.

4: Green. I like the green Ajah. They just don’t really do what they say they do. “The Battle Ajah”? Really? So why aren’t you in the borderlands helping with fighting shadowspawn? Or doing anything actually? Because I thought about it for a while, and I genuinely can’t remember a major thing that the Greens were doing, as a group, before the last battle. But they’re generally pretty cool and when the last battle did actually happen they showed up.

5: White. They’re fine, just the ones we’ve seen seem pretty annoying to talk to. They also are actually philosophers and mathematicians, but from what I can tell they don’t have a ton of contact with philosophers and mathematicians from outside of The Tower. Which is not really good practice if you want to advance those fields. So they fail at their stated job by not actually sharing their work enough. Basically they’re the much less cool and more annoying browns.

6: Yellow. AAAAHHHHH!!!!! The way the Yellows act makes me unspeakably mad. First, they completely disregard traditional medicine, because they can do stuff with the power better. HEY WHAT THE FUCK? The power has limits, especially with healing. Aes Sedai say that constantly throughout the series. But NO. No studying how traditional medicine could teach you more about the body. No seeing if some herbs could help with the recovery from healing. No interest in learning anything new! The most understandable kinda stupid thing they do is that they don’t research new healing weaves out of fear. But the second and worst thing is that they call themselves the healing Ajah, but from what I can tell don’t heal ANYONE who doesn’t come to The Tower or they just happen to heal out in the world. Again, HEY WHAT THE FUCK? There should be HOSPITALS!! At least one small one in every major city. Or at least in a few? I know there’s a problem of them not being able to heal everything, but they could still save a lot of people! Especially if they recruited people who could use normal medicine! But no. They seem to be the worst offenders of sitting on their asses in The Tower just doing politics.

7: Red. Do I really need to explain why Red is the worst? If you’ve read the series you know why I’m doing this. They are literally such a fuck-up of an Ajah that at the time of the series the there hasn’t been an Amyrlin raised from the Red for OVER 1,000 YEARS because the last one was such a disaster. And then when there is a Red raised to Amyrlin during the series she literally causes The Tower to completely fracture and have a little civil war when THE END OF THE WORLD is about to happen. And even though they technically do their job of dealing with men who can channel, they do a really bad job at it (specifically in how they treat the men after gentling, I go into it here). As well as the fact that most red sisters aren’t actually hunting men who can channel. Like 50 of them are at most. That’s 1/4 of the Ajah that’s doing it’s job. Also The Box was the Red Ajah’s idea.

#the wheel of time #wheel of time #wheel of time book spoilers #wot #aes sedai #verin mathwin #moiraine damodred

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eris-snow · 2 years

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𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Tags: Proposal, gn!reader x bakugou, fluff

Have It All is a really good song that is all at the back of our minds but close to the garbage can of "I don't need to remember this." Makes a great proposal song if you ask me.

Something's wrong with Bakugou.

For one, he ditches his only free day in the month to disappear into thin air. He's gone for 5 hours straight, without a single text or call to notify you as if he was a literal ghost.

Next, after goodness knows how long, he simply forwards a simple image to you. Three words hover right beneath his message. "Meet me now."

An order.

A demand.

You blow out your breath in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with this guy?" You huffed, shooting up from where you laid down on the couch.

The photo is one of your usual getaway: The sandy beach nearby his parents' house. It was where the both of you would go whenever things got too rough, a practice ever since high school started for the both of you.

You and Bakugou would splay a picnic blanket on the ground, eating fast food while star-gazing as you both fill each other in on the latest happenings that occurred.

Sometimes, you would walk along the shores of the beach, kicking water at Bakugou just to see how he reacts. When you first started dating, he'd hiss at you like a cat, yelling at you as he placed your head in a headlock.

Now, Bakugou simply smirks, cocking a cheeky eyebrow. "You asked for it." He grins.

Maybe it wasn't really romantic when he would chase you around for minutes, scream phrases like "COME HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT." with a completely straight face. But that was just how you and Bakugou were.

He was never like that to begin with.

As the wind combs through your untidy hair, you swiftly take a glance around the sparkling beach that holds so many memories to you. The sand weaves its way in between your toes the minute you step foot on the beach as you glance around in search of your partner.

"I swear to God Katsuki, the second I find you I'll-"

The minute your voice starts to rise, you hear the faint sound of a music track playing from across the beach.

It was where It’s only then that you see your boyfriend, dressed in a full black suit standing in the distance where the track is playing.

“May you have auspiciousness and causes of success, may you have the confidence to always do your best…” Lyrics of a song you knew so well started to be sung beautifully.

Yep. Your boyfriend had definitely gone insane.

Weary but curious, you wandered closer, his frame growing larger and larger until you could hear the music’s instrumentals blaring loudly in the background. “K-Katsuki…?” He grinned at you, microphone held up to his lips as his red eyes locked with yours. “And may the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows,” You laugh, hands held up to your face, touched. Bakugou never did anything this corny for anyone. Not even you.

Yet here he was, singing one of your favourite songs whilst standing in a full dressed tux on a beach.

“And may the road less paved be the road that you follow," Oh, god, if this were a dream, don't let anyone wake you up. Bakugou's voice is raspy and perfect, hitting every note with ease as he tips the microphone to his lips.

"Well here's to the hearts that you're gonna break,

Here's to the lives that you're gonna change

Here's to the infinite possible ways to love you

I want you to have it

Here's to the good times we're gonna have

You don't need money, you got a free pass

Here's to the fact that I'll be sad without you."

Bakugou pulls you closer, smirk never leaving his face as he utters a final sentence. "I want you to have it all."

"Katsuki..." You chuckle, shaking your head in disbelief as he drops the microphone down on the sand. "What's all this...?"

Had you missed something? An anniversary, his birthday, a special occasion? There's no other reason for him to be doing such a thing. "Y/n," He finally speaks, and you wonder how he still looks so beautiful in the sunlight, dusk drawing near.

"You are the best, most amazing person on this god damn planet." You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief as he grabs your arms. "Don't you shake your head, believe me. You're the best thing to ever happen to me and don't you fucking deny it."

He steadies his breath as the wind howls around you. "I want you by my side forever." Bakugou's voice is a whisper now as he drops down on one knee. Your breath hitches, mouth agape in awe because there's no way the Katsuki Bakugou-

"Y/n," He breathes, and tears flood your eyes because he just continues on. "I love all of you, with all of my fucking soul."

There's not an ounce of doubt in his voice, his eyes shining with hope and adoration and love as he looks up at you. "Will you marry me?"

You savour this feeling eyes brimming with pearls of water as the ocean roars beside you. He's waiting, the entire world's waiting, but time seems like a fickle thing as you gaze at the man that had captured your heart.

"Yes!" You shout, breathless, wiping your tears away.

"Of course, Katsuki, yes!"

He grins and shoots to his feet, racing to hug you and twirl you around in a circle. "I knew you'd say that,"

The both of you kiss, sweet and perfect. "You're my everything, Dumbass," Bakugou lips when you part.

"You deserve to have it all."

#mha #mha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #my hero academia #bakugou fluff #fluff #bakugou katuski x reader

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thecoffeelovingfreak · 1 year

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𝒊𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕

chapter IV of and her heart is a bird on a spit in her chest

Pairing: Teenage!Arlecchino x gn!Teenage!Reader

Genres: angst, light hurt/comfort, politics & law, friends to lovers

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: themes of corruption and crime, violence, graphic depictions of murder, blood, mild angst

1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | epilogue

~~~

The near-silence of the market square left a foreboding sensation on the back of your neck. Signs of dark shades broadcasted closed, a stark contrast to your previous visit. The reason for it was not unbeknownst to you however, as word of a protest at Place des Marées had haunted you since you left the orphanage with Manon just an hour earlier.

Things had changed in Fontaine during the last three weeks, and whether they were for better or worse had yet to be seen. Civil unrest had risen, and citizens were making their thoughts known to the establishments of justice here in the capital. Whispers of reconnaissance by the court and hidden resistances had circulated the streets; there was no doubt that both were watching.

Although part of you felt trepidation at the uprising, another part of you was eager to witness it.

With this in mind, you said, “There is practically no point in shopping today, we might as well leave.”

Manon huffed and stopped walking, her long dark coat hitting the back of her calves abruptly. “I suppose so.”

You crossed the small cobblestone street and took her hand in yours. You could tell there was a keen glint in your eye, causing your partner to raise her eyebrow.

“Would you take note of the open shops? We will stop and buy what we can before going back to the orphanage, but for now, I’d like to join those at the Place des Marées.”

“Of course, boss.” she teased, “And we will keep half of the money for ourselves, too.”

“Of course, boss.” you reiterated with a joyful smirk, enjoying the brief moment.

“We can’t both be in charge, __.” she quipped, reciprocating your expression though to a lesser degree.

“Maybe so, but do you expect for me to just let you be the boss?”

“No, but I do expect for you to give in to my demands.”

With a small huff, you shook your head and rounded a corner.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she smirked, causing heat to rise to your cheeks as you continued walking to the Place des Marées.

—

Any light-hearted atmosphere dissipated once you arrived at the square. A large crowd of people were dispersed around the area, some standing or sitting, and others shouting or holding a sign. Cries for those falsely convicted, those unfairly sentenced, those without proper representation, and those given no trial to receive freedom and rightful justice rang out through the citizens. Officers sat at the ready in front of the courthouse and around the crowd.

The various shades of grey in the sky rumbled, but no one seemed to mind.

You weaved through the crowd with Manon's hand still in yours, trying to get to the center of it all.

The middle of the square housed a large gold statue of the current chief justice. His stoic countenance looked down on the citizens from his large booth, creating a feeling of disdain in your chest.

"How long have you been here?" you asked someone sitting on the stone base circle of the statue's planter box.

"About 2 hours, but over half of the people have been here for 3."

"I see. Thank you."

There was no doubt that by the fourth hour, the number of enforcements would have doubled.

Manon tugged on your hand, bringing your gaze back to her fiery eyes. Her sharp, angled pupils appeared like lines of fresh lava across hardened rock, making your previous trepidation vanish upon seeing her determination. She released your hand before climbing up onto the stone planter box and reaching out for you. You took her hand once more and let her aid in bringing you up to her side. The motions repeated, and you felt eyes boring into your back as you stood on the statue's lap beside Manon.

From where you stood you could see out across the entire square, and you wondered if Neuvillette’s eyes could see the entire city from where he gazed.

“May I please have your attention!” Manon demanded, immediately sending thousands of eyes her way.

Your eyes were torn between her and the audience, but you felt it best to observe her spectacle.

"People of Fontaine! We have felt the repercussions of the unjust actions of those leading us for far too long. Every single one of you standing here now is here because your life has been altered due to this. The crimes of people like him," she began, pointing up to the chief justice's face, "have proceeded to shed our blood and trap us in cells, factories, or filth, while newspapers are given false reports or bought off. Our archon treats us like toys – as if we are not beings but puppets, existing simply for her hedonistic ends. Enough is enough! There is no need for such fault and fodder anymore if it can only exist like this!"

Cheers and shouts of support sounded from below you as Manon grabbed your hand and sent a solid, affirming gaze your way – the blaze of fury in her eyes bright as ever.

You turned to the expectant crowd, lifting your joint hands and shouting, "May today mark the beginning of the end of our plight! Vive la révolution!"

Thunder clapped once more and rain began falling. Citizens reciprocated the action as officers closed in, their numbers increased just as you had thought. It seemed time was up. Reporters and spies finished their duties before leaving the square in conspicuous and inconspicuous ways. The details of the scene faded as proud and emboldened shades of black and red came into view once more.

Manon was something secure amidst the instability of the nation's climates – her never-ending drive infectious and her leadership inspiring. You couldn't help but wonder just how influential she could become.

—

The bright aureate rays of the sunset sent a golden glow across the many dirtied fruits sprawling out from your heavy wicker basket, laying tipped over and rocking lightly back and forth. Your feet pounded against the cobblestone, worry falling on your features as Manon raced ahead of you. She had voiced suspicions about the atmosphere surrounding the orphanage, and as you got closer she appeared more on edge, sending a nervous feeling into your stomach.

The front door was left slightly ajar, and Manon had swung it fully open, rushing into the entryway. Her head shifted in multiple directions before she turned halfway back to you.

The building was oddly silent. There was no trace of any person, the children's belongings organized about now gone. All that remained were the director's decorations. It was unnerving – the stark difference in the building when all of the kids were gone.

Light heeled footsteps echoed down the main hall as a figure in a blue and white frilled dress entered your view.

"What happened here?" Manon asked the director, looking over at her with accusation.

“Le Commerce Quinquennal.” Vivienne replied simply, walking between you both to the large mahogany door.

“What is that?” you questioned, turning around to watch the director’s precise movements.

“Something neither of you will ever have to worry about,” she said, leveling her gaze with yours. “Now please… go pick up that poor produce and bring it to the kitchen for me.”

You watched her as you walked out of the door, blood thrumming through your veins. You heard Manon’s sharp voice interrogate the director, but her avoidant quips in response were quickly ending the conversation.

As you picked up the dusty fruits and vegetables, you started formulating a plan to discover what this orphanage was.

—

Low light cast dubious shadows over the light blue walls of the main hall. Vivienne’s office sat at the end, the dark door ominous. Her bedroom was only one room down from where you stayed with Manon, both of them on opposite sides in the middle of the long hall.

After discussing your ideas with Manon the previous night, you were ready to move forward with what you concurred was the best current option.

Investigating the Director’s office.

You stepped out into the hall first, facing her tall door and the light still peeking out from beneath it. Keeping your breath low and footsteps light, you walked along the wall to her door before beckoning Manon to follow. You pulled out a spare bobby pin you had found in the bedroom – it would be simple enough to pick an inside door. You had done it plenty of times before.

After inserting the pin into the lock, you heard the sharp click that signified the door was unlocked. You looked behind you at Manon and nodded quickly before gazing behind her at Vivienne’s door.

Still closed.

You rapidly opened the door before shutting and locking it quietly behind you both.

Manon remained silent as she walked directly to the director’s desk, sorting through the papers neatly stacked on top of it. You stood watch by the door, yet still attempted to sort through her nearby bookshelf to see if you could find anything of note. She had been in this room a few times before, the first being when she initially arrived. You put her in charge of investigating the areas that were likely to contain the most answers due to that.

The only papers on the surface that could hold any meaning were the orphanage’s funds. Since you were visiting the market today, it was likely that Vivienne wanted to review what the establishment had. What piqued Manon’s interest the most were the payments deposited into the funds and occasionally to Vivienne herself. They were from a person marked as nothing but Captain, with a few from the Jester. They were simple titles, but they sparked an out-of-place remembrance.

“Have you ever heard of the Captain or the Jester?” she asked you with a whisper.

You looked at her quizzically, but there was a hint of familiarity in your eyes that she could see even in the dim light.

“No,” you replied with a slight shake of your head, turning back to go through the books once more.

It was a lie, but she was unsure of your motives to do so.

She placed the book of finances down, moving onto the large drawers along the sides of the desk. She pulled out the first, unveiling labeled manilas of the orphanage’s past deals and business. There was a file longly marked SN-F. LCQ. CoF-OdlFS. Manon knew what the abbreviations meant.

Upon setting the file on the desk’s surface and opening it, she was greeted by papers, contracts, and court reports showing a history of scheming since the orphanage was created.

Snezhnaya had an agreement with Fontaine that laid out the formation of Le Commerce Quinquennal. Factories would be established in Snezhnaya that would allow for Fontaine to use a portion of the nation’s resources for their own gain while sending “convicts” to the factories as workers. In turn, Orphelinat de la Fleuve Sinueux would be established in Fontaine for Snezhnaya among a couple of other orphanages. Children would be purposefully sent to them to be taken care of and raised while gaining life experience. Every five years, the children from the orphanage would be exchanged with Snezhnaya for a select group of workers equal in number to the group of children.

Manon’s thoughts were racing as she quickly gathered the information and placed it back into its spot in the drawer. She closed it and leaned down to open the second, her nerves on edge.

“We’re still clear,” you spoke, picking up on her growing stress.

She ignored you as she looked over the files, seeing both yours and hers with the rest of the children’s. In a moment of impaired judgment, she removed your file and opened it on Vivienne’s chair. She already knew things from your past, but she did not expect to find what she did.

Your father was an agent for the Fatui who would monitor their port deliveries and dealings along the Côte des Pêcheurs, making him the one locally in charge of the eastern coastal regions.

Manon looked up and made eye contact with you.

Light steps could be heard approaching the room.

Her mind was jumbled, but she still shoved your file back into the drawer before securing the organization of the desk and taking your hand. She brought you behind the couch to hide, taking the safer precaution than hiding behind Vivienne’s desk.

The sound of a key turning and the door opening filled her with an uncomfortable fear.

The older woman huffed as she approached her desk, retrieving the finance book and one of her pens, as well as a small stack of papers. She looked out at the room with a focus on the fireplace.

"Furina and her contumelious remarks," the director uttered, "When will she simply let me be."

Manon's eyebrows furrowed as she heard Vivienne's statement. Perhaps the archon and the director were on worse terms than she suspected.

As the door latched shut, Manon listened to the receding echo of footsteps and lightly shook her head.

She leveled her gaze with yours, noticing the odd appearance of fight in your eyes.

"We have to escape – now or never." you voiced, something unnerving now swimming in your glossy eyes.

"I agree," Manon responded, observing the rise of derangement in your demeanor. It seemed that she was not the only one who had made a shocking and terrible discovery.

—

The murky night was hardly visible through the glared glass of the train car.

Your escape was successful, but it was only the beginning of your journey. Gathering your belongings and sneaking out of the orphanage was simple, but navigating the dark alleyways to the train station was tedious. Luckily, you were skilled in avoiding officers.

The train station was hesitant to provide you and Manon with tickets on a midnight car, but with a few extra dollars, they did not bat an eye. Neither did the conductor or the attendants, who should have noticed you after the speech at the square the previous day.

Most of the city did, you realized, as those not in attendance would have seen newspapers headlined ‘Les Fous Perfides', Marie Donnadieu and __ __, call for revolution at Place des Marées protest, just as you did on your trek here.

The smooth movements of dark water rested underneath the sturdy glass floor of the train car as it ran along the eastbound aqueduct. You were returning to the Côte des Pêcheurs in order to find a fisherman or travel boat that would take you across the Mer Glacée to the Vetreny Port in Snezhnaya.

—

As you exit the train car and descended the stone steps, you came face to face with your hometown, Mélodie des Vagues. Your family had a mixed reputation here, with some people thinking well of your parents and others terribly. You took Manon’s hand as you walked the familiar streets, being reminded of the past at every turn. Some shopkeepers and Fatui agents gave you welcoming smiles in hope of a word or two, but your steeled gaze kept them away. While you usually would have felt guilty for the needless abrasiveness, you had a goal in mind that was on limited time.

You knew Manon could perceive the situation well from beside you, but you had to bury your doubts and fears of her questioning more about your background.

The longer you spent in the town, the more danger you were in.

You couldn’t share everything with Manon, even if you wanted to. The secrets of your family were to be taken to the grave, especially after your mother’s death.

Vivienne knew half of them somehow, but with what you read in her diary, you could tell she had some history with your parents. Why she never gave you any hint of your connection, you could not guess, but from what you read and knew of her, she was an expert in facade.

You were not far from the dock by now – all you needed to find was someone who would bring you to the land of eternal winter. You stopped to ask a few people sitting along crates, but they would not be loading up and leaving until sunrise, something that was still two hours away. That would be far too long to wait.

There was a sign propped up nearby showing the times of arrival and departure for passenger ships, but one would not be arriving for three hours, and the other would not be departing until noon.

With no other people close to their ships or you, you decided to ask an angler sorting through their supplies if they could take you to Snezhnaya. They said yes, and that they would be leaving with their crew in fifteen minutes.

It was your only option.

You heard nothing from Manon beside you, and looking at her features you could see a storm brewing.

Bringing one of your hands to cup her cheek, you rubbed your thumb over the arch.

“Speak your mind, Manon,” you whispered.

She looked apprehensive, yet still brought her hand to rest over your wrist before sighing in reluctance.

“I have discovered many unpleasant things tonight, and I am simply trying to sort through them all, ma lumière.”

You hummed, “So have I. When we leave this place, we will have all of the time in the world to figure it out together.”

“I suppose so.” she voiced with a small smile, rubbing her own thumb over the prominent veins of your wrist.

You watched as her eyes softened slightly, before moving over your shoulder and instantly hardening.

You raised an eyebrow and turned your head to follow her line of sight. Waiting for you was a tall figure wrapped in a dark coat with a hand resting heavily on a silver-laced cane. One of their eyes was scarred in a manner that was all too familiar to you.

“What do you want, Henri?” you asked him sternly.

“You know why I am here, __.” he replied, taking a step forward.

Manon brought her arm in front of you, trying to shield you from the threat. You pushed her arm down and took another step forward to match his.

“The death of your father had nothing to do with me. That was simply the business between our parents and you know this.”

“Yet their business still became ours didn’t it?” they queried, tilting their head. “If it were not for your petty little siren tricks, I would not still be facing the difficulties that I am now.”

“Your self-hatred has never been an issue involving me. The only reason you are facing these difficulties is because you attacked me years ago with this same belief.”

He took another step forward. “Where’s your brother, __? Did he finally leave you too?”

Manon tugged you back to her.

“You’re well connected, Henri, you should know.”

He chuckled dryly before standing taller. Within one swift movement, he had pulled a pistol of pyro from his coat and shot it straight through your heart.

Manon watched wide-eyed as you fell to your knees on the damp dock. The nearby citizens were panicked, but some were too afraid to move. She assumed this show of violence was not an uncommon occurrence here.

“The siren’s one weakness – fire straight into a heart of water.” Henri whispered as they turned and began fleeing the scene.

Manon was shocked by the news of your nature, and increasingly worried about your health as she knew very little of what one would need to recover from such a drastic injury. All that Atlas had ever taught her about the species was that although they had blood, it was severely watered down due to the fact that the chambers of their heart were created from the sea.

“What do you need?” she questioned, hands moving over you unceremoniously.

You grasped at your throat and chest, almost unable to speak. “End… him…” you voiced dryly.

Manon shook her head, “I’m not leaving you here.”

You moved a hand to her shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your gaze met hers, and she instantly felt compelled to hear your every word.

“Go,” you said sadly.

She did.

Henri had not gotten very far, at least for the speed at which Manon was silently traveling. She grasped his shoulder and threw them into the nearest alley. His body landed with a thump, their cane rolling into another metallic object obscured in darkness. She heard none of their words as she began tearing at his face, leaving shreds of bloodied and burnt flesh on the stone ground. Their screams were soon silenced as Manon made her way down his body, blindly and furiedly completing the task she was given. It had been years since she last treated someone this way, but a part of her deep inside missed the thrill and brutality of it.

No one came searching for him, or to investigate the situation.

Manon returned to the dock, blood dripping from her clawed fingertips and her clothes. Sinew was stuck under her fingernails, and parts of her coat were burned.

None of it mattered to her, though, as you were not there waiting for her at the dock. In fact, there was no one remaining.

She ran through nearby buildings, gaining many stares as she did so. She tore through supplies and crates with no regard for the property. She looked over the docked ships, but still to no avail.

Finally, she looked down into the water that now began to lighten with the blossoming sunrise. Tears began to rise in her eyes for the first time in a month, her mind reeling from the day and her heart aching.

You were either dead or gone. And she failed to protect you or help you when you needed it most.

But why would you send her away? Was it all a lie? Or were you afraid of her realizing the reality of your life?

None of it mattered to her anymore. All she wanted was to find you again.

#and her heart is a bird on a spit in her chest #ahhbshc #coff writes for genshin🍵#genshin arlecchino #fatui arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #fatui harbingers #the knave #genshin #genshin spoilers #fontaine

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deadend-if · 2 months

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Okay look,, this was a lot longer than I planned it to be,, it was supposed to be half the length it is now, but oh well 💪😔

Anyway, I said I would post it today so here it is, the first of (possibly) many short stories. 💥💥

Santi's apprenticeship short story (under the cut)

There's nothing wrong with being a little early. Making a good impression on their mentor is more important than any discomfort from the blazing sun and honking cars. June Ko was someone Santi had been following for years, this is a dream come true. Her art style was something they always admired. The tattoos she creates move flawlessly with every curve and ridge of the body. They're bold, sharp, and elegant in a way Santi can only hope to recreate one day. The only reason they're not as nervous as they probably should be is, well, they've met her before. Evidence of their meeting is permanently etched on their body. They instinctively trace the dancing swirl of black and grey smoke that wraps around their body from shoulder blade to forearm. It weaves around a wilting bouquet of butterfly jasmine on their bicep. It cost them a pretty penny, but they don't regret a single cent.

This meeting was their first step into finally doing what they've been wanting to do for years. Even during their college years, art was the only thing on their mind. Now, after too long, they can finally prove that their fine arts minor wasn't pointless.

Santi checks their watch, sleek with brown leather and black accents. It was a graduation gift from their grandfather and about the same price as one month's rent. Santi pulled at the earrings on their left earlobe. Guilt prickles down their shoulders as they picture his disappointment, ceaseless in its haunting. He expected more, but what else was there to give?

A shout breaks their train of thought, whipping their head around at the sound of a slamming car door.

“Is that you, Vega? You're way early, dude.”

Oh, shit. Was that not right? Santi blanked for a second, thinking up a response as June leisurely made her way over. Strike one. They didn't think 10:45 was that early.

“Nothin’ better to do. Just thought I'd get a head start,” they finally respond after what feels like an eternity of June twirling her keys on her finger. They check their watch again as their new mentor unlocks the door. It's only been a minute. This day is far from over.

A bell jingles on their way in, and the first thing June does is flip on the lights. They flicker before settling into a bright, sterile white, illuminating the concrete floor and exposed brick walls. The shop is sectioned off with half-walls just past the front desk. Checkered tiles cause Santi’s boots to echo in the open space and they stand for a moment, taking it all in. They’ve been to a handful of different tattoo shops. It never gets old to see frames upon frames of art and knick-knacks stacked over the walls. The old-fashioned feel of Velvet Ink has got to be one of their favorites.

“Did you bring your portfolio? Tell me what you've been up to since we last talked.” June doesn't waste any time weaving through the lounge, grabbing a single folding chair leaning on the side of the wall beside the red leather couch. She doesn't need to look back to see if Santi is following, they trail after her like a lost puppy.

“I got it right here-” they lift their shoulder bag in emphasis, “I've been practicing on fake skin since we spoke, I have a few I wanted to show you, but they're nothing huge.”

“Wow, you're on that shit, huh? Sounds about right, knowing you.” June chuckles as she sifts through her desk. She swipes a few things into a drawer, making space for Santi's portfolio.

“Okay, hand it over. Let's see what you've added.”

“It's not that much-”

“I didn't ask how much it was, kid, I asked you to hand it over,” she retorts, tapping the table. Santi sits down in the folding chair June dragged over and begins to sift through their bag. They feel a twinge of annoyance, smothered by embarrassment. They haven't been called kid in a long time, but seeing the peppering of grey in her long black hair makes them feel a little less patronized.

Instead of responding, Santi dropped the binder on June's desk. They dug around for a few of the fake skin sheets. When they pulled it out, June took it, her thumb tracing a circle to feel the texture. She huffed in amusement but didn’t comment. It's not like they bought the expensive stuff, just a cheap machine kit, black ink, and a few sheets of fake skin. They learned only to buy the nice stuff once they could actually draw a line without ripping through the material. Having a heavy hand while sketching never bothered them, but it's a nightmare when tattooing.

“Looks good for a first attempt,” she said, breaking the silence of the empty shop. June traced a finger down some of the darker portions. She admires the piece depicting an animal skull, a bear, being carefully cracked down the middle by human fingers on either side.

“You need to be lighter in some places, but your art is beautiful. You have a real understanding of technique, but it won't transfer to the body the way you're thinking it will.”

That's high praise coming from someone as skilled as June, Santi gives her a weak smile as they tug their tongue piercing with their teeth. They spend another half an hour discussing their art with June and getting a very short lesson on how to use the transfer paper printers in the shop.

The bell rings in the front as two people walk in, nudging each other and laughing up a storm. Santi sits up straighter to get a better look. It then clicks that they both work here, their profiles are on Velvet Ink's website. The both of them have unique styles from what they can remember.

The taller one with short, choppy blonde bangs, known as Sawyer, has a neo-traditional style. They use a lot of bright colors and bold lines, their style is something Santi has never considered having a tattoo of, but they couldn't help but attempt a few neo-traditional artworks after they spent almost an hour scrolling through their social media.

The other artist dabbles in many styles, but they're popular for their watercolor tattoos. Santi thinks idly that her multicolored pastel hair makes her look exactly as her art does. What was her name again? It was a flower, that's for sure. Lily, maybe? They can't remember.

June greets the both of them as they walk in, and they cheer her name in sync.

“June! Is that your new apprentice?” Sawyer asks, B-lining it over to them.

“Yeah, Sawyer, Iris, meet Santi-” June gets quickly interrupted by who they now know as Iris.

“Woah! That’s sick, can I see that?” She leans over the half-wall, pointing to the many sheets of artwork on June’s desk.

“You alright with that, kid?”

“Yeah, go for it, some of them are kind of old though,” Santi gathers a few of their favorite pieces in their clammy hands and passes them over to Iris, they can only hope she didn’t notice them shaking. Sawyer peaks their head over her shoulder to make their own assessment at the same time, reaching over and pointing out a few details. Santi can’t see them from where they sit, so they wait (im)patiently for them to finish their appraisals.

“Huh, you took classes, didn’t you?” Sawyer has their eyebrows raised, seemingly impressed by what they see.

“I got a minor in fine art, yeah.”

“I can tell, this is some good stuff, let me know if you need a canvas-” their striking green gaze pans to the torn-up fake skin, “actually, on second thought, I’ll wait a bit longer on that.”

“Ah, I’ve got a heavy hand,” Santi responds, sheepishly tugging on their septum piercing with a wide grin.

“That's fine! You’ll just need tougher clients,” Iris jokes with a wink.

“Don’t give them any ideas, Iris. It’s their first day,” June cuts in, fondly exasperated with her coworkers.

“Just because they’re new, doesn’t mean they get any special treatment. Isn’t that right, Sawyer?” For a moment, Sawyer stares off into the distance as Iris pats their forearm with a cheeky grin. They grow quiet when June doesn’t respond right away. She looks at the practice design from earlier, something soft smooths the crow’s feet around her eyes. There’s a flutter in Santi’s stomach, making a home right below their ribcage as June traces the lines for a second time.

“You’ll get used to it, Santi. I have no doubt you’ll fit right in,” June says, and Santi can’t help but agree.

#RO: short story #ro: s #dead end if #character study

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poppetsisters · 1 year

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How did the Fantastic Four cosplay get made?

It started with an idea: to create the most comic accurate fantastic four costume possible. Already I'm hit with the question "but there's so many suits in the comics, so which suit will you choose?" I decided the easiest answer would be "The First One"

Okay I meant "The Second One."

There we go.

Now this costume is not the same as the the costume they wear for the majority of the Kirby run. By issue 6, the costume above was phased out for one without a turtleneck, a blue ring around the 4, a thinner belt, and no drop shadow on the 4. The only change I prefer is that Susan is no longer wearing high heels.

I like the first design better for its distribution of color. The thicker belt just reads nicer to my eyes, and the blue ring around the 4 makes no sense to me. Blue on blue? I also just really like turtlenecks.

Tangent aside, once I decided on a costume, it was time to get to work on the design. Part of the reason I made a Fantastic Four costume retrospective was in preparation for this project. Using the combined lore of the F4 costumes, I could synthesize the most accurate design possible, and my findings can be found below.

I've seen a lot of cosplays too, and part of my secondary goal was to avoid a lot of their shortcomings. I didn't want any bad materials, so I did my research and found materials that best fit my autism texture preferences. I also wanted to be very precise about where the gloves, belt, boots, and turtleneck were placed, hence why I decided to sew them all on, rather than be separate pieces. In an ideal world, there would've been no zipper, but what good is a suit you can't put on?

My brightest idea was separating the leotard from the trousers, instead of having one body suit. This was done as a practical measure to prevent tearing (which is exactly why real strong men in the circus wore them, which in turn inspired Superman's design, and the rest is history. For the F4, I interpreted Jack's artwork as a leotard, or maybe just underpants on the outside. As far as I'm aware, no cosplayer has noticed or applied this to their suit.

Next was a matter of finding someone to make this. I'm an artist, not a tailor after all. Twitter bots flooded my DMs, but what didn't disappoint me was Etsy. I DM'd a few sellers, gauging their personality and their previous work. I settled on PingPing, who you can find here: https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/PingPing

Their portfolio was exactly what I was looking for, and they were wonderful to work with. They asked for additional measurements, were up-front about materials, and were very fast!

Here's the catch. Their page says they use polyester spandex, which was what I wanted, but when they got back to me about materials, they gave me a nylon spandex blend. This made me nervous because I didn't know how this material felt, but every website I read told me it was ideal for sportswear and moving around as it was comfy and good at keeping sweat in, which was what I was looking for regardless.

The real issue was that nylon and spandex is one of the worst fabrics for printing. Nylon/Spandex doesn't do well with a heat press, either melting the fabric or causing shrinkage. In addition, the tight weave makes it really hard to allow flex in printed elements, not to mention adherence.

Their solution to this was to stitch on the logo, but I watched the 1994 Fantastic Four movie where they did just that, and it looked like crap! I took a big risk and told them that I would do the printing myself. I live in Toronto after all, surely there's at least one shop in the city that had the ability to do this.

Right?

That was a problem for Future Penny to solve, so I sent the payment and waited eagerly for my california-based commissionee to finish... and finish they did!

I was so excited seeing this. Even without the logo, it was already exactly how I envisioned it! It even wrinkled the same way around the belly that it does in the comics. I was floored! I was a little shocked that they shipped it before I was able to give notes, but then again, if I had requested any changes, they'd likely have to start all over. Thank goodness it's perfect.

It arrived at my apartment shortly after. I put it on, and it was the most comfortable thing I've ever worn in my life. Because it was tailor made, it hugged my body so well, I was quoting Ned Flanders in his ski outfit! I showed my girlfriend and she was a blushing mess (it was perhaps too revealing).

But there was still the matter of the logo. I called up several places across the city, got into email correspondence with them, and discussed what could be done. Unfortunately, out of the seven places that got back to me, none of them felt comfortable with the material.

I was stuck, if the city of Toronto couldn't do it, who could? That's when I realized how stupid I was:

"Don't I attend an arts school?"

With a tote bag in hand carrying the suit, I made my way to the campus, marching toward the textiles department. I had lied to them saying this was for a school project, but I think they all knew what this was really about. Despite this, they were fully on-board to help me.

The first thing that had to be done was make the screen layers. Their process of printing on fabric was to make stencils of the logo that represented each color (in this case, black and white. The blue was just the fabric itself). I hopped onto photoshop and whipped up the layers pretty fast.

Now it could've been printed that day, but there was a request. They wanted a swatch to print on to make sure printing on this tricky fabric wouldn't damage anything. In hindsight, it was really funny having to buy a $1 swatch with $20 shipping and handling. The swatch arrived quick, and I immediately set up an appointment to print the suit the next day.

It was raining hard, the thunder was so loud I thought it was right above my head, and Passover had begun. I was greeted by two wonderful students named Mya and Nicole. They brought my stencils into the dark room and had them imprinted on a screen like so:

They started out on a white canvas fabric, just to make sure it printed well.

Success! The next test was for the pigments themselves.

Uh oh, what happened? Well the black they were using was a transparent black, which was overlayed on the white dye, making it more see through than we wanted. The fabric itself shifted as well, so it was grossly misaligned. Always tighten your fabric with pins, folks. Another student who I can't remember the name of was able to search the storage area for better black dye.

Don't be fooled by the yellow lighting, that's a black print on blue fabric, not a gold print on a white fabric. Regardless, the black worked! The final test then... was the nylon/spandex swatch.

I couldn't believe it! It actually looked really great! The colors are really crisp, and it even allowed for a bit of stretching (an accidental benefit of the blue part being just the fabric is that it creates less strain on the print itself).

The big problem was that, during the drying phase when the white was applied, they used a hair dryer, which due to the heat, caused warping, hence the misalignment. That meant that when it came time to print on the suit for real, it had to air dry in a dry environment.

Through the leg holes, a block of wood with foam attached covered by a canvas fabric is placed inside (wasn't expecting to get any wood thrust in the suit, feels violating). Euphemisms aside, this was to steady the sheet used to print, as well as to hold the fabric and place and prevent the bumps created by the zipper on the back.

We must've spent 5-10 getting the logo to center and at a right angle. The entire time we were applying paint, we were nervous as hell. I had made the mistake of telling them this suit cost me $600, and there was no going back.

We watched with baited breath.

ALRIGHT IT'S GOOD IT LOOKS GOOD OKAY IT'S HAPPENING IT'S REALLY HAPPENING!! We waited for it to dry for about 45 minutes I think. I got something from the café and sat there thinking about how I was doing this on Passover. Jack Kirby's faith meant a lot to him, and it felt fitting that I brought to life one of his creations during a holiday he would celebrate. I think about my own faith sometimes... I'll leave it at that for now.

I got back into the studio, and they were waiting for me to put on the black coat. We spent another 5-10 minutes lining up the logo with the other logo so it would be the cleanest possible.

The last step was now.

And there it was. Words failed me, I admit. All I could do was look in stunned amazement that this was REAL!

We let it dry for another 45 minutes, where then they took out the pins and presented the fabric to me. They told me not to wash it for a whole month, which I then asked them what settings I should use for the washer. They told me to machine wash cold and delicate, and hang dry, which is thankfully exactly what PingPing told me to do. I walked home with the costume, hung it up in my closet, and joined my roommate for the seder meal.

Thank you for reading.

#fantastic four #fantastic four cosplay #behind the scenes #cosplay #costume #Chag Pesach sameach #passover #jack kirby

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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 6 months

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Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction

CHAPTER 11 - GALE’S POINT OF VIEW

The glowing orange sun begins to set beautifully, causing an aura of lavender and rose in the sky, and I can tell Emmy has reached the point of overexhaustion. We decided to camp one last time before we make it home tomorrow; we thought we would make it home today. Luckily, we’re close and we don’t have much longer before we arrive back at our sweet home in Waterdeep. I already miss Tara, our comfortable bed, and the balcony that stands above the bright, glistening ocean with soft waves that sing such a calm song. I’m imagining the reflection of the moonlight upon the water with the love of my life beside me as we admire it. I’m picturing our new child being curled up on my chest as we inhale the air of the salt water. We haven’t been away long, but I already miss the romantic and calm aesthetic of our tower that stands above the sea. I’ve always appreciated it, but after being abducted by the nautiloid, I’ve learned to appreciate it even more.

Having Emmy in my arms as we rest is the most comforting feeling that I love, and will continue to love for the rest of my life as long as we’re both alive. I did not realize how exhausted I was. As I hold her close to me, watching her sleep in my arms, it isn’t long until the soft chirps of crickets cause me to pass out and drift into a heavy slumber filled with solace. I’m so tired, my body is practically numb and my eyes are full of tears from the constant yawning.

When morning arises, I open my eyes to see Emmy is not in my arms. She’s normally awake much later than I am, so I’m wondering if she just had trouble sleeping. I crawl out of the tent, noticing Karlach and Wyll eating, but no sight of my wife anywhere.

“Have you guys seen Emmy? How long have you been awake?”

“We’ve been awake for a couple hours now. We both went to snag some food for all of us, but haven’t seen her once,” Wyll says. “We assumed she was in the tent with you. Not a sight of her since we’ve been awake.”

“Oh my Gods… Do you think Raphael got her?” Karlach murmurs, covering her face with her hands. Fear sinks within me as I come to the realization that’s more than likely what happened, since she doesn’t appear to be nearby. It’s not like her to run off and not come back. My stomach begins to turn as I try not to think about what he could have done with her. Of course he would come when we least expect it and snag her when she’s most vulnerable, when she’s alone in the forest. He knows she’s weak, he knows she can’t fight. Devils are always watching.

“More than likely you’re correct,” I say. “She probably got up to use the bathroom and that’s when she was snatched. The opportunity presented itself when she couldn’t be protected. Damn it! How do we reach him? I should have felt her get up.” It’s taking everything in me not to have a manic episode, though it’s a challenge seeing as she could possibly be dead. No, Gale. She’s alive. She’s well. She’s pregnant with my baby – our baby – so it worries me that Raphael is getting exactly what he wanted, that maniacal, manipulative bastard. If I know anything about Raphael besides his diabolical tactics, it’s that he will hold her hostage and torture her like he did with Hope, a halfling we rescued from his home when we first broke in to steal the orphic hammer. It’s a long story, really.

“It looks like we have everything to summon ourselves to his home, but we’re missing the metal that goes in the center,” Karlach says, searching through her bag. “Son of a nutcracker, nothing!”

“Can’t we use a soul coin?” Wyll suggests. “It’s made of the same metal as the one we need for the summoning circle.”

“You son of a duke, that’s why I love you! Well, for other reasons too, of course.” Unfortunately, while I’m skilled in the arcane and would consider myself a rather good cook, I cannot draw a summoning circle for the life of me. Invading a devil’s home isn’t exactly a skill of mine that I hone.

“Could one of you draw a summoning circle and I’ll put in the material?” You can hear the hurt and brokenness in my voice, and Karlach and Wyll look at each other with worried eyes. Karlach places her hand on my shoulder, her eyes demanding my attention.

“Of course, Gale. Just so you know, it’s going to be alright. Deep breaths, Papa Gale, I’m sure she’s okay.”

“Thank you, Karlach.” As they draw the summoning circle, I begin to dissociate and visualize Emmy’s smile on our wedding day, the shine in her eyes as she stares at me with desire, the way her dark, curly hair falls behind her head as I say my vows. I can’t forget her cheek bones and the way they plump up as she smiles. The moment I placed my hand on her cheek before kissing her was my favorite moment to ever exist. I think about the moment she told me she was pregnant, how I suddenly got this overwhelming sense of protection. Fear sinks in as well as my protective instincts as Wyll shakes my shoulder gently.

“You ready, NightinGALE?” Wyll says, then immediately regrets his joke. I smile, still filled with worry and a pound of sickness within me as I walk toward the circle. It begins to light up, flames rising up as we’re being surrounded by flames, a horrific wave of magic causing our bodies to glow, and before I know it we disintegrate into the realm.

Being stuck in the in-between area of our world and Hell is quite a horrific trip I did not ever want to be in again, but for the sake of my wife and baby’s lives, I need to do what I have to do. I hear the deafening screeches of imps, piercing my ear drums as we drown into the Hells. I don’t know what lies ahead of us or what our ultimate goal is, but I really hope we can bargain with Raphael, though it seems our chances are rather slim given our past with him.

It’s like one giant flash of light, as if my soul is being transferred to the afterlife, my body being completely separated from what’s inside of me. Flames are consuming us for a minute, but I finally find myself in the home of Raphael. Luckily, Emmy is right there when we arrive, her body chained to the wall with soul chains. These are the exact same chains that were used to lock up Dame Aylin. Raphael, unfortunately, is also in the same room and it appears he’s interrogating her for something – maybe a deal of some sort. I gasp, watching her squirm for her life as the fiendish devil gets up in her face.

“You took EVERYTHING from me,” he snarls, his face up against her. His voice is stern and so deep that it’s spine-tingling. I can feel my blood boil as he speaks to her with such malice. “So for that, you will be my new ‘Hope.’ Locked here for centuries, begging for mercy, begging to be set free while your child will be my thrall, feeding off the souls of the unfortunate. It will be a slave, growing up to do my bidding, and then…you will watch as I tear it to shreds. A well-deserved punishment.” I wonder what he was speaking to her about before we showed up. Surrounding us are various cambions, staring us down should we make a single move. Though they don’t particularly make me nervous, the ill-intentions of Raphael sure give me a wave of stomach-turning anxiety. I can feel my face tighten, several angry emotions swirling within me as I try not to attack this bastard.

“I just didn’t want you to have the crown!” she pleads, her voice broken from all the cries. “We needed the orphic hammer, but we couldn’t allow you to have the crown. It was in everyone’s best interest.”

“Oh please, do you think I care about anyone’s ‘best interest’? No. All I care about is ruling over the Nine Hells and taking control of the devils, making them bow to me like the servants they are. They will have no power over me. Oh, silly girl. Mystra is a fool knowing damn well what she was giving up, who she was giving it to. Your husband worships a false idiot who claims to be all-powerful with magic. He’s just as pathetic as she is.” He touches her bare stomach with his hands, trickling it up and down with his index claw. I can hear him laugh as he’s thinking heavily on his next move.

“Let her GO!” I shout, approaching Raphael but he pushes me back with extreme force. It’s as if I lost all control and couldn’t contain my anger, which never happens. I fly in the air, feeling my back land on the hard floor beneath me.

“You will not interrupt,” he growls, looking back at Emmy. “She will be mine.”

“What do you want?” she cries out. “What can I give you to set me free?” Tears are dripping from her face as she struggles within the chains. Her body is weak, tired, and her face shows nothing but despair. It pains me to see her this way and it’s taking everything in me not to obliterate this creep.

“Emmy, my love,” I whimper, swallowing the words I want to scream at this devil’s evil face. I’m holding back screams and the urge to try and kill this fucker for good, but I know it won’t do a damned thing.

“NOW you want to bargain with the likes of me?” Raphael laughs, touching her belly with his sharp claw again, causing her to flinch. Her eyes widen as she begins to breathe heavily. I clench my fist and fight my words, but she might have him by a chokehold somehow.

“Raphael, please let her go,” I say. “What can we do?”

“Ah, the pathetic wizard who would bow down to the worthless and pitiful goddess that gave the crown to me. One of the people who destroyed me in my own home.” His piercing gaze is digging deep into me, but I’m not allowing it to intimidate me at all. “You’re all too late for any deals. Nice attempt, however.” He continues to trace his claw across her belly, laughing quietly but with a deep tone. He presses his finger deeper into her flesh, causing all of us to panic.

“Please!” Emmy begs, her screams nearly deafening as she pleads for mercy. Karlach and Wyll move up in front of me to face him, ready to fight but I pull them both back with my hands. I can’t let them attack him; it seems we’re close to being able to make a deal with the man.

“Gale, we need to fight this fucking clown,” Karlach says. “He won’t stop unless we destroy him again.”

“He can’t die, remember? Especially as a ruler of the Nine Hells, it will be physically impossible. That will only make this entire situation much worse. Please.” Karlach sighs, and she steps back with Wyll, feeling a sense of defeat by the looks of it. “Trust me, I know the feeling.” Silence fills the room as Raphael turns around to face me, finally moving his hand away from Emmy’s skin.

“Fine. I assume you’re not willing to part with your unborn child. So, give me the Orphic hammer back and promise to never set foot in the House of Hope ever again. This is your only warning. Barge in again and your soul will rot in the stench of Hell, with your body. Understand?”

“Yes, deal. Thank you,” Emmy says, and he releases her from the soul chains. She takes the Orphic hammer and hands it to him, knowing damn well she has no use for it anyway. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” I look back at Raphael, noticing an evil expression on his face, as if he’s planning something diabolical, though I imagine it doesn’t involve us. He will still rule the Hells, but there’s nothing we can do. All I can imagine is that he plans on finding Hope again and feeding off her misery once more.I just know it. That’s what he’s known for – using people and feeding off their misery. We’re lucky we got away from him this time, but who knows if he has something nasty planned for the future?

We leave the House of Hope, which apparently is about to not exist in Avernus, and it will be rebuilt in the deeper depths of the Hells. If his plan is to recapture Hope, I feel so sorry for the poor girl. One can only hope that’s not part of his plans. We’re back on solid grounds, though I can safely say I did not expect us to get away that quickly. Emmy hugs me tight, as if she never wants to let me go. I can’t blame her.

“I thought we wouldn’t make it in time,” I murmur in her ear, feeling a tear leave the corner of my right eye. I almost lost her. I rub her back as she keeps her head placed on my chest.

“I love you Emmy, but damn girl, it’s scary how easily you can get away from an archdevil,” Karlach adds. “I have a feeling he has something else planned. If only we knew what. Let’s just…hope it doesn’t involve us.” I continue to embrace her, worried about the future of the world, what will happen, and the fear of surviving it all. We barely escaped Raphael’s clutches. Something tells me he was going to kill her.

“I’m just glad all I had to do at the time was give up the Orphic hammer, which I’m shocked I even had it on me at all,” Emmy says. “I could have sworn I sold it.” I often wonder why he didn’t just send one of his workers to try and steal the orphic hammer from us to begin with, but I guess he’s all about the theatrics.

I’m damn lucky we got away from our encounter with Raphael, but the question remains if it’ll happen again. There’s no way someone like him would let us off so easily, but maybe he knows he’s all-powerful and he already has what he wants. While we are more than ready to make it back to Waterdeep, all of us fear what we may come across again.

#raphael bg3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #professor gale #gale x tav #shadowheart #karlach #wyll ravengard #lae'zel #halsin #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction

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uses-for-fics · 6 months

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I love old people!

So ik this gif is from Godzilla:LOM but just LOOK AT HIM 🥰 he’s so soft🥹

Word count: 885

Anders Holmvik x reader

Y/n was engrossed in her book when a loud alarm suddenly went off. She quickly glanced to her left and noticed that the emergency button from room 210 had been activated, which was strange since the patient had been in a coma for several years. She dropped her book and hurried to the room, weaving through the elderly patients after every turn. She pushed the door open, panting from the exertion, only to be met with an unexpected sight. There was a half-naked man in the room, and one of the patients was touching him. Frustrated, Y/n asked, "Peggy? Really? This again?" before placing her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

Peggy, the older woman living there, shrugged and rolled her eyes. The half naked man gawked. “Again?” Peggy shrugged and walked out of the room.

Y/n struggled to catch her breath as the adrenaline wore off. "She does that a lot. Just give me a few seconds to compose myself and I'll escort you out," the nurse said, as he started to dress himself.

After he finished changing, they left the room to head outside. There was a moment of silence until the man spoke up. "I don't usually do that," he said. The nurse looked over at him and asked, "Do what? Sleep with old people?"

He gave a sheepish smile and said, "Ok, hear me out." The nurse shrugged and replied, "Hey man, some people have their kinks. I'm not judging, but please don't do it while I'm working, okay?" His eyebrows shot straight up in surprise and he exclaimed, "Oh no! No no no! That is NOT what was happening!

She laughed. “So you weren’t just in your undies in front of Peggy?”

He blinked. 'Well, yes. But I did it for a reason! You see, I want to be on MTV's True Life, and she said she would give me an interview if I... you know... did the deed.' He almost whispered the last part. 'You're lucky you're cute. Mr...?' She waited for the guy to answer.

He held out his hand. "Anders." "Nurse Y/n," she shook his hand. "If you want more info on this place, I can help by the way."

“Really?” He beamed. “Cause that would actually help out a lot! Can I interview you first?”

"Sure," she replied with a shrug as she came to a stop. He fumbled around in his pockets in search of his camera, eventually pulling it out of his left pocket and pointing it at her. "What's it like working with such wise people?" he asked.

She thought for a moment, preparing an honest response. "Well, I actually enjoy it. I feel like these people helped build our society, and I was quite close with my nana. She meant everything to me."

Anders tilted his head. “Was?” She cleared her throat, getting a bit sad. “Yeah, she died a few years ago. I was still in nursing school when it happened. She was my motivation to continue with nursing school every time it felt like my ass was getting handed to me and shit just felt so difficult. She practically raised me too, whenever my mom was busy with work, my nana was there to help. She was there when I’d wake up, all the way to tucking me into bed. When she was diagnosed with dementia, I’d promised that I’d be with her every second I had left with her. The hardest part wasn’t trying to get her to remember me but rather realizing that when it was her time to go, she felt lonely, surrounded by family she thought were strangers.” She cleaned a tear off her face. “Oh wow, I did not expect that.” She chuckled. “Umm, either way, I made a promise to myself that I’d spend time with these folks as if they were my own family, making sure they never have to feel uncomfortable in their last years.”

Anders's heart melted. Although his friends Adam and Blake weren't excited about joining him, Anders couldn't wait to spend time with the residents. It was hard for Anders to understand why people would not want to visit their grandparents if they had the opportunity. Finally, he had found someone who felt the same way.

Go out with me," he blurted out.

"What?" she laughed.

Anders realized what he had just said and quickly corrected himself. "No, wait. I mean, I've never met someone who shares my appreciation for what the elderly have done for us, and it helps that you're really cute. I'm sorry, I'm just rambling on. I don't know, I just thought I'd give it a try?”

The nurse observed the man's rambling and then lowered the camera he had forgotten was still recording. "Well," she said, "I'm off in a few hours. If you're willing to wait, we can go to a nice restaurant that isn't too far from here."

Anders couldn’t contain his smile. “I’d love that.” She held out her hand to him. “Let me get you a visitor pass so you can roam around to continue your interviews while I finish up my shift.”

He held her hand tightly, smiling as he walked beside her. "I love old people!" he thought to himself. Excited for her shirt to end.

#anders holmvik #anders holm #anders holmvik fic #anders holmvik x reader #my fic #workaholics #workaholics fic

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sassooda · 2 years

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Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 94 - Half-naked and Fucking Heroic

w/c - 6,762

Megumi wasn’t at all interested in attending the ceremony for he’s never really given two shits about clan activity. Why would he support the same people who ostracized his father? They’re the same kind of organization that feels their superior enough to manipulate human beings for their own ends. The magnitude of narcissism that breeds freely within the confines of the Zenin traditions blows his mind, it always has. He may have warmed up to Naoya but Zenin blood or not, Megumi truly does not affiliate himself with their obnoxious customs.

“How about if I wear it like this?”

Megumi’s tiresome eyes float over to Amnessia who stands in the doorway of the bathroom, to which his hollowness lights up right away. He’s never seen her with her hair up before but he’s finding that when her long braids are pulled back, her usually hidden features are allowed to shine. He gulps and gawks. She’s so incredibly gorgeous to him, like a mythical goddess absent of her thrown. In his loss of words, instead of his mouth his gaze courses over her wearing his oversized black tee so he can simply admire what his life has become.

When met with his silence, Amnessia’s face scrunches and she ducks her head backwards to double check herself in the mirror. ‘Am I way off base here? I thought it was a nice change!’. She took the time to meticulously unravel the front of her box braids, comb them out and then re-braid them going outwards from the part created down the middle. The rest of her braids, she gathered and weaved into a giant braid that encircles her head like a halo. Just thinking about how tender her head will be for the next day or so compels her to huff in frustration but this also brought her back to when Master Suguru would let her practice on his hair. She tried her best to smile when it a the comb snagged a tangle or when she’d have to pull the scalp tight because she recalls the way Getou would give the same facade. He really wasn’t suitable for any of the hairstyles though, she won’t lie. Temujin was her test subject initially but his patience levels were never what they needed to be for her to learn much. Nonetheless, their efforts and agony paid off; she’d gained skill and technique through the manipulation of many types of hair, not just her own. She can beautify anyone.

If she’d extensions, the process would’ve been a little quicker but seeing as to all 30 inches of braids are hers alone and it was a bastard to untangle without causing damage. Megumi doesn’t exactly have the right products for her kind of fibrous coils either so she was scrambling to find a reasonable substitute. Why not have all this squared away prior to committing to this grueling process? Well, she was simply in dire need of a change and didn’t consider her endgame. All of her recently obtained memories leave her feeling slightly out of touch with reality, as if she’s not sure what’s concrete and what’s an illusion. The only thing on her mind in that moment was deconstructing the girl she thought she was and emerging as something better, fiercer. Ferocity was not the best descriptor as she was slinging her arms through his medicine cabinets and drawers, desperate to find some kind of anything that could be used to help protect her hair. Hope was beginning to sound like a word far too foreign.

She nearly cried when she saw the Castor Oil. It wasn’t ideal but its also the lesser of many evils as it can be absorbed by follicles to create a sheath. Regardless, she knew her up-do and edges were saved.

Megumi feels terrible for having left her to conjecture over his reaction. He was a little slow on the uptake there but was quick to follow up with a proper explanation. The instant his hands make contact with her hips, she gasps softly and views him through the mirror. Placing a kiss on her cheek, he informs her, “You are actually so pretty that I couldn’t get it out!”, relieved when her demeanor relaxes.

She turns around in his arms, facing him, “Most guys like it when you can pull the hair though.”, teasing him as her lips dance inches from his.

Megumi blushes, “Well most guys are idiots. There’s plenty of you for me to pull…”, lowering his neck to kiss her, “grab…”, their tongues dance, “touch…”. l He had no idea that his words could hold so much power because no sooner than he finishes the sentence and views her, Amnessia is wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “You want to go again?”, he asks breathlessly into her lips, the strong, “Mmmmmhmm…”, cracking his face into a smile. When she hops herself onto the sink’s counter he wastes no time in aligning their bodies while she plants kisses to his neck.

They always say there’s a honeymoon stage where things are perfect and full of aspiring hope but unfortunately, his gut hints to this being something else. He’s aware that Amnessia may be exuding this strong sexual energy because of reasons other than desire, he’s smarter than that. He wants her, its all he can imagine while staring into her dark eyes but should he have her? She’s practically clawing his shirt away but he has to ask himself, ‘Am I taking advantage of her?’, the thought churning his stomach since he knows damn good and well that she’s under emotional distress. She literally found out that her life is a lie and that can’t be easy for anyone to endure, regardless of how well she’s holding herself together. God, he wants her like nothing else but on the same coin, if he’s to truly care for her, he needs to be able to make these kind of hard choices.

Amnessia’s lustful groping dies off when she feels Megumi’s hesitation. Her eyes dart up to his, purposefully expressing her hurt but the caring eyes that stare back weather her transgressed attitude. She understands why he’s doing what he’s doing...or not doing and is mature enough to respect his stance, finding she’s actually appreciative of it.

Sain arrives outside of the dormitory door, having traveled there with his presence masked. He feels out of place being on the campus but is at least made less uneasy when he senses all the turned on the outskirts of the property, though he wouldn’t mind seeing Suguru. Before he knocks, he thinks to himself, ‘I wonder what she’ll say about these!’, bleeding his excitement for the ceremonial robes. Amnessia wasn’t an official stop he had to make but since he’s already gathered all of the volunteers with a few minutes to spare, he figured he stop in to check on her. Despite his new friendliness with Genghis, Sain still believes that Amnessia has always deserved better and found her departure from the compound to be rather bittersweet because of this. He lifts his knuckles to the door and taps them politely.

Megumi jerks his head over to the right, eyes narrowed to the door. His friends are far too rambunctious to even begin to think it’s someone for him on the other side. “Wait here.”, he tells her as he stalks across the floor. It’s really faint but he’s become familiar enough to discern there’s a Titer as he nears. He halts when a stark possibility streaks by his mind,‘What if it’s her ex?’, he asks himself anxiously but then resolves, ‘I’ll just have to make sure he understands how things are now.’.

Sain goes to knock again but steps back when he feels the raging presence turning the knob. His eyes widen when he’s met with the glaring younger Fushiguro that harnesses the intensity of his father. He’s bewildered that this where her energy led him and rather immovable until her hears Amnessia’s small voice announcing, “He’s cool!!”.

“Who are you?”, Megumi barks while sizing the fancy man up. The whole wardrobe clogs him with apprehension since Sain appears so official, thinking Temujin must have something to do with his showing up. Megumi scrutinizes him harshly never having seen robes made of such fine silk, it almost as if Sain is truly wearing gold. ‘What could his purpose be?’, lingers in Fushiguro’s fears which causes him to take an aggressive step forward.

“Stoppppp”, Amnessia barrels between the men, inviting Sain inside. She glances to Megumi with a pout while thinking, ‘How alpha of him...I wouldn’t have assumed that.’, communicating with her eyes that Sain is no threat. Once she has him inside, she ignores Megumi’s annoyed mannerisms while he closes the door and immediately draws attention to Sain’s ensemble. “You look so GOOD in that!!”, she squeals, revolving him to get a full view, “In my opinion, you should’ve been wearing these.”. She flips the end of his long flowing black hair and feels warmth from the twinkle in his soft gray eyes. He is certainly deserving of the role.

Sain smiles widely, knowing that he was right in hoping Amnessia would celebrate this promotion and bows his head to show gratitude. He lifts it back up to offer, “You look stunning with your hair like that. Necks shall break today.”, happily playing along with her quick vogue dance before stating, “It happened yesterday…”. She attentively listens as Sain fills her in with joy saturating his voice, “Master Genghis bestowed this upon me and said I’m to represent the Titers alongside Master Suguru this evening. I think he may still make an appearance though.”, the end sounding more of a pitchless warning than conversation.

Megumi’s expression hardens to the mention of Temujin and he even lets out a tiny, Zenin-defined “Tch.”. Rather than listen to this blasphemy that raises that convoluted old Titer higher, Megumi decides to start grabbing up his loaned ceremonial outfit because there’s no way in hell he’s going to let her go alone now. “Fucking Titers…”, he grumbles while lifting what used to be Gojo’s outfit up so he can dread donning them. He told Satoru that he would try to forgive him, though he admitted to not knowing how long it would take so being forced into the Gojo’s light blue feels like it’ll be more of a straight jacket. When he turns to look over at Amnessia and Sain, he finds Sain’s eyes on him, his own emerald daggers narrowing in return.

“So...the younger Fushiguro, huh?”, Sain was surprised to find her with another man and although he trusts her judgment, he wouldn’t be a good friend if he didn’t at least inquire. “That’s quite a change missy!”.

“Trust me, I didn’t see it coming either…”, she looks down and smiles, “But I think they’re wonderful people, Toji and Megumi both. Everyone else has been really helpful too!”.

Sain thinks back to his encounters with Toji and raises his brow briefly while recalling how terrifying it was to square up with the giant. He follows his orders but that doesn’t negate his comprehension of their danger when they involve such opposition.

The day of their Titer attack when they failed to catch Elska was a day he also almost shit his briefs. Sain assumed he was mistaken or perhaps he misunderstood when Genghis proposed the whole let’s take Toji instead notion. His heart about fell right out of his ass when his wide eyes provided a visual on the giant that he was personally assigned to. They’d all just watched Toji tear through the humans as easily as warmed butter can be sliced so his thoughts were treading along the lines of, ‘Fuck you Genghis, fuck that, fuck no and is this some kind of joke????!!’, but alas he couldn’t show his cowardice in front of Suguru. Aside from letting down his admired superior, Sain couldn’t let that dangerous task in turn befall Suguru either. No one may know other than Toji himself but Sain was trembling so violently, he nearly broke the syringe trying to stick him.

Then there’s the whole scuffle at the compound when Choso awakened., it was an all out brawl. When brought to this memory, Sain reflexively raises a hand to his throat where Naoya pierced him. Flustered isn’t the word. Naoya isn’t exactly Sain’s type but the act alone was rather invigorating. Amnessia says something to him but it doesn’t reach him; he instead accidentally stares off but recovers the mood by saying, “Make sure Toji knows we’re friends…”, when she looks perplexed, he adds, “I’d much rather have him as an ally than foe and we’ve had a rocky start. If he knows we’re close, maybe I’ll live a little longer...”.

Amnessia giggles and agrees, “Toji’s really a nice guy! He’s been so kind to me despite my having come from the compound. Megumi too!”, she turns around to smile at the fuming Jr while adding, “They won’t beat you up Sain, I promise.”.

‘I’m glad he at least gets it.’, Megumi’s thinks before blurting out, “We don’t fuck around. That’s why we’re feared.”. Megumi’s voice chills the others and he can tell as all laughter fades from the room.

Sain picks up on the not-so-subtle cues that he’s intruding on their time and thinks its best to leave. ‘The younger one is quite intimidating as well…’, Sain muses internally, ‘If he’s anything like his father, he’s going to a high-level contender in the future.’.

“Where are you going?!”, Amnessia notices Sain leaning towards the door but he stops to pull something from his robes first. She holds out her hands and accepts a thinly wrapped paper package fastened with golden twine tied around it. “What is it?”, she asks while fiddling with the bow.

Sain smiles to her and informs, “It’s been decided unanimously among us all that you are still one of us, no matter where you go…”. He waits for her to tear it open before he proceeds with, “You don’t have to wear it but if you so want to, we’d be honored as a clan.”. He truly misses her.

Megumi scowls at the beautiful golden yukata but clashes with himself when he sees how much the gesture means to Amnessia. His head lowers while he determines that his own insecurities are about to ruin everything again and takes a deep breath. ‘Don’t be a douche…or you’re no better than him.’, he mantras while settling his inner demons. He’s going to just have to disregard the symbology their attire stands for and simplify the evening into a date of some sort. It’s not one he’d pick himself but fuck it, this is making the best out of bad situation.

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

“My lovvvvvve!”, Gojo wobbles his way over to Suguru and Elska, still bleeding pretty badly and somewhat out of sorts. He’s woozy and unstable; this becoming obvious when he reaches them.

Elska catches him when he stumbles to a stop, helping him balance so he can wipe the hair and blood from his forehead. Tears well when she takes in the details of his mangled state, angry but also elated to see he’s alright, “What the hell were you doing out here with Sukuna, Sati!?”. Her tone is of concern but she’s also on edge because of how helpless he seemed in the Malevolent Shrine, “And why are you still naked?! You must be freezing!”.

“Research.”, is all he gives in the form of great exhalation and dramatics. He leans against a tree and smirks when Suguru grunts with discomfort, knowing the two-headed truth. They share a quick glance that leaves Getou chuckling to the insanity that is Gojo himself but they both settle down when Elska bends a knee to pick up Toji’s worm. Suguru’s heart flutters to her acceptance of curses; to monsters like them in general.

Satoru whines to the pain palpitating through his body until he focuses on Elska. His body spikes in heat as his remaining blood rushes around, spawned of his desire to drink in new vitality. His fangs protruding automatically, hooking themselves across his split lip. She seems to sense his intentions because she starts to slide the cloth from her shoulders. His pupils dilate.

“It is indeed cold out here so suck it up for now, you’re not dying anymore.”, Suguru drapes his golden robes over Elska, drawing the curtain on this nonsense, and then scoops her off the ground. He takes a few steps forward before reversing his gravity to float Itadori’s body behind him. Stopping once more, he asks, “Are you two coming or what?”, half wishing Choso would get lost. He’s positive the being was containing Sukuna’s domain and to have that kind of ability is demoralizing for anyone that isn’t Choso himself.

“Well duh-…”, but Gojo’s arm is pulled back when he tries to follow so he turns around and asks, “The fuck now?”, his renown pride already in shambles from that grotesque defeat. Satoru finds himself facing the purple dashes in Choso’s eyes and comprehends that more secretive shit is about to transpire. He sighs, watching his love become smaller in a shirtless man’s arms as more Earth is placed between them but surrenders, “Fine.”. He knows he cannot take these special conversations lightly, despite his own fouled mood.

They hear, “We’ll catch up!”, from Gojo but Suguru pivots in place to make sure that thing wasn’t trying anything funny on his new frenemy. He increases his presence as if to solidify to Choso that he hasn’t forgotten about being put to sleep or any of the other sketchy behaviors born of this new form of his.

Gojo’s surprised by the defensive stance Getou takes as he reads through body language that the Titer is actually concerned for him. ‘Wow…’, Gojo’s eyes flinch, ‘Suguru really might be my friend too.’. His view drops down to Elska in Getou’s hold and forms a smirk while thinking to her, ‘I’ll only be a few minutes…”, blowing her a quick kiss, “Then I’ll pin my little love down and feed.”.

Elska feels a flush of warmth cascade across her body in response to her sweet Sati’s naughty words. The smallest whimper exits her throat as she clings to Suguru, wanting nothing more than to be dominated by her white knight.

“Err...yea, let’s go.”, Getou clears his throat while staving off his instinctual need to satisfy his obviously aroused master. He felt the moment her presence changed and was glad she was hiding his wanting evidence with her body. Rolling his shoulders back, he attempts to shrug away the natural temptation to initiate a situation that would sate every ounce of her thirst. Her fixated gaze draws a groan for he does not need eyes to know that she will undoubtedly be lathered with expectancy and he can’t see that right now. Sure, Gojo sparked the fire but one touch too coy or a sound too sweet and Suguru is bound to take her right there in the pools of fallen leaves. It amazes him how she still has no idea how profoundly her existence affects him. A cold gust rips through the trees, causing them both to shiver. Pausing, he turns his head up to the sky and calls for his wings and then braces for their arrival.

Elska bites her bottom lip when they take form, his beautiful golden-streaked brown metal feathers encompassing them both. She imagines how they must look from afar; reaching for his wings as the word, ‘Mystical’, echoes in her thoughts. His large and flawless physique, the long raven hair, those incredible wings; all of this leading her to believe he appears to fit the otherworldly bill more than she ever could. “My Titer…”, inaudibly escapes since she could not bear to contain her fondness for his personal growth.

“This should help us a little.”, he muses to her delayed astonishment when 90% of the wind was minimized from his shielding. She curls up closer to him, the act making him still for a second to merely be able to swallow down that this is real. “Little one…”, Suguru pulls her in even more, absorbing every detail of their brisk isolation. Gone are the days where he stewed in anxiety over whether he had a place beside her, at every turn she presents with chronic acceptance. He’d bet his life on her feelings now. “We’re almost there.”, the inevitable message crushing a dent into the prominent smile now cementing his face while dramaturgically slowing his pace. ‘Just a little more time…’, but truthfully, he wishes this could last indefinitely. If Suguru could physically grab hold of this flowing and comfortable intimacy between them and tie it to his neck to keep it present, he would. The forest thins, however, and their home peers through holes in the foliage. He senses two new shaman but they’re complete opposite in terms of cursed energy, ‘There’s also Zenin, Toji and that stupid fucking bodyguard. He decreases his walking speed again, deflating until a wave of that creepy energy emits from behind them, causing Suguru to glare in the direction they just came from. ‘Who are you now, Choso?’, he questions internally while trying to successfully figure out whatever it is that he’s once again missing.

Choso throws Gojo’s right arm over his shoulder, indicating that he’ll help him trek back to their home and interrogates, “Did you learn anything today Satoru?”.

Gojo leans more weight than necessary into the being, spitefully anguished by his failure in the domain and taking the highest offense from the ball breaking. He says nothing but reluctantly accepts Choso’s assistance while scouring the scenery for anything to occupy his fragmented ego. He maintains his silence defiantly.

Choso lightens his tone, “I only ask because it’s imperative that you did.”.

“You know what?”, Gojo snaps angrily, “I was fine back there. I had it under control.”. Embarrassed by the presumed lecture, he slumps away from Choso and limps on his own to keep up the pace. All he hears is a growl before Choso’s energy waves past, shoving him forward, face down into the grass. “WHAT THE FUCK CHOSO?!”, Gojo hisses to every single ounce of agony floating through his entirety and writhes in the dirt before stifling back to his feet. If he didn’t know any better, it would seem as though Choso wants a piece of him next. He snarls a warning, one that is melodic to his desire for vengeance.

“Stop this nonsense, Satoru, before it gets you killed.”, Choso’s sharp, glowing eyes land onto Gojo who’s brushing himself off, “Because that’s what would’ve happened. You couldn’t reactivate your Infinity because you underestimated your ability to adapt to a situation prominent with unknown variables.”. He retains his heated expression until the insolence rescinds from Gojo’s face, “Your brain, your mind...its all magnificent and special Satoru but its still a brain. If you deprive it of oxygen, its function becomes compromised just like anyone else’s. You may think you’ve completely harnessed and mastered your abilities because of your status in comparison to much weaker shaman in this society but today should show you that there is still room for improvement.”. He’s met with audaciously vicious two-toned eyes but chooses not to beat the prideful turned while he’s down. “Sukuna would’ve killed you Satoru...even with Elska’s interference. You’re aware that he let her in, right? At no point were you in control once you entered his domain.”. He watches Gojo’s eyes widen with culpability but continues with, “You played your little game with King of Curses and still thought you could pull it off without your defenses. Only an addled man would concoct such poorly thought out strategy.”.

Gojo feels his rage boiling over. He gets it. He actually knew he royally fucked up when the chains immobilized him. It was an experience he will never forget regardless of how long he lives. Nothing Choso is saying is wrong, Satoru simply cannot lick his wounds with an audience for its beyond his capabilities of adherence with humility. He can tell the being is waiting for some kind of response though so sly Satoru gifts him with a simple but riled, “Fuck off.”

That was not what he wanted to hear. “You need to understand…”, Choso whispers this prior to slamming Gojo against a tree, forcing the battered, cocky shaman to pay attention. “You are the strongest Satoru…”.

Gojo haughtily smirks but it fades as the rest reaches his ears, his natural but darkened irises returning.

Choso loosens his grip to form a soft graze across Gojo’s face, “...but your arrogance is a grave weakness.”

Satoru’s eyes illuminate back into that wild, dichromatic fashion. He’s absolutely infringed by the odiousness being handed to him right now. He snarls down, right into Choso’s face and asks, “If you know so much, oh Great One, why did you let it go on as long as you did? Did you enjoy my ignominy?”. It was as if venom leaked from Gojo’s lips. He rightfully feels like he was set-up.

Choso releases him and continues walking, knowing that there is going to be a confrontation shortly. When Satoru jabs him in the back, the being calls for him to catch up. When Satoru does, albeit stubbornly, Choso explains, “I needed you to feel instinctual fear Satoru. I needed you to understand that you’re not completely untouchable.”. He sighs wholeheartedly, “Elska and the others will always come to your aid but you’ll fail them if you allow yourself to be bested. Their loyalty towards you will lead them to their deaths if you do not start taking our plight more seriously. Would you really want to put the role of protector on anyone else when you know without a doubt that you, Satoru, are the best candidate for it?”

“Of course not…”, there’s no excuse, Gojo knows it, ‘Choso’s right...that fucking cunt.’.

“Well then…”, The being smiles warmly and leads them through the roots, brush and trees, “Be upset with me if you wish but it was a necessary epitome for you, Satoru.

Gojo stops dead in his tracks with squinted eyes, “You’re such a dick!”. Not even he was prepared for such an erroneous oversight so to find out that Choso predicted he’d do that all along is as irritating as the fact that he practically handed Sukuna his life on a platter. This is all evidence of his undeniable L.

“Mictlantecuhtli knew, not me alone.”.

“You know what I mean, Choso!”.

The being inhales deeply, “We want you to be successful even with all the odds against you Satoru. You must be more careful when fighting opponents you don’t directly know much about. Call it personalized training.”.

Satoru’s malice extinguishes, he realizes where Choso is coming from now; he’s trying to prepare him for the King and his army. “You could’ve just talked to me about it you know…”.

Choso giggles innocently, “No I couldn’t have. You’re head is far too thick.”.

A chuckle leaves Satoru as well, “I guess we’ll never know.”, throwing his hands up playfully before he’s eventually drifting off into a quiet state. He retreats into his mind, disinclined to remember what it felt like to be utterly weak. If he’d attempted a risky move with the King and lost the upper hand, he would be dumping the burden of survival onto all the people he’s grown to care for. He’d typically find his own defeat to be nothing but a pipe dream but despite his lack of verbal recognition, Gojo appreciates the rude awakening he was lured into. The very thought of either Sukuna or the King getting their hooks into Elska stokes a long forgotten flame within. Satoru’s hands form into tight fists; their shaking a result of the sheer malevolence trickling out from the cracks of his recently-found sanity. He can never allow something like that to repeat. They need him. The calming atmosphere causes Satoru to admit something he’ll never own up to again, “Choso…”, he begins softly, “All I could think about when I was fading out was wishing her voice was a hallucination. That feeling I experienced when she was being taken away by Sukuna...was it helplessness?”, he stews for a second over his own rhetorical question, “All I know is it was worse than being sealed. He fucking had her and I was terrified.”

Choso raises an eyebrow, respecting the vulnerability as they break past the last of the forest. “Good. That’s impertinent to your growth.”, is all Choso says as he watches Suguru close to entering the building, “Let that be an apotheosis as to why you shouldn’t fool around when faced with adversaries. You have to be more disciplined for I expect a greatness from you that requires nothing less.”. Choso softens his expression, “I need you to be independent on this forefront; to know that there may not always be someone to save you from yourself. That whole ordeal was extremely reckless.”.

“I know…okay?”, Gojo’s breathless admittance is overshadowed by a crippling breeze, “I’ll be more careful in the future…”.

“Speaking of the future…”, Choso says this while motioning for the scowling Suguru to wait up, now looking back at Satoru while explaining, “Today is a big day for Naoya and the clans all together but it will not go without intrusion.”.

Gojo’s eyes dart over curiously, intrigued by what that means.

“He officially ascends to the head of his clan today so we must attend the ceremony to show support and force.”. Choso looks past the suspicion on Getou’s face, as if its not happening at all, and continues, “That means you’re going to have to go home to retrieve the proper attire.”.

Suguru is mystified by the white wash of Gojo’s features after he heard that he’d simply need to stop by the Gojo estate. He thinks its a joke at first possibly but when Satoru fails to bounce back with some kind of witty remark but rather stands there, its easily determined that there’s far more to this picture than what’s on the shown within the frame. He feels bad though. Getou can immediately recognize the vibe of a shattered home because he’s so familiar with those kinds of energies.

Elska notes that desolation in her sweet Sati as well so she ruminates on his home life and relationship with his parents. She still isn’t aware of what happened with his mother and is only now realizing that he’s actually never enlightened her about his home.

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“Yea here, let me…”, Naoya guides Yuuta and Maki out of the doorway as they prepare to receive Gojo and company. He smells Gojo’s wretched blood before he ever lays eyes on it which has him extra attentive but nothing could have structured him enough for what he’s about to see. Naoya’s pristine smile breaks into pieces when he perceives that Elska has been outside for God knows how long. Not only that though, he’s forced to take in how fucking comfortable she seems in Getou’s arms...dressed in Getou’s clothes. Getou himself? Half-naked and fucking heroic. The golden light travels over Naoya once he stampedes over in their direction to hurriedly snatch Elska away.

Suguru growls under his breath but ultimately has to give her up in order to show some good faith. He regrets that he’s caused Naoya to loathe him this deeply and takes ownership for his wrong doings in the past. That, however, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel some urge to slug the Zenin across the face for assuming Elska was in harm’s grips around him. Their eyes meet for a brief moment and the amount of tension born of that millisecond could’ve suffocated them all.

Naoya sets Elska to her feet and physically moves in between them, his view flashing to Yuuta.

Okkotsu’s dead eyes flare open; he’s certain that Naoya is trying to convey the reality of his new nature. That’s irrelevant though, Yuuta is also certain of the goodness within the Zenin.

“Of all days…”, Naoya seethes while ushering Elska to go to the room. She refuses however, thus angering him further when he can tell its to ensure Suguru’s safety.

Choso struts in with Gojo but lifts the shaman’s arm up and over his head before bee-lining towards the commotion. His breaths are quiet yet exhausted as he considers how much time the turned are wasting with this constant discord. It isn't until he slips past Maki that he realizes Okkotsu has been studying him thoroughly, like he’s the only person in the room that’s even anticipating his taking action. ‘He will be a fantastic ally.’, the being retorts while counter-observing Yuuta’s immense curiosity, Choso’s eyes only fixating on his mark once Getou tries, “Chill the fuck out, Zenin. I fucking gave her those because of how cold it is.”. Choso’s brow furrows with displeasure; his attendance lining up perfectly.

Before Elska can even comprehend what’s happening, her prince who was literally right there next to her, is gone. His energy amplifies but is then its as if he’s instantly snuffed out; the Zenin energy compressed and shut down.

Naoya intended on knocking the fucking socks off of Getou; he even utilized his projection to ensure that the Titer wouldn’t have time to defend himself. His fist never met Suguru’s mandible though. Naoya stands there in awe as he tries to dissect how the hell Choso was able to completely dismember his projection and even catch that same fist, mid-hit. “Ch-Cho…”, the Zenin’s voice sounds stunned, lamentable but its probably because this is the first time Naoya is able to recognize the changes within the being. He’s finally aware of what everyone was already so sure of and the exacting darkness that pulsates through those violet dashes rocks him to the core. “Who…”, Naoya’s shaking breaths quicken, “Cho?”. Choso gently lowers Naoya’s arm while keeping their eyes locked and thinking to him, ‘Don’t be afraid. I am on your side now and always.’. There’s nothing Choso can do but try and smile when the Zenin yanks his hand away.

Suguru utilizes Naoya’s stupor to slip away with Itadori floating near, aiming for the small bedroom on this end of the house. All of the hairs on his body are raised, his eyes wide and mind racing. Choso nullified yet another powerful technique, just like his gravity, ‘But he also stopped Zenin from swinging…’, none of it makes sense. Something within him senses that Choso is not out to get them but he can’t figure out why that is when logic screams something is wrong here. There is something wrong with Choso period. Suguru’s been standing by the bed for about a minute before he finally lays Yuuji gently on top of the sheets. He now sits on the edge of the bed, running fingers back through his hair, ‘Choso was there when Sukuna’s domain took over. He was inside of it even.’. The possibility of the being going undetected rivets him with apprehension, ‘He’s too powerful.’. His head snaps up to the door once Toji’s barges through it.

“He’s fine…”, Toji’s face drops towards the floor in relief once he finds Yuuji in one piece, “Had to check.”.

Getou stands up awkwardly, poising himself the best he can. He and Toji make awkward eye contact, neither of them knowing what to say when there’s actually a lot they would like to discuss.

Toji examines Suguru’s lack of clothes and for a moment, grimaces thinking everyone is becoming nudists. A grunt leaves him when the racket from the foyer raises in volume so he grabs the knob to exit as quickly as he came. Suguru’s hushed words nearly cause him to clip his shoulder on the door frame because surely, there’s no way right? How the fuck did Gojo almost die?

Rather unnerved and irritated, Toji charges down the hall, takes a left and then rips open the door to the foyer screaming, “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON OUT HERE?!”.

Its as if the entire room was captured in a photo; not a single soul making the slightest movement.

Elska does nothing to resist when her beloved grabs her hand and leads her down to their bedroom. Whispers stir from everyone as they depart, the bass from her prince’s voice carrying the farthest.

Toji guides her into the bathroom, shuts the door and simply embraces her. Her skin is unusually cool to the touch, prompting him to break away to turn on the shower.

Elska bears a smile but is concerned with how agitated her Big Bad Wolf seems. Rather than questioning anything, she undresses and goes to pass him to enter it but curls her fingers into his palm.

He groans wantonly until the smirk on his face is no longer something he can hide, “I’m right behind you.”. Toji pulls his shirt off overhead and sets it on the sink before his eyes take to the door, thinking, ‘Stay out fuckers.’, and locking the handle. He strolls back, sliding his pants down his hips to the floor, his gaze now tethered to the hazy silhouette of Elska behind the frosted glass. He’s missed this.

Large calloused hands streak down her sides just as she’s finished rinsing her hair. She opens her eyes and is instantly melting to the sight of Toji’s shimmering body and how he stalks her. His busy hands raise to her face, cupping her cheeks to help stabilize her for the impact of his affection. Elska’s fingers tangle into his dark locks, protesting his ever backing away. She misses this. Words are not needed to navigate their intended meaning, thoughts useless to better portray their desires. Language is being spoken but in the form gasps, whimpers and groans.

Toji pushes her against the tiled wall but lifts her tiny frame up until his hips trap her to his chest. Despite what this may look like, the giant is not trying to seduce her but is instead vying for intimacy in its purest form. He breaks their silence by quietly calling her name, inhaling deeply when she cries his own. Maybe rolling with it isn’t such a bad idea.

Orao has recovered but wishes he could be anywhere other than here. The bastardous one they call Toji is currently slobbering all over his beloved while he’s been set aside to fucking feel her excited energy. He could hit them both right now; he’s fucking sick of this world and is sick of seeing her so fucking attentive to these other turned. It’s disgusting. The smallest whimper resounds through the door, damn near pushing him over the edge but he’s made to quickly tighten up once the room becomes more gregarious.

“This fucking guy…”, Gojo growls when the pathetic body guard freezes on the spot.

Suguru sighs, “Get to the bed before you make me fall too!”, suddenly thinking Gojo can make it all by himself.

Satoru rolls his body so he can flop to the mattress on his back but he holds on to Getou, pulling him down as well. The Titer frantically shifts around but Gojo uses his strength to playfully restrict any of Suguru’s movement, laughing out, “Your hair is so soft, just like my love’s!”. Satoru laughs wildly, despite his pain when the bodyguard is doused in confusion and to further unsettle the stranger, he adds, “Nothing wrong with a pretty man now is there?”.

“WE WILL BE ENEMIES ONCE MORE SATORU!”.

Yuuta walks with Maki behind Choso, accidentally tuning out everything she’s relaying to him as he tries to place his finger on the being. His energy is so strange, not merely ominous. His eyes flicker forward to Naoya as his mind takes to the thought, ‘They’re all Elska’s but they’re so different…’, now comparing Gojo’s new wavelengths to the turned they encountered as well. When he enters their bedroom with everyone else, a cold chill rakes down his spine. His first reaction to the horror felt was to grab a hold of Maki’s hand as his head turns in search for the source of this heinously toxic energy, Orao. Yuuta’s hands move to draw his sword, ‘There’s no mistaking it…’, he thinks with hollow eyes and a single word on the tip of his tongue, ‘He’s the same.’.

((Thank you for reading!! The next chapter is in the works and will be up next week <3))

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Chapter List

Tagging: @syynnaaah @angelofthorr @itstackytime @animemenrbettr

Chapter List

Tagging: @syynnaaah @angelofthorr @itstackytime @animemenrbettr

#Jujutsu Kaisen #jjk #jjk smut #toji x reader #satoru x reader #choso x reader #naoya x reader #geto x reader #fushiguro toji #zenin naoya #satoru gojo #jjk choso #geto suguru #megumi fushiguro #elska oda #Titer Clan

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thcmcnstcr · 8 months

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I've been thinking again ( never a good thing ), and it's time to update some of Evan's powers. They're mostly the same, I am adding one more new one, but the rest is just natural parts of the powers that I've already given her that I felt just made sense for her to grow into.

☾☼ Telekinesis: The ability to move things without touching them. The way hers works is a force that she can either use to grab/pick up/move something, but she can also use it as a shield around herself or another person- currently, she can cause powerful tremors in the Earth with the force she possesses

☾☼ Death Visions: Evan weaves her soul into the thread that ties her to another person, an action she isn’t aware of. This deep connection she forms with those she loves, or even hates, causes her to see how and when it’s cut. With work, she could learn how to make herself visible to them in their passing moments.

☾☼ Danger Sensitivity: For the same reason that she gets her visions, Evan is hyper-aware of when someone she’s formed a connection with is in danger. If she worked with this ability, she’d be able to pinpoint where her loved one is while the danger is present. Once they’re no longer in danger, though, she loses the ability to track them.

☾☼ Addictive Contentment: When in the right headspace, Evan can unknowingly influence others to be calm and content in her presence, sometimes so strong that it can become addictive. This is something that doesn’t happen often, as she’s normally too high strung to exude such a peaceful energy.

☾☼ Empathic Conversion: She possesses a social magnetism, drawing people to her without her being aware. This doesn’t take away the person’s free will, but they’ll be more compelled to assist her if she needs help than they might have been otherwise, creating a bond of loyalty to her. Could grow into her being able to direct others on what to do against their will.

☾☼ Immortality: She has the ability to be able to live forever, but before she stops aging, she's vulnerable. Her body heals quicker than human bodies do, though not astronomically so ( yet ) and she has an extremely efficient immune system. Still, she can be killed fairly easily as she is, now.

☾☼Resurrection: She'll be able to bring people back from the dead, though when she does, she'll be extremely vulnerable; it takes a long time to do, and an even longer time to recover from it in an unconscious state.

☾☼Demon Exorcism: She'll be able to expel demons from the body they're inhabiting and can send them back to hell thanks to her angelic grace

☾☼Power Detection: She'll be able to tell how strong someone's magic is and where it stems from, be it heaven or hell.

☾☼Teleportation: I feel like this one is self explanatory.

☾☼ Smiting: Yes she'll be able to do it technically, but it'll take a lot of practice that she'll be unwilling to do in most verses.

☾☼Holy Fire: White ( the color associated with Michael ) flames that can be summoned at will, and can only be put out by another nephil of equal power, or an archangel

#;; headcanons. hidden self

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sincerelyveronica · 2 years

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A Touch of Malice: Review Part 2

I took a few days to let A Touch of Malice (Persephone x Hades series) sink into my mind. So much happened in that book that I really wanted to gather my thoughts and break it down. Thanks to Spotify's Greek Mythology playlist, I discovered this beautiful masterpiece. I really wanted to embrace the power and force that is Persephone. This song definitely got me into her mindset. So let me break this down from 1-3. I think it's best way to describe Persephone's character and how it all leads to A Touch of Malice.

A Touch of Darkness (first book) humanizes Persephone and makes her more relatable to the reader. Discovering that she poses as a mortal instead of embracing her divinity. Persephone mentions several times that she doesn't know how to be divine because her powers are somewhat dormant and the powers that do work seem to cause death instead of life. While the book establishes in this universe that Olympians live amongst mortals, Persephone doesn't feel confident in her true divine form. So she hides away and was allowed to live as a mortal thanks to her mother, Demeter. Persephone may lack confidence as a goddess but makes up for it as a journalist. She feels powerful and most like herself when she writes and advocates for those in need. You see her potential when she speaks passionately about her writing and desire to help those less unfortunate. Persephone hasn't lived centuries long like all of her Olympian counterparts, but she seems to understand humans better then they do. Until she meets Hades. Like Persephone, Hades also seems to have a better understanding of humans, but through more unconventional means. In this book, we learn that many people go to Hades for a bargain of some sort. Hades can see the soul of mortals, he sees their weakness and potential, so he creates a bargain that challenges their vices. Why is this relevant? Well, I'll tell you why. Persephone meets Hades (unbeknownst to her at the time) through a game of cards that leads to a bargain. A bargain that allows Hades to see his future Queen through her flaws, darkness, beauty, passion and power. He challenges her to bring forth her potential by creating life in the Underworld. This is the bargain. Persephone may be the Goddess of Spring by title, but her powers say otherwise. Or so she thought. Persephone rises to the challenge even though she doesn't want to. It's at this point where we begin to grow with Persephone. Glimpses of her past weave in and out of the storyline. Letting us know that Persephone had an isolated childhood. Demeter was overprotective for reasons unknown to us. But that overprotection lead to Persephone's anger, fear, distrust, lack of confidence, resentment and stubbornness. Persephone has a deep desire to prove something out of herself. This bargain begins to make her questions things about herself and the feelings she's beginning to develop for Hades. Since spending so much time in the Underworld, she learns more about Hades. This God is not like the other ones. She begins to see and understand that Hades does more for the mortals than the famous Olympians. Now, I would LOVE to talk about their chemistry, but I want to focus more on Persephone. Don't get me wrong, Hades and Persephone have a tension that is out this world. You can practically cut it with a knife! Their longing and desire is so palpable and indescribable, oooof I relished in those spicy moments!!! Even though the tension is spicy, it does service a purpose as well. Bringing out many of Persephone's thoughts and emotions to the forefront. She starts battling with her feelings for Hades, embracing her divinity/power and her desire to stay hidden as a mortal. Her struggle is real and as a reader, I wanted to stop her fighting herself many times. I wanted her to tell Hades how she felt and realize the power she has as a Goddess. Both Hades and I could see it! I was so satisfied towards the end when Persephone made the discovery of her own potential and slowly accept the idea of embracing herself as the Goddess of Spring.

As the storyline progresses into A Touch of Ruin, things change a lot and Persephone struggles more than before. We get two sides of Persephone. One side that is willing to learn and practice her magic to become the Goddess of Spring and future Queen of the Underworld. The second side that wants to retreat back to her comfort zone. The idea of becoming the Goddess of Spring and future Queen of the Underworld frightens Persephone. She begins to wonder if she is capable of becoming both. The chaos and set backs ensue. This book does get a little darker in the emotional sense. As mentioned before, Persephone lived a good point of her life trapped in her mother's hold. Only recently did Persephone have a taste of what she believed freedom to be. Through Hades, she learns true freedom and independence. Everything changes in manner of seconds. Persephone faces a personal tragedy. She becomes incapable of making sense of this loss and begins to lose touch with reality. The chaos that unfolds around Persephone makes complete sense. She experiences an intense breakdown while her powers become more poignant. She spirals and falls into that inky dark space of her mind. All of her insecurities and fears mesh into one and erupt explosively in her face. She acts rash and immaturely throughout the book. It's extremely frustrating but it makes sense. Even when we make our own self-discoveries, there are times that we have set backs. Persephone's anger, isolation, resentment, fear, and insecurities get the best of her. We learn a little more about Demeter's reasons to keep Persephone away. The Fates had foreseen the meeting of Persephone and Hades. She was meant to be Queen of the Underworld and Demeter said fuck that. So she kept her away for as long as possible. Obviously, we saw that it didn't work out in Demeter's favor. With a controlling and manipulative Goddess like Demeter as a mother, it's no wonder Persephone bottled up so many emotions. Persephone's view on herself as well as her actions, spoke volumes on the treatment she received from her mother. She has a dark side and Hades saw it. He knew it because it was just like his own. Man, this is where things get rough. Hades and Persephone go through it, especially Hades. Persephone is blinded by her grief and slight madness that she disregards Hades' warnings multiple times. She get herself into some of the stickiest situations. Situations that test the two of them as a couple, but also as individuals. Making mistakes and hurting themselves and each other along the way. Because there is no relationship that doesn't have struggle. I believe that was the point of the book. It was to witness the internal struggle of Persephone. It is through her rage, insecurity, self-doubt, jealousy, fear and even grief, that we witness the birth of the Goddess of Spring. We discover that Persephone is more powerful than the top tier Olympian Gods. Yeah, Persephone is Queen alright! Slay baby girl! Back to what I was saying, it seems like hitting rock bottom was the point. We as readers, had to experience her rock bottom. It's not pretty. It's chaotic, messy, ugly, and beautiful. The book does end on a somewhat happier note, Persephone and Hades get engaged!

Which leads into A Touch of Malice and if that title isn't foreboding, I don't know what is. We have made many strides from the last two books. I don't think I can fit all things that occur in this book on here and it's probably for the best. So let's get back to Persephone. After the events of the last book, Persephone is not the same, naïve young woman. You can see the difference within her. She carries herself more calmly and collectively, her tone is serious and mature, and she considers and contemplates her decisions more carefully. Obviously, the aftermath really changed Persephone. She is aware of the damaged she caused. It had repercussions. Those repercussions linger within her, especially grief. Persephone understands that there is no going back, not after saying yes to Hades. Don't get it twisted, Persephone is absolutely over the moon about marrying Hades. Her love for him is unwavering and vice versa. But, she is out of her comfort zone now and she knows it. Her struggles with her inner self still continue. Wondering what kind of Queen she will be for the Underworld and if she should give up her secret of being mortal. Now, their engagement becomes the center of attention. While it might be a joyous occasion for these these two love birds, disaster is about strike. The news reaches Demeter and she ain't happy. Demeter is so pissed that she summons a snow storm to New Greece. This storm is causing death and destruction all around them. Demeter doesn't give a flying fuck! If she can't have her daughter, then no one can. Persephone finds herself at a crossroads. If she marries Hades, this storm will rage on. If she goes back to her mother's cage, she won't be with Hades. She also knows that she will hate and resent her mother forever if she does goes back. To make matters worse, the Olympians insert themselves into this mess. According to this universe, Zeus has to bless any divine marriage. This news aggravates Persephone and she doesn't know what to do. How can she obtain the things she wants without causing rift? She's being pulled in every direction. Will Persephone become Queen of the Underworld, will she appease her mother, and get permission from the Gods to live happily ever after? Things are becoming bleak and less likely. The only thing Persephone can do is fight. It's at this moment that we witness her true transformation. She suddenly realizes what she must do. Persephone finally becomes the Goddess of Spring. She makes peace with herself. She accepts the fact that she will always battle her inner demons. Of course, Persephone has had much help from Hades (and Hecate). Ultimately, this was a journey she had to make on her own. Honestly, I loved this point in the book. Because like Hades, I saw the true power of Persephone. She IS the Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld. Ooof, that ending! It ended on a cliffhanger! I will admit that this last book brought out a lot of my emotions. There were so many moments that moved me deeply. Moments that made me smile, made me so frustrated, made me so giddy, made me blush, and made me shed some tears. I truly don't know what to expect from the next book. I believe it's going to be released this year. I, for one, will be looking forward to it!

Look, I did a deep dive on these books. But, that's what happens when characters resonate with you. You cherish them because they have meaning to you. I found myself relating to Persephone on multiple occasions. Her insecurities were similar to mine and I just connected with her. Which is why I love reading! I tried to not write too many spoilers. I really left out a lot of characters and other plot points because I wanted to focus on Persephone's growth. Maybe you'll be more inclined to read it after reading this or maybe not. You never know! Anyhoo, I'm finishing up some of my other books and audiobooks.

Be back soon!

XOXO

Sincerely,

Veronica

#Spotify #sincerelyveronica #book review #bibliophile #book blog #bookworm #hades and persephone #persephone #a touch of darkness #a touch of ruin #a touch of malice #scarlett st clair #greek mythology #my thoughts

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