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#yep you used me and got what you wanted for a while and then when things got too serious I became disposable#and even now with all the strides we’ve made and everything we’ve buried you still want to keep me a secret#do you have any idea how badly that fucking hurts?#you don’t want to use me anymore and you only want to be friends but you don’t want to fully acknowledge me as a friend#you won’t put me fully in the friend category and let us progress as two people who are truly just friends and for what?#fucking roped me into this bullshit from the very beginning and now I’m stuck with this mess I’m in#the pain I’m feeling is just… I don’t even know how to describe this right now#and the worst part is that even this won’t fully push me away or make me stop talking to you#I’ll still feel my heart race when you message me and get so excited to talk to you every day#because I’m just that fucking dumb apparently#I should be giving my all to my girlfriend and I’m trying so hard to do that but you’re still implanted in my mind like a fucking parasite#I can’t purge you or get rid of our memories or stop thinking of you#I can’t accept that the past is dead and this person who used to want me and make me feel so special is just the same as every other guy#I thought you were different and I thought our friendship meant something#but now I feel like I’m just that stupid girl who gets involved with a guy who says all the nice words and then gets fucked over in the end#yeah it’s my own fault cause I made my own bad decisions and played my part#I can accept my part in this and recognize what I’ve done that’s made this all worse#but fuck dude there were things you didn’t tell me until after I was already in too deep and that’s not really fair either#and now it’s like… do I just continue this friendship as if nothing ever happened? do I just move on as if we’re all just fine and dandy?#how do I reconcile all of this bullshit? how do I keep you as a friend without being angry or needy or idiotic all over again?#turned out to be much more like my mother than I ever wanted to be fuck me#personal
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if there’s no hot water left when i get in the shower. well. in the words of ke dollar sign ha this place about to blow.
#let’s recap the week shall we. sorry i just want to recount how i’m a victim to life.#tore open blister that’s still just bare flesh but hopefully beginning to heal. walked for long with shit so heavy i felt like i was on a#retreat to purge every negative emotion thru physical endurance. roommates r just not roommating.#the bereal incidences and my stupid spotify moment yesterday (my fault). general suffering due to that situation.#oh right got sick again and was told i was in close contact with someone who has covid#some people were just so mean this week. and there’s so many assignments#oh my goddddddd i obnoxiously just tried to think of everything that made me upset hoping my roommate would be out and they’re still fucking#not r u joking.#abby talks
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tumblr I am fucking begging you, please let me disable specific notifications bc I am TIRED of coming to a bunch of notifications thinking it's for my art only for those notifications to be for this blog on shitposts that aren't even mine! I am a struggling artist and I'm tired of being constantly let down!
#hazy rambles#ngl this makes me wanna purge this blog#and create a new password protected one with no followers so im not constantly disappointed every time i check my notifications#is there a way to send tumblr staff suggestions#bc this website REALLY needs this feature#let me disable specific notifications please!#lest i begin spamming this blog with reblogs of my art
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Listening to Artificial Condition again, it strikes me how much Murderbot uses empathy reflexively as a survival skill. Look at this bit.
Upon meeting it, ART allows it on board and then announces that it knows that Murderbot is rogue. Then ART threatens to destroy it if it hacks ART's own systems. Murderbot is immediately terrified and shuts down all inputs, gives serious thought to spending the entire three month journey unconscious, and then considers the potential avenues of damage from ART's drones. ART, not realizing why Murderbot had suddenly gone silent, tells it to quit sulking, which understandably pisses off the still-terrified Murderbot. It dumps a bunch of memories of coercive treatment into ART's feed, and ART goes silent.
Then this happens:
Then it said, I’m sorry I frightened you. Okay, well. If you think I trusted that apology, you don’t know Murderbot. Most likely it was playing a game with me. I said, “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to ride to your next destination.” I’d explained that earlier, before it opened the hatch for me, but it was worth repeating. I felt it withdraw back behind its wall. I waited, and let my circulatory system purge the fear-generated chemicals. More time crawled by, and I started to get bored. Sitting here like this was too much like waiting in a cubicle after I’d been activated, waiting for the new clients to take delivery, for the next boring contract. If it was going to destroy me, at least I could get some media in before that happened. I started the new show again, but I was still too upset to enjoy it, so I stopped it and started rewatching an old episode of Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. After three episodes, I was calmer and reluctantly beginning to see the transport’s perspective. A SecUnit could cause it a lot of internal damage if it wasn’t careful, and rogue SecUnits were not exactly known for lying low and avoiding trouble. I hadn’t hurt the last transport I had taken a ride on, but it didn’t know that. I didn’t understand why it had let me aboard, if it really didn’t want to hurt me. I wouldn’t have trusted me, if I was a transport. Maybe it was like me, and it had taken an opportunity because it was there, not because it knew what it wanted.
The thing about Murderbot's survival is that it clearly involves quite a bit of negotiating with other constructs and bots. That's how it talks its way onto cargo hauler bots in the first place. It uses empathy--envisioning the emotional and cognitive context of the individuals it encounters--to work out what different kinds of people want, so that it can offer them fair trades. It also uses empathy to consider what humans might be looking for, so it can practice blending in and hide.
Murderbot would never have survived so long if it wasn't capable of assessing the individual desires of the people--human, bot, and construct--around it. It thinks about ART's probable fears and motivations so that it can consider whether ART is inherently an ongoing threat or a potential ally.
When your survival depends on evading detection, you get really good at assessing perceptual biases so that you can shape yourself to fit into them. People talk about murderbot being radically empathetic as a choice it makes, or as a feature of its personality that makes it a good person. But I think murderbot would be the the first person to tell you that this empathy is part of its threat assessment suite, a skill that was developed out of necessity in order to allow you to survive.
It is also a trait that makes murderbot a good person, of course: it chooses very carefully to try to survive by doing as little harm as possible and by offering things, like media, that buy it access to things it needs. But it started as a survival skill. It's part of hypervigilance.
I think one of the strengths of this series is that so many of the things we love about SecUnit are traits developed for survival in an inherently threatening world. The shape of its mind and heart have been changed by the trauma of its origin--but they don't make murderbot less good for being altered, even if that skill was developed in a traumatic context.
I like that.
#murderbot#empathy as a tool#note that this is not necessarily natural empathy#it's cognitive and only happens when the adrenaline eases off#going to work my way though the existing published series before I dig into my brand new copy of the new one
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PAC: Energy Check~ for wherever you are right now
This was completely unplanned but frankly spirit doesn't give a fuck about my plans. So if this found you, here are some messages you probably need right now-
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pile 1: Ooh.. as I was preparing to start your reading, I saw 11:11 as the Chariot card showed up for you. This. Tells me that you are pretty strongly connected to your divine path right now, which simply means that you're doing something that's keeping you in alignment, sweet pile one! Good job! Keep going down this road because you WILL stumble upon amazing experiences and people! This message is coming through quite strongly. Now, isn't that lovely? Hehe.
Here's the thing, though.. Although you're actually IN alignment with your greatest timeline and life, you seem to be completely UNAWARE of the fact! You might be going through the necessary purging emotionally and/or mentally as a result of this alignment since the "old stuff" has no more room in your new vibration anymore. So, you've probably had to go through some intense endings and/or tower moments in life lately and THIS has left you feeling really, really sad. Maybe even depressed. For some of you, if that's the case, please seek help, sweet soul. It doesn't have to be therapy but even as simple as talking to a trusted loved one, you know? Or even journaling about it could help if you're into it. It seems like you could use a new perspective on the things you're going through right now. I'm sensing that you might be feeling emotionally numb right now too, but that's because you've been doing a lot of emotional processing lately AND IT'S ALL PAYING OFF. I just need you to know that. You just can't see it right now because you're slap dead in the middle of the storm, and I'm looking at it from a bird's eye view, you know?
While you're purging old stuff, I also see you making your way through an old core belief - "I gotta work hard to be deserving of anything because I inherently don't" Or something along those lines. You may have started purging this belief as a result of life showing you that it's simply not something worth keeping alive inside you. Maybe recently, you caught yourself overworking yourself to death only to receive very little in return (in any area of your life - relationships included) and this experience helped you wake up to this unhelpful belief of yours. You're unlearning this belief as we speak. It's not easy though, but I CAN assure you, you're acing it.
If you find yourself worrying too much about anything and everything or simply feeling a general fear, just know that it's a normal reaction to having things uprooted in your life. Life, right now, is asking you to do your best to focus on what's right in front of you because if you do this, the future is guaranteed to sort itself out. I promise.
I love you so much, pile 1. I see all your hard work and am rooting for you SO hard, bro. Love and light.
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Pile 2: Seems like to me that y'all have been STUCK in a particular pattern for a while now, maybe years? For some of you folks reading? Let me spell it out for you what this pattern looks like to me - an imbalance of the mind and heart. Too much mind and too little heart. Maybe none at all.
I can't seem to tap into the root of this imbalance, maybe because it's different for each of you reading, OR maybe it's not relevant to us right now because you can simply begin to address this imbalance as you see it in your day-to-day. But I sense that you're really good at addressing things, so once you're conscious of this pattern going on subtly in the background, running your life, you can really do something about this. This pattern may show up as you struggling with feeling fear, and this is blocking you off to one very important thing fear is here to show us, and that is how to support ourselves. If we are afraid of something we desire and have a healthy relationship with fear, we go for the desire while caretaking our fear. I read a quote the other day, it said "Do that thing you love but if you find that you're scared, then go do it scared." The point I'm trying to make is, fear isn't going to go away on its own, it's you who will simply expand your ability to hold space for it AND your desires equally. When you figure out how to do this, magic will happen in your life. You'll find that your unwillingness to caretake your fear only gave you more things to be afraid of (because, hello, Law Of Attraction *lol*), BUT you'll also find that when you radically start taking responsibility for your fear(s), you'll be able to act from a wiser space and be your full badass self. You'll find that there are so many things you CAN do and so much life you CAN live. Everything you've wanted to start doing in life will start to happen almost seamlessly. It WILL surprise you big time. You're currently making your way through an important part of your healing, and that is to hold yourself in all your glory. To hold all parts of yourself, even the ones that are scared shitless. Once you've integrated this segment of your healing, SO many doors will unlock for you. Sweet soul, you have no clue of JUST HOW MANY. And this… is probably because you manifest with your heart primarily (meaning you feel things deeply and so you unknowingly tap into the frequency of what you want easily) and your fear is keeping you stuck in your head, which means you're only 40% of the full You right now, PRIOR the healing of c. You might even feel it sometimes. You might feel like you're only a shell of a person (been there myself, you're not alone in this!). Listen to that feeling. Your truth lies in there. You're meant to be the 100% you, and I see that you're already halfway there!
I love you so much, pile 2, sending you so much light and love. Hope you find the resources you need to make it through to your new life where you live in more love than fear.
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Pile 3: Man… y'all been fighting for your lives, huh? I see that you may be in the midst of a lot of divinely evoked darkness? Lol, I literally heard that - divinely evoked darkness. Maybe you're going through a dark night of the soul, perhaps? Whatever your're going through though, it seems like you've been hanging on for dear life.
Some good news for you- no matter the circumstances you're in right now (be it good, bad, or terrible), you've been doing all the work necessary to keep your head above water and have been diligently nurturing your own light, positivity, and essence. THAT'S incredible resilience, sweet pile 3, and I'm really proud of you! It's not easy to keep an open heart through bad times, and that's such a grand achievement in my eyes. UGH, BEAUTIFUL.
Your energy SCREAMS transition period vibes. You seem to be neither in your "old" timeline nor in the new one yet. You're sorta hanging in the middle right now. I see the Hanged Man in the third eye as I tell you this. Feels like you're in the void right now, and things just seem… bleh. Boring. Colorless. This is probably because you're already done with the ugly part of the process, "the divine shakeups", the loss, and the purge. Think… the bland but peaceful feeling you feel after having an intense ugly crying session, you know? Yeah, you're energetically there right now. You'll probably be here for a while longer because you've let go of MAJOR stuff, pile 3. Did you let go of people recently, maybe? Or that old bad habit, perhaps? That was the purge, so to speak. And now you're in the aftermath of it all, the uncomfortable but necessary calm.
-Side note: You might've struggled to embody your divine feminine earlier, but the timeline you're entering right now is the exact opposite of that. You might be attracted towards things that will help you nurture your own divine feminine right now. Give into it. Nurture patience, stillness, and compassion for self. It will HOPEFULLY speed up the void period if you consciously take part in it, you know?-
You're quite emotionally intelligent, and it has guided you throughout the whole process, and it also seems like it ain't your first rodeo in the process of proverbial death and rebirth. Good on you because you're doing a real good job keeping your calm through venturing into the unknown. You know what? You remind me of Elsa from Frozen, taking on the unknown like it belongs to her. You are such a queen, omg.
Yep, all that's left to do now is celebrate yourself, pile 3! Try your best to embrace this period, the void, and you'll be on your way to your next happy adventure! Love and light, sweet soul. Thanks for sharing your energy with me today.
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#astrology community#spirituality#tarot#tarotcommunity#divination#tarot cards#tarot reading#pac reading#tarot readers#pac tarot#PAC free reading#energy check#tarotblr#free tarot#spiritual awakening#spiritualgrowth#consciousness#mysticism#PAC#pick a card reading#pick a pile#pick a card#pick a picture#tarot witch#tarot community#spiritual community#spiritual journey#dark night of the soul#kundalini awakening
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Continuing to think about the horror of what happens to John, and the horrors of love...
When Alecto has first been created, she says to him "I picked you to change, and this is how you repay me?" and "What have you done to me?"
They're heartbreaking questions she has every right to ask, but there's something awful and ironic about them too. Because John also might have asked "what have you done to me?"
It's easy to get distracted by the cartoonish awfulness of John's own narration: "talk about police abuse", "come on, love. Guys as careful as me don't have accidents," "love a working tram system." But all of these comments come after moments where John has unwittingly come into proximity with violent death, an experience he repeatedly likens to having drugs forcibly injected into him; an omniscient, dream-like, out of body experience that seems to propel him forward through his basest impulses. The first time this happens, he's brought back from "the verge of something insane" by being shaken violently by P-. Lines like these aren't revealing John's diabolical plotting. They're a man who would rather own atrocities as premeditated than admit that he was losing his grip.
The second is when he encounters the soul of the earth. His human mind makes contact with the incoherent, furious soul of a planet. In any other context, this would be straightforwardly Lovecraftian. And everything he describes after that is full of elipses, jumbled, and detached. His friends are shot by gun-toting cultists and he says it was like a dream.
Hearing the earth screaming, feeling his friends' deaths under his skin like a drug, he might well have asked "what have you done to me?"
Alecto said to him, "I picked you to change, and this is how you repay me?" But as everything collapses, John says:
"I thought you were going to take me, somehow. Purge me. Use me as an instrument. But you didn't say anything...I was babbling, Show me. Come on. I'm ready. You kept screaming and screaming..."
John has spent months becoming something terrifying, an entity with yellow eyes and uncanny powers. He's discovered that death has an overwhelming impact on him that he cannot fully control. Everyone was relying on him to do something. And he did so many things: well-meaning things and stupid things and things that were lashing out in rage and frustration. Hundreds of people have died because of him. His friends have died because of him. Surely, surely there was a point to this. Surely there was meaning. Surely whatever did this to him, made him into this, had a greater plan.
But there is no plan. There is no great revelation. He tries to hurt the earth, to provoke some kind of answer, but the screaming continues. And when P dies, the person who snapped him out of it the last time, John lets go and the whole world dies.
John is kneeling on the grass vomiting up dirt and tearing out his own ribs, saying "there was still too much of me that was just a human being...", trying to swallow the soul of the earth. And by the end, the one shred he has to hold onto is a memory of playing with a doll as a child. That, and his anger...
The earth tried to reach out in the only way it could, amidst its incoherent suffering. And John tried to use the abilities it gave him, but he was only human. Fallible and proud and angry.
She said, "I still love you." And the horror; the horror of love, the horror of this story, is that to begin with they did this to each other.
To be clear: I don't mean to diminish the awfulness or the very specific forms that John's violence against Alecto takes, and continues to take across the story. I don't mean to excuse his own self-mythologisation. I certainly don't think he's blameless for the decisions he made and the agenda he pursued. But if there's one thing that happens over and over again in TLT, it's that the horror of love is not a one-way street.
And I wonder, in light of what we now know about the permeability of the soul, quite where John ends and Alecto begins. And when that blurring began...
#the locked tomb#tlt meta#john gaius#alecto the first#Can't wait to see what the Eldritch Alpha Couple get up to in ATN
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to be loved — carlos sainz
carlos sainz x you — “i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me.” requested by @dancininseptember masterlist
The short stroll from your office to the apartment never really bothered you. In fact, you typically enjoyed the fresh air and the chance to enjoy the city you loved. But it was early February; rain was threatening the Spanish skies and the frost bitten breeze stung your already tear-filled eyes. It was a crappy end to an even shittier week, your energy wasted on people who didn’t deserve it.
You practically flung yourself through the door of the apartment and shed all remnants of the day – coat, beanie and scarf, all strewn haphazardly, and in that order, on the floor of your small entryway. It took every ounce of energy you had to kick off your heavy boots, each one hitting the wall much harder than you intended. Maybe it was an unconscious way for you to let out frustration, the scuff marks on the white wall a stark reminder of your last straw.
The smell of fresh bread and bolognese sauce hit you as you slunk down the hallway, your tummy grumbling on instinct. You hadn’t eaten since yesterday, a terrible habit you had fallen into lately and Carlos had noticed. He was home more during the cooler months, easily picking up on your little habits that both endeared and worried him. So he made sure, while he was close to you, that you came home to a warm meal every night – because looking after you was his calling in life.
“That smells incredible.”
Carlos briefly glanced over his shoulder and gave you a bright smile before turning down the stove and grabbing a washcloth to clean his hands. You loved him like this; soft and relaxed, in his element. The kitchen was his playground and you remember the sigh of relief that left your lungs when he told you he loved to cook on your first date, because you weren’t particularly gifted when it came to the pots and pans.
“Hope you’re hungry,” He sang, circling the island in the middle of the kitchen to say a proper hello to his beautiful girlfriend, “How was your day?”
A rigid sigh fell from your lips as you fell into his arms, the loving embrace triggering tears to spring to your eyes for the third time today. Carlos held you tight and brushed his hands down your back, comforting you through the sobs wracking your aching body.
“Ay, mi amor,” He soothed, “Breathe for me please.”
Carlos guided you through a couple of deep breaths, chests rising and falling together in synchronicity until your sobs subsided, air finally filling your lungs again. A tight squeeze around your waist brought you back to the man holding you in his arms, worried eyes searching yours for a sign that you were okay as you pulled back and gave him a soft smile.
“I’m okay, I’m sorry.” You sniffled, head shaking.
Carlos tutted as he thumbed away the trail of tears from your face, “Do not say sorry, my love. Talk to me…”
Anger replaced sadness as you told him about how your sister had completely disregarded your feelings for the millionth time, accusing you of only caring about yourself while she’s all alone and stressed about wedding planning. Carlos has managed to get you to sit up on the counter beside him while he finished dinner, but not before pouring you a glass of red wine to nurse while you purged all the negativity from your day.
“She called me a bitch and then uninvited us from the wedding, which by the way I didn’t want to go too to begin with,” You huffed, hands animatedly flying around while he tried to keep up with the drama.
“And all I said to her was that work has been stressful and that us trying for a baby hadn’t been… fruitful, I guess. She flipped out when I said that because her dickhead fiancé doesn’t want kids and she thinks she can change his mind…”
You took a sip of wine and noticed Carlos' eyes rolling like they always did when the topic of your sister came up. He was as sick of her shit as you were, unapologetically scoffing at her selfishness. Making you feel bad when all you needed was someone to confide in was one thing, but lashing out on you was something he couldn’t stand by and watch. He knew he couldn’t do anything right now; maybe he would make a stern phone call tomorrow once the dust had settled.
So instead of getting upset, he put down the wooden spoon coated in the most delicious sauce you had ever tasted and nestled himself between your swinging legs. His warm chocolate eyes stared into your soul as he planted his palms on your thighs, tethering himself to you.
“You know I can take care of you, mi vida,” He said, voice deep and barely above a whisper, “No matter the problem, you won't need anyone but me, I promise.”
For the first time in weeks, you felt your heart slow down and return to a normal rhythm as Carlos pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. You softly moaned in unison and gripped the grey shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders, pulling him in closer – not that he had any plan on going anywhere.
No, all he wanted was for his girl to feel heard and to be loved because all he needed was you.
a/n — loved writing carlos again. inbox detox is still open !!
#carlos sainz#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz fluff#carlos sainz imagine#f1 x reader#monzamashmasterlist#inbox detox
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Look! I wrote a dirty little piece of fanfiction featuring Edward Nashton!
Edward Nashton X Fem!Reader
Warnings: fem!reader, no use of y/n, smut, fluff, porn with very little plot
Summary: Eddie does you a favor
Heaven Tonight
Edward trudges up the stairs to his apartment. It had been another torturous day at the office and he was looking forward to getting back to his real work. Cleansing the city would finally give him the satisfaction he had been seeking. Nothing would keep him from obtaining his goal to purge the rotten decay at the heart of Gotham.
He rounded the landing and began the climb up the last flight when a curious sight made him forget briefly about his plans for the evening. There you sat on the filthy hallway flooring in front of your apartment door which was across the hall from his own. He pauses at his door and watches as you tap away on your phone.
And then it happens. It had happened before and each time was a special gift Edward treasured. You lift your head up and smile at him.
The first time had been approximately 8 and a half months ago when you first moved in. He had been coming home from work and nearly ran into you when you headed down for more boxes.
“Whoops! Hey sorry neighbor!”, and that 1000 watt smile had him forgiving you instantly.
He didn’t mind accidentally receiving your mail. Now he knew your name. Now you would greet him with a warm smile and say, “Thanks Ed! I don’t know why the dang mailman keeps doing this.”
“Hey Edward!” Why you were always so friendly was beyond him. He turned it over and over in his mind. Was it a trick? Were you stupid? Were you perhaps the only genuinely kind person in all of Gotham?
Ed gave you a timid tight-lipped smile, “hey, what are you doing down there?”
“Oh you know, trying to get a hold of my sister who is far too busy with her new girlfriend to care about what I’m doing, as well as our good for nothing landlord.” You paused and gave him a quizzical look, “Well, I don’t know our landlord's dating status just that he can’t be bothered to answer.”
It was Edward’s turn now to look puzzled. You pointed behind yourself towards the door, “Key broke off. I can’t get in.”
He nodded and gently huffed, “Ah!”
“So I’m down here until someone either responds or I get desperate enough to call some weirdo who decided to become a locksmith.”
The wheels of his mind clicked into motion. He could probably solve this for you with his pliers and his lock picks, but he couldn’t be sure if you would react negatively or positively. Who has a set of lock picks at the ready? Definitely a creep.
He didn’t want to freak you out and he couldn’t let you sit here in the hallway by yourself. There was no telling what kind of degenerates occupied this building. He looked to his door, key in hand.
“Um,” Edward swallowed thickly, “you could wait inside with me.”
The lock clicked and the knob turned. The wheels spun up again. Dread fell upon his shoulders like a sodden cloak. He couldn’t let you inside! One step and you would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was, in fact, a creep. A psycho. Ed-weird. His heart pounded in his chest. Sweat threatened to cover his whole body in a clammy sheen as every conceivable bad ending raced through his mind. You screaming in horror as you ran from him; You slapping him hard across the face in revulsion; You shrieking at him with unbridled rage, “let me out of here you psychopath!”
No, surely you would politely decline with another of your sweet candy smiles. Then he could suggest waiting at the diner on the corner while he took the time to vet locksmiths.
Just as he was pulling the door back towards himself you were up on your feet and pushing past him with a cheerful grin.
“Thanks Ed! I think my butt was falling…” you trail off as you truly begin to take in your surroundings. Newspaper clippings covered in large, red letters and threatening phrases paper most of the walls. Piles of ledgers, various tools, and unrecognizable contraptions litter every available surface. It all feels so surreal as you turn slowly looking for anything to give you an answer. This must be a dream. And if it is a dream, then you can do whatever you want to do.
Your gaze lands back on Edward. Still standing in the doorway looking like he might vomit or pass out. From his sudden pallor you guessed both. Your eyes make contact with each other. His big, murky green eyes full of panic pull at your heartstrings. A dream you tell yourself again.
Without too much thought, you let the words tumble out of your mouth. “Can you do me a favor Eddie?”
His eyebrows knit together in confusion but he nods.
“If you’re gonna kill me, could you at least fuck me first?”
Panic bubbles in his chest as he chokes out a strangled, “What?”
“Well,” you glance about the room again, “this is kind of a textbook serial killer apartment,” your eyes connect once again with his, “And I am the kind of dumb girl who will follow a cute guy anywhere.”
Edward’s heart stops. The wheels of his mind screech to a halt. Cute. You think he’s cute. This was not a scenario he had considered.
His face softens as he finally closes the door behind him. You find the both of you slowly crossing the room towards each other. As if your feet have no intention. They follow some magnetic drum. Prisoners of their destination.
Until the two of you stand mere inches apart. Head tilted back to look him in the eye. Heart pounding your gaze darts between his eyes and lips. The pink tip of his tongue protrudes ever so slightly to wet those lips. Before you can think too much about it you push yourself up on your toes and smash your mouth inelegantly against his. The force pushes a small squeak from your throat.
The sound snaps Edward from his tether. His arms crush you to his chest, hands pawing at your back. His form is soft yet solid against you and his fervor elicits a soft moan from your now parted lips. He takes this as your sign to deepen the kiss and his tongue begins a passionate exploration of your mouth. His hunger and inexperience make his kisses feral.
Teeth click together. Tongues clash and lick. Saliva runs freely. Drool accumulates at the corners of your mouths. Edward walks forward pushing you back towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss. His apartment is small like yours and it isn’t long before you feel the mattress hit the backs of your calves. You fall backwards onto the mattress and stare up at him.
Edward allows himself a moment to take it all in. He feels compelled to burn the image into his memory. You splayed on his bed, eyes glassy, lips parted and panting. The spitting image of delicious prey.
Carefully, as though he is trying not to spook you, he climbs onto the bed and crawls up your body. His breath is warm on your face as he leans down once again to capture your lips with his own; However the new angle causes his glasses to slide down his nose and hit you in the face.
Any tension you may have had dissolves at his soft giggles. “Sorry,” He says as he folds his glasses carefully and places them on the nightstand.
His reach pulls up the fabric of his shirt just enough to reveal the smallest sliver of his tummy. You take the opportunity to snake your hand through the gap to feel the softness for yourself.
Edward tenses, almost pulling away. Your free hand goes to the back of his head. Threading your fingers through his soft downy hair, you guide him back down for another kiss. This time his lips are hesitant. The hand still under his shirt glides over his side to his back. You dance your fingertips over the smooth skin and knobs of his spine.
His eyes flutter closed. A slow whine pushes out of his nose as his body and lips melt back against yours. It isn’t long before you feel his fingers pull at the hem of your top, so you adjust yourself enough to pull the garment up and over your head, tossed to the side. Goosebumps form on your arms and chest as Edward gapes open-mouthed at you in your modest cotton bra.
“Your turn,” you almost whisper.
Edward takes a deep breath, steeling himself against his self-consciousness. He unbuttons his shirt just enough that he can pull it and the t-shirt underneath up and over his head. While he is distracted with his task you reach behind yourself, easily unclasping your undergarment. You add it to the growing heap of discarded clothes at the same time as Edward’s shirts. A sound like the combination of a groan and a whine squeezes from his throat. The cool air causes your sensitive peaks to tighten.
The sight sends Edward into a ravenous frenzy once again. His nose crashes into the flat of your sternum and his hands crawl up to the fleshy mounds now on either side of his head. His hands knead the soft tissue and fingertips dance around your ever hardening nipples as his tongue slides across your skin.
Wanton moans pour out of your mouth at the sudden cascade of attention to your breasts. More fuel for Edward’s fire. You writhe and sigh when his wet persistent tongue travels up the side of your breast and he takes the nipple into his mouth.
Equally perverse sounds bubble their way out of Edward, his mind peacefully blank as he suckles. Your legs are tangled together and he absent mindedly humps your thigh. His hardness easily felt through the thin fabric of his cheap slacks.
Your right hand returns to his dark blonde locks, fingers tightening and pulling him off of you with a soft pop when your nipple is pulled free of his lips. You gaze on his love drunk face with its wet puppy eyes and slackened jaw. Gently you guide him to the other breast. Edward resumes his devotions to your pleasure while you reach your free hand down towards his pants.
Your fingers pull clumsily at the latch on his belt. A frustrated grunt at your failure breaks Edward from his ministrations. He looks down to where your fingertips struggle and notices the small wet dot on the crotch of his pants. You’re going to think he’s a pervert. Panic grips him yet again, until he hears your voice husky with arousal.
“Take them off.” You lick your lips before adding, “please?”
His heart leaps into his throat and he finds himself wrenching his belt loose and scrambling out of his khakis faster than he thought possible. There is a moment's hesitation before he pulls down his boxer briefs. But then he sees you are squirming out of your own pants and panties all at once. And so his underwear joins its brethren on the floor.
Edward doesn’t have time to worry about the size of his cock or what it looks like bobbing up and down, leaking precum. He would worry but the distance between your knees keeps increasing. He feels like he is watching a time-lapse of an orchid blooming, the petals unfolding to reveal the true beauty within.
As you lean back on your elbows, legs bent at the knee and falling to either side, Edward stares hungrily; a starving man crawling across the desert on hands and knees. Your sweet cunt an overly ripe peach on the verge of decay, splitting at the seams with musky juices. The promise of satiety.
Edward has never committed this particular act before but the sirens’ song of your wet, pink pussy is simply too much to resist. His arms crawl beneath your legs and wrap around your thighs. Fingers gripping lest you change your mind, close your legs, and deny him what he now considers his singular goal.
You would never, of course. In this moment, your only desire is to give in to him. You’ll do anything if it means he will continue. You’ve never felt desired like this before. Like you are a benevolent goddess offering sustenance to your most loyal servant.
His gaze flits up to yours. With a small smile and nod you award him approval. Tentatively he presses his lips to your right thigh. First a chaste kiss. Then a light flick of tongue. A gentle nibble. Briefly his breath hits your sensitive throbbing sex but your torture is prolonged when you realize he is simply moving to do the same to your other thigh.
Desire coils within your pelvis. The ache overwhelms you, your need too great.
Your whines and moans fill Edward with a confidence he was unaware he could achieve without his mask. His breath is cool and sharp on your wetness as he comes to feast on you at last.
First, a chaste kiss. You throw your head back and shudder, amazed at how such a simple action could feel so electric. Then a light flick of tongue. Your elbows give way, landing you flat on the mattress. A gentle nibble. Your thighs clamp together to hold him hostage against you at the same time your hand flies to the back of his head.
“Ahhhhh! Eddie!!! Ahhhh!” You moan his name.
A beautiful woman is moaning his name.
The wheels in Edward’s mind begin to turn yet again. He cannot lose this. He needs to know how to recreate this result. He will master this puzzle. Unleashing his tongue to explore your folds, he begins to catalog every twitch and sound you make.
The flat of his tongue licking you like an ice cream cone draws a low moan. The pointed tip drawing circles around your clit cause you to buck and hiss. He kisses, sucks, and licks. You pant, shake, and writhe. He pulls your labia into his mouth. You growl and arch your back off the bed. He pushes his slick muscle into your aching hole. Your eyes go crossed as you whine and shiver.
It is impossible to tell how much time has passed. Every touch from Edward is electric pleasure. What started as sloppy-yet-eager has become a determined assault on your pulsing cunt. Your head lolls to the side and you can see him buried between your thighs, nose pressed to your clit. Sensation and image combine to launch you into ecstasy.
Your hips buck. Moans blur into growls blur into a purr. You feel your insides tighten and relax. Tighten and relax. A gush of fluid rushes into Edward’s mouth which he drinks gratefully.
Panting, he pulls back to look back up at you. His eyes glassy with lust and triumph. Face glistening with your release. Never have you seen something so erotic.
Your hands dart out and clutch his shoulders, “Eddie please, I need you. I need you in me.”
Edward pushes a sharp breath out of his nose. This is it. Jaw clenched, he reaches for his bedside table and pulls a condom from the top drawer. Not that he had many lovers, just that sometimes economy of cleanup during certain solo activities was tantamount.
With shaking fingers he rips the package open and tosses the wrapper away. He tries to steady his breathing and roll the condom on his turgid member. Lips pursed in concentration, eyes closed, Edward takes a deep grounding breath.
His absence is too much. You wiggle yourself closer to him and whisper seductively, “Please Edward.”
His eyes snap back open. His face set in determination he leans himself towards you. Propping himself on up his elbows over you. You simply can’t take it any longer. Before he can make another move you snake your hand between your legs and grasp him firmly eliciting a growling moan from the usually stoic man.
He is thick and firm in your palm. Twitching with excitement. You guide him towards your entrance, rolling your hips up to take in the tip. Seemingly of their own volition, Edward’s hips come crashing into yours, sheathing himself in one fluid motion. If you weren’t so aroused it may have been painful but all you can feel is a delicious fullness. Sparks ignite behind your wide eyes.
Edward takes a deep shuddering breath and pulls back slowly, looking down to see where you connect. He nearly pulls all the way out before sliding back in. The pace he sets is tortuously slow. Dragging his full length in and out. Your eyes roll back in your head, legs shaking. Edward has the sudden desire to never cum. To simply slide in and out for eternity. Perhaps that would be heaven.
Warmth and desire pools in your belly. Your legs come up to wrap around his hips. Your arms wrap around his torso. Still he continues to go much slower and gentler than what you crave.
“Please Eddie faster, please” you sob into his shoulder.
Unable to do anything but give in to your request, his pace quickens. He screws his eyes shut tight and wills himself to hold out. To remain here inside of you for as long as possible.
Edward nearly loses his control when your nails dig into his back and you wail, “Harder!”
A high pitched whine builds deep within him as he pistons himself into you. This is what you had been craving. Him rutting like a crazed buck in heat.
You pitch your hips up in time with his. Wet slapping sounds echo around the room peppered with guttural moans and hisses of pleasure.
Jaw clenched, Edward uses every ounce of willpower he has to maintain his pace, holding back just enough to avoid falling over the edge. No small feat as you thrash beneath him. Gasping. Clawing at his back. Digging your heels into his ass.
“Ohmygod, Eddie! Mm gonna cum!” Your body engulfs in fire, every nerve alight with ecstasy. You become weightless, out of time and space as your orgasm crashes through you.
Edward feels the rush of warm liquid. Your soft, slick walls clamp down on him like a vice. The muscles contract in waves to produce a milking sensation. He does not slow, fucking you through your orgasm and quickly catching up to his own.
A sweet languid smile graces your flushed face as you come back down from your peak. You are so beautiful, so angelic in his eyes.
A dark possessiveness overcomes him. His thrusts come even faster. More wild than before. He buries his face into your neck and growls, “Mine.”
The word unlocks something within you. Your arms and legs curl around him tighter as you gasp your reply, “Yours.”
His teeth sink into your neck. You feel his growls reverberate in your whole body as he repeats it over and over. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
The tension in his abdomen becomes too much to bear. He feels his scrotum tighten in anticipation of release. Edward seats himself inside your warmth as deeply as he possibly can. A strangled cry rips from his lungs as he cums inside of you.
As the spots fade from his vision and his ragged breath evens out, the full realization of what has transpired comes over Edward. The pretty girl from next door was beneath him. Naked. The woman he had pined over since the very first time she had smiled at him was flushed and breathing unsteadily.
Cold spiney fingers of panic start clawing at his chest. The questions don’t just run at lightning speed through his mind, they tumble speedily from his lips.
“Um A-are you okay? Uh did you uh c-cum? Was was I good?”
Edward’s face burns with embarrassment at his clumsy pillow talk.
Until your face once again brightens with a smile, “Yes, oh yes and oh my god yes!!”
You punctuate each affirmation with a kiss, gazing back at him adoringly.
His heart swells beating back the icy grip of panic. He lets out a breath he did not know he was holding and gently untangles himself from you.
Edward carefully slides the condom off his now softened member and ties off the end. He places it gently on the nightstand. Cringing at the sickening squish sound it makes.
He picks up his glasses, places them on his face, and turns back to you. “Um do you need anything? What should I do now?”
Your face splits into a warm smile, “Just cuddle me, silly.”
You open your arms up to him and he slides down to lay beside you. Arms wrap around each other and legs entangle together. Edward grabs the blanket and pulls it over you both at an awkward angle. You idly play with his hair and a contented sigh escapes you.
“Hmm I guess this means you’re not gonna kill me huh? “ you say with a tired laugh.
“No,” you can feel his lips curl into a smile against your neck, “but I might chain you to the radiator.” A high pitched almost manic giggle bursts from him.
You join him with your own laughter crazed from the whirlwind of emotion. You didn’t know if he was kidding or not. Or if you even cared.
End
#the conundrum man#edward nashton smut#edward nashton x reader#edward nashton#pwp fics#pwp#fluff#smut#vveirdvvitch writes
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FBI Orchestrated January 6th to Destroy Trump’s Patriots – U.S. Army Special Forces Veteran Jeffrey McKellop Exposes the Deep State’s Dark Plan!
January 6th wasn’t a spontaneous event—it was a trap. A carefully planned operation by the deep state, designed to destroy Trump’s patriots. Jeffrey McKellop, a decorated U.S. Army Special Forces veteran, has become a political prisoner, locked away by the very government he defended for over 30 years. His story proves the conspiracy to dismantle Trump’s movement and silence anyone who dares to challenge the deep state.
The truth they don’t want you to know? Capitol Police didn’t fail that day—they engineered the chaos. McKellop witnessed it firsthand. An elderly woman was pushed down the stairs three times, sparking the crowd exactly as planned. It was a deliberate move to provoke violence, giving the feds an excuse to brand patriots as domestic terrorists. This was no accident—it was orchestrated.
McKellop has been brave enough to raise the Entrapment Defense, exposing undercover FBI agents who infiltrated the crowd. These agents weren’t just watching—they were inciting the crowd, baiting patriots into confrontations with the police. McKellop has already identified two agents, and the FBI is scrambling to cover it up. They know if the truth gets out, their entire narrative collapses.
The FBI, DOJ, and Capitol Police worked together in this coordinated takedown. They needed January 6th to paint Trump’s base as extremists and justify their assault on patriots. McKellop’s case is unraveling their plot. He’s been imprisoned for over three years, subjected to solitary confinement, psychological abuse, and forced to sign documents to absolve his captors. But they haven’t broken him.
McKellop is calling on patriots to stand firm, reject plea deals, and fight back. The Supreme Court is on our side, and his case could expose the deep state’s role in orchestrating January 6th. This isn’t just about McKellop—it’s about the return of Donald Trump. The deep state is terrified of Trump’s comeback in 2024. They know what’s coming: a total purge of the DOJ, FBI, and the corrupt institutions behind this attack.
Trump will not let this stand. When he returns, executive pardons will free every political prisoner, including McKellop. And the deep state operatives who tried to destroy America will face justice.
This is a war for America’s future. The elites tried to destroy Trump’s supporters, but they’ve only made us stronger. McKellop’s fight is just the beginning. The truth is coming, and nothing can stop it.
Trump is coming back, and with him, the reckoning they fear. Stand with McKellop. Stand with Trump. 🤔
#pay attention#educate yourselves#educate yourself#knowledge is power#reeducate yourselves#reeducate yourself#think about it#think for yourselves#think for yourself#do your homework#do your own research#do some research#do your research#ask yourself questions#question everything#news#government corruption#coup de'tat#january 6#lies exposed#government takeover#political unrest
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For the first time in his life, Tomura Shigaraki has full control of his quirk. With this newfound freedom, there is so much that he wants to do. And it just so happens that you are at the very top of that list.
Fandom: My Hero Academia
Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x GN!Reader
Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI
Contains: GN!Pronouns, Smut, Soft Shigaraki, Penetrative Sex (Reader Receiving), Oral Sex (Reader Recieving), Pre-Paranormal Liberation War, Post-PLF Manga Spoilers tho, Established Relationship, Alcohol, Massage, League Shenanigans. (Honestly, no crazy CW's with this one lol. It's just fluff and smut and angst lol)
Notes: I tried to write something wholesome to try and heal our mourning Shig-simp hearts... It had mixed results lol.
AO3 Link
Like my work? Please consider commissioning me or contributing to my Ko-Fi!
That seemed a little too easy.
It’s the first thought that crossed Shigaraki’s mind when he came to on the Doctor’s operating table. Don’t get him wrong, the time Ujiko had spent vivisecting him from finger to finger had been hell on earth, but it seemed to go by a little too quickly for four months.
“That’s because it’s only been a week,” Ujiko explained as he approached Shigaraki with a paper cup of water — an absolutely pathetic offering considering the world of pain the man had just mercilessly put him through.
But Shigaraki took it anyway.
“Didn’t realize that there were going to be breaks,” he said before knocking back the cup in one gulp.
“Once we begin the transference of All for One, there won’t be,” Ujiko explained, “What I was working on this time, was completing your quirk.”
Shigaraki’s brows furrowed, “What do you mean?”
Ujiko chuckled, gesturing to the paper cup in the new leader’s hands, “Why don’t you try putting your pinky down?”
He shot the doctor a confused look, not sure what exactly that would accomplish other than sparing him a trip to the trash can. But upon Ujiko’s nod of reassurance, he looked back down at the cup, bringing his raised finger down on its crease experimentally.
Shigaraki’s eyes widened immediately.
The cup was still in his hand.
It didn’t turn to dust. Didn’t even crumble or sport a single crack. He touched it with all five fingers and yet it stood with as much integrity as the steel IV pole next to him.
He snapped to the doctor, something unreadable in his voice, “Is… Is decay gone?”
“No, no of course not. I’d never purge you of such a powerful quirk,” Ujiko assured, “You just have control over it now.”
Shigaraki willed decay to activate, testing Ujiko’s explanation, and in an instant, the cup dissolved under his touch, just like he was used to.
He stared at his hand in disbelief, the dust falling through his fingers. He couldn’t believe this…
“And it’s not just turning it on or off, all or nothing,” Ujiko continued, “You can stop the spread of decay at certain points, activate it with just one finger — you have full control.”
Shigaraki snapped to Ujiko, intensely. Desperate. Maybe he should’ve been doing a better job of maintaining his poker face like Sensei would’ve, to try and hide the way this was affecting him. But he just couldn’t. Not now. Not when something he’d longed for so badly, so primally was so close to his grasp.
“Are you sure?”
Ujiko didn’t seem to take notice of this lapse of control however. Or at least, he didn’t care. His bushy mustache just raised with a small smile and pride in his work.
“Quite sure.”
Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed. He was not fucking around here, “ How sure?”
Ujiko’s smile shifted slightly, a challenging smirk pulling at the corners as he offered his own hand as fodder.
Shigaraki slapped his fingers fully atop the back of Daruma’s fat hand, letting the full extent of his anger and emotions drive him. He wanted to test this fully, test that even in fits of passion, he wouldn’t lose control.
And he didn’t.
Daruma Ujiko stood just as whole and living in front of him as the moments before. The only change was the chuckle of satisfaction that Shigaraki’s dumbfounded expression brought him.
“Pretty neat, huh?” Daruma said, turning back to start pulling out equipment for the next phase of experimentation, large hulking tubes and wires that looked more akin to HVAC parts than real medical equipment.
Neat wasn’t exactly the phrase Shigaraki would use. But he didn’t really care anymore.
He had shit to do.
“Now, regarding the next steps in your transformation—”
The EKG machine behind him beeped loudly and suddenly, signaling that it had been disconnected. Ujiko turned back to Shigaraki curiously, watching as he pulled off the various electrode pads scattered across his chest and back.
“You don’t want to get started?”
“Tomorrow,” Shigaraki answered, ripping the IV from his wrist as he hopped off the table.
“But what about the power? Your dreams?” Ujiko pressed, something strained, irritated starting to form in his voice, “I would think that these are all things you’d want without delay.”
“I do. But achieving them one day later won’t kill me. And I have some shit to take care of before I grind for four months.”
Ujiko clicked his tongue, clearly unsatisfied with this new development.
He knew exactly what Shigaraki had to go take care of. And he didn’t like it. Didn’t like you . He’d never liked you in fact. You asked too many questions. Had too many suspicions…
But Shigaraki didn’t care about the doctor’s disapproval, simply turned to him after slapping a bandage over his free-flowing wrist and commanded, “Warp me back to the villa.”
This clearly wasn’t up for discussion. Ujiko could’ve protested, sure, but at the end of the day it wouldn’t have mattered. Shigaraki wasn’t a kid anymore, far from it. He’d taken the mantle of true leader by force, and held his head high with the confidence that accomplishment deserved. If he wanted to do something, he was going to do it. The risk of upsetting the doctor or even his master was not a concern anymore. It barely ever had been.
So in the end Ujiko just sighed and turned to his obedient servant sitting patiently in the corner, “Johnny.”
Shigaraki didn’t so much as flinch as the warp came spewing out of his mouth. In fact, a rare sheen of childlike joy took over his features instead. Daruma noted this with a shaking head as he warped away. Oh well. If Shigaraki wanted one last night with his companions, with his little distraction , who was Ujiko to get in the way?
This was the last night he’d have control over his own body after all. Might as well let him enjoy it.
“Robber!” you cheered victoriously, pumping your fist over the seven you rolled.
“Noooo, not again!!” Toga cried out.
You grabbed the little gray token off the board, twirling it around tauntingly as you hum, “Hmmm, and where should I put him? I wonder…”
Spinner glared at you from across the board, “If you put it on my wheat field one more time—”
“Great idea Spinner!” you mock-gasped, already well aware of where you were planning to put it, and slap the Robber down in the center of Spinner’s monopolized wheat hex.
“Great move! Cheap shot! ” Twice, the last player of the group, piped in.
“ Damn it !” Spinner punched his fist down on the table, shaking the drinks surrounding the board precariously.
“Oi, oi careful there!” you said, grabbing your glass of wine protectively, “If you party foul, you lose a turn.”
Spinner just grumbled irritably, grabbing his own beer and knocking it back to try and quell some of his frustration. You giggled at the sight. It would be easy to assume that Shigaraki was the most competitive and aggressive game player out of the League, but he actually managed to keep his cool during sessions most of the time. No, it was undeniably Spinner that was the most uncontrollably competitive, and it never failed to make you smile.
Even as the thought of Shigaraki threatened your demeanor with a frown.
You shook out the thought, because of course, you had another certain player to focus on. And you turned to her pointedly.
“Alright Toga, half your hand, let’s go.”
She gasped, “Whaaaat? What are you talking about!? I only have six cards!”
“That’s because two of them are sticking out of your sweater.”
Toga looked down to her sleeve, where indeed the corners of two resource cards were poking out rebelliously.
She snapped back to Compress in offense, who sat on the couch behind her, observing the game amusedly with his own glass of wine in hand, “Atsuhiro! You said that trick would work!”
“I’m sorry my dear,” he shrugged his hands tragically, “But it seems your sleight of hand needs a bit more work.”
Toga groaned, pulling her cards out of her sleeve and looking over which ones she wanted to discard with a pout.
Crushing his finished beer in his hand, Spinner turned back to Dabi who sat across the room, as far from the game as possible, and pretending not to watch it all, like he wsn’t invested in a single thing in this room. Not at all.
“Oi Dabi, can you grab me a beer?”
“You’ve got legs, get it yourself.”
“But the fridge is right freaking next to you!” Spinner shouted, pointing at the minifridge that actually, was not only right next to Dabi, but that he was currently resting his feet on top of.
But Dabi was a son of a bitch. So rather than even giving him an answer, he just crossed his feet over the fridge, making himself more comfortable.
“God, seriously ?!”
Shigaraki watched this all from the doorway with a whisper of a smile on his face. He’d stopped by his bedroom at the villa to grab a button down and even considered grabbing a quick shower while he was at it before coming here — the griminess of a week of experimentation sticking to him thickly. But ultimately he’d been too eager to see his comrades.
Yet, once he got to the doorway that the familiar rowdy laughter of his League led him to, he couldn’t help but just stop and take in the moment. It was nice to see them all so comfortable and content after months of chaos and vagrancy. And it was a look that especially suited you.
While you’d never been particularly materialistic or image-obsessed (if your decision to be with him didn’t make that obvious), you certainly also weren’t one to turn down the finer things in life when offered. And clearly here, you’d been offered, given the cashmere sweater and expensive bottle of wine you were currently enjoying. The regular access to showers and brand name moisturizers and cosmetics certainly weren’t hurting you either. Your skin was clearer and more glowing than he’d seen in months. You’d even seemed to have some time to style your hair today.
And of course there was your laugh. That big, uninhibited laugh that you only let out when you were truly comfortable. In general you were a pretty pragmatic person. It’s one of the things he’d always appreciated about you, particularly when surrounded by this circus that he calls a villain group.
You approached new situations skeptically and took most things seriously. It’s not like you had no sense of humor, quite the opposite actually. But you also were very aware that there was a time and place for everything. When the pressure was high, laughter was nowhere to be found. And it had certainly been nowhere to be found for a while now.
So it went without saying that seeing you like this now, laughing over a game board, cheeks tinged slightly-red from the wine, completely taken care of and without a care in the world…
It was quite the sight for sore eyes.
“Shigaraki?”
He blinked and looked back to Spinner who, in standing to go grab a beer from the fridge, had turned and spotted him in the doorway.
“Tomura!” Toga squealed excitedly, jumping up out of her seat with Twice to join Spinner in barraging him in the doorway.
“What’re you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be leveling up with the Doc?” Spinner asked.
“Got a night off,” he answered simply.
“That’s awesome boss! Who needs ya?! ”
He turned to look past the three as you approached behind them, much calmer than the others, as usual. But that didn’t mean you weren’t just as thrilled to have him here. The adoration in your eyes was clear from across the room and it warmed him up in a way that he’d learned to really enjoy.
“It’s good to see you,” you said, simple and sweet. There was clearly so much more behind those words, but you knew how Shigaraki felt about doing shit like that in front of people, so you kept it subtle.
Apparently the caution was unnecessary though, as Shigaraki seemed to have lost his own patience for pretense. Even if it made his next words the spark that set off a firework show of “ooo’s” and teasing from resident forever teenagers, Toga and Twice.
“Yeah…” he breathed, “...Can we talk? Alone?”
It was all you could do to sit down on his bed when he told you.
“Full control?” you repeated in disbelief.
“Full control.”
You smiled, so genuinely, eyes starting to shine. You weren't even thinking about what this meant for the two of you yet, you were just happy for him, for the peace he could now live with. The burden that had eased.
“That… That’s amazing Tomura…”
Shigaraki stared down at you, a lump of nerves settling in his gut. He wasn’t affected by things like nerves or apprehension very much anymore — barely ever was in the first place, and especially not now that he had all the confidence and authority of a “Supreme Leader”. But he couldn’t keep those feelings from surfacing in that moment, couldn’t shake the image in his mind of things going terribly wrong.
Of you crumbling into a pile of dust and viscera in front of him.
He swallowed down those fears though, and started to reach out a shaky hand, “Can… Can I…?”
Whatever apprehension he felt, you obviously didn’t share. You shot out a hand immediately, without hesitation. With complete trust in his word. In him.
His trembling palm pressed against your own firm one, fingers still raised taught and high on instinct, careful not to make contact. You slotted your fingers through his own, bringing them down to hold his hand with none of that same carefulness. His knee-jerk reaction was to scold you for being so reckless around his hands, just like he always did, but he held the words back, knowing he didn’t need to anymore. But the subconscious anxiety buzzing within him was just the same.
You didn’t rush him either. Just gave him a squeeze of reassurance, and that was enough to finally encourage him to put a finger down. And then another. Tip by tip resting firmly and fully against your knuckles, until only his pinky remained raised.
He stared down at the horrid appendage, the one that had betrayed him so many times. That he could remember the horrible, gruesome ways in which it had destroyed in full, vivid detail now. Of the damage it could do to not only the world, but had done to his world. To Mon-chan, his mother, his sister…
The League was his world now — you were his world. And the idea of destroying that all with his own hands. It was too much.
No, he decided, starting to pull away. This wasn’t fucking worth the risk.
But you leaned forward then, pressing your lips gently against his, locking him in place. You didn’t deepen it, nor did you pull away. You just held yourself against him, willing him to understand that this would all be okay. That he was a “Grand Commander” now, and with that came taking risks. Risks that you’d stand behind him through to the bitter end.
How you managed to communicate that all in just a kiss — how you always managed to communicate so much with so little — should’ve been a quirk of its own honestly. But regardless of how, the comfort of those unspoken words was enough to spur him forward. Shigaraki brought down his pinky.
And you didn’t turn to dust.
You pulled away in fact, just a little, your eyes fluttering open as a soft, tearful smile spread across your face.
“Tomura—”
He surged forward, all of that hesitation and fear from before vanished in an instant. He shoved your hands together forward, pressing you to the bed as he kissed you with new fervor. His free hand came to hold your face, full and tight, all five fingers scrambling up the length of your cheek, your temple, tangling tight into your hair.
You sobbed happily into his mouth as he pulled his other hand free from yours, running it all across your body, disintegrating your clothes on contact, and then bringing those fingers back up the same route of bare skin, fully in control.
He was just as quick to decay his own clothes as you reached forward to try and tear at the top button of his shirt, which, while haphazardly done, was still too secure for either of your patience. He needed to feel you, all of you. Every inch against every pad of his fingers for the very first time.
And possibly even the last.
He didn’t want to think about that now though. He just wanted to shove you up higher onto the center of the bed, shoving your legs open wide as he kissed down the expanse of your chest and stomach. As he buried himself into your center, the pads of his fingers squeezing painfully tight into the pudge of your thighs.
But you didn’t mind the pain. Not only because it surged the pleasure just that much further, but because it grounded you. Reminded you that this was real. It promised a world — no matter how distant or near-impossible it was in reality — where Tomura Shigaraki could be whole and happy.
Where he could fully be with you.
Your legs strained against his grip, instinctually trying to close as his working tongue pushed you closer and closer to climax. It wasn’t going to take you long at all to reach that peak. After all, the intensity and emotion of the moment aside, it had been a long while since your last coupling. The weeks of recovering from his fight with Re-Destro, the full month you all spent fighting Gigantomachia. And of course, even before that, with the close quarters and stress that came from living on the run and in complete squalor, your escapades had become pretty few and far between. (It was hard to get in the mood when you hadn’t eaten or showered properly in over a week).
So yeah, suffice it to say you were pretty touch-starved at this point, the work of your fingers on lonely nights at the villa having absolutely nothing on Shigaraki’s skillful tongue. And the voraciousness with which he assaulted your sex certainly wasn’t slowing things down for you either.
He didn’t even need to slip his long, knowing fingers into you to have you coming undone — he wouldn’t want to right now anyway, completely losing himself in the way your thighs felt squeezed between his fingers, but that feel of his nails digging into you spurred you on in their own way, ripping a cry from your throat as you came hard under his lips.
Shigaraki smirked up at you, wiping the excess slick from his chin with the meat of his palm, “Missed that.”
You smiled back at him, your own tinged with a bit of sadness as he climbed up over you, hands running up your ribcage. Because you didn’t just miss this. You missed him. And you knew that feeling wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. In fact, it was just getting started.
His brows furrowed at your expression. He’d always been good at reading you, and it’s not like you were being particularly subtle, “You good?”
You chased the melancholy from your smile quickly, planting a happy peck at the corner of his mouth before showing him teeth, “I’m great.”
He hummed, a gentleness overtaking his own features as he stared down at you. Adoration, pure and whole and unrestrained, particularly as he brought a hand back up to cup your face. His fingers spread across the expanse of your skin greedily, his thumb dipping down into your mouth.
They were small gestures, little things that he seemed the most eager to do with his newly-attained range of touch. But it was obvious that they were huge to him. They were a freedom and a comfort that he’d been chasing his entire life. Even if he didn’t know it.
He groaned as you wrapped your own fingers around his cock, guiding him eagerly to your entrance. You had to. As much as he obviously wanted to fuck you, he couldn’t bare to take his fingers off of you for a second. He’d settle for fucking the plush of your thighs if it meant that he could hold you fully in his hands for just a second longer.
You, of course, were not so willing to settle.
“God—fuuck yes,” he growled, low in his throat, as he sank slowly into you, eternally grateful that for once your patience was even more lacking than his.
You grinned up at him`, shifting your hands to settle on the hard curves of his hips, “That’s good, huh?”
It was all he could do to nod shakily, lip biting back a breathy whine and brows knitting hard, as he tried desperately not to blow his load immediately.
You hummed happily at the sight, bringing one of your hands up to run across his cheek and through his hair. You remembered thinking a few months ago just how much those fights with Gigantomachia and Redestro had hardened him, aged him. Foolishly, it had even had you questioning briefly if this would be the end of your relationship. If maybe the shift that occurred during his awakening would chasm too big a valley for you two to bridge.
Of course, in the privacy of the League’s quarters, off of the stages and away from all the new adoring fans (bandwagoners, you and Spinner sometimes like to joke), he had been the same old Tomura Shigaraki, if not a little more confident and level-headed. He still complained about how everyone sitting on his bed eating dinner while he was on strict bed rest was too loud, still invested himself fully and kicking ass at every little game – from video games to cards – they challenged him to in order to pass the time with a cocky little smirk on his face.
And right now, with his face flushed and mouth agape with pleasure, he still looked just as young and ready to take on the world as the day you met him.
Finally he started to rock into you, slow and deep. One of his hands slipped down to the crux of your neck, fingertips biting tight into that smooth skin as he pulled you closer and closer into him. The other found a tight, desperate purchase on the handle of your hip. He used the grip of both to pump harder and deeper into you with every snapping thrust.
Minus the dry spell the two of you had endured over the last couple of months, you and Shigaraki had, overall, had a lot of sex over the last year that you’d known him.
Like, a lot of sex.
Rough sex, soft sex, angry, and fun. And while the man who claimed to hate everything would of course be remiss to admit it, there had indeed been quite a lot of genuine, intense lovemaking mixed in there too. But this right now, with all of the feelings and newness and longing that came with every stroke and whisper?
If Tomura Shigaraki was in fact capable of love, you were positive that this was the representation of that.
His lips dropped hot against the shell of your ear, peppering desperate bites and kisses along the skin as a string of breathy babble spilled out between.
“God fuck, you’re so perfect. Feel so good. Every part of you, so good. So fucking perfect…”
Overwhelmed with emotion and pleasure, it was all you could do to just mewl out his name, “Tomura, Tomura, Tomura—!”
His hips rolled against you with every hard buck, stimulating your aching sex in the way he knew you loved. That would have you clenching and spilling around him over and over again in the way that he loved. You weren’t even sure if it was intentional at this point, or if you had memorized each other’s bodies so well that it just became an instinctual part of his movement. You certainly didn’t have the forethought to drag your nails up the curve of his spine in the way that had him cursing and speeding up immediately.
“F-Fuck, I’m not gonna last like that—” he growled out, rutting desperately into you in spite of his own warning.
“G-Good,” you breathed back, rolling your hips right back into his, “Don’t.”
“B-But—”
He couldn’t get the rest of the words out, his mouth overtaken by a deliciously loud moan instead as he hit that deep, spongy spot inside of you that was heaven for the both of you. You got the message anyway.
But he wanted to keep fucking you. But he wanted this to last.
But he never wanted this to end.
You tangled your hand through his locks, reveling in the fact that there was so much more to hold now, and yanked his head back hard so he’d look at you.
“But nothing,” you smiled through hot, huffing breaths, “You’re fucking crazy if you think this is our only round.”
He stared at you in complete awe for a moment, hips almost coming to a stop as he took in this moment, took in you and the way that you always seemed to know what he was thinking and what he needed, even when he didn’t.
Even if he hadn’t had his own dreams for the future, looking at you now, reveling in all that you’d been through together and all that you’d done for him, thinking about all that you deserved… If he could destroy this rotten society just so that you could have the freedom to be half as happy as you looked in this moment for the rest of your life, he’d gladly fucking do it.
Shigaraki’s face mirrored yours quickly after, a wide lascivious grin spreading across his face. It was all teeth and joy and feral desire to absolutely fucking wreck you. And let himself pound into you with the most reckless abandon he could muster.
You cried out at the new punishing pace, nails pushing hard into his skin, and heels locking sharp around his waist, spurred by the desperate need to have him pound into you harder, deeper, faster. Until you were completely coming apart around him, with his own violent release following close behind.
About two hours later, when you’re lying blissed out, sticky, and half-asleep on Shigaraki’s bare chest, he told you to roll over onto your stomach.
You groaned in protest — while your spirit was eager to roll around the sheets with him as much as possible before the sunrise, your body was sore and spent.
“Not for that,” he said, nudging your shoulder, “Just trust me.”
There was still some visible exasperation as you finally gave in, joints and back aching as you moved them before they were ready. You rolled over onto your stomach, dropping your cheek into the mountain of pillows that awaited you.
Shigaraki followed, moving his body over yours and straddling your hips. You were about to scold him for tricking you when, rather than grinding himself into the curve of your ass or thighs, he simply sat down on your butt and brought his hands to the base of your back. Then he started to knead and you knew exactly what he was doing.
Many a time during your months on the run did you take it upon yourself to try and alleviate some of his stress. Of course one of his favorite ways (and yours too) of doing so was to fuck each other’s brains out. But there were also many times when that wasn’t exactly an option. Whether because there were others around or because he was elbow deep in work for their next operation.
At times like those, when he was hunched over a shitty, half-dead laptop he’d manage to scrounge up from a dumpster, or held his fingers to the bridge of his nose, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to fight off an impending headache from the constant pressures of responsibility — you’d usually come up behind him and rub his neck.
It wasn’t like you made a big show of it or anything. Most of the time you’d just reach a single hand over to him and start to stroke his neck without a word. Not expecting him to say or do anything, not even expecting a thank you. You just wanted to do whatever you could. When it was just the two of you around whatever sorry excuse for a base you’d managed to find, or when you’d been lucky enough to be settled in a safehouse with private rooms, you’d manage to talk him into laying down on his stomach, much like this, and work knots that he could’ve sworn had been there since birth, right out of his back.
He never said anything about it, never thanked you nor told you to stop, but in retrospect he did realize that it was one of the few things that managed to bring him even a smidgeon of peace over those many stressful months, that actually got him through it all. Particularly in the fights against Gigantomachia, where, the second the beast was asleep, you’d insist he lay his head down in your lap while you rubbed softly at his temples, lulling him near instantly to do the same.
It truly meant the world to him, even if he’d never admit it. A deep, foolishly sentimental part of him always wished that he could return the favor.
And now he could.
Of course… That didn’t mean he was any good at it.
“Pinching, you’re pinching,” you winced as his thumbs pressed together, unoiled, on a patch of your back awkwardly.
“Oh shit,” he released his grip, settling to just rub his fingers up and down your back slowly, “Sorry…”
“It’s fine. You just can’t do it that hard if you don’t have any oil or lotion, you know?”
His brows furrowed, “You always did it that hard without any of that crap and it felt fine.
You smirked back at him playfully, “That’s because I’m really good.”
He shot you a look, completely unimpressed.
“I liked what you were doing before,” you conceded.
This was clearly something he wanted to do, and who were you to complain or judge when he was being so unabashedly giving?
“When you were using your palms. Just pressing and kneading with your whole hands rather than trying to do any pressure point stuff is really nice.”
“Yeah, okay…” he nodded, concentration settling over his features as he followed instructions.
You sighed, burying your face back into the pillows as he ran those hot, calloused hands purposefully up and down your back.
This was nice.
Again, while he wasn’t hurting you anymore, the massage itself wasn’t particularly skillful. It did put you at ease though, the way his smell and presence, the way those hands — even when you could never feel them fully against you — always managed to put you at ease.
After at least thirty minutes passed and Shigaraki showed no sign of stopping his ministrations, you peaked back up at him.
“You don’t have to keep this up you know.”
He snorted, “Yeah I know.”
And you should’ve expected that response. Because of course he knew. He wasn’t doing this out of obligation or anything. Tomura Shigaraki didn’t do anything he didn’t want to after all.
You rolled your eyes, “I just mean that you must be tired after all that. Don’t you want to sleep?”
“I’m gonna be asleep for the next four months. I think I’ll be good missing one night.”
The message behind those words was clear. He only had so much time to spend with you, he wasn’t going to waste even a second of it with something as stupid as sleeping.
You should’ve been flattered by that. And of course you were. And truth be told, you had the same mindset as him. You had no plans to sleep that night either, even if he had. But the reminder of his fate for the next four months brought a bitterness to your mouth that overpowered the sweetness of this opportunity.
“Sleep, huh?” you said doubtfully, “Is that what the Doctor is calling it?”
“I guess suspended animation,” he corrected himself, “Or whatever the fuck.”
Amongst other things. Hellish agony he believed was the way the Doctor so eloquently put it. But he’d chosen to spare you (and the rest of the League) those particular details.
Even without that knowledge though, you still weren’t thrilled by the prospect. Of course because you were going to miss him, but mostly because you trusted that fucking doctor about as far as he could throw you. Which, for that portly little creep, you were pretty sure wasn’t far.
Particularly, because now that the excitement and happiness you’d had for Tomura’s newfound quirk control (as well as the fog from your repeated orgasms) was starting to fade into something more grounded, a sneaky little question managed to worm its way into your head.
Had the Doctor been capable of “fixing” his quirk this entire time?
A loud pounding on the door suddenly broke the silence, at least two fists rapping. And then Twice’s muffled call of, “Alright you two, you’ve had your fun! Now come out and play with the rest of us! Take your time! Make babies if ya want!”
You snorted at the call. Shigaraki was substantially less entertained.
“Jiiiin!” Toga whined from the other side of the door, “Leave them alone! They want some privacy!”
Ah, so the two fists knocking must’ve both been Twice.
“But you missed Shigaraki too, Toga!”
“I know, but…”
A stretch of silence. And then apparently Toga’s support for love was outweighed by how much she missed her friend. Because then two more fists started knocking on the door.
“Tomuraaaa, come ooouuuut!!” Toga cried, Twice starting up his own pounding on the door right along with them.
“Yeah, yeah— come out! Stay away !”
“I’ll kill them…” Shigaraki growled, glaring at the door heatedly.
You just giggled as you rolled over under him, dropping him to sit on your waist.
“Oh don’t be like that Tomura,” you cooed, reaching up to cup his cheek in your palm and turning him to look at you, “We should all go hang out. I’m not the only one who’s gonna miss you these next four months, you know.”
He sneered at the suggestion at first, wanting nothing more than to spend the entirety of these next twelve or so hours with his hands holding on to you as tight as possible.
But then he really got thinking about it. About them.
Spinner, Toga, Twice, Compress, hell, even Dabi. There wasn’t going to be time to fuck around with them all once he woke up. They’d be going straight into action, into war. Into the future, wherever that may lead. This wasn’t just going to be his last guaranteed chance to enjoy time with you. It was his last chance to spend time with any of them, until they achieved their goals. And by the end of all that, who even knew how many of them would still be alive?
It was a weight he’d carried around with ease as they planned out their attack over the last couple of months, a weight he’d been carrying for the past year if he was being honest. But it never felt as heavy on his soul at this very moment.
You were right. Absolutely right.
How annoying, he thought with a grumble.
You smiled as you saw that shift on his face, the slight softness that always fell over him when he thought about the League, even if he wasn’t aware of it.
“Alright?” you pressed.
He sighed, “Yeah, yeah. Alright…”
And then let the corner of his mouth quirk up ever so slightly as he looked down at you, so splayed and fucked out and pretty. He leaned down to press a long, but surprisingly chaste kiss on you, for someone that was still sitting atop your naked form with his own.
Because just because he was going to get up, didn’t mean he was going to be in any rush.
Caught up in the feel of each other, neither of you noticed the click of the door and Spinner’s voice announcing, startlingly clear, “Guys, the door is unlocked.”
“Ack— SPINNER!! ”
“Okay, you’ve got that all memorized?” Toga chirped, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor.
“Yeah, I guess.” Shigaraki, across from her, shrugged, strongly resisting the urge to tell her about how stupid this all was (again).
“Great! So then we start in that first position, crossed arms,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest by example.
Shigaraki sighed and mirrored her.
“Alright! One, two, three!” she sounded off excitedly, before fluttering her hands eagerly and singing, “Misssss Maaaaaryyyyy Mack, Mack, Mack! All dressed in black, black, black…”
You grinned from your position on the couch, glass of wine in hand, as you watched the two. Shigaraki was pointedly not singing along with Toga, but he was matching her claps with impeccable accuracy.
The League had been just as stunned and excited to hear about Shigaraki’s new upgrade. Not to the point of immediately jumping on his dick, but that was obviously more than okay with him.
No, they were more interested in giving him a speedrun through all of the things he’d missed out on in life from not being able to grab it with all five fingers. Playground clap games that Shigaraki, as a boy, couldn’t say he ever played even before his quirk awakened, were apparently of the highest priority to Toga.
“With silver buttons, buttons buttons— Tomura, you’re not singing!”
“And I’m not gonna,” he grumbled back, but not stopping his hands, “Take the W as it is, or don’t take it at all.”
You laughed at the sight, a new glass of wine that you were sure Shigaraki would want by the end of this.
Mr. Compress read Shigaraki’s palms next.
They supposed that this was technically something they could’ve done even before Shigaraki’s upgrade, but with how careful and particular he’d been with anybody getting anywhere near his hands, it definitely wasn’t something they had ever thought to give a go before now.
He decided to read the palm that hadn’t been marred by the fight with Redestro, for more “accuracy” (a reasoning that Shigaraki had openly scoffed at).
“Your love line is quite straight and short,” Compress explained, “Which indicates that you don’t have a lot of interest in love.”
“Booooo,” a red-faced Toga whined from her place on the floor between your legs, shooting Shigaraki an aggressive thumbs down.
You promptly grabbed the half-empty can of chuhai next to her foot, and moved it up to the side table out of her sight. Underage drinking was officially done for the night.
Unbothered, Mr. Compress continued his reading, running his mechanical finger along the top line of Shigaraki’s palm, “Since your love line begins below your middle finger though, it also means that when you do love, you’re quite selfish about it.”
You chuckled, “Hammer? Meet nail.”
“Oh shut up,” he waved you off with his free hand.
“Next is your head line, which represents the way you learn and communicate, as well as your overall intellectualism and thirst for knowledge.” Compress turned to the rest of the group, finger raised as he lectured.
Dabi, from his place leaning judgmentally against the wall across from them, huffed, “Alright, I agree with the Boss on this one. This is really stupid.”
Toga grinned at him, pointing teasingly, “You’re just saying that because you don’t have any more lines in your palm to read! Jelly!”
“I’m not—”
“Jelly!” Twice backed Toga up with a chant, “Jelly, jelly, jelly! Peanut butter !”
Dabi just sighed and returned to his nth beer of the night.
“You have a deep and long head line, that runs separate from your heart line,” Compress continued, “That means that you’re clear and focussed, with a great sense of adventure and enthusiasm for life.”
Shigaraki snorted, “Alright, now I know this is bullshit.”
You flicked his cheek scoldingly, “Just keep going.”
“I also see a singular cross in your heart line, which suggests that you carry some emotional crisis.”
Compress didn’t linger on that point. After all, everyone in this room was dealing with the same thing in one way or another.
“The lifeline is the most interesting in my opinion,” Compress explained, “As opposed to what you might think, it doesn’t have to do with the length of your life, but the quality of it. Yours runs close to the thumb and forks downwards, which means you’re often tired and a pessimist.”
Toga snickered a bit at that, “Still think it’s BS, Tomura?”
“I’m getting the distinct feeling you guys are doing this just as an excuse to insult me to my face.”
You gave his freehand a squeeze, “Oh we don’t need the pretense to do that.”
“ Oi. ”
“There’s a circle in the line too, which predicts great injury or hospitalization.”
The League looked at him pointedly, and he just rolled his eyes.
“The last detail about your life line is a curious one. It’s short and shallow,” Compress said, cocking his head in a way that clearly indicated that he didn’t exactly agree with it, “Which indicates that you’re easily manipulated by others.”
Your frowned.
The rest of the League members pulled faces that clearly showed their similar disagreement with the reading. But you, thinking back to all his interactions with All for One and the Doctor, everything in his life that he’d described to you…
Well, you weren’t so sure.
“Pffft, like I said,” Shigaraki scoffed, gesturing for you to hand him his wine, “It’s all bullshit.”
Deliberately, Mr. Compress did not read Shigaraki’s fate line.
You weren’t sure when the night turned into the League taking turns with choosing tasks for Shigaraki to complete, but you weren’t going to complain. You were already looking forward to Toga’s next round after she’d screamed up into the security camera you all knew Skeptic was watching irritatedly through to get her some string for cat’s cradle.
Spinner’s turn was pretty simple though, and at first, not especially different then before. You thought at first that maybe that was by design, that Spinner just wanted to spend some time with Shigaraki the way he always had.
He wanted to play video games.
Of course, there was a twist.
“Fingers down.” Spinner scolded him for what had to be the fifth time in the last ten minutes, “Toga, I need chicken.”
“Yes, chef!” she chirped back happily.
“God, fucking—” Shigaraki growled, forcing his pinkies back down onto the controller against every instinct in his body.
Years of having to hold things in a particular way had caused him to develop a very particular controller grip. One that, once, back at the bar — god, that felt like it was so long ago now — several of you had tried to mimic, just for the hell of it. (Or more accurately, just to get his goat). And it had been hard . The general consensus had been that no normal human should be able to hold a controller like this, let alone hold a controller like this and be as good at video games as Tomura Shigaraki was.
Now though, the shoe was on the other foot — or more accurately the controller was in the other hands — as you all forced Shigaraki to go a couple rounds of Overcooked while holding the pro controller like a normal fucking person. And it was not going well.
“Stop dropping shit!” you yelled hysterically next to Shigaraki, “Do you see how many burritos we still need to make?!”
“Do you think I’m doing it on purpose?!” he shouted right back, possibly more worked up than you’d ever seen him.
Toga on the other side of him giggled. She and Spinner were having absolutely no trouble at all on their side of the kitchen, “Tomura, I thought you were supposed to be good at video games.”
“I am! I’m just not used to this grip— FUCK! ” he screamed out as his character once again fell off the map, throwing his controller down onto the carpet.
The room erupted in doubled over laughter and “woah woah woah’s”, over the tantrum the sorts of which none of you had seen since the early days back at the bar.
Maybe he wasn’t such a good sport after all.
With Twice’s request, even you had to admit that things were getting a bit ridiculous.
Twice slammed his elbow down onto the table, holding his palm open for Shigaraki to take, “Gimme all you got, boss! Go easy on me, please!”
Shigaraki, on the other hand, seemed the most enthusiastic about this one, placing his own elbow on the table and grabbing Twice’s hand tight in his own with a cocky grin.
You suspected that the many beers he’d knocked back (not to mention the entire bottle of wine the two of you had killed together) played a decent role in that, but it was also impossible to deny that their dear leader was fiercely competitive, no matter the game.
“Ready?” you asked, looking between the two. They nodded, and you begrudgingly stepped further into your role as referee, clapping as you counted down, “Three, two, one— arm wrestle!”
The room blew up in a (small) chorus of screams and cheers. Actually, even that was generous. As referee you were expressly forbidden from picking sides (Twice was very serious about that), and Compress and Dabi were too composed and too uninterested respectively to participate. It was just Spinner and Toga going wild and slamming their hands on the table as Shigaraki’s and Twice’s muscles strained against each other — although they were more than loud enough for the whole group.
“Go, Jin go!” Toga cheered rhythmically, “Go, Jin go!”
“Kick his ass, Shigaraki!”
The match lasted a respectable amount of time, both sides putting up a pretty damn good fight. And while Twice was built like a tank and was no slouch either — he probably would’ve won this by a moderate margin a couple of months ago — Shigaraki’s month-long escapade with Gigantomachia had given him a strength and will that surpassed Twice’s own.
“Arrrrgh— damn it !!” Twice shouted as Shigaraki slammed his fist down into the table definitively, “Great game Shigaraki! Die!”
You chuckled as Twice got up from his seat, head dropped in defeat, then turned to Spinner, who was already rolling out his dominant shoulder.
“Next challenger,” you gestured to the seat, “You’re up.”
Dabi didn’t have any requests throughout the night (surprise, surprise), just a lot of eyerolls and snippy commentary. But he also didn’t ever split off from any of you, which made you consider that he may not have thought this was all as stupid as he claimed.
The part of the night he seemed to enjoy (or at least, not vocalize his annoyance or the group’s childishness over), the most, was when around 4 am rolled around.
Out of ideas and exhausted, but absolutely refusing to go to bed, the League decided to take a particularly noisy and drunken nightwalk around the property (much to the dread of whichever resident’s window they passed). This quickly turned into an equally harebrained climb up onto the roof so that you could all watch the sun come up.
That sunrise was still a good hour or so away though by the time you all got settled up there, and as chatty, adrenaline-filled, and drunk as most of you were, the late hour and comforting breeze was starting to get to you all.
Twice and Toga had long fallen asleep, heads resting together. Compress, with his hands folded over his stomach and Spinner, curling up tighter into a ball with every minute, were not far behind. Dabi’s eyes were closed, but he might’ve still been conscious. He didn’t make a sound either way.
Only Shigaraki seemed to be wide awake, staring up at the waning moon with a complex expression on his face. He looked like he was thinking hard, but also somewhat at peace. Grateful for this moment, but already mourning its inevitable end. Exhilarated by the future that began for him tomorrow.
Wondering just what exactly he’d be leaving behind in the past.
You watched this all cross his face, not shifting between expressions, but clearly feeling it all at once. Overwhelmed, and unprepared to process it all. The one thing that seemed to keep him grounded was the hand that held yours, tight and warm. Anytime tonight that his hands weren’t occupied with whatever silly ringer the rest of the League was putting through, he was threading those fingers right back with yours, savoring the one new experience that he truly wanted to indulge the most in.
And you were more than happy to let him.
He shifted a bit in surprise as you nuzzled into his shoulder, squeezing his hand just a bit tighter in your own.
“You’re still awake,” he commented, voice horse with the sleep his body clearly wanted.
“So are you,” you mumbled against the fabric of his shirt, just breathing him in.
“Yeah, but you need sleep,” he chuckled, “Like I said, I’ll be having more than enough of it for the next four months.”
You stilled against him, frowning.
Right. The next four months.
Shigaraki seemed to sense your shift in mood, and kicked himself. That was a stupid thing to mention again when you’d finally managed to put it out of your mind for a few hours, and when that fate itself was even fewer hours away.
He ran his thumb with a restlessness that was once reserved for his nails against his neck. Even with that itch seemingly gone for good from his life, Shigaraki was still a fidgety person by nature. Especially when uncomfortable.
“You guys will be busy,” he grumbled, “Planning the attacks, organizing your regiments, training… You’ll barely even notice I’m gone.”
You didn’t comment on the stupidity of that statement, even though it was a really, really stupid and patently untrue thing for him to say. Because frankly, it wasn’t what was on your mind at the moment, not the front of it anyway. Of course the fact that you were going to miss him and these days together was a constant parasite, gnawing and suckling in the back of your brain. But truly, your current concern was a bit less melancholy. Less abstract.
Shigaraki had full control over his quirk now. And it was great and beautiful and nothing short of a miracle of course, you wouldn’t trade this night and all the memories opened up by that particular door for anything in the world. And yet you could not fight that question that had first struck your mind the first moment you had to actually think about it.
Why now?
That question wrenched through you painfully, no matter how much you loved the feel and sight of his hand in your own. Because sure, Shigaraki had been out of touch with the Doctor ever since All for One’s arrest. But what about the last sixteen some years that he’d been at the personal beck and call of All for One and his ward? Why hadn’t he ever adjusted Shigaraki’s quirk then? Was it a matter of technology, a breakthrough in quirk alteration he only recently was able to make? Or was it something else? Was there something bigger going on here?
What was he not telling you all?
Shigaraki looked down at you, giving that flat expression of his that you knew translated to concern. You looked up from your locked hands to meet his gaze. He stared into you, those deep pools of carmine that stood so hard against the rest of the world, now soft and imploring. Even more than they were for the League. This look was for you.
“Tomura—”
“It’s gonna be worth it.”
You paused, that newfound calm confidence in his voice silencing you in an instant.
“I know these next four months are gonna be hard for all of us. This war is gonna be hard for all of us,” he said, turning to stare back up at the stars, “But it’s all going to be worth it in the end. We’re gonna make a new world where you’re all able to live as you want to. To be free. And this power that the Doctor is giving me... That’s going to assure that it all happens.”
“And… You don’t think that you can do all that now?” you breathed, “You’ve gotten so strong already, Tomura. Maybe you don’t even need that power.”
He turned back to you with a small but sincere smile. The one that betrayed that deep down tenderness he always tried so earnestly to hide. That called his bluff, revealing that there were feelings other than hate in that cursed body of his.
The one that made your heart skip a beat.
“I don’t want to take any chances,” he said, bringing his free hand — all five fingers — to rest on your cheek, “Not when it comes to my comrades’ dreams.”
Not when it comes to you .
Those unspoken words were loud and clear.
You swallowed something tight in your throat, fighting the burn that threatened to overflow from your eyes, the worry that brawled to burst out from your chest and ruin everything. But you had no choice but to shove it all down.
Forcing a smile onto your face, you squeezed his hand tight.
“I understand.”
His own smile remained the same, although a bit of relief did seem to fall over his eyes. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple and stayed there, breathing as much of you in as he possibly could.
Shigaraki had made up his mind. He was going to go through with this. And there was nothing you could say, no concern you could voice or ultimatum you could give that would change his mind. This decision was beyond his own wants and dreams at this point. It was for something far more important to him, even if he’d never admit it.
This was for all of you.
And who were you to stand in the way of that?
The fears wouldn’t ease with time, the nagging in the back of your head wouldn’t be forgotten through training or planning or anything else that you could do in the next four months to try and drown it out. But you just had to suck it up. You had to support him.
You could talk about your fears and the Doctor and any secret ambitions he may have after this ordeal. After the war even. You could talk about anything then, really. It was only four months after all.
And the two of you would soon have all the time in the world.
#TOMURA SHIRAGAKI#TOMURA SHIGARAKI X READER#TOMURA SHIGARAKI X OC#SHIGARAKI#TOMURA SHIGARAKI#BNHA SHIGARAKI#MHA SHIGARKI#SHIGARAKI FANFIC#READER INSERT#SMUT#SHIGARAKI SMUT#SPICE WRITES#MHA#BNHA#MHA SMUT#BNHA SMUT#league of villains#mha spoilers#bnha spoilers
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One thing that I really liked in IDW 2 was the concept of Going Immersant.
Given the immensely long average lifespan of Cybertronians, it makes sense:
If nothing kills you, and you live long enough to have experienced all of what you feel you reasonably can in this lifetime, and you feel content with the life that you have had, and it seems time to retire--
--Why not return your knowledge and the entity of your self to the core of your planet, where your energy and your components can be reused and your memories and knowledge can be subsumed into the greater whole?
Plug in with the stray cables that stick out of the cavernous expanses deep beneath the surface of Cybertron, let yourself get situated, and allow yourself to daydream as the crystals grow around you and gradually consume you. It is not painful. It is a process of sharing.
Each daydream then enters the great memory bank of Primus, at the heart of the world, the core of life itself for your species. Your experiences become part of the eternal record of experienced Cybertronian life. You join your God himself, frame and processor, as you combine with him within the physical form of your planet.
Primus created you, and as you are subsumed into the crystalline forms that surround you, you will go on to sustain Primus in some way. An unending cycle.
Perhaps you feel something, leeching up from deep within the crystal mass, some unique energy meeting you halfway, the cables that snake their way into your ports like vines carrying some ancient data, older than yourself, older than the Rust Sea, older than the Hydrax Plateau, older than the Titans.
Maybe you cannot decipher it, yet. But it comforts you. It reminds you that you are not alone, after your visitors have gone. Where there is digital noise, there is something to produce it. You will meet it soon--
--After countless years of a peaceful rest, knowing that at the end of your endlessly long existence, your life will go on to benefit others.
And for as long as you are able, you still remain present, as well. Just not above, on the surface. For some time, others can still come and visit, speak with you, consult with you-- Although as your memory banks purge into the greater whole, you begin to falter in this waking realm.
And that is OK; To rejoin with Primus and re-enter the Well of All Sparks as an ancient elder, a repository of experience and wisdom, is to become a teacher to all. Even in peaceful, gradual death-- And even then, your energy and materials and thoughts remain somewhere, deep within the planet.
Returned. Recycled.
Eternal, in some shape or form.
It's just a really beautiful concept.
Without any natural death, Cybertronians have the option to simply return to Primus, return to the core of the planet, in a half-waking state.
At peace, gracefully and with intent.
All of what they have experienced and all that they are, all of their memories and feelings, all of the metals and compounds that make up their frame and armour and protoform, all of it can be taken in and absorbed.
The option is there, to emerge once more.
But for most, this is the final calling.
To go immersant is to enter peace, to become a living state of meditation until the very end for you as an individual. To have full agency over how you pass on, to make the decision and consciously know. To be happy with that. To relax into your fate, as you see fit.
To make the decision to be recycled, to contribute all that you are, to return your energy to the crystalline matter that fuels your world and your people and your God, who in turn fuelled you and will thus go on to fuel all those subsequently churned out by the Well.
To merge with your living planet on an atomic level, on an esoteric level.
I wonder if the fully immersant aren't dead in the traditional sense. Perhaps they are offline, to those in this world. Perhaps their frame is vacated as their data is absorbed. But that data is not lost, necessarily.
It's just a very beautiful end of life option for Cybertronians, and I do hope the concept is revisited in some form in the future.
#codexa#idw transformers#idw 2#orion pax#idw orion pax#maccadams#maccadam#just thinkin'#cybertronian culture#immersant
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We begin with the story in general, moving from the bloody wreck that first stepped off the Nautiloid to a more hopeful ending. Then follow nine specific takes on the Dark Urge. I reached out to a few individuals who were kind enough to name songs that capture some of the essence of the characters they made. I strongly recommend asking them about what they made.
Listen to the playlist on spotify or on youtube
Song list below!
“Ptolomea” Ethel Cain
“Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums”— A Perfect Circle
“No Light, No Light” - Florence + The Machine
“In The Woods Somewhere” Hozier
“Ancestors, The Ancients” - Chelsea Wolfe
“Gallows” - Cocorosie
“Blood On My Name” - The Brothers Bright
“Kill Of The Night” Gin Wigmore
“Monsters” - Ruelle
“Control” - Halsey
“Autoclave”- Mountain Goats
"The Horror Of Our Love"- Ludo
“Eyes On Fire”- Blue Foundation
“Heavy In Your Arms”- Florence + the Machine
“Afraid Of The Dark” - Phildel
“Human” - Daughter
"Who We Are"- Hozier
“The Nothing: Part 2”- Lady Lamb
Featured Characters
Manva @mightymizora “Purge me O Lord”- Thomas Tallis
Mercy @vamppeach “My Favorite Stranger”- Depeche Mode
Elegy/Echo @ladyofrosefire “Mermaids"- Florence + The Machine
Promise @shadowcrow “Broken Crown”- Mumford and Sons
Cynbel @iodhadh “Dark Star”- Jaymes Young
Nox @ruushes “I Let Love In” Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds
The Drow @meanbossart “What Is This?”- Swans
Rille @say-lene “Fuse (Liminal)”- Crywolf
Vivette @infernaldaydreams “Notre Dame”- Paris Paloma
And if you've read this far, hey! Thanks! I'd love it if you would reblog with a song for your Dark Urge! This list is in no way exhaustive, and I've enjoyed the hell about getting a look into everyone's characters through putting this playlist together.
#pictures#bg3#the dark urge#dark urge#playlist#vamppeach#shadowcrow#iodhadh#ruushes#meanbossart#say-lene#infernaldaydreams#mightymizora#harding
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hiii lov, can u do mike w a pregnant reader please?🥹
i don't know how this happened but jesus took the wheel on this one. you can probably find the exact point where i had to tell myself to stop and just get to the fucking point of this ask
It was his mom that first had suspicion, having watched you nearly purge your lunch from simply the smell of French onion soup, though she remained reticent of her reservation. So, it became of no surprise to her when she calls her son one afternoon, only to find he’s meandering up and down the aisles of a CVS, in search of some Dramamine to help combat your nausea.
“I think it’s some stomach bug… All she does is sleep and throw up.”
“How long has this been going on for?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. A couple days? It’s worse when she first wakes up but it’s kind of up and down throughout the day.”
“You must have a good immune system if you haven’t caught this bug.” He doesn’t coherently reply, but she can hear him hum in response. “Well, let me know if she needs anything. See if she will try some peppermint tea to help with the nausea.”
She isn’t one to meddle; she’ll let her son figure this one out on his own.
It was on that third morning, for the third time, you found yourself sprawled on the bathroom floor, seeking the frigid linoleum with welcoming arms. You focus your thoughts on the sound of the ceiling fan in your bedroom whirring above, and the light snores coming from your partner, who is lucky not to have had his sleep rudely disrupted.
You think the worst has passed you, but any sudden movements could send you right back into a spiral. You close your eyes and pace your breathing, concentrating on the whirring, when you feel a shift and the bathroom door lightly knocks against your feet.
“Babe?” His voice is deep with sleep, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him peek from the sliver of space in the doorway. “Happening again?”
You murmur an acknowledgement, bringing your knees up to your chest to allow him full entry. He doesn’t say anything this time, not when the days before he’s met with a sharp remark, teeth clenching around unwavering nausea on the brink of collapse.
He shuffles in behind you, knees cracking as he bends down to join you on the floor.
“I need you to do me a favor,” you begin, “and I don’t want to talk about it… Just need you to do it without questions.” He’s staring at you, brows furrowing. “I need you to get me a pregnancy test.”
“You don’t really think—”
“What did I just say?” You bit back, and he instantly retreated. You felt him shift behind you, leaning forward to find your hand and give you a supportive squeeze.
“I’ll be back.”
When he returns, you have finally managed to return to the confines of your bed. He held the plastic bag in his hand, unsure where to put it; passing a glance to you as he met you on your side.
“Do you want to now, or…?”
The anxiety would eat you alive if you chose to wait another second without answers. You sat up, took the bag from his hand, and sauntered back into the bathroom. Mike sat on the edge of the bed, toying with the frayed ends of your blanket. He hasn’t really had time to process what could possibly be this life-altering news. You two had thought children were still a couple years out, though the idea thrilled him to a degree. He could always slow down his career if it meant he’d become a father in some 8 months.
He always imagined the spare bedroom as a nursery. He thought about what color they’d paint it, and if he’d take the risk and build a crib by hand. Who would the baby most resemble? What color hair and eyes? Would it have heterochromia like he did? Probably not.
He’s forced out of his thoughts when the bathroom door opens, and you return to him with the test in your hand.
“It says wait 90 seconds, but I haven’t been counting.” You look down at the test and tap it against your palm. “False positives and negatives can happen, so there’s another test in the box to take later to be sure.”
“What do you want?”
“What do you want?”
“I want whatever you want.”
“Mike, I don’t…fuck, I don’t do well under pressure.” You tighten your grip around the test to withhold the urge to hurl it across the room.
“Give it to me.” He reaches his hand out, but you hesitate. “It has to of been 90 seconds by now.”
“If I look then it’s real.”
“Babe, it’s real whether we look or not…and maybe you’re not. But if you are, I am here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
And that was the beginning. After a positive test that left you in a mess on the bedroom floor, and a second one later that evening – and ultimately a third one from a doctor – you two were moving onto this new chapter in your lives together, whether you were ready or not. It took a couple days to let that shock wear off, but once it did, you found yourself ordering pregnancy books online, and scrolling forums, and even looking at maternity clothes that you weren’t even ready for yet.
As for Mike, he was quick to understand pregnancy was not going to be an easy feat for you. The morning sickness persisted, and it led him to research online for some medicines that might ease that burden on you. Peppermint tea just wasn’t cutting it. He would also read the pregnancy books you got, because he couldn’t quite grasp the idea that your organs will just casually move out of the way as the baby grows.
“I don’t get it—where are they moving to? How is there room?”
“There just is…I don’t know.”
The cravings are what took him by storm. You’d wake up in the middle of the night to make pancakes, or a quesadilla, or brownies solely for the batter. If you didn’t have what you were desiring the most, you best believe you’re waking him up, ridden with guilt, because you can’t sleep because all you can think about is a Red Baron pizza.
You have an app on your phone that tracks the size of the baby, and compares it to fruit, so every month, the two of you go to the store to get the fruit that is subsequently your baby.
“Is it weird we’re going to eat it?”
“Just don’t think about it…”
He’ll hold the fruit in his hand and be completely mesmerized. His child is actually the size of a mango?
And you best believe he cried hearing the heartbeat on the ultrasound for the first time, and don’t get me started on when he got to see his little bean for the first time, who was merely just a grey blob on the screen.
He’s obsessed with your growing bump. Always wanting to touch it, lay next to it, feel the little kicks from the inside. Countless nights he has fallen asleep beside it. He keeps all the sonogram photos in his wallet, and some on his bedside table. He’ll show them to anyone who dares to ask.
“The size of a mango. Can you believe that?”
You’ll model for him your new maternity dresses that have been in your shopping cart for months. (He loves it all). He’s there for the foot massages when your feet begin to swell. The back rubs when your bump has grown large enough to cause discomfort. The minute panic attacks when your Braxton Hicks contractions hit in the middle of the night. (He was prepared for this one though, thanks to your pregnancy books).
There are hundreds of photos of you on his camera of your growing bump. He alone could fill a scrapbook to completion. Ones of you at farmers market stalls, or walking around the neighborhood, sorting through all of the baby clothes you bought, deeply contemplating the nursery color in the paint section.
He remembers how scared you were in the beginning, but the two of you have really become a proper family.
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One of the more amusing narrative constructions in "Merlin" to me is how explicitly magic is tied to medicine from the very beginning of the show, with the healer Gaius as Merlin's mentor in both medicine and (secretly) in magic.
The third episode deals with a magically created plague in Camelot (which frankly seems like it should have killed WAY more people than they show dying, if it was in the water and as deadly as they suggest) and from the beginning, Merlin is like, "I can use magic to fix this. Let me use magic to help. I can save all of these people's lives." And Gaius stops him because he fears Uther will find out somehow. (You can also suppose that magic usually requires greater training than Merlin has, and fighting/curing a malevolent plague would burn most sorcerers out very quickly, and Gaius has no real concept yet of just how badly Merlin's gifts break the curve.)
Later in the episode, Merlin ignores Gaius in order to secretly cure Gwen's father. This quickly becomes a disaster because Arthur notices this quick recovery and finds the physical charm used, Gwen is blamed, and Uther decides to go straight to an execution about it because he sucks. But Merlin was RIGHT that he could cure the plague! Apparently with relatively little effort on his part! (Possibly because he's a freak of nature among sorcerers, admittedly!) It is a magical plague, potentially more of a curse than a virus, presumably working on different rules, but still!
It really underlines that all of these people are dying JUST because of Uther and Nimueh's conflict. Firstly because Nimueh is trying to get her revenge against Uther in the worst way possible, a plague, and secondly because Uther won't let anyone use magic to fight back.
In the next episode (4), it's all about Arthur getting a (magic?) flower to cure the (magic?) poison that Merlin drank. Episode 6, which I haven't rewatched yet, features another magical healer, come to take revenge against Uther for the death of his healer parents. In many of these cases, it's magical remedy versus magic cause, but it seems not unreasonable to assume that magic could still be very useful when dealing with non-magical ailments.
In fantasy worlds, I personally tend towards the idea that magic would just be another form of technology, and in many cases would be integrated with all other human technology in society. (Cooking! Humans LOVE cooking! Not starving is the #1 societal concern throughout much of history! Magic, if practical, would be used for a LOT of food-related stuff.) Obviously, there are fantasy worlds where magic is new in the world or sourced from evil demons or whatever, or there may be some anti-magic ideology for another reason, so people in those worlds wouldn't use magic casually. Magic, its origins and its cost, is different in every fantasy world, of course!
But in pre-Purge Camelot here, it very much seems that magic was a practical skill that would have been useful during daily life, even just to boil water or have a light in the dark. Maybe the gifts are relatively rare and the training is difficult for most people, but it seems like most people who work in medicine would want to have as much knowledge about magic as possible, even if they themselves can't really do any spells, and do not become druids or priestesses or anything like that. There seem to be a significant amount of magical plants and animals here, which would be crucial to the work.
So, uh, it looks like Uther's Purge would have primarily targeted anyone with medical knowledge. The equivalent of this society's doctors, nurses, and pharmacists. Healers, midwives, alchemists, and anyone else who refused to give up a useful tool that could save lives. Also anyone who made their living selling protective charms or magical herbs or any small thing that could have helped during a plague. Uther's Purge presumably wiped out Camelot's ENTIRE existing medical infrastructure.
Camelot has SEWERS somehow. And why wouldn't magic have been used in the construction and maintenance of a sewer system? If magic is a practical tool, it would have absolutely been used in waste disposal* and water filtration.
*EDIT: Yes, I know that the shown sewers aren't used for waste, obviously. I phrased this poorly. These sewers ARE directly connected to drinking water in the show, however, and the human waste that is generated by a city (which is a lot) getting into this system somehow would be a serious concern. SEPARATELY, I do think magic would have uses in regards to waste disposal. I don't think that these specific sewers are for waste, just that magic could be a tool for their cleanliness.
(Mulling over the potential headcanon that the only reason Nimueh's plague wasn't worse is because Camelot still has hidden layers of various magical protections holding over, even 20 years later. No one has been recasting the old Circles of Protections on the castle lately because very smart CEO Uther Pendragon has also killed most of the custodial and IT departments. "It's fine," he says, "there is no measurable difference," when Camelot is teetering on the edge of catastrophic failure several times a season.)
Like, uh, no wonder Uther can't get a single huzzah even when he announces a festival. It's the anniversary of this shitty king killing nearly all the doctors and outlawing Camelot's equivalent of vaccines and antibiotics. I'd hate his guts. Infant mortality probably skyrocketed. Do you think that people who live near the borders of Camelot regularly sneak one kingdom over to visit the nearest healer? I do. I'm imagining that some noblewoman in Camelot gets pregnant and then immediately goes to stay with her sister for a little while in the neighboring kingdom, because that king over there didn't kill all of the damn midwives. Fucking hell.
#tossawary merlin#merlin emrys#uther pendragon#gaius the healer#spoilers#character death#reblogs off
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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 12
Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader
A/N: Welp, it’s taken like seven chapters to lead up to this, but we’re here now
Word Count: 6,038
-Part 11- -Part 13-
——————————————————————————————————————————————
The flight up to the House of Wind is quiet, but your ears had been ringing before take-off, and you can’t even hear the pulse of your own heart or the puffs of your own breath.
For a few minutes, you allow yourself to cave in. Like a cake that’s sunken in the middle, soft and gooey from too much butter and not enough flour. Your head dips, pressing against his shoulder, able to feel the strokes of chill wind across your cheek, eyes slid shut with fatigue. Wishing the night away, pushing it far below your conscious, burying alongside everything else you don’t want to touch. Pushing into rough but fresh palms, handing it off for someone else to deal with.
His scent presses into your clothes, and you let it, pulse gradually slowing from its war-drum beat in your throat, the sounds beginning to rise to the surface. The leathery rasp of his wings as they fly higher to the House, the steady in and out of his breath, the wind whispering as you cut through it.
The warmth of the wards passes in your ears, and then he’s landing, arms shifting to set you down on the floor carefully. The muscles in your legs are like custard, and you take a moment to steady yourself, raising your gaze to the House before you. He opens the door, guiding you inside silently, taking you to the kitchen and seating you at the table.
You stare down at the grains in the wood, picking out the slight dampness across from you, table clean and empty.
Azriel slides a mug of tea into your vision, still steaming, and your sinuses start to ache. Cold hands wrap around the burning ceramic, feeling the sting begin to seep through the velvet.
Vaguely, you’re aware of him silently moving around the table, taking a seat, but you’re staring into the swirling darkness of the tea, wondering if your tongue will somehow swell and warp like your hands if you drink the mug down as it is.
“You should take your gloves off,” he says quietly, hands around his own mug. “The heat will warm you up faster.”
You silently stare down into the depthless well below you, wishing to plunge inside. Bathe yourself in hot, searing water that’ll purge those prints from your skin. Remould you like the cauldron did, removing the past roughness of your fingertips and constant grit beneath your nails.
Shadows roll up onto the table in thin streaks, dancing deftly atop the surface, as if trapped in water. They flicker and swell in places, thrumming with magic as they reach out. You stiffen as they dip beneath your fingers, prying them gently from the mug. Slipping beneath the fabric at your wrists, pinching lightly at your fingertips, and pulling.
At first your digits curl, but the velvet slides a little more, and you allow it to fall away.
The sickeningly sweet smell of gardenias fills the room, and you draw your hands back, staring at the crumbling skin as you wrap them around the mug, not minding the surface level burn.
“You don’t have to wear those, you know,” he says quietly, watching from across the table. “Nobody would mind.”
Hands tighten around the thick ceramic, raising it to your mouth as you take a sip. It’s boiling. Lower it back to the table, scalding liquid washing down your insides, not enough to thaw the numbness that’s settled over your skin.
“Is it from your magic?” He asks quietly, sliding his fingers through the handle of his mug. Moments tick by, then you dip your head. “It itches sometimes,” you murmur, then seal your lips tight. “Is it itching now?” He asks, keeping your attention.
Below you, the tea swirls, steam wafting from the lip, warm but wet. You shake your head, “I don’t think so. Not yet.” Hazel weighs upon you, and you take another scalding sip, allowing the burn to sear into you. “Not yet?” He echoes, taking a drink from his own mug, watching you steadily over the rim. You remain quiet, not offering up anything else, keeping to yourself.
“How long has this been happening?” He asks instead, once it becomes clear you aren’t going to be coerced by silence. Your eyes don’t leave the mug, fingers tightening around the pale orange ceramic, the low gleam of faelights warming it. “Do you know what it is?”
“I know it hurts,” you say softly, raising your cup, but not drinking. “But you’re going to make me train it regardless, so why don’t we leave out the messy details?”
He pauses, observing you quietly from across the table. You don’t meet his gaze, and it feels like running away. Letting him put himself above you.
Your eyes blink shut, easing in a breath. That’s not what he’s doing at all.
“You likely aren’t doing it right,” he says at last, sipping from his tea, your eyes finally meeting his over the glazed lip. “How would you do it?” You ask quietly—reluctantly—again peering into the swirling blackness of your drink. “I’d have to know what I’m working with first,” he says pointedly, inviting you to tell him more about what’s been going on with your magic.
“Funny,” you murmur, eyes flicking to his, “I’d come to the same conclusion.”
His brow twitches almost imperceptibly, the edges of his mouth souring, and your gaze dips back down to the tea. How nice it would be to burn those handprints from your skin, for once finding yourself craving the searing itch of your magic.
Azriel shifts in his seat, great wings refolding themselves at his back, narrowed hazel piercing into you. “You might’ve hurt a lot of people back there,” he says, setting his mug on the table, one hand wrapped around its base, middle and forefinger curled through the handle.
Your throat rolls, but you choose not to respond, staring deeper into your tea.
He sighs, and you can feel his attention on you. “Tell them tomorrow,” he orders, voice deceptively soft for what he’s asking. Nails press into the ceramic, tension coiling in your shoulders. “I have one more day left. That’s what we agreed,” you mumble, the real world beginning to sink back into your bones. The weight of grief and the strain of anxiety coupling in your body. Having gone from a night of quiet mourning to one of icy violence in under and three hours.
“You put people in danger with that move,” he replies smoothly, appearing relaxed though you can guess he’s anything but. “So you’ll be telling them—at least Feyre—tomorrow. Unless there’s something you’ve discovered this past fortnight?” Even you know your mouth has pressed into a sullen line. Sulking like a child who’s lost a bet.
“I don’t want to figure it out,” you mumble, pulse thrumming in your throat as you stare into the hot tea. “It’s already hurting me. I don’t want anymore.”
“You don’t have a choice,” he counters from across the table.
“Rhysand would disagree,” you argue numbly. You always have a choice.
“Rhys isn’t here right now.”
Hazel collides with your gaze, the green-brown colder than usual. Is this what he’s like without affection numbing your judgement? Have you been seeing what you want to see? You dismiss the thought—things would have worked out better if that was true.
“It’s hurting me, Azriel.” You reiterate, trying to emphasise the pain that lacerates through your bones, without doing exactly that. “Because you’re doing it wrong.”
“And how am I supposed to do it?” You reply, more bitterly than you’ve ever dared speak to him before. He sits back in his chair idly, taking a deep drink from his mug, watching you pointedly over the lip.
“Fine,” you say quietly, but not weakly, staring at him from across the table. “Where would you start?”
“Tell me what you’ve been doing this past week,” he says calmly, “tell me what you’ve found.”
So he was being serious about that, not just trying to prove a point. You look down into your mug, lightly running your finger over the lip. “I’ve been trying to get it to spark,” you reply softly, not meeting his gaze.
“And?”
“That’s it.”
Azriel blinks, watching you silently. Thinking over his words before he speaks. “What have you been doing, exactly. Aside from reading.”
“I told you,” you reply, humiliation grating and twisting in your stomach. “I tried to get to it, but nothing… It didn’t work.”
“Nothing happened, or it didn’t work?” He asks, and you feel the smallest bit of resentment for his acute attention to the things he’s interested in. “It didn’t work,” you relent.
“So what happened?” He pushes, drinking from his mug—an action you’re certain he does to encourage a sense of ease.
Tension buzzes beneath your skin, ringing in your ears then flashing to deafening silence as you think back over the past fortnight. The steady decline of your skin. “I already told you,” you say quietly, noise fading to numbness again. “It began hurting.”
“Tell me what it feels like.”
“Itching,” you reply.
He waits sternly, practically ordering you to give more than a one word answer. Your jaw works, head dipping as brows tighten. “It burns. Usually only in my hands, but when…” —you swallow, remembering how it had spread so rapidly across your skin, only halting at the line of the pendant— “when you… What you saw, that one time…I felt feverish for hours after. My hands hurt the most, and they…” You trail off, not wanting to speak that single night into existence.
“They what?” He prompts quietly, shadows flickering mildly along the grain of the table. Your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth, swallowing around a lump in your throat. “They bled a little. I still have sores on my knuckles.” Palms splay as still as possible upon the surface, allowing his eyes to trace the scaly, flaky skin—lumpy in parts.
He gives no visible reaction, but you can’t help to imagine silent disgust. They aren’t a pleasant sight.
“That shouldn’t be happening,” he says, hazel weighing into you, and you hastily bring your hands back to the mug. “You shouldn’t be experiencing pain from accessing your magic.”
A heavy weight forms in your stomach, having sat there for a while now.
“Why not?” You ask hoarsely, meeting his gaze. His brow narrows, watching you silently for a moment. “Because that’s not how magic works,” he replies quietly. “It isn’t in itself good or bad, and so it follows it should not have an impact upon its user. Magic is a tool for the wielder, something to be moulded.”
“But cauldron-given magic isn’t the same,” you mumble, eyes dipping to your hands, knuckles popping from your skin as you hold the mug tighter. “Nesta stole from the cauldron. She wasn’t supposed to have anything. And if she wasn’t supposed to have something, why would I?”
The words hang in the air, only now being allowed to fully take shape in the world, finally spoken aloud. “Elain’s the only one who was given something freely,” you murmur, tea steadily cooling, no longer steaming. “So it makes sense mine…that mine has a catch.”
“No it doesn’t,” he says, and a muscle feathers in your jaw.
“Yes, it does,” you grit out.
“No,” he repeats, shadows flickering closer to you, imploring you to meet his gaze; you refuse. “Even with Nesta’s magic being taken, it never hurt her. Magic doesn’t have sentience.”
This time you meet his gaze, pointedly flicking your eyes to his shadows. “They seem pretty aware.”
Azriel stiffens.
It’s by no means an obvious change, and it may well have been enhanced by your mind, but you felt the air shift. On a subatomic level, something changed.
“You said yourself that magic is something to be moulded,” you force out quietly, gaze dipping away from his, regretting the brief snappiness. “So it becomes a reflection of the user.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re no torturer,” he says dryly.
“Neither are your shadows,” you murmur, watching the blackness of your tea. Humour leeches from the air.
A heavy silence follows, taut and loaded, like a bow pulled tight.
“Elain and I spoke the other day,” you whisper, hands tightening around the mug, practically able to hear your skin rustle with the small movement.
Azriel waits quietly, steadily cataloguing the small inconstancies in your behaviour that have been cropping up throughout the night. He’d put them down to shock from being at such close proximity to violence, but it appears there’s something more.
It’s lucky he’d been feeling so restless earlier, allowing his shadows on a looser leash than usual, able to explore and patrol the city streets, cataloguing details to busy them while he worked. Then a commotion had kicked up, and they’d naturally snuck forward. It was only when they’d caught the balmy floral scent tinged with fear they’d scuttled back to return to him, having split the two males apart once he had you away.
“She’d been off the past few days, and I thought it was because of… I thought I knew what it was.” He watches as your pulse deepens, noting the slight but frequent disturbances between scaly knuckles. He thinks back to the way your spine had shuddered with lonely despair, grief etched into the hunched knots of your shoulders as tears splashed into a small pool where he’s now sitting.
“She had a vision,” you manage thickly, and this time there’s nothing subtle about the way he stiffens. Even his shadows skitter back at the mention of those vivid dreams that had stolen words from her mouth for so many months. Trapped in a state half between reality and fantasy.
“You…you die,” you whisper, hardly a breath. “There’s a flash of light, and then you’re on the ground, and you’re— you’re bleeding out.”
“The light?” He asks hoarsely, features tight.
“Green. Like Starfall, she said.”
Azriel stares at you, the top of your head, spine bowed before him in such a meagre, inoffensive stance. Somehow, you’ll be the death of him.
Questions fall from his lips, about the vision: where was it set? What events led up to it? Was there anyone else? What happened after?
In a forest, bargain rings formed with a fox, no one else present, the steep grassy slope with the bone-grey gate and dripping blue web.
He stares at you for a long time, and you keep silent. Wondering if he’ll get to you before you get to him.
“All the more reason for you to train,” he says at last, still staring at the dipped top of your head. Teeth bite the inside of your lip, brows narrowing as heat warms behind your eyes.
“When did you find out?” He asks, refusing to do as much as consider leaving the trail. Who knows where his might might wonder, with the freedom to finally ponder his end.
“The day before yesterday. When I came out of her room.”
No wonder you’d looked so shaken. No wonder Elain hadn’t wanted to speak with him. No wonder you’d been acting so strangely this evening, with everything coiled tight.
“All the more reason to have the others involved,” he says finally. Cassian and Nesta aren’t to return for another week yet, but their plates are full. There’s no way to ask them to take on a task like this, it would be too much to handle. A familiar ache blossoms through the bones of his hands, the signs of restlessness setting in. He still has so many reports to get through, then to manage the topic of your strange magic as well as the vision…to find himself a replacement, too.
Before him, you nod, still clutching the now-cold cup of tea.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “Okay.”
————
The parchment lays tauntingly upon the volume, stretched out lazily, practically grinning at you with that razor-sharp smile.
Write again when you’re ready to show your claws.
Well, if there’s ever going to be a time for you to step outside of your circle, it’s now. Taking the first step over the rickety old threshold, moving from mildew smelling wood, toward the crisp freshness of cold wintry air.
You remember what Elain had told you—about the twin bands that forged an alliance. Under no circumstance will you allow even the first step of the prophecy to be fulfilled. So long as you don’t actually enter into a bargain with him, you can stave off the inevitable. Keep it at bay until a solution is found.
The pen trembles in your hand, and dark droplets stain the parchment, having forgotten to clean the nib on the lip of the pot. The words are carved into the paper, looking more permanent than etchings on a grave stone.
How do you feel about a bargain?
The paper vanishes, and your heart pounds in your throat. It’s been a while since you last wrote to one another. What if he’s become bored?
To your surprise, his response is prompt, but you waste no time on considering why he’s up so late in the night, already blending into early morning. Your heart pounds harder when you read his message, pen trembling lightly in your hand.
What trouble have you gotten yourself into, cygnet?
Even through the paper, you find yourself able to hear the condescending lilt of his voice. You can’t help but feel you’ve walked right into whatever trap he’s set for you, but you’re left with no choice but to continue.
I’m serious, Eris.
The parchment vanishes, and you wonder if you should have continued with the first point to keep his attention, but— You can’t let him know how badly you need this. He might not be as bad as the others have made him out to be, but you’d be foolish to trust him entirely. You need to keep your cool.
But then the paper reappears.
I can tell from your wobbly handwriting.
You scribble on the page.
Incredibly articulate, as always.
Nausea bubbles in your stomach, and you sit back in the chair, glaring at the parchment. Teeth chew on your lower lip, pen dipping into the ink pot, hovering over the page, but hesitating. It’s so insane to be doing this—even you can see that. But it’s insane you’re having to be confronted with your own source of magic as well as a vision predicting Azriel’s death.
If you remain idle, he’ll be the one to pay.
They haven’t snatched you up already, have they?
Something cold and slimy ices down your spine, staring at the words, lips twisting down at the sinister question.
What do you mean? You write back, this time keeping your hand as steady as possible.
The parchment vanishes, and you’re left with a sour feeling in your stomach. You’d forgotten about the edge that weighs at the back of your mind whenever writing to him, like he has a dagger idly tracing the knots of your spine. You raise your hand, fingers lightly tracing the nape of your neck, clearing the area.
Paper reappears, and you hesitate, sucking in a light breath before leaning forward to read.
I was under the impression your oldest sister had to undergo some unpleasant rehabilitation. I wouldn’t put it pass Rhysand to do the same to you.
You give him no time to sense your doubt, setting pen to parchment thoughtlessly.
You’re lying. You have nothing to base that on.
You clearly haven’t been filled in on our meetings if you think things are well enough that you have the luxury of inaction.
What the hell does that mean?
You glare at the paper, pulse bumping against your rib cage.
Are you interested or not?
The page vanishes, and you fall back into the habit of counting. One…two…three… Hands fumble with the volume, unread since you last wrote to him. The book isn’t even fully opened before his response is delivered.
I wouldn’t have bothered talking with you if you were entirely bland.
Your expression sours, apprehension draining as you glare at the parchment.
Is that supposed to a compliment?
Paper vanishes, the reappears seconds later.
I don’t give them out often.
The edges of your mouth quirk, familiar discomfort settling over your skin.
I can tell. You need some practice.
The paper again disappears, and you again return to the book, scanning the short title—one you’ve already read. You flip forward, scanning the text to see if it’s something you haven’t yet reached or not.
Parchment settles over the page, returned to you.
Is that any way to be writing to me? I’m under the distinct impression you want something.
Curious, Eris?
Fascinated.
You lean back in your chair, breathing steadily. Reaching habitually for the emptying pot of hand cream. Taking a moment to pause, regulating your heartbeat. This has to happen one way or another, and as it is, it’s the best you can do to keep the prophecy at bay.
I want to learn more about what I can do.
Go on.
Good gods. This is mad. What are you doing?
I know I have something. You write, easing in deep breaths, stretching your feet, body stiffening over the parchment. You know I have something. I want to know more. And I think you do, too.
There it is, written down on paper. Your offer.
The parchment vanishes, a cool sweat sliding down your spine, thumbs rubbing the remaining cream into your skin, rubbing over the dry scaliness, gliding over the stray lumps in your knuckles, the area around your nails dead and hardened.
I’m sure your High Lord would be intrigued by your offer. He’s written. What’s in this for me? If Rhysand finds out what you’re planning, I’ll be the one to take the brunt of his fury, and that’s not what our alliance needs.
He won’t find out. You write.
Forgive me if I doubt that.
A frustrated sigh leaves your chest, pulse beginning to spike.
What do you want?
Tell me what you’re seeking first. Then I’ll decide my price.
You swallow. Unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.
I need to hide for a bit.
The parchment vanishes, and a split second of doubt ripples through your fingers, crushing weight pulling on your shoulders.
You’re in trouble.
A little.
To do with your magic.
Maybe.
Moments tick by, but you’re unable to read, vision slanting at the edges as you stare at the blank space, chewing on your tongue until copper spills, coating your mouth. Stress peels down your skin.
You’re asking for refuge.
I didn’t say that.
The paper vanishes and reappears in seconds, and you briefly shoot a glare at the letter.
Lost interest?
For how long?
You blink, thinking. You hadn’t gotten this far. How long would you need? If you tried to bring it out…even through the pain…
How long is possible?
Another silence. He’s probably guessing how serious this is. Probably already knows. Calculating away at your expense.
A month. Take it or leave it.
Eris I need more than a month.
There’s no way you could master it in a month. Both Feyre and Nesta took much longer, it’s unachievable.
The paper reappears, nothing added since, anxiety being sprinkled upon your mind. Your fingertips prickle, and you wring your hands together before relenting, putting pen to paper.
How soon can the month start?
How badly do you need it?
(How badly do you need me?)
Promptly, you respond, dodging the question. You’ve got to be careful around him, the last thing you need is him knowing about Elain’s vision before it’s even been spoken about with the rest of them. You can only imagine what he’d do with that sort of information to hold over you, however briefly.
Tomorrow?
Within the hour would be appreciated.
Very badly.
You scowl at the page, able to hear his mocking tone through the letters.
This isn’t funny, Eris.
I didn’t say it was.
I can hear your mirth through the paper.
The parchment vanishes, taking a while to reappear. You can imagine his lips pressing together—the same way he had when you’d fallen into the river.
You have unbelievably acute hearing.
You glare hard at the paper. Wishing it would burst into flames.
Is it plausible? To be away within the hour?
I suppose.
Yes or no?
Time ticks away, sitting still as you wait, muscles tense as you absently peer down at the flaky skin. You begin running through a list of things to do should he agree: you’ll need to pack, to find a reason to disappear for a month, to… That’s it. Clothes, and an alibi. But how in the world are you going to find something to keep you away from them for a month. You don’t like the idea of breaking from the agreement with Azriel, but you suppose technically he broke it first…
Teeth worry your lower lip, head resting in your hands, breathing heavily as you peer through cool fingertips. This whole night has been a blur.
If you aren’t there to tell them, it’s a safe bet that Azriel will go ahead with it anyway, regardless if you’re present or not.
All you need is a reason to vanish.
Flashing images of sawtoothed ice crackle through your mind, vacant gold filled with sparks.
Your stomach sinks, seeing a way through.
It’s wrong. Wrong and hurtful to him, being used for your own needs. But if it’s for a greater good…
The paper reappears, and you’re out of time to figure out a cover plan.
Eyes scan the single word, written in a neat, elegant script.
Yes.
————
He’d be furious with you.
He wouldn’t show it, but you know what you’re doing isn’t right. And what you’re about to do is much worse.
Hands grip the straps of your bags tighter, two strung over your shoulder, ready to leave. As many clothes as you could fit, as well as the volume Eris had given you. The small, deep blue box burns against your thigh, searing through the fabric of your pocket.
“Bas?” You call, wary of making a disturbance.
Minutes feel like hours as they drip by, the door eventually cracking open.
His lip is split, and his nose looks soft and broken, no blood in sight save for the bruising across his cheek. Gold gutters as he sees you, making to turn away but you stick your foot over the threshold, hand landing atop his, having him flinch.
“What are you doing here?” He asks, voice rough and raw, thyme and rosemary tinged with copper. “I wanted to check on you,” you say, quietly, heart pounding. “I don’t have a lot of time. There’s a lot I want to say to you right now and more I wish I could explain, but I want to know how you are.”
His throat rolls, and he relents on the door, allowing it open a little more. He’s changed clothes, having cleaned himself up since you last saw him. Mere hours ago.
Wordlessly, you extend your arm, returning the warm over-piece he’d lent to you. He takes it silently, hanging it over the hook beside the door, deeper in his house.
“Are you… Have you taken care of yourself?” You ask quietly. He stiffens, but nods numbly, and you can tell he’s being truthful. “What did you want to say?” He asks, diverting the topic, causing your pulse to spike erratically. “I need your help with something,” you admit hoarsely, gold latching with your gaze, a spark of awareness returning, telling you to continue.
You shift beneath his attention, gripping the straps tighter. “I can’t tell you what it is, or where I’m going,” —Bas startles at that, straightening— “But I need to leave for a bit.” Anxiety rolls across your chest as you feel him staring at you. But remaining silent. “I just need a week to figure things out, but until then I need you to help,” you whisper.
He scans your features, searching for clues, dropping repeatedly to your bags as if they might hold the answer.
“What do you need me to do?” He asks quietly, warily.
“If anyone comes asking for me, I need you to tell them I’m with you,” you say, meeting his gaze. “It’ll only end badly for me otherwise. Nobody can know where I’m going or why. I need that privacy, Bas.”
He stares down at you, lips parted, eyes slightly wider than usual. “You— what?” He hisses at last, grip tightening on the door, and you consciously take a subtle step back, watching as he marks the action, features shifting from shock to guilt in the blink of an eye. His posture stiffens, and he straightens, getting a hold of himself, pulling back into his home.
“I can’t— I’m not lying to your family,” he murmurs, unable to look at you, gaze cast down. “You’ve been so insistent on me asking for help when I need it Bas,” you remind quietly, guilt soaking into the chambers of your heart. “Well, I need it,” you whisper, hardly able to get the words out. “I need you.”
The dilemma rolls behind his eyes, scenarios flashing through and playing out in his head. “What would I even say?” He asks softly, voice raw. There’s no time for embarrassment, you have to meet Eris in under an hour, so you push it aside. “Just say I’m on my cycle, and I wanted to be some place safe,” you say quietly, dipping your head in a show of vulnerability. Allowing warmth to heat your skin, fingers tightening around your bags. “It should keep them away for a little, if they think that I’m…” you trail off purposefully.
“Yeah,” he whispers to himself, nodding. “I get it.”
Seconds pass and you shift on your feet, displaying your distress. “Can you— I mean, will you do that for me?” You ask hoarsely, forcing your gaze to meet with worn out gold, tired and weak from the long night. He appears indecisive, torn between you and his rulers.
“Just a week,” you remind softly. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t…” You guiltily shift on your feet, and at last he nods.
“Okay,” he whispers, hands shifting on the door. “Okay. But one week. And you’re not doing anything dumb.”
“One week,” you agree nodding. “And nothing dumb.”
“I’m serious,” he emphasises, moving to reach for you, but hesitating, then pulling back into himself. Guilt bubbles up your throat, wriggling beneath your flesh. You want to apologise, to cry and tell him you’re sorry for putting him in this position. After all he’s done for you.
“Tell me you’re going to be okay,” he says quietly, watching you.
“I’m going to be okay,” you reassure, tongue flicking out over your lips.
If he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t show it.
Bas nods stiffly and silence stretches between you, a rope slowly going taut.
“Okay,” he murmurs, releasing the door, pushing upright. “Be safe, yeah?”
Your throat rolls, but you nod. “Yeah. I will.”
————
The entrance to the tunnel looms before you, right where Eris said it would be.
You walk down into this, and it will take you straight to him, no going back.
You shift the bags on your shoulders, the weight nudging against the little blue box at your thigh.
With a heavy breath, you turn, scanning the trees before you, barely able to make out the speckled lights of Velaris in your wake. A strange sense of melancholy nostalgia settles across your skin, except it’s thick and lined with heaviness. Like you’re leaving behind something you never quite got to enjoy, leaving before you’re ready, suddenly extracted from your life. Lifted and replaced.
You hadn’t expected to fear being away from them. You hadn’t expected to miss them so soon—not even out of the Night Court yet. But the prophecy haunts your steps, driving you apart in order to keep them together. Azriel will tell them about your powers, the vision will come to light, and they’ll understand why you went away. It’s safer like this.
Exhaling steadily, you turn back to the open tunnel, and begin the descent.
The darkness wraps around you quickly, and a sense of confusion prickles at your skin, like your brain has been turned around, direction wobbling. All you can do is continue on forward, putting one foot in front of the other, wandering deeper into the pitch blackness.
A crisp breeze plays with the sleeves of your dress, wrapped in the thickest scarf you could find. The chill of autumn washes over you, sweeping into your lungs, soothing the anxious heat of your skin, cooling down your spine. You pause, the early dawn colours of grey-blue glowing faintly in the distance, nearing the end of the tunnel. Taking in a deep breath, you allow the tension to roll from your muscles, soothed and softened by the freshness of it all. The newness.
When you reach the tunnel’s exit, you’re greeted by an unrecognisable figure, but that possesses autumn court uniform, taking you securely by the arms, before a flash of icy air shocks your skin, dropping through the dizziness of winnowing until you’re within the confines of a castle, great braziers lighting the walls either side a small door. The male instructs you to wait inside, then leaves, disappearing silently off down the hallway without another word.
You quietly open the door, finding that it leads to a windowless room the size of your old bedroom from the hut, lit by three candles. To the left is a neat, single bed with a small closet at its foot, a thin rug over the cold floor, and a writing desk pushed against the other side of the room. A door leads away into what you hope is a washroom.
Overall, it’s sparse and bare, but the air is warm and dry, smelling faintly of pastry, and you wonder where it’s coming from. From the looks of the area, it’s a place usually assigned to servants or handmaids, likely given to you to draw less attention—it would be odd if a Lady suddenly took up temporary home in the Autumn Palace without having to greet any of the Members of Court, so you suppose a place like this is ideal. Which must mean you’re near the kitchen, hence the warmth and smell of pastry.
Fatigue weighs on your bones, lids sliding shut before you’ve even made it to the bed.
You hardly manage to keep your eyes open long enough to remove your gloves and rub cream into the skin, the sickening smell of gardenias permeating the previously pleasant aroma of jams and tarts and other breakfast pieces. It has your stomach rumbling but you’re far too tired to do much, save for setting your bags down and putting the volume on the desk.
Shoes are lethargically toed away, scarf unfolding and put beside the volume before padding over to the bed, rummaging through your bags in search of a night gown. Discarding your clothes and paying a brief visit to the door in the corner—which is indeed a tiny washroom—before pulling on the ankle length gown, slipping into a thick pair of socks, blowing out the candles.
The bed is soft despite the thin mattress, and you settle beneath the covers, muscles the most relaxed they’ve been in a long time, exhausted from a day of emotional turbulence.
Breaths sigh in and out, settling into a peaceful rhythm, deepening as you begin to finally sink into the shallow waters of sleep.
Comfort sweeps over you like a fresh blanket, warm and clean after a long day, finally ready to rest.
“You’ve been here for the lesser part of an hour,” a voice calls from the door, dripping with displeasure. “Get up. It’s morning.”
——————————————————————————————————————————————
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How would the suitors reaction be when their wife ( Crewle daughter) is pregnant with triplets? And meeting the kids after birth?
With Ruggie, Jack, Lions, Malleus, Silver, Trey, Vil and Ace
Triplets Are Here | Yandere Twisted Wonderland Crewel Daughter
Ruggie Bucci
“What can I say I’m a beast in bed!”
He’s not going to act like it even could have been inherited to you
He’s got a whole new air of confidence
Not only does he have the woman of his dreams
But he knocked her up times three
Hopefully that will squash anyone else’s delusions about being with you
Either way he doesn’t mind getting rid of them the old fashioned way
“Awww they look like we had babies! Oh wait-”
“Just focus on feeding that one.”
“Yes Mama!”
Jack Howl
“...!”
“Jack?”
“!!!!”
“Jack?!”
“!!!!”
“If you faint now, I won’t catch you!”
This is the best news
A strong litter, a perfect mate
He’s protecting his already larger than average pack
“Back away or I will not hesitate to end your life. I’ve got four lives to protect now.”
Leona Kingscholar
“Geez…three?”
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face? I’m just surprised you took me so well.”
He has mixed feelings about it
Especially when he’s catering to you as your belly swells to an almost unbelievable size
And you groan in pain
“Why don’t the brats just get here. I hate seeing you in pain.”
He’s heard of other lions so jealous they kill their kin
But as he holds the little bundles he can’t begin to fathom it
He might just cry
Malleus Draconia
“If you and I were not made for each other, theres noway this could be.”
He’s ecstatic
But the entirety of Briar Valley and the world around you must be made to cater to you
Devoted to your comfort and health above all else
he even struggles to let Crewel see you
“Nothing will ever hurt my loves. My babes. My wive. I’d curse the world for you.”
Genocide Murder spree ensues should there be any pain or assassination attempts
No one’s so much as flicking you
He’d sooner rend them to ash
Silver
“Three…at the same time…?”
“Yes so we’ll have to get three times the baby equipment and–Silver?”
“Three…in…you?”
He’s barely processing any of it
Even when he’s practically carrying the four of you as you waddle places
“Our babies…”
“Aren’t they precious they have your eyes!”
“M-m-my eyes-? Agh-!”
“Its okay babe this is a good time to cry.”
“H-how did Dad do it!? I-I’m never letting any of you leave me!”
Any protective traits are amplified even higher
And if there was ever a time he refused to kill anyone in his pursuit for love
That has long since past
Trey Clover
“Well I did always say I wanted a big family!”
He’s thrilled to see your tummy rounding with his children
All while you incessantly demand for his sweets and cooking
And he’s jumping to his tooth brush after a rough morning
But its all made even better when they arrive
Little mixes of his love and himself
“They’ll have the cutest little teeth!”
He definitely saves them when they get older
But he’s the perfect papa
Poisoned sweets and all
Vil Schoenheit
“We’ll be parents…is that registering?”
“Barely. When we agreed to marry I doubted ever moving further than that.”
“Does it make you unhappy?”
“Not in the slightest.”
He’s brimming with anxiety
Worry eating away as he contemplates his own jealousy and the excitement of having a child
It doesn’t become much easier when the triplets arrive
He despises the paparazzi
So much so he’s willing to set his rabid fans on them
Purge them of every photo of his adorable babes
He’s the only one who gets the honor
A dazzling photo of your delivery is only for his eyes
Doxx the peeping toms
“They’re all mine. I’m willing to lose everything for them.”
Ace Trappola
“Dang! I really am amazing–Ow! Joking, joking.”
He couldn’t be happier
What better way to prove his love ownership of the sexiest woman alive if it weren’t for the giant round belly you had
And soon to be three little rascals that are further testaments of his status
He’ll whine about things
Probably more than you
But in the end he’s glowing with pride as you look down at your freshly born babies
“Ehehe they can’t deny that I may have children for days but I’ve got game.”
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