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kilahstorm · 7 months

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You've Got Mail - How It Should Have Ended

I love February for all of its misery. I’m indifferent to Valentine's day but ugly weather leaves me inspired. Nothing makes me more eager to sit at my desk and create than terrible gray weather.

So how do you celebrate another lovely, gray month gone by? You rewrite the ending to one of the most popular romantic comedies of all time. That’s right! It’s time to take a deep dive into the movie You’ve Got Mail!

Why You've Got Mail you ask? It’s a cult classic. Great characters, a fun use of the trope enemies to lovers and excellent themes. It's perfect, you say, but I disagree!

I just don’t believe Kathleen Kelly is happy to see Fox as her secret pen pal. The whole movie is building up to this moment and I feel it was would have written the ending a bit differently.

Kathleen is a character lost in her fantasy. Two cars nearly collide on the New York street as she comments to her employee how lovely a day it is. The two drivers start yelling at each other but Kathleen blissfully ignores them. She is in denial that her store will be affected at all by the big bookstore moving in next door, believing the virtues of her story books will keep her safe. And even when she does have to face the reality of closing, she and her coworkers choose not to dwell on it but to instead look at it as a brave thing. Kelly’s inability to face reality is her major character flaw but it is also her charm. When Fox comes to her bookstore, he finds her perspective “enchanting”. He is delighted by her and is afraid to break the illusion by revealing that he is her competition right next door.

Fox has had to face reality very early in life. Having a unique home life with many “mothers” broke any childhood illusion he may have had early in life. He has a very young aunt, a brother that could be his son, and a stepmom who would be very happy to have him in her bed. He was raised in the world of businessmen which gave him a very cold reality check. Life is stark where money rules. Still, he allows himself a small fantasy that love could be a real thing, and he allows himself to chat to a delightful stranger via email who he of course realizes one day is Kathleen.

That is when the real fantasy begins for Fox. He starts to imagine he and this wonderful woman could, maybe, love one another. Kathleen, the one whom he has destroyed the livelihood and legacy of, has made him a hopeless romantic. Now who is the dreamer?

Meanwhile, Kelly is having to face the music. She had been moving through life others had written for her. She had had the bookstore her mother wanted her to have. She filled the role of bookstore owner just as her mother had and she enjoys the comfort of her co-workers' company through blissful days. But now all of those dreams have come and gone. She’s waking up to her own story Kathleen realizes she might be ok with losing the bookstore. She doesn’t really love her nerdy boyfriend who is stuck in the past where the internet doesn't exist and typewriters rule. He has been living in a fantasy too and it is no longer attractive to Kathleen. Our heroine starts to see that the world demands she take hold of her reality. All of her friends aren’t interested in following in her footsteps - all but Fox.

As Kathleen faces her reality, she and Fox begin to meet in the middle of their once very stark differences. He, through his banter, helps her find her footing and she helps him dream of a life no longer alone. But Fox is afraid. He is afraid to hit her with the truth that he is her fantastic, understanding, mystery man on the email chat. How can he be sure that she is ready to embrace reality and not be lost in a fantasy like all the other storybook lovers?

Finally, he makes his move at the end of the movie. He sets up a date for them to meet but arranges to see Kathleen beforehand. This is his last date with her before the illusion is broken. He uses this moment to tell Kathleen that he wishes she would be able to find a way to forgive him for being responsible for closing down her bookshop. After all, she found a way to forgive the fabulous email guy for standing her up almost a year before. In his own way, Fox is telling her that he hopes she can find a way to forgive him for breaking her illusions and making her face reality - something he is about to do to her all over again when she meets him for this final date and realizes her fantasy man has been Fox this whole time. As the movie would have it, Kelly leaves without promising any forgiveness and Fox finds her waiting for him later on, surprised and relieved he is the fantasy she had been dreaming of.

But this falls flat for me. The fact that Kathleen leaves Fox to meet her pen pal proves that she is still secretly hoping that there is someone better than Fox out there. This is why she feels not genuine when she says she had hoped it was him all along at the end of the movie. If she had hoped it was Fox all along, why did he find her in the park waiting for someone else? Imagine this had been the scenario instead:

Fox returns to the gardens to reveal to Kelly that he is the email pen pal only to be stood up by her. He looks around but she is simply not there. When he returns to his boat, he opens up his email and finds he has mail. It’s Kelly. The email reads as follows:

NYC152,

I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet you at the park today. I know you probably think I’m getting back at you for standing me up at the coffee shop. That wasn’t why, but I was reminded of that time when I was getting ready to meet you. I had been nervous and anxious and all sorts of flustered. But I was excited. I was excited to finally meet someone who I felt could actually understand me.

This time it was different. I realized that this time I didn’t really want to meet you. I’m sure you are charming and lovely but you couldn’t possibly be all the things I’ve conjured you up to be and I’m sure I couldn’t be everything you imagine me to be either. I guess I realized that no matter how wonderful you would be, I was going to be disappointed, simply because you would finally be real.

It’s not either of our faults for being human, it’s just what it is. And seeing how we are now both in the business of disappointing each other, I have to admit that I haven’t been completely honest with you. I’ve been seeing someone these past few months. I never thought of it as a serious relationship until I imagined meeting you today. I realized that if I was going to be meeting someone new, I rather hoped that you would turn out to be someone like him. In fact, I realized that I would be disappointed if you weren’t him.

I am really sorry to be saying this to you, but you have helped me once again, possibly for the last time. I know you never intended this but you have helped me realize that I love this man I have been seeing. It took the chance of meeting you to understand that. I really hope you can forgive me.

That is how we know that Kathleen wanted Fox in the end. She gives up her fantasy of the perfect guy to have the reality of Fox. Imagine that next date. Imagine how that kiss would feel with her knowing she wants him and with him knowing that she loves him for who he is - harsh business man and all. Both characters have grown through their flaws and the themes have tied up nicely. Now that is a holiday classic!

#fanfic #youve got mail #kathleen kelly #fox #nyc152 #fanfic writing #loveisgray

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lonelyl00n · 3 years

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Je T'aime | Yandere! Joy

Summary: When your childhood bully won't let go of you.

Warning: manipulation, abuse of power, controlling relationship, jealousy, mention of killing

wc: 1.5K

This is was inspired by my favorite song Je T'aime by Hey. When I found out that Joy did a cover of that song, I got the creativity to create this. I wanted to get all of this out of my head, so it may feel a bit rushed in some areas.

You were in the library when you felt someone put their hands over your eyes. “Guess Who?”

“Hmmm.” You joked as you tapped your finger on your chin. “Is it…Namjoon?”

Your eyes were uncovered the second you said that. You laughed at Joy’s angry expression. “I told you not to mention him.”

“Sorry, sorry. What brings you here.”

“What do you mean what brings me here? It’s our night out.” Joy gasps.

“I’m sorry Joy, I don’t think I can do it tonight. Namjoon was supposed to be tutoring me, but I’ve been waiting for like thirty minutes.”

“I’m one of the smartest kids in the school. I’m in the Top 10 you know. Why didn’t you ask me?” Joy pouted.

You laughed at her outburst. “First of all, your parents would sue the school if you weren’t in Top 10, so that doesn’t really mean much.”

Joy's father was the CEO of a famous luxury brand, while her mom is a retired actress who was popular in the late 80's and 90's. Her parents had more money than you and your family could ever dream of. Growing up bouncing around from different relative’s basements made a lot of the kids at school growing up, make fun of you.

Especially Joy.

In 4th grade, is when she would begin to make your life a living hell. She would steal your lunch money and give you foods that she knew you were allergic to. She would constantly call you fat and make rude comments about you to her friends.

It got worse in 10th grade, when she made an announcement over the PA system that whoever talked, touched, or even looked at you would get beat up. She bought you and her matching rings at cost more than $1000, and would make you wear it all the time. She bought you clothes, gave you money, and even managed to convince her parents to buy your family an apartment with three bedrooms and a balcony.

She basically owned you. You weren’t allowed to go out on the weekends because of her security guards guarding your apartment door. When you did try to leave the apartment, which you never succeeded, you would be taken by the guards to the Park Mansion and have to sit on Joy’s lap as you two watched a movie, as punishment.

You hated the power she had, you always did, she even forced you to go to the same college that she was going to, by threatening to hurt your Aunt Irene.

You reluctantly agreed to her ‘idea’, not wanting to hurt your family members that helped your family so much.

So now you followed Joy around the campus like a little puppy, while everyone else thought that you guys were just close friends who liked being near each other.

“And second of all.” you continued. “We are supposed to be working on a project together.”

Joy furrowed her eyebrows while thinking. A project? With a boy?! She thought she had already told all of your professors to not give you any partners at all. Especially a boy.

“I know what your thinking.” Y/N claimed, seeing the looked on Joy’s face. “But we went to London for a whole month, and this was a month-long project. I can’t do it alone.”

“Fine, then I’ll help you.” Joy suggested.

“But Namjoon has to get this grade too.”

“Why do you worry about other people so much, come on let’s just start this.”

You and Joy spent all night, researching, printing, and decorating your poster board. By the time you guys were finished it was 2 a.m.

“Well, that was quicker than I expected. I guess I’ll have to make a new reservation for tomorrow.” Joy sighed. “Let’s go home.” She said as she intertwined your hands and walke out the library.

As part of the deal, Joy had you move into a luxury 2-bedroom apartment that was about an hour away from campus. Joy demanded insisted that you shouldn’t use public transportation anymore because now, with the help of her money, you were worth a lot. Throughout your high school experience, Joy never let you get a driver’s license, so she has the pleasure of driving you to and from campus, always knowing your whereabouts.

You looked out the car window without having anything to do. As punishment for talking to a boy, Joy had taken your phone claiming that the only person you needed to talk to was always right beside you. “What do you want to eat.” She asked you.

“McDonald’s.” You say robotically. McDonald’s was the only fast food place that Joy allowed you to eat. It was the place she found your family at in 10th grade.

It was on a rainy day that your Aunt Irene had kicked you, your parents, and your little brother out of her basement for being a burden, which you didn’t understand because just a week ago your Aunt had said you all staying there was the best thing to happen for her since her illness was starting to worsen.

So, with no where to go and barely any money, your parents took you all to McDonald’s to split one box of 20 piece chicken nuggets, and 4 small drinks for each member of the family.

As you were told by Joy, her family's trailer had broken down on the way back home from the airport, so Joy offered to walk to the nearest building while her parents berated the driver. The nearest place just so happened to be the McDonald’s you and your family were at.

You instantly recognized Joy when she walked through the door, just like how Joy instantly recognized you. She sat a table across from the booth your family was at, and pulled out her phone. Gosh, were you so amazed. You had never had a phone before. Your parents only had one that they shared, and you didn’t have friends (because of Joy’s rules) to let you use theirs. Joy smiled at you awe-filled eyes and continued talking on the phone.

You didn’t even realize that you were staring at her until your mom slapped your wrist and told you to stop. When the phone call ended, Joy stood up and walked towards your table. You looked at the ground, afraid that she too would scold you. “Hello L/N’s. I’m Park Sooyoung.” She started. You heard a gasp in front of you and looked at your parents, who were looking at the entrance doors. A tall man wearing a suit, and a woman carrying a Chanel bag. Walked through the door.

Joy looked back and laughed. “Oh, those are my parents.” They came up to your booth, both shoke hands your parents and stood behind Joy. ”We wanted to give your family a place to stay, would you let us.” You mother, being the biggest fan of Joy’s mother growing up instantly nodded, while your father thought about it for a few seconds before evening his Wife’s beautiful smile. A smile he hadn’t seen since their wedding day. He agreed as well.

That night was significant to you because not only did your family get a place to reside, but it was also the first time that Joy was nice to you. Since that day she started treated you better, still not letting you talk to anyone else, but she was nice.

Although Joy would never tell you this, it was that night that she fell in love with you, completely.

After eating. You and Joy got into the bed that you two shared. Yes there were two bedrooms in your apartment, but you couldn’t sleep in a room by yourself.

You had slept in a room with somebody your whole life, it felt uncomfortable. So on the first week of living here, you asked Joy if you could sleep with her, even okay with sleeping on the ground. Joy let you into her bed, and sang you to sleep.

That became your routine every night after that. However tonight was different, you feel asleep the minute you got into bed. Joy snuck out of the bed and turned you alarm off. You didn’t need to go to school tomorrow, you wouldn’t have time anyways. Her makeup crew that were going to come today were rescheduled to come tomorrow. The day she had been waiting for since that night was going to happen.

All of you and her family members were going to be at that restaurant and would watch as she would get down on one knee, just like in the romance movies, and propose to you. Just thinking about tomorrow made her heart flutter. Yes, she was furious about the change of plans today, but she would never take it out on you. Instead, she took it out on that Namjoon guy behind the library. Ugh! Just thinking about him getting close to you was sickening. She had her men take care of his body for her.

She kissed your cheek and whispers in your ear, “I love you.”

Everything was set in her plan. She loved you, and you…would have no choice but to love her. You were hers after all. Hers to love.

#yandere kpop #red velvet joy #red velvet #yandere #kpop fanfic #kpop #yandere bully #yandere sugar daddy #fanfic #kim namjoon #yandere red velvet #yandere joy

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pippytmi · 3 years

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Howdy! For the little au trope prompt ask. 2, 2, 39. Supercorp please. Thank you! (Hope it helps your writer's block!)

Everyone knows that when the Quidditch season starts, rivalries begin.

As a general rule, Lena doesn’t mind the Gryffindors. If she had to pick a house she hated, the Slytherins would be the unfortunate lot; Veronica Sinclair and Andrea Rojas alone give the group a bad name. (That could be Lena’s own personal bias, given the fact that both girls have broken her heart, but she maintains it goes far deeper than that). But the point stands—Lena isn’t a hateful person. Generally.

There is just something about Kara Danvers that brings it out of her. The one and only Gryffindor that Lena despises is that moronic, reckless Chaser who scores nearly every single goal she takes. The Ravenclaw team is nothing to sneeze at either, but Lena hates that of all people to throw her off her game, it is a girl who blew up her broom when attempting to fly on it during her first year. Seven years that she has known Kara, and still Lena is annoyed at the mere sight of those perpetually-askew glasses, those untucked robes, that undone tie; Kara Danvers is never expected to be poised and perfect, even with all the expectations on her shoulders. She’s just so...blasé. People talk about Kara like she is destined to join a Quidditch team straight out of Hogwarts and all Kara does is stroll into the Great Hall on game day with her head in the clouds.

So far up the clouds that she apparently can’t watch where she is going, either. Lena throws Kara the nastiest glare she can muster when they just about knock each other’s heads together, but all Kara does at the sight of it is grin. She always grins, not in a way that is arrogant or snide, but stupidly amused. Stupidly amused, as if everything Lena says or does is a bloody laugh, like Lena’s simmering hatred is nothing more than an inside joke.

“Hey, Luthor,” Kara says cheerfully, and there she goes, pushing those crooked glasses up her nose. There is a scratch on one lens, and Kara has either not noticed or not bothered to repair it. “Trying to take out the competition a little early, even for you.”

“You were the one in my way, Danvers,” Lena replies tightly.

“Was I?” And here is the kicker, that golden girl charm that fools everyone: bright blue eyes peeking out beneath those eyelashes, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, undone tie slipping an inch further. Kara tilts her head unassumingly as if that is even an actual question.

It makes Lena furious. “Here’s a tip,” she says, “for here and the Quidditch field. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you could actually see where you’re headed.”

Kara has the audacity to look affronted. “Is this because of the Brainy incident during training? Because he and I agreed that it was a joint effort. Joint…blame. Whatever you call it.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Just keep your aggression to yourself, Danvers,” she mutters, and then she resolutely brushes past. She has no time for blank, witty banter, especially when this is the year’s first game and she has a team to rally.

“My—? Hey,” Kara’s voice rings out, louder than necessary, and that idiot is actually following her. “Hey, wait. Lena. Do you seriously think I’m aggressive? It was an accident! Both times!” A beat. “I mean both the Brainy thing and right now. I didn’t knock into Brainy twice. I did knock James off his broom once, but you probably don’t care about that since he’s not from your house, so…well anyway, just so you know, that was also an accident.”

“I have zero interest in your training squabbles,” Lena says exasperatedly, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

“Oh so this is about the Brainy incident,” Kara says. “How many times do I have to say that the training pitch was ours?”

“According to you,” Lena counters. With that she whirls around, nearly colliding into Kara’s chest, but she still manages to lift her head up high and stare down that egotistical jackass. “I know you might think you’re entitled to any space you waltz into, but some of us mere mortals actually schedule training sessions. You know, like we’re supposed to.”

“I did schedule the—!” Kara has a tendency to become flustered mid-argument, it seems, because her mouth opens but no words come blustering out. Finally she settles on scowling when she declares, “You are a piece of work, you know that? Would it kill you to apologize to me once in a while?”

“That would imply that you have apologized to me at some point,” Lena scoffs. “Which you haven’t, for the record.”

“Yes I have,” Kara is quick to disagree.

Lena crosses her arms; it’s a challenge, and Kara immediately stands a little straighter when she notices. “Oh?” Lena prompts. “Like when?”

“Like…when I knocked into Brainy.”

“I fail to see how I fit in that scenario,” Lena says, “since you didn’t break my nose.”

Kara gives a little huff, as if this back and forth is all so inconvenient right now; as if she hasn’t instigated it. “Okay, but I apologized for disrupting your practice, remember? I took complete responsibility even though it was your fault you couldn’t keep track of when your team was scheduled—”

“That was not an apology. You literally said ‘Sorry Luthor, we need this more than you do’ and then refused to leave for the next half hour!”

“But I said sorry in there, ergo, it is an apology.”

“Well then, when my team beats yours to dust I’ll be sure to apologize properly for that in that exact same sympathetic manner,” Lena sneers.

Somehow, trash talk only makes that dumb, signature Kara Danvers grin come back, completely wiping away any sign of vexation. “Oh yeah? Tell me more, wise old Ravenclaw—”

Before Lena can even begin to dissect that childish comeback (and stupid sing-songy imitation of the Sorting Hat), other students come filtering down the hall and they are practically swept up in the masses. One kid completely shoulders Lena before she even realizes what’s happening; she stumbles to the left, nearly collides with the wall, and opens her mouth to shout, but then:

“Hey!” Kara is already brandishing her wand with one hand and catching the boy’s collar with the other. “Ten points from Hufflepuff! You could’ve hurt someone, walking around without looking where you’re going.”

Lena bites her tongue to stop from making a quip on how ironic that statement is, because Kara is engrossed in a stare-off with the pimply sixth year who is demanding to see her prefect badge to prove Kara can even take points. She would normally side with the kid—anything to knock Kara Danvers down a peg—but, well. For once, Lena can’t be bothered to actively hate someone getting into a heated argument on her behalf.

Two minutes later and the boy stomps off with ten points gone from his house and a detention to boot. Kara, meanwhile, is still frowning as he leaves. “Are you okay?” she asks absentmindedly, still tracking the kid’s every movement with her eyes. “I swear, if there weren’t so many witnesses I would’ve hexed him.”

“Winning move for a prefect, I’m sure,” Lena says dryly, and Kara turns towards her with that slow-growing buffoonish smile and another sheepish nudge of her glasses. Her next words kind of just fall out, almost as if she’d never formed them in her mouth but in the deep recesses of her subconscious alone: “You know, you confuse me.”

“Huh?” Another nudge. The smile slips a fraction, but just enough to show Kara is slightly confused by the change in subject.

You confuse me, Lena wants to repeat. You are the opposite of self-aware. You are messy, and reckless, and selfless whenever it counts and it’s confusing because all I can really hate you for is being able to get away with being imperfect and still be adored by everyone.

But none of those words, thankfully, leave her head. All she says is, “Your approach to discipline confuses me. It’s not like he purposely tried to run into me—ten points might have been too harsh.”

“This coming from the girl who once threatened to curse me into oblivion for tripping her when we were twelve?” Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to Lena Luthor? No, hold on, I know. You’re really Jess in disguise, right?”

“Hilarious, Danvers. I wouldn’t quit Quidditch, it might be the only place you’re suited for,” Lena mocks, but all Kara does is laugh.

“Nope, definitely Lena,” Kara says, and the way she says it is almost…fond. Come to think of it, Lena can’t remember a time where Kara actually called her Lena. It’s always Luthor and Danvers and stop breaking the faces of my best players and never—never anything else.

Lena clears her throat and looks away; she can’t take another second of those warm, bright eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “I…guess I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Sure thing,” Kara says, and she takes a step back, tucking her wand into her pocket. “I’ll be the one rocking the winning team uniform.”

Slowly, Lena begins to feel the corner of her mouth twitch. Completely unbidden, completely unpredictable. “Dream on, Danvers.” She allows the space between them to grow, but their eyes remain locked, and the air feels heavy—thick—and the weight of their shared gaze holds a meaning Lena can’t possibly unpack right now.

But Kara’s tongue pokes out between her teeth cheerfully, and she doesn’t appear half as bothered by this development. “Always, if you’re in them,” she says, twists a little on her heel to walk away, but she pauses while she is still in earshot. “You know—next time you can just thank me for defending you.”

“You mean abusing your power as a prefect,” Lena replies automatically even as her head is running a mile a minute; even as Kara is getting farther and farther away and the scratch on her glasses lens catches the light.

“That too!” Kara shouts as she gets lost in the crowd, and damn her, Lena has to put her hand over her mouth to hide the absolute idiotic smile that has formed on her own face.

(Joint blame indeed, Lena muses, and she figures that she might as well form a rivalry with the Slytherins instead of the Gryffindors after all).

#this is both a threat and a reminder that im still working on these #😌😌😌#supercorp #supergirl #bisexualgoof #i need a fic tag #disclaimer that i still do not know anything about hp #im doing more research on harry potter than i do writing smh

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frombeyondtheblackhole · 3 years

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Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 9.1

[TW: Blood, violence, severe injury, bone related gore and zombie/undead related body horror. Please take care of yourself and stay safe. Warnings bracket the worst of the potentially triggering content and a summary is provided if you feel the need to skip that part. Some violence and minor injuries are outside the brackets. If there is a specific TW that you would like me to include in the future feel free to let me know and I will do my best to add it.]

Quackity, Purpled and Charlie, spent over an hour searching through the woods and the land around Las Nevadas, well mostly just Quackity and Purpled while Charlie hovered around asking annoying questions. Neither The Zombie nor Foolish were anywhere to be found.

Quackity told Purpled and Charlie to Head back to Las Nevadas and look there while he did one more check around the perimeter for any clues as to what happened. Quackity took his time. Now that he was by himself he was able to think more clearly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned.

Quackity wasn’t exactly sure what he had witnessed. He’d never seen something exactly like it, one minute Foolish was standing in front of him and the next he was gone and this zombie lady was in his place. He might argue with the other Las Navadas recruits, and they might not have the best opinion of him, but one thing was certain, if anyone messed with them, especially on Las Navadas property, They were messing with him and he wasn’t about to let anyone push him around, not anymore, never again.

Quackity looked up as he rounded a sand dune, the walls of Tubbo’s “cookie” outpost looming up on the edge of Las Nevadas land. Quackity Scowled. One problem after another. The whole conflict about the walls hadn’t really been resolved, Tubbo was being stubborn, unreasonable. But that wasn’t a priority at the moment, he would deal with that latter, right now, he had bigger problems.

Quackity followed along the wall and stopped short on the road in front of the Las Nevadas toll tunnel. Ranboo and Tubbo stood on the road coming from the other direction.

They stared at each other, neither side moving. Then Quackity broke into a smile “Hey there, Fancy running into you two here. You seem to hang around here a lot, have either of you seen Foolish or a strange looking Zombie by chance?”

Ranboo fidgeted and looked away but he was always fidgeting and he was never one for eye contact so that wasn’t exactly a tell.

Tubbo on the other hand, Quackity had been in the same cabinet with him during Schlatt’s presidency, and in the cabinet during Tubbo’s presidency, he knew what the kid looked like when he lied.

“A Zombie you say? What makes you think we would have anything to do with that?” Tubbo shrugged.

Quackity didn’t drop the smile. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I am talking about.”

“Honest big man, there are no Zombies here, that's why we built the walls.” Tubbo insisted.

Ok so the kid was getting better at lying. Quackity frowned but the smile returned a moment later. “That's all good. Just be careful, she did something to Foolish, he’s gone missing, I’m worried that if she is allowed to roam free and do whatever she wants then she might do what she did to Foolish to someone else. You understand. I would hate to hear that one of you two went missing.”

Tubbo and Ranboo looked at each other. They definitely knew something they weren’t telling him.

“Thanks for the warning big man, we’ll let you know if we see anything,” Tubbo smiled tightly before grabbing Ranboo’s arm and pulled him aside to whisper in his ear.

Called it. Quackity smiled, his sharp gold tooth glinting in the sunlight. He turned on his heel and headed back down the tunnel towards Las Nevadas.

---

Cleo looked down at the dark water lapping against the stone pier where she sat, her legs dangling over the edge. The air smelled of salt, cold stung her lungs. She wasn’t shivering despite the fact that a crop top and shorts was chronically under dressed for the weather. She didn’t really notice.

Her heel bounced against the wall of the peer as she stared out to sea. Snowchester was secluded, nice and peaceful, but it also felt vacant. There were houses but no one lived in them. Not that that was anything all too strange, Hermits built empty houses all the time, but these felt different. The empty houses the Hermits built were intended just for show, or to conceal functional builds. These houses once housed people, and now were abandoned.

Cleo looked up at the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow and the clunk of boots against the wood at the beginning of the peer. Tubbo and Ranboo stood looking back at her. Tubbo had his hands in the front pockets of his coat and Ranboo stared at her over Tubboo’s shoulder. He never seemed to blink, it was a bit unnerving.

Cleo pursed her lips “Um, thanks for letting me stay here kids, but-”

“You can’t stay here anymore,” Tubbo blurted out.

Cleo blinked.

Ranboo flinched “Sorry about all this, it’s just…”

“Don’t worry about it kid,” Cleo said, getting to her feet, “I was going to leave anyway,” She shrugged.

“Oh really,” Ranboo sighed.

Tubbo frowned “Why? What changed?”

Cleo chuckled hollowly, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Tubbo pursed his lips but didn’t push the issue.

Cleo walked past the two of them and started up the path.

“Wait,” Ranboo called

Cleo stopped.

“Where are you going to stay now?” Ranboo asked. Tubbo just glared at her.

Cleo shrugged and smiled a bit to cheerily “I’m sure I’ll find a nice cave somewhere, after all I am a Hermit,”

“Um,” Ranboo looked off to the side, tapping his fingers together. “If you need it there’s a hotel in the Greater Dream SMP. It’s big and red, hard to miss.”

Cleo chuckled, “I’ll be alright, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Tubbo was still glaring at her. She turned to leave again.

“Just know that if you try and mess with us we can and will defend ourselves,” Tubbo said.

Cleo didn’t turn around “Oh, I know,” She smirked as she walked away. This Tubbo kid had guts, she could respect that.

---

Quackity taped his fingers against his arm impatiently as he waited in the ditch on the Greater DSMP side of the speed tunnel to Snowchester. After talking to Tubbo and Ranboo he had watched from a distance and followed them here.

The splash of oars cutting through the water reached Quackity’s ears as a boat made its way towards his hiding spot. Quackity took a steadying breath, stealing himself as he listened carefully. The boat scraped against the shore and there was a crunch of sand as someone got out of the boat. Only one person.

Quackity stood up and moved into view. The Zombie jumped, summoning her sword as she spun around to face him, teeth bared.

Quackity held up his empty hands and took several steps back. “Woe, woe woe. Hold on. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You think?” She scoffed. She didn’t attack but she still had her guard up.

“Just tell me what you did to my friend and maybe we can resolve this peacefully,” He smiled tightly.

“I didn’t do anything! And even if I did, why would I tell you? You already tried to kill me once?” She said. Then her expression changed, as if just remembering something. She lowered her sword and straightened. “What do you know about perma-death?” She asked calmly.

Quackity sucked in his breath and took a step back. Was this a threat or a legitimate question? He looked at the determination in her eyes… It was both.

He fought the urge to summon his axe.

“Do you really think you can kill a Zombie? I’m already dead. The rules don’t apply to me!” She strode forward and pointed her sword at him. Quackity staggered back looking up at her standing over him on the edge of the pit framed by the crystal clear sky behind her.

Was she bluffing?

Fuck.

She spun on her heel and ran the other direction, across the field.

The trance was broken.

[TW: Blood, violence, body horror. Skip to the next bolded text to avoid the worst of it]

“Shit, Get back here!” Quackity scrambled up the bank, summoning his crossbow and letting loose the bolt. It struck her in the leg, but she didn’t even seem to slow down. Had she even felt it? An ender pearl replaced the crossbow and a moment later he felt a sudden rush as he flew through the air, switching to his axe mid-flight. He crashed into her back, embedding his axe between her shoulder blades.

Quackity pulled his axe out of her back and staggered backwards. She wasn’t dead. She hadn’t despawned yet. Maybe she had been telling the truth about being unable to die. Oh wait, she was moving.

She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees coughing up dark sickened blood. She staggered to her feet and turned around to face him again, fire and determination in her eyes.

How was she still standing? That last hit had to have broken several ribs. Quackity glanced at the exposed ribs poking out from under her crop top, edged with decayed flesh. Those had been that way before. Maybe broken bones didn’t matter?

[TW End: Summery: Quackity chases after Cleo, she tanks a bunch of damage but is able to keep fighting despite severe injuries]

Why were his knees shaking? She hadn’t even scratched him this time, and she wasn’t as good at combat as Dream or Techno. Yet she refused to die?

He clenched his teeth and scowled, “I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me what you did with Foolish?” He demanded. Now he was bluffing.

“I. Don’t. Know!” She yelled as she lunged at him, summoning her sword mid swing as she brought it down on him.

He didn’t have time to block. Instead he moved back and swung the axe up. The blunt side of the head struck her in the chin as he felt her sword cut into his shoulder and graze his chest.

She staggered back and switched her sword out for a gapple.

Oh no you don’t. Quackity raised his axe about to lung when he felt someone jump on him from behind. Arms wrapping around his neck in a choke hold. The axe returned to his inventory as he grabbed at the arms around his neck. They were invisible, his attacker was invisible.

“Cleo, Run!” the invisible man shouted.

She froze, the gapple halfway to her mouth “Etho?”

“I said run!”

She turned on her heel and started running, only pausing for a moment to eat the gapple and keep going.

Quackity clawed at the arm around his neck. This Etho guy was invisible. That ment he wasn’t wearing armor. Quackity summoned a sword in reverse grip and stabbed behind him. He heard Etho hiss as the sword grazed him. His grip loosened and Quackity was able to wrestle free. Summoning another pearl he threw it, getting away and landing near some trees. He staggered against one of the trees, coughing and rubbing his neck. He gritted his teeth, his face twisting into and ugly snarl. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She got away. And she had an accomplice.

They made him look like an idiot. He quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He had promised never to let himself feel helpless again. Never to let other people control him. Yet he had let himself get pushed around by some random Zombie and one guy with an invis pot. Fuck this. He needed to do something about this. He couldn’t let this stand.

#hermitcraft dsmp swap au #dsmp #dream smp #hermitcraft #dsmp au #hc x dsmp au #dream smp au #hermitcraft au #quackity #tubbo #ranboo #zombie cleo #etho

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oasislake76 · 2 years

Text

I’m starting a new au called World Rocker and ofc it’s about Dream but this time with Captain Sparklez and I have so much lore because I’ve been thinking about this Au for AGES.

So the whole basic thing about this Au that it starts with The Academy of Admins where ridiculously smart and wealthy young kids join to learn and become Admins to help serve Notch since Minecraft, a complete multiverse surrounding the first ever world created with the capitol known as Orion which is where the Academy is located, is constantly growing. It’s hard to get in and a lot of the time parents pay for their kids to be in the academy. The Academy is a whole section in itself so I’ll talk about that later.

Dream starts out human and enters the arena where the first test is taken place at around 12-13 years old. This is insanely early as most students that enter the testing grounds are around 17-18. So college level. It takes around 8 years to graduate so the students can fully mature before going out into the world. King Sparklez catches sight of such a small and going little kid, he couldn’t make out if Dream was a girl or a boy because he was just starting to transition with what he had on hand, and requested Dreams file. Astonished with how much the kid had already accomplished.

He noted that Dream came from a very dirty and poor city in one of the lesser known back water planets. The same planet and town he, Sky, and the majority of Team Crafted and a lot of other Original Players had come from. Immediately sensing great and high potential in the child as Dream graduated the top of his highschool with straight A’s, even though from the notes from his teachers it seemed like they were purposely holding him back as much as they could. Seto is amused and curious because Sparklez had never reacted like this to a potential student and even the sorcerer couldn’t deny that something was off with Dream.

Notch refused to let Dream pass the exams and tests without actually taking them and demanding Sparklez take his excitement down a peg. He was actually scared by the glint in his Nephews eyes and it only increased as Dream came out in the top 20 during the first part of the written exam. He struggled a lot during the physical tests since everyone around him purposely pushed him, blocked his way, or straight up openly sabotaged the young blond. Unknowing that Death, Notch, Sparklez, and Seto were watching the whole thing.

There’s no real rules during the physical exam as they want to see everyone at their best and worst and so that’s also why infinite lives was coded into the arena incase something bad happened. Luckily no one died but quite a few ended up with scraped skin and even broken bones. Of course they were healed before everyone was sent to their scheduled rooms. During this time the four talked about every candidate that passed the written part of the exams, about 40% so around 2,000 young adults and Dream, and Sparklez didn’t even try and hide the fact that he personally wanted to take Dream under his wings. Something in the kid had seriously drawn the Mob King to him and Sparklez isn’t one to let things like this slip through his hands.

Notch had actually wanted to veto Dream completely, even though he completed the course on time and kept up with the much older and experienced contenders despite being three times smaller and seven times weaker, but Death was interested in him as well. Allowing Sparklez the possibility to teach Dream on one condition; he has to teach a full class of students. Sparklez obviously objected to this, stating that having more kids to pay attention to will be detrimental to Dream because he might not reach is full potential if Sparklez’s attention is split between thirty or so students.

Death actually conceded to the point but raised one about Dream not being around kids his age and growing up mentally stable. They don’t want another repeat with several of the Original Players, this is when Notch excused himself as Aphmau was his daughter and had been extremely toxic before she was ultimately killed by her own friend Kaitlyn since she got to power hungry like Sky did, so Death and Sparklez settled down on having around 6 students plus Dream. She already has a few possible students in mind.

This is where Dream meets his classmates! But I’ll explain them in another post ;)

#HI YES I KNOW #I rarely post my own au’s on thsi account #world rocker #Dream #captainsparklez #notch #setosorcerer #death

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years

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Casual Ruin Pt. 3 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1 | Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

________________________________________________

~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do.

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into?

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure.

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her.

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed.

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots.

I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it.

I’m going after her.

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster.

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back.

Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone.

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her.

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!”

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house.

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack.

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull.

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again.

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt.

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it.

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground.

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her.

She has to let me explain. She has to.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes.

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I?

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes.

And the weird part is... I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there.

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here.

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own.

Come downstairs.

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question.

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something.

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it.

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me.

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there.

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man.

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own.

And then nothing.

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry.

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part.

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless.

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs.

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour.

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief.

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms.

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first.

He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him.

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules.

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face.

Because he said that almost like an accusation.

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone.

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point.

Instead I ask, “Why?”

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important.

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this.

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone.

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask.

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.”

“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair.

God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge.

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words.

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth.

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me.

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all.

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you.

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to.

It doesn’t work.

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true.

But it doesn’t, because they are true.

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear.

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself.

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for.

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I’m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream.

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment.

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth.

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general.

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting.

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit.

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow.

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me.

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me.

And then he says something that changes everything.

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done.

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me.

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison.

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away.

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing.

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs.

He tsks, feigning disappointment.

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice.

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly.

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks @highqueenofelfhame @autophobiax @rowaelinismyotp @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @elorcan-trash @loosingdreams @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod @full-tilt-diva @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @pilesofriles @teddytdr

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #elaine irwin #azriel #elriel #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #elain x azriel fanfiction

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let-them-read-fics · 4 years

Text

Die For You

Requested by Anon: “hi :) can I request Jennie scenario based on The Weeknd’s song ‘Die For You’? I also wanted to say I really love your works, they’re really good”

Pairing: Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,705

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Fluff, Near-Death Experience, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Thank you anon! My schedule is getting busy again, so writings may take a bit longer to get posted; I apologize for the delay with this one, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Let me know what you guys think!

PS ~ This is my first time writing a song request, so I kind of just went with it lol. It’s a little messy, but I think it has charm. Happy reading!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Jennie Kim has a magnetic pull to her -- one that is relentless and unwavering once it takes control of you. It’s hypnotic in every way; sweet torture in its truest form; and you’re always left to pick up the pieces.

The arrangement that you share with Jennie has been clear from the get-go: friends with benefits, no strings attached. Neither of you have time for anything serious, and this seemed like a win-win: always having someone to come home to when you happened to be in the same area at the same time? Hell yeah.

You hate that you want me

Hate it when you cry

You're scared to be lonely

'Specially in the night

Gradually, though, things got messy -- lines became blurred as feelings mixed into the equation. You did everything in your power to make them go away, reminding yourself time and time again of the agreement you had. But in moments like these, as you lay in bed with Jennie, her head resting on your chest as your hand runs through her hair, you can’t help how your heart swells. Pale moonlight traces patterns on the floor, wiggling its way into the room to offer a soft glow and ambiance. In here, you’re untouchable: no cameras or prying eyes; it’s just you and Jennie, free to be yourselves. Given this fact, you’ve grown to have a love-hate relationship with these four walls; they’re your haven -- your refuge -- but they serve as a brutal reminder of just how limited your relationship with Jennie is.

Nothing is certain: weeks turn into months -- especially when she’s on tour or otherwise occupied with her busy schedule -- and you’re left to your own devices, waiting on her return. Each day without her brings you closer to believing that you’re strong enough to move onto something better -- something more consistent; but then there she is, knocking on your door again, completely pushing that absurd idea from your mind. One smile from her is enough to reel you back in, and it only makes you feel more conflicted.

Jennie stirs in her sleep, nuzzling her face closer into you as she brings a hand up to rest against your collarbone. Her body twitches lightly, lips pursing and pouting against your neck, and you wonder what she’s dreaming about. She doesn’t seem to be distressed in any way, so you take the opportunity to get a good look at her. Within the next couple hours the alarm would be blaring that sound that you despise more than anything else in this world, signalling for her to get ready and head off to the airport to leave you all over again. Despite the circumstances, you're comforted by the fact that she always makes sure to set it for the very last second, barely giving herself enough time to catch her flight -- she wants to spend every moment possible with you, and she makes it a point to do just that. Tearful goodbyes in the back of your car would be too involved for your “relationship”, so you always try to seem unaffected (or, at least, as close to that as you can manage). You save your tears for when you arrive back home, where you spend the evening coming to terms with her absence. She would never tell you, of course, but her flights are known to bear witness to plenty of sadness for her as well; with each new mile added to the distance between the two of you, her heart breaks a little more.

~~~~~~~

It’s been 4 months since you last saw Jennie. The time apart had offered you a new perspective, something in the long nights without her affirming what you already knew to be true -- you weren’t capable of continuing on like this much longer. Nothing about your situation was ever simple; the instant you began catching feelings, it all became muddled. The one rule set -- the only principle you were tasked with following -- had been broken, and there was nothing you could do to repair it.

A knock at your door echoes out across the empty apartment, and you quickly put down the food that you had been preparing. With a swift adjustment of the dial, you set the burner to simmer and make your way to the door. None of your friends had mentioned that they were coming by, so you’re genuinely clueless as to who it could be.

“Jennie?” Surprise is inadequate in describing the feeling that courses through you upon meeting that familiar gaze. The metal of the knob is cool in your hand as you grip it, knuckles turning white while your emotions run wild. She had failed to let you know that she was coming back to town, neglecting even to text you recently.

“Miss me?” How are you to answer that? Part of you wants to blurt out your thoughts, effectively ripping the metaphorical band aid right off, but another part of you wants to deny her: the past few months had allowed your feelings to become somewhat dormant as you attempted to see a future beyond this arrangement, one void of her presence. It’s completely normal to feel like that, you tell yourself. It’s strange, but as in love with her as you are, you’re almost as equally indifferent about it all. How many more times could you watch her walk away, only to string you along until she came waltzing right back in?

The more important question of the matter is apparent: how would you even begin to tell her what you’re feeling? In the past, you’ve tried to make her aware of what you’re going through, only to be met by a change of topic. She always stayed reserved, opting to spend your time together talking about anything other than that.

Deciding that you were taking far too long to respond to her, she steps into the room, closing the door behind her. The time away from you had affected her more than she’s willing to admit, and she’s more than ready to embrace you. Her arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling your body flush up against hers, and she sighs at the feeling. “I’ve missed holding you, Y/N.” The sweet nothing does it’s job, making your heart flutter as the words register in your mind. You’re still tense, though, and she doesn’t fail to notice; before long, soft kisses are being trailed across your face -- her attempt at relaxing you. Sometimes you wonder if she knows your body better than you do: it responds to her, just like she knew it would, and you loosen up.

After what feels like minutes of just standing there, bodies intertwined, her hands make their way to your hips. She leans forward and ghosts her lips over yours, her gloss smudging a bit in the process. A battle is being fought in your mind: should you allow yourself this indulgence? Or is this the time to be strong and finally put your foot down? The choice is made up for you by the way that she slowly backs you up against the wall, along with how her mouth brushes against yours as her warm hands steady you. Before you can stop yourself, you close the distance.

Her lips move against yours in perfect time, a delicious rhythm being set in the process. It brings to mind the notion that maybe -- just maybe -- the two of you are meant to be. After all, you fit together like a puzzle, being complete in the presence of one another.

As her fingers play at the band of your shorts, hands roaming further with each needy kiss she presses to your lips, you debate with yourself. Her actions tempt you to cave in and give yourself up to her, but you decide that you can’t go down that road again. At least not until everything gets sorted. Quickly -- as to not give her anymore time to change your mind -- you step back and run a hand through your hair. Hers is messy, lips red and pupils blown wide. She reaches out for you again, but you simply hold your hand up in response.

“I can’t, Jennie.” The words come out as a reluctant declaration, your tone sounding tired.

Her brows furrow, but you continue.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

“Elaborate.” Her demand is clear, but you miss the effort that it took for her to come off that way. At your words, panic began to course through her; she can’t lose you.

“Whatever this is,” you say, motioning between the two of you. “I can’t be someone who waits around for you all the time, just keeping your bed warm.” She wants to laugh at that one; it’s almost comical how far you are from the truth. Jennie knows she’s good at hiding her feelings, but she’s shocked that she managed to make you believe something that ridiculous about yourself. You mean the world to her -- she’s just too afraid to admit it.

“Y/N--”

“No, don’t even try to change the subject; I’m sick of it. Please, just listen to me for once.”

A subtle nod from her serves as your cue to continue.

“I never meant for things to get like this, Jennie, believe me. But I can’t pretend anymore: I like you, a lot. And after having you in the ways that I’ve had you…” you pause, allowing your eyes to trail up and down her body as you clench your jaw, “I can’t bear the thought of someone taking my place when I’m not around. Do you know how hard that is to deal with?”

Happens every time

I'm scared that I'll miss you

I don't want this feelin'

I can't afford love

She seems stunned, to say the least; she blinks a few times before gathering her thoughts and speaking up. “You’re all I think about, no matter what I’m doing.” For a second, you’re hopeful: your heart beats a little faster at her confession, and you finally believe you’re getting somewhere with her. Sadly, she continues: “But I can’t afford that. I don’t have time for a commitment like that, and we have something good right now. I’ve seen plenty of relationships go bad and end in heartbreak; why should we risk it?”

“Aren’t you tired of it? Sometimes I really start to think that you like me back, but then you’re as guarded as ever, pushing me away again. I never know where I stand with you. So unless you tell me how you honestly feel, you’ll have to take me off your list of fuck buddies.”

Your language catches her off guard, seeing as how it’s unexpected and unlike you. How are you so oblivious? You’re so much more than that to her.

“Fine, Y/N! I’m in deeper than I care to admit. I’ve tried to run from it, but I can’t. You’re the one person I can’t seem to forget, and I can’t stand you because of that. And yeah..” she pauses, a bit exasperated, and takes a deep breath before continuing. “I won’t deny that I’ve been with other people when I’m away.” You close your eyes at her admission, that familiar sadness beginning to seep in -- it wasn’t anything you didn’t already know, but that doesn’t make its confirmation any easier to hear.

“They’re not you, though. They don’t know me like you do… they’re not fun like you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and I don’t want to. It terrifies me.”

“That’s kinda part of the deal, Jennie -- it’s a scary thing. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I’m willing to try with you. What we have right now is wearing me down, and I don’t deserve it; so either listen to your heart and be with me, or you won’t be seeing me again.”

Following your ultimatum, she doesn’t dare speak. Her brows are slightly furrowed again, jaw set, and she’s looking at the ground. Out of habit, your arms cross against your chest -- being vulnerable is never something you particularly enjoy (especially with so much on the line) but you’re sick of beating around the bush with her. One of the first lessons you ever learned from Jennie is that she avoids her feelings at all costs; so, standing there, you wonder what it would take to make her finally open up. Would your absence be enough? Maybe you were foolish for thinking so.

With every second that passes, silence remaining unbroken by the words that you so desperately want to hear from her, your heart sinks more and more. Every insecurity you have is swirling in your mind, further clouding it. Her lack of a response confirms your fears, and you nod quickly, knowing what you have to do.

“Okay, I get it. I’m gonna take a walk, but you can stay here and take a shower since you just got in. When I come back, though, I want you gone.”

She doesn’t even raise her head to look at you. Inside, her heart is breaking; every fiber of her being is begging to say something -- anything -- but she stays quiet. It’s hard enough for her to keep her feelings for you in check with the arrangement you have now; if you become official, she won’t know what to do with herself. She’s falling hard, but she’s fighting it all the while -- her lifestyle doesn’t have room for love. You deserve someone who can be with you whenever you want them, not someone who’s always a world away. Calls and texts only go so far, and she knows it wouldn’t be enough for either of you. She’s spent your latest stint apart attempting to come to terms with the idea of life without you; it’s the last thing she wants, but she needs you to move on and find someone better. For you, she’s willing to hurt, so long as it means you’re happy.

After a beat, she accepts your words, confirming that she heard you by giving a simple nod. Any remaining hope you were clinging to fades away completely, and you’re left feeling empty. Now at the coat rack, you pull your jacket over your shoulders and slip your shoes on. “There’s food on the stove, by the way. Don’t let it burn.” You say over your shoulder, too sad to look at her again. Maybe that’s some sort of symbolism: the wonderful thing you had spent so long creating was fizzling out right in front of you, Jennie being the one who could fix it all. She can step up and repair things, but that doesn’t seem very likely to happen. Tears are brimming in your eyes, and her heart breaks at the sound of your sniffles.

Even though we're going through it

And it makes you feel alone

With a thud, the apartment door closes, and Jennie finally breaks down. It all hits her in an instant, and soon she’s sliding down to the floor, her tears mimicking her actions as they fall onto her cheeks. Why did this have to be so hard? Seeing the pain etched so plainly into your features was definitely the hardest part to all of this; she’s being cruel to be kind… if only you knew that.

I try to find reason to pull us apart

It ain't workin' 'cause you're perfect

And I know that you're worth it

I can't walk away, oh!

As soon as Jennie had realized her feelings all that time ago, she racked her brain for any and every logical reason to end things. She would pick fights over small things, praying to every higher power that you’d get tired of the stupidity and give up on her. So many other people had in the past, so why wouldn’t you? Knowing that you’re different from all the rest -- perfect for her in every way imaginable -- only scares her more. You lit a fire in her heart the day you met, and it’s only grown stronger ever since.

~~~~~~~

20 Minutes Later

You have no real destination in mind; you’re content with just allowing your feet to take you wherever they wish to go.

Chatter from across the city makes its way to your ears, oddly offering a sense of comfort in your time of need. The night sky is full of stars, and the city bustles with life and activity. As you pass different businesses and shops, their iridescent lights shine just for you. Distant cars honk as they traverse the streets, and your mind begins to think of all of the different things those people might be doing right now. Surely some are having a great day, maybe on their way home, eager to be greeted by their loved ones. Others might be hurting just like you.

And you won't find no one that's better

'Cause I'm right for you, babe

I think I'm right for you, babe

Jennie fails to realize that all you want is her; you’re not naive -- you know how crazy her schedule is, but you’re more than willing to make sacrifices if it means she’ll be yours. No one makes you feel the way she does, and the thought of spending your life searching for something that can never compare scares you.

A slight breeze rolls in, ghosting over your skin, and you’re reminded of all the times she would pull you in close to keep you warm. Her sweet perfume would fill your nose as you snuggled into her embrace, sharing the heat that her coat offered. Getting over her would definitely be a bitch.

It's hard for me to communicate the thoughts that I hold

But tonight I'm gon' let you know

Let me tell the truth

Baby, let me tell the truth, yeah

The peace -- if you can call it that -- is broken by a shout. “Y/N, wait!” Confused, you spin around on your heel towards the voice. It’s Jennie; she’s sprinting to you, her brown locks bouncing and flowing in the wind with every step. Conflicted, yet again, your feet appear to be rooted in their spot. What does she want now? It seems that every time you get your hopes up, she’s always letting you down. With this in mind, you slowly turn back around and continue your walk. Eventually she’ll catch up to you, but you need the extra time to gather your now-jumbled thoughts.

Just know that I would die for you

Baby I would die for you, yeah

It all happened in a blur. As you began crossing the street to put more distance between Jennie and yourself, the high pitched sound of tires squealing against the pavement rang out. The car came out of nowhere, barrelling straight towards you with no signs of stopping; they had run a red light. Your eyes locked with the driver’s, both of you donning an equally terrified expression, and you had no time to react. Just as the bumper was about to come into contact with your body, you were instead forcefully shoved out of the way. Another person -- your savior -- comes tumbling with you just in the nick of time, and the driver swerves around you.

“Are you okay?!” It’s Jennie; her voice is ripe with worry, her thoughts focused solely on your wellbeing. She doesn’t even notice the cut that she received from the fall. You bring your hand up to her forehead to assess the wound.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. But you,” you say, touching her injury and eliciting a pained hiss from her in the process, “...are not.” The two of you are breathing hard as adrenaline courses through your systems; once it has died down a bit, you stand up and check each other for any more sore spots.

“Thank you, Jennie. I don’t know how to repay you for something like that.”

“I’d do it again a million times, Y/N. I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. I came to tell you that I love you, and that I’m done running. Seeing you leave really put things into perspective for me.”

“Am I supposed to believe that, or will you change your mind again?” The words are harsh, your voice laced with the bitterness that you still hold onto. You can’t find it in yourself to cushion the blow much; you’re still hurt by what’s happened in the past, and rightfully so. Beyond that, though, you’re trying to be cautious; after hearing her confess like that, you know there’s no going back.

“Okay, I deserve that one. But I mean what I said. You’re the best thing in my life -- the best I’ve ever had -- and I just want you to be happy. I’ve always been afraid that I can’t give you that if I’m so far away all the time.”

“Oh, baby,” you start, cupping her cheek and running your thumb across it soothingly. She leans into your touch, and your expression softens. “All I’ve ever wanted is you. You’re everything to me, you know that? We can do this together, so long as you’re willing to try.”

“I am.” She utters before pulling you in, sealing your new agreement with a kiss. Her lips move against yours gently, taking their time as they attempt to make up for her previous behavior. It’s soft yet urgent, a million different things passing between you without words.

Suddenly, you pull back, and Jennie panics for a second.

“Did you turn the burner off?”

“Oh shit!” She exclaims, a look of pure fear gracing her features.

Just as that cold, prickly feeling of dread begins to spread throughout your body, she grins.

“Yes, I did.”

You roll your eyes and huff loudly at her, delivering a rough shove to her shoulder.

“Don’t do that to me!”

She responds by pulling you in again, kissing away your frown. “I love you, too, if you didn’t catch that earlier.” You declare, feeling her lips turn up in that beautifully iconic smile of hers. She hums at that, pulling you in closer just as the chilly wind blows again. Huh, maybe the universe had been listening all along.

#jennie kim #jennie x reader #blackpink angst #blackpink fluff #blackpink #blackpink imagine #blackpink oneshots #jennie imagine #jennie kim x fem reader #die for you #let-them-read-fics #blackpink scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios

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hannigramficrecs · 4 years

Text

A/B/O

The One That Got Away by whatacunningboy [words: 4,694]

Hannibal Lecter had this macabre air to his name. Everyone knew who he was and in what he specialized in—assassination was his trade and no one questioned it. He could make anyone disappear with a simple trick or two. He never missed a target, he was quiet, and swift. Yet, he missed the biggest target of all.

Ethics & Aesthetics by fragile-teacup [words: 106,330]

Pride and Prejudice omegaverse AU

Beginning and Ending by LittleUggie [words: 36,888]

19 year old Will gets cornered in an alley right before his first heat. Hannibal steps into help him out and decides he wants to keep the young omega. Will eventually comes around, against his better judgement. Let the mutual manipulation and power games begin.

I Could Just Eat You Up by orphan_account [words: 32,604]

Hannibal breeds Will. A love story in bodily fluids.

Sirens Wail by Breakmybones [words: 48,495]

Will has been an Omega since his eighteenth birthday. He's been a Beta since his twenty-third. Finding a mate was never a priority - staying out of the spotlight and keeping his secret was. Enter Hannibal: dark, dangerous and keeping secrets of his own, Will knows what he is from the beginning, but he's more interested in understanding the beast than slaying it.

Bright Hair About The Bone by MissDisoriental [words: 484,669]

In a world where omegas are little more than trophies to be bought and sold, Will Graham has done the unthinkable by escaping a forced bonding. Already in high demand as a profiler, Will's determined to find freedom on his own terms.For Hannibal Lecter the outlook is far more straightforward: a slow, systematic seduction of the most uniquely captivating omega he's ever encountered.As the shadow of a new and terrifying serial killer falls over Baltimore, the stage is set to redefine all accepted meanings of passion, temptation, horror and beauty – and to discover the ecstasy of a genuine love crime.

Not Interested by Watermelonsmellinfellon [words: 64,333]

Will Graham, an Omega of forty-four years, finally finds himself interested in an Alpha. The only problem... that Alpha is not interested in him! And he can't stand it!

The Only Place I Can Hold You by snapdragonpop007 [words: 27,865]

“Hello, Jack.” These past two years had not been kind to Will Graham-Lecter. The solitary confinement that Chilton had promised would help had only seemed to make the omega worse. “I was wondering when you were gonna come talk to me.” Will hadn’t looked up from the book in his hands. He was running his fingertips across the pages, and when Jack looked a little closer he could see that it was full of photographs.

Friends To Lovers by Sirenja, TigerPrawn [words: 8,008]

When Harry Met Sally AU

Consortio by kelex [words: 23,088]

Every Omega in the land is brought to the lord on the evening of their first heat. Lord Hannibal usually doesn't choose to exercise that right, but this night's offering is too much for him to pass up. A virgin Omega in his first heat, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a spirit that can't be broken.

Sharing A Bed by TigerPrawn [words: 4,150]

Will, Hannibal, Jimmy and Zeller are sent to Butfuck Nowhere on a case and the small hotel has messed up the booking leaving them with only 2 rooms between the 4 of them. And specifically Omega Will having to share with Hannibal, the only Alpha on the trip.

Stormchaser by YouAreMyDesign [words: 6,465]

One thing, Hannibal knows absolutely; Will is empty, all the time. He aches to be filled.

Pathology by YouAreMyDesign [words: 14,129]

In his periphery, Hannibal's head tilts. "Tell me," he purrs, "how exactly does one your age come to enroll in an FBI training facility?"

There Will Be Bells by Entropyrose [words: 36,639]

In Georgian England, male omegas are very rare diamonds. Baron and Baroness Graham have a plan to build their wealth and social status by offering their son Will's hand in marriage to a mysterious older Duke, an Alpha named Lord Hannibal Lecter. Will's personal feelings need not apply.

Alpha Mart by slashyrogue [words: 63,164]

Will needs an alpha. After years of fake knots, half-assed suppressants, and his own damn hand during heats he’s reached the end of his rope. He doesn’t do dating so he decides to waste his life savings and hype with the current trend. Alpha Mart.

Enchanted By Your Name by CarnivalMirai [words: 9,207]

“Now, my husband would prefer it if I got the job done quickly.” He says, slashing down the back of each gag as he passes each man, watching as the silk falls gracefully to the floor. “However, I want to have some fun. Considering you’ve troubled my husband so much… it’s only fair, right?” One of the men whimpered fearfully. Or: The name "Will Graham" is a name you'll only ever hear once.

I've Been Building Black Ships by cloudsarefluffy [words: 8,116]

Alpha Hannibal moves to the States with his sister Mischa after being overtly done with the fancy life of a count, and his blind omega neighbor gives him an insight into love that he never quite expected.

A Rare Find by hit_the_books [words: 5,379]

Life as an omega bookseller can be quite lonely. However, as the owner of Graham’s Books, Will Graham is reasonably content. That is until he meets—long-time customer and crush—Doctor Hannibal Lecter in person for the first time. Attraction blossoming between them both, Will agrees to a dinner date with the good doctor.

We All Have a Hunger by 1ntothew1ld [words: 12,260]

Hannibal will ensure a properly slow and painful death for an alpha who allowed a beautiful young omega to go to waste as this one has. Too skinny for his own good, a stuttering and humble mess. The likes of the omega in front of him belonged at Opera houses and in million-dollar mansions, not scrounging for his next meal. Meek and afraid in some disheveled row house. When he finally looked back up the alpha had to conceal the utter punch to the stomach that meager glance was, blue eyes full of innocence but also hunger.

The Doctor Is In by Kummerspeck7

Will nearly scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe you'd want anything other than a delicate flower to adorn your side, keep your ostentatious home, bare you the exact number of children you want--No more, no less-- all while being available at your whims." "Not at all." Hannibal disagreed. "I would no more put a wilting flower in my home than in a bouquet given as a gift. Tell me, Will, is that how you are treated? Forbidden from work, cloistered inside and used at Mr Brown's discretion?" "My Alpha's discretion." Hannibal looked pointedly at the curve of Will's neck, free from a single scar. "Not yet he isn't."

Sugar by Sweaty_dogman [words: 12,659]

Hannibal finds himself hung up on his friends mother, desperate to find ways to spend time with the omega. Will Graham is a beautiful, kind and single omega. The young alpha finds himself struggling to keep his emotions hidden.

No One Falls the Way We Fell by HigherMagic [words: 9,206]

Five years ago, Hannibal's mate died, leaving him with their young daughter. He's tried to move on, but Abigail keeps interrupting his sleep and insisting that she can see her mother in her room at night. Hannibal turns to Alana for help, and Alana gives Abigail a doll, someone to talk to and help her accept her mother's passing. Once the doll arrives, though, strange things start happening in Hannibal's house. It's impossible to consider, of course, but if anyone could defy death and return to them from beyond the grave, it would be Will.

Proud of You by CarnivalMirai [words: 11,748]

Will worked right up until labour to make money, through all the sickness and fatigue and swollen ankles, he worked to bring his little boy the best life. And it has paid off. As of last week, Hannibal has sent off his university applications. Medicine at Johns Hopkins, Harvard Medical School, Stanford University, and the University of Pennsylvania. He’s applied for a scholarship at all of them, and Will desperately hopes he gets it. He knows he will. He’s Hannibal, after all. His baby can do anything.

Venus Is Bright by wolfgraham [words: 7,237]

Tomorrow, he tells himself, tomorrow he'll set new rules, boundaries. He'll tidy up Hannibal's room and give him the talk, and download Matefinder on his phone. But is it so bad? So bad to wish that the world outside the two of them would just disappear and leave them be?

Creator by Caidepgun, wolfgraham [words: 5,589]

Will and his son, Hannibal, have an unusual relationship.

My First, My Last, My Everything by TheBl00dyFl0wer [words: 14,930]

Will Graham's encephalitis gets out of control and messes with his hormones, mutates him. May I present: Will Graham, the first known Omega.

Room 205 by HotMolasses [words: 9,220]

Will is an Alpha, but in name only. He's a hotel maid at the Graham Bed & Breakfast. He considers himself a freak; an Alpha with no knot, who dreams of a powerful Omega to dominate him. He's pretty certain that because of this, he'll be alone for the rest of his life. Then he meets Hannibal Lecter.

Howl by multifandom_fanfic_writer [words: 7,083]

When omegas go into heat, they go feral. Only an alpha strong enough to subdue them is a worthy mate. Will Graham has never found anyone worthy. After all, there is only one alpha Will plans to submit to – and he doesn’t even know their name.

Careful, He Bites by maxxeoff [words: 10,328]

Will Graham is a feral child. His dad died when he was five, and he lives with a wolf pack until he has his first heat. He's found, brought to Baltimore. Dr. Lecter takes an interest in him.

Predator by eijirouN_17 [words: 7,619]

Will hasn't presented, he doesn't give off any scent at all so everyone, including himself, assumes he's a beta. Then Will goes into heat. At a crime scene. In front of everyone. And Hannibal tries so hard not to go feral.

#abo

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little-mad · 3 years

Note

“Tiny ears! Remember?!” With Tara and Thomas!

Ok, I really liked writing this one

From this list of prompts here

And for anyone who doesn’t know, more details about these two can be found on my oc masterlist

______________________________________________________

After knowing one another for two months, Tara finally agreed to cross into giant territory for her meetings with Thomas. Admittedly, it was kind of awkward standing on opposite sides of the creek. More importantly, being out in the open like that, they ran the risk of getting seen by somebody. Tara definitely did not want to have to explain why she was hanging out with a giant to her family and friends back home.

The spot she and Thomas had decided on wasn’t far into giant territory, in fact Tara could still catch a glimpse of the border through the trees. Meanwhile, Thomas was about as concealed as his giant form would allow in an area with trees shorter than him.

Of course, Tara never would have agreed to the arrangement had she not been confident Thomas harbored no ill will towards her. The guy had saved her life twice, and after getting to know him better and better over time, she could almost call him a friend.

That being said, Tara had been sure to set up clear ground rules. Most important of the rules was that Thomas had to keep his hands to himself unless given express permission otherwise. The giant had pouted extensively about it. He obviously got a kick out of holding and touching her, which was exactly why Tara had forbidden it. Plus, being around hands that could easily snuff out her life made her more than a little anxious, believe it or not.

In order to avoid physical contact while still managing to remain close to Thomas’s eye level, Tara had positioned herself in a high branch of a tree directly in front of where the giant was sitting. Thomas had been fretting like a mother hen as she climbed up, insisting it was too dangerous for someone “so itty bitty.” The comment only served to make Tara climb quicker. She’d been scaling trees since she was little, she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Wait, but I thought you said you wanted to study at that university?” Tara inquired as she absentmindedly swayed her dangling legs back and forth.

During their last meeting, Thomas had explained to her his desire to attend some fancy school in a giant city a ways away. They had something sort of similar on the human side of the border, but it was incredibly far away and was very selective with who they allowed as students. No one in Tara’s town ever even considered it as a feasible option.

Thomas gave a humorless laugh. “Well of course I want to, both Lane and I have dreamed of going there for years,” he explained. “But it costs an arm and a leg to even be allowed to study there, not to mention room and board, food, supply costs...we’d never be able to afford it.” He let out a resigned sigh.

A frown formed on Tara’s face. She couldn’t necessarily empathize with Thomas’s situation exactly, but the feeling of being trapped by forces out of her own control was familiar enough after encountering giants. “So what are you going to do then?” she asked. The First Hunt had marked Thomas’s transition from child to adult, meaning he could no longer rely on his parents and needed to seek out a way to make a living.

“I’ll probably start helping out at my uncle’s shop, at least for now,” Thomas said with a shrug. He didn’t look especially pleased with the plan, but before Tara could call him out on it, he spoke up again. “What about you? Are you going to keep gathering supplies for your doctor?” he questioned.

Since even before she had finished school, Tara had been assisting the town’s physician by foraging for medicinal supplies that could be found in nature. At first it had mostly been freelance, but within the past month she had begun receiving a regular wage from the doctor. Tara enjoyed the unrestrictive nature of the work, plus the pay wasn’t half bad either. That being said, she couldn’t see herself doing it for the rest of her life.

“Well actually…” Tara started, “I’ve been thinking I might want to join one of the scouting parties.” The job was mentally and physically demanding, but scouts were well paid and well respected. Plus, after almost being eaten on two separate occasions, Tara felt as though non-giant related dangers were pretty manageable.

“Are you crazy?!” Tara winced at the unexpected volume of Thomas’s voice, her hands instinctively going to cover her ears against the thundering noise.

When her ears stopped ringing, she lowered her hands and shot a scowl up at the giant’s face. “Hey!” she shouted, “Tiny ears! Remember?!” Despite his natural enthusiasm, Thomas was usually pretty good at keeping his voice at a volume that was comfortable to Tara. Over time, his accidental loud outbursts had decreased in frequency. Whatever streak he’d had was now soundly broken of course.

Thomas’s eyes went wide as he realized what he’d done. “Sorry, sorry!” he exclaimed in an overly hushed tone. His cheeks became tinged with a slight red color and he wore a regretful expression on his face as he looked down at Tara. “I just--I can’t believe you would actually consider doing something so needlessly risky.” When he finished the sentence he began to take on the appearance of a stern father or something.

Tara pressed her lips together. She wasn’t really sure why Thomas seemed so worked up over the idea of her joining a scouting party. In the past, she had described what the scouts did and why they were so important to the wellbeing of her town. She’d mentioned the fact that, aside from ensuring no giants ever crossed into human territory, scouts were also responsible for fending off vicious wild animals, as well as occasionally dealing with bandits that sometimes hung around the woods surrounding the town. Sure, it was probably one of the more dangerous jobs Tara could do, but it wasn’t as if it were a death sentence. It was rare that a scout was ever killed in the line of duty.

“It’s not ‘needlessly risky’, Thomas,” she insisted. “Scouts are vital to the safety of my town. Plus, it’s not as dangerous as you seem to be imagining it to be.”

“The world is a dangerous place, and you’re so small--” Thomas started, but Tara was quick to interrupt him with a raised hand.

“Okay--just because I’m small to you, doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself just fine.”

“But why risk it when you don’t have to?”

Tara rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to live my life in a bubble.” It was becoming increasingly clear to her that while Thomas may view her as a person in some respects, he still thought of her as some kind of weak creature in need of protection. Considering he’d had to save her life on multiple occasions, Tara supposed she couldn’t entirely blame him. But that had been when she’d been in giant territory. Things were different on her side of the border.

At first, Thomas opened his mouth as if he were about to shoot back a retort. However, after a moment’s pause, his expression softened slightly. “I’m--I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

Tara sighed. It was hard to stay too mad at the guy when he sounded so genuine. He seemed to really care about her wellbeing, even if he was being a bit overbearing about it. She allowed her tensed shoulders to relax. “I appreciate your concern,” she began, making sure to choose her words carefully. “But I promise, I’ll be fine.” Tara offered Thomas her most sincere smile. “Besides, I don’t even know for sure if I am actually going to join a scouting party. It’s just a possibility.”

With slow, controlled movements, Thomas leant forward so that his face was hanging about a foot above where Tara sat. She stiffened when one of his hands gently settled down beside her on the branch, close but not quite making contact with her body. “You don’t know how much I wish I could touch you right now,” he stated, a petulant look on his face.

With her cheeks flushing pink, Tara attempted to disguise it by fixing an unperturbed expression on her face. “You--you can keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Grabby,” she declared stubbornly.

Even if she trusted Thomas not to hurt her, willingly allowing a giant to touch her felt like crossing some line. Of course, she’d already crossed all kinds of lines just by agreeing to meet with him in the first place. Maybe Tara wasn’t completely opposed to letting him touch her--but only for practical purposes! Allowing him to fiddle with her now was certainly not practical.

Thomas gave Tara a pouty face, but when she remained resolute, he released a dramatic sigh before pulling away. “You’re killing me here.”

Tara snorted as she shook her head. “You are such a drama queen.”

#g/t prompt #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: Tara #oc: Thomas #vore mention

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blkmxrvel · 3 years

Text

Haven’t Forgotten My Way Home (21)-[CONVERTED]

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Female!Reader

Summary: In the D/s society of National City, men and women abandoned by their Dom/mes or otherwise deemed unfit for life “outside” end up at the Mount Overland House for Orphaned Submissives. It is here that Kara Zor-El finds Y/N Hastings, broken and fearful from mistreatment at the hands of her former Dom. Can Kara coax Y/N back into the world that once so terrified her, and show her the true meaning of care and submission?

Warnings: Domestic Violence (Flashbacks, Mentions and Descriptions), Misogyny, Domination/Submission.

A/N: Hi, everyone! I know it’s been an EXTREMELY long time and I apologize for that. Life got in the way. But I won’t be giving up on posting this! I’m going to be posting chapters 21-28 daily over the next week, as i’ve already had them converted. As for the last 3, they should be up in rapid succession. Thanks for not giving up on me lol, love you guys and enjoy!

Kara liked the freedom of living on her own. She liked being able to leave her clothes lying around if she wanted to – which she didn’t. She liked being able to have dessert first sometimes – which she did, frequently. And she liked being able to decorate her house the way she wanted to, stay up as late as she wanted, play her music as loud as she wanted and sing along with anything and everything, even the television commercials.

Which she didn’t do.

Not often, anyway.

But every now and then… sometimes it was nice for Kara just to go home. To the place she was born, where she was raised. The place where Kara Sophia Zor-El first discovered just who, exactly, she was.

David Zor-El threw open the door and immediately wrapped his arms around Kara, pulling the girl inside. “I’m not letting you go,” he said, hugging her tightly. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Kara rolled her eyes and carefully disengaged herself from him, returning the hug nonetheless. “Thanksgiving was just three days ago, Daddy,” she said happily. “I don’t think that constitutes forever.”

“It does in Daddy-time,” he said, then looked past Kara, above her head. “And who’s this?”

Kara half-turned, extending her hand with a smile to the Y/H/C-haired, nervous submissive hovering just behind her. Y/N took it and offered her own, albeit smaller, smile. “This is Y/N, Daddy. She’s… my friend. I told you, remember?”

Y/N looked at Kara’s dad shyly, but didn’t say anything, and Kara squeezed her hand...

“That you did, that you did,” David said, stepping over to study Y/N, looking warmly at her. “But you failed to mention that she’s beautiful, Kara. It almost hurts to look at her; it’s like staring at the sun with no sunglasses.”

“Daddy, stop, you’re embarrassing her,” Kara said, lightly punching him in the arm. “And you’re going to make Dad jealous.”

“Yes, stop, my boy,” Randy said, coming into the living room and standing beside his husband. “You’re giving me a complex.”

“He forgets I only have eyes for him,” David said to Y/N, who rewarded him with a grin and a blush. “This is Kara’s friend, Y/N, Sir.”

It was only now that Kara was grown and out of the house that her fathers were more comfortable with their dynamic in front of her. As a child she’d known it existed, because it was the way things were. But her fathers were intensely private, and so their dynamic was often revealed in more subtle ways to their daughter. It was through her fathers that Kara learned a dynamic could be established with just a single word. The raise of an eyebrow. The fact that her Daddy was always the one who made dinner and that Dad was the one she had to ask about a raise in her allowance.

The full force of her fathers’ dynamic, and their love, had become apparent when Randy had gotten sick. Used to Randy making the rules, David had nevertheless become the rock of the family, holding his Sir and Kara together as he cared for the man he loved. Their rules had all but gotten thrown out of the window, and it was interesting to see, if only for a short time, the dynamic shift, in a way. Randy had had difficulty giving up some of his control, especially since that was even out of his control. And it was Randy who had the biggest problem with Kara giving up the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts to help take care of him, but David was the one who voiced it, resulting in the biggest argument Kara had ever had with her fathers.

Every now and then they would bring up NYADA, but it was very easy for Kara to push away that conversation by telling them that she had work to do in National City, and that if she didn’t do it, no one else would. Kara knew that her fathers were proud of her, but she also knew that there was sadness that she hadn’t yet realized her dream, and probably no small amount of guilt from Randy. Kara had repeatedly told him that she didn’t blame him, and she didn’t, but she knew neither of her fathers would be truly happy until she was in New York.

Randy regarded Y/N seriously before smiling just as warmly at her, even as his eyebrow rose at Kara. She felt herself flush and shrugged slightly; her father was always able to see right through her.

“Welcome to our home, Y/N,” Randy said, stepping back and leading the girls more fully into the house. “Do you want anything to drink, something to eat?”

Kara watched Y/N carefully, then practically beamed as Y/N said, “I wouldn’t mind a drink if it’s not too much trouble, Mr. Zor-El.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide and inquisitive, almost like a child’s, as she took in her surroundings. The Zor-El house was small, smaller than Kara’s even, but it was comfortable and it was clear that, unlike Y/N’s childhood home, Kara was sure, that people lived and loved there. Everywhere in the house was evidence of a happy family: from the pictures of Kara and her fathers on the wall, to Kara’s numerous singing awards as a child, and both Randy and David’s work accomplishments. David was chief of staff at a hospital outside of the city, and Randy’s skill as an accountant kept him in high demand at tax season. Kara was proud of her fathers, and proud to be their daughter.

“Please, call me Randy,” he said, before tipping his chin at his submissive, who quickly went to the kitchen to fetch drinks. “And as gushing as my David is, he’s also right. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

They sat on the couch with Y/N close to Kara, who briefly touched Y/N’s knee reassuringly. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Randy, who seemed to have been staring at his daughter ever since he’d entered the room. She felt exposed under his gaze; she knew he could read her like an open libretto, and that he’d no doubt start asking her questions as soon as they were alone, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for that, at all. She didn’t have to answer to her fathers when it came to her personal life, Kara knew, but she also knew that they were used to her tendency to leap without a parachute.

“Thank you, Mr.- Randy,” Y/N said softly, losing some of the tension in her muscles as David brought her a drink and handed it to her with a smile. “It’s really nice to meet both of you.”

“Speaking of meeting,” David said, snuggling up to his Sir on the couch, “How did you and Kara meet?”

“Oh, I-I, um…”

“Through work,” Kara said, gently squeezing Y/N’s knee. “I saw her across the room, said hello, started talking—“

“Wouldn’t shut up…”

Kara blinked, looking at Y/N, who smirked at her.

David grinned. “That’s our Kara,” he said. “She’ll talk your ear off if you’d let her.”

“Oh, I’m sure the ears are just the first things to go.”

Kara gaped and as David and Randy laughed, Y/N leaned into her to whisper.

“No rules outside the house, Miss Kara.”

“Might have to rethink that,” Kara muttered in return, but she wasn’t annoyed. No, the reaction she was having at Y/N’s smart little moment of defiance was… inspiring a completely different reaction in her. She coughed and took a sip of her drink to distract herself from thinking about it.

… Was this why Lena liked it so much when Sam was a brat?

But it was dangerous, too, this game Y/N was playing with her, in front of her fathers. Kara had told her before the visit that they would have to be careful.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Y/N had asked her, and the question had cut Kara to the core.

“Of course not,” she’d hastened to reassure the girl. “But little one, I don’t want to jump into this too quickly, and you know why it’s important not too many people know about us right now.”

“Because you’re still scared,” Y/N had said, and Kara hadn’t been sure she had an argument against that.

But there would be no way she could be ashamed of Y/N. It had been a week since they’d made steps towards setting up their dynamic, and slowly but surely both she and Y/N were making progress in discovering what they both liked, and what neither of them wanted. Kara was quickly learning that Y/N craved instruction almost as much as she craved reassurance. It was a delicate balance, for Kara to tell Y/N things like “go get this,” or “bring me that,” and have it be within the context of their relationship and not just her being overbearing or controlling. But Y/N seemed to be thriving with it, and even Nia had remarked that Y/N acted much happier than she had before. Kara had declined to give Nia a reason for it.

For herself, Kara was discovering that one of her favorite things was just to cuddle with Y/N at the end of the day. She’d been worried about having Y/N on her knees so much, but it didn’t matter if she insisted Y/N sit next to her on the couch; inevitably Kara would find that Y/N had slipped to her knees at her feet, and her head was resting either on Kara’s lap or against her side. And Kara would just hold her, stroking her hair, and watch for that quiet look of contentment to appear on Y/N’s face.

That was the one thing that Lena had repeatedly stressed to Kara during her training: watching was a necessity. Watch for happiness, for pleasure. But more than that, watch for any sign of hurt, any sign of discomfort, any sign of loneliness. And it didn’t matter if Y/N was curled up to her or stuck with her nose in the corner, Kara wouldn’t stop watching, guarding against any misstep, terrified to make a mistake. Because for Kara it was a huge thing, finally having a submissive.

And having one that had been completely broken before, at the hands of another? Delicate wasn’t a word Kara would use to describe Y/N, but it was the only way she knew to treat the girl. There was a danger in that, too, Kara knew, though she didn’t think Y/N would ever be one to take advantage of it.

Even if she was a brat.

But her fathers were asking Y/N more questions, much like Alex had that first time, and Kara quickly turned her attention back to them. She was content just to sit and listen to Y/N’s voice as the young woman described everything from her parents to things she liked to do in her spare time… describing anything but how she and Kara had really met, how she had been promised to an abusive boy at the age of 16, the fact that she had ended up at Mt. Overland House.

And as much as Kara remained ever watchful of Y/N, even as they sat there with her fathers, she knew that Y/N was also watching, watching the interactions of Randy and David. It was only the second time she’d seen the way a positive relationship worked, and Kara thought it was cute, the way her eyes were wide and taking everything in. And there was a lot to see; Kara’s fathers, while not outwardly affectionate like Alex and Maggie, were very much in love. It was evident in the way they looked at each other, in the way David refilled his Sir’s drink without even being asked, in the way that Randy offered his hand to help David off the couch. Kara had giggled quietly to herself when Y/N’s mouth had dropped open a little, the first time Randy had said “thank you” to his submissive for bringing him something.

“I’ll be right back,” Kara said, when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket for the third time that evening. She was worried that it might be something for work; even though she had prescribed hours during the day, she was always technically “on-call” at night, and she knew all it would take is one case like Y/N’s, and she’d be out the door and on her way to Mt. Overland House.

But she furrowed her brow when she saw that the calls were not from work, but from Alex, and she hadn’t left a voicemail.

“Huh,” she said quietly to herself, just as Y/N slipped into the kitchen.

“Everything all right, Miss—“ Y/N caught herself and cleared her throat. “Everything all right, Kara?”

“I hope so,” Kara said. “Alex’s been trying to reach me, I’ll have to call her in a little bit and make sure nothing’s happened with Maggie.” As much as she loved her best friend it was always in the back of Kara’s mind that she’d get a call like this, that Maggie had done something to hurt herself, or worse, Alex. She knew Maggie was working hard to escape the demons of her past, but she also knew how easy it was for the demons to catch up.

She turned back to Y/N, and, noting that her fathers were talking together in the living room, reached out to cup her waist, pulling Y/N to her. She kissed her gently, and then whispered, “You’re being an absolute brat right now. I can’t believe you told them I snore louder than Theo when I’m napping!”

Y/N giggled, a blush spreading over her cheeks as she tucked her head on Kara’s shoulder. “But you can’t put me in the corner here,” she teased. “Remember your rule? The only place you’re Miss Kara is in your home.”

Kara rolled her eyes, running her hand through Y/N’s hair. “Am I only Miss Kara at my house, though?” she asked softly.

Y/N shook her head, her breath tickling Kara’s neck, and Kara shivered. “No. You’re my Miss Kara no matter where we are.”

She didn’t know why that made her arms tighten around Y/N, but it did, and Kara gently kissed the top of Y/N’s head. “Then maybe we ought to reconsider that rule.”

Y/N pulled herself up and met Kara’s eyes. “I could be okay with that,” she said, and her gaze was steady, clear.

“Even if it means you’re going straight to the corner when we get back, my little obnoxious one?” Kara said with a grin.

Y/N smiled, flushing an even deeper shade of pink. “Even if it means that, Miss Kara.”

From behind them Kara heard her father clear his throat, and she and Y/N jumped apart. Randy smiled at them both, though it was strained even as he politely said to Y/N, “David is breaking out the family photo albums, I imagine you might want to see them?”

“I- yes,” Y/N said, seeming reluctant to leave Kara. “I want to see just how cute… Kara was as a baby.”

Kara groaned and covered her face with her palm, shaking her head, as Y/N headed into the living room. She grinned at Randy. “Photo albums are things you show girlfriends, Dad.”

“Which is maybe why David wants to bring them out, Sophie,” Randy said, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

Kara sighed.

“Want to tell me where you really met Y/N?”

She should’ve known that Randy would see everything, from the way she looked at Y/N to the little touches they’d both shared, here and there throughout their conversation with Kara’s dads. For Kara it was the casual affection that was easy with Y/N, for Y/N it was the constant need for reassurance but also, Kara was beginning to learn, the desperate need for her. Kara should’ve known that something like that wouldn’t be easy to hide.

“I did tell you. We met at work. I just didn’t tell you… that she lived at Mt. Overland House.”

Randy shook his head. “Mt. Overland House? Kara…”

“I know, Dad, all right?” Kara snapped, and then took a deep breath, moving to stand next to her father. “I know.”

Randy slipped his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and hugged her close. “So some jackass was mean to her, then. It’s a shame; she’s clearly an amazing young woman.”

Kara smiled to herself, nodding. “She’s not perfect, but she’s the closest to it I think I’ve found. With the exception of yours truly.”

“Is she good to you?”

“I don’t think that you and daddy could choose anyone better for me, if you were into that sort of thing.”

Kara spilled it all, then, hoisting herself up onto the counter like she used to do when she was little and she’d watch her Daddy cook while her Dad sat at the table poring over his work. How Y/N had grown up, how her claim had been arranged. Her dad made all the right gestures, all the right sounds of anger and indignation as Kara described Y/N’s abuse at the hands of James, and how she had ended up at Mt. Overland House that fateful night. She could hear Y/N laughing in the living room, no doubt giggling at the picture of two year old Kara in the bathtub with a soap beard and a plastic microphone in her hand, and it made Kara tear up.

She’d had so much happiness in her life, despite her father’s illness and the lack of NYADA. And even though Y/N had had her grandfather, she deserved so much more…

“Is she submitting to you?”

Kara hesitated. “Yes.”

“Are you being good to her?”

“Dad!” Kara said indignantly, and Randy held up his hands.

“I love you,” he said, “and you’re my daughter. I know you’ve seen the way your father and I act with each other, and I know Lena trained you well. But I also feel just a little protective towards that young lady in the living room, and just as much as you deserve someone to be amazing with you, she does too. Maybe even more after everything that’s been done to her, Sophie.”

Kara nodded and hopped off the counter to lean against her father, who automatically wrapped his arms around her. “I try,” she confessed. “I really care about her, Dad, and I-I want to be good for her.”

“Do you love her?”

“I think… I’m starting to.”

“But you’re scared.”

Kara shrugged. “Everyone seems to know me better than I know myself.”

“I’d be scared if I was you,” Randy said, “And all David and I had to contend with were his parents thinking he should be with a woman instead of your old dad, here.”

Kara nodded again, remembering how her Daddy’s parents had never met her, never made the effort to contact her or her father. She thought they were somewhere off in California now, but she couldn’t be sure. Daddy didn’t like to talk about them.

“But I also know that if Y/N deserves anybody, she deserves my sweet, compassionate, occasionally loud and very opinionated Kara Sophia.” Randy cupped Kara’s head in his hands and kissed her forehead.

“I always knew you’d make a good mistress,” Randy said, then tilted his head. “Is that an awkward thing for a father to say to his daughter?”

“Very,” Kara declared, laughing, then hugged her father fiercely. “But thank you, Dad.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell us?” Randy asked. “You’ve never hidden anything from us before.”

“I know,” Kara said, feeling guilty. “But it’s just… work, and I’m trying to be careful for Y/N.”

“You haven’t technically done anything wrong, Sophie,” her dad said, and Kara shrugged again.

“She wants me to go to New York,” she said suddenly.

“In that case, how soon can we make her a part of the family?”

“I-is everything okay?”

Kara moved to once again reassure Y/N, who was standing in the doorway looking like a deer in the headlights with one corner of her cardigan twisted in her hand, but Randy beat his daughter to it as he asked Y/N, “Y/N, would you mind if I hugged you?”

She paused, giving Kara a strange look, but when Kara smiled, Y/N nodded. Randy hugged her quickly, gently, before drawing away and holding her at arm’s length.

“You’re a beautiful young woman, and you deserve to be happy,” he said seriously, then looked back at Kara. “I hope you two take care of each other.”

“He knows?” Y/N asked when Randy left for the living room, and Kara could tell his subtle warning about taking care of his daughter wasn’t lost on her.

“He knows, little one,” Kara said; when she took a deep, shaky breath Y/N came to her immediately, wrapping her arms around Kara and holding her close. Kara closed her eyes, absorbing Y/N’s comfort, her strength, before reopening them and smiling faintly at her.

“And surprisingly, he’s okay with it. I think as long as I’m happy, and you’re taking care of me, and I’m taking care of you…”

“Good,” Y/N said, and surprised Kara by kissing her, deeply, right there in her fathers’ kitchen. It left Kara feeling dizzy, and she had to put her hand back on the counter to brace herself. Y/N’s own eyes widened, and Kara saw her swallow hard.

“W-wow,” was all Y/N said, and Kara grinned a little.

“Wow is right,” she agreed, trying to force out all of the images that had rushed into her head with the ferocity of Y/N’s kiss. Images that involved a bed, restraints, and the two of them, very, very naked…

“Do you want to go back into the living room?” Y/N asked. “I think your dads have more pictures they want to show me.” She stuck her tongue out at Kara.

“You are definitely going into the corner when we get home,” Kara said, and thought that the living room was the last place she wanted to be at that moment. The bedroom would be much nicer… Her phone vibrated again.

Kara looked down at it. Alex.

“Let me just answer this, little one,” she said, “Then we’ll go back so that I can be humiliated some more.”

She pressed the button on her phone. “Alex?”

“Maggie,” she said.

Kara furrowed her brow. “Maggie? What’s going on, why are you using Alex’s phone?

“Well… let’s see, how do I say this? Ma’am’s, uh, terrified to talk to you right now, Ma’am.”

Now Kara was even more confused. “Terrified to talk to me? Why? Put her on the phone, Maggie.”

“Can’t do that, Ma’am, she’s working on a case right now. That’s kind of why I’m calling.”

Alex had been promoted to Advocate within SETS, a liaison of sorts between Dominants and their submissives or former submissives. She wasn’t a lawyer or a counselor, but she did act to ensure that her clients received the fairest treatment under the law and the government. Her promotion was to defense advocate, helping to defend those who were accused of abusing or mistreating their partners, a decision that Kara had found distasteful, and she’d told her so.

“It pays more,” Alex had said honestly, “And you know as well as I do that sometimes the ones getting accused aren’t at fault. Look at Maggie.”

“I’m not really sure why you have to call to tell me about Alex’s case? Y/N and I are my dads’, and we’re kind of busy right n—“

“I know,” Maggie interrupted, and Kara would’ve been angry at being interrupted, if she’d given her a chance to, but instead she kept speaking. “And that’s also kind of why I’m calling, because Ma’am has a new case, it starts next week, and I really think you need to know about it. And you should also know that she’s really, really sorry.”

“Sorry?” Kara said, exasperated. “Why on earth does Alex need to be sorry?”

“Because she’s defending James.”

#madi converts #kara danvers #kara danvers x reader #supergirl #supergirl x reader #kara zor el #kara zor el x reader #HFMWH

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unohanadaydreams · 3 years

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I was working on requests but then I was like y’know what I should do? Flesh out and write down my Mayuri headcanons because I can not bear the weight of this obsession alone.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi Origin Headcanons (incomplete but long)

features: uuuuh not overly disturbing. One instance of suicide, experimentation on a fetus.

The woman who raised him was elegant, ambitious, and dutiful. But she was not a mother. The care she gave Mayuri was toward his talent for sewing—he had an eye for detail and a competitive nature that compelled her to pinch his cheek and smile at his handiwork. Always, she smiled at the fabric. Never at him.

When he was very young, they worked for the local theaters. His mother—she told him over and over she wasn’t his mother, but Mayuri wanted her to be so badly that, in the secret of his mind, he called her that—was sought after enough to be choosy. They followed the actors before pay. She taught him that money was fleeting, but talent was everlasting.

She gave him books on educational odds and ends. Some were not to keep, on loan from someone who owed her a favor. Others were his, taken from those steeped in debt but unwilling to strip his mother’s wonderful kimono from their back. His favorite were of the natural sciences. He so wanted to keep a book on Reishi that he tossed it in the fire pit when his mother demanded it back, not wanting anyone to have it if he couldn’t have his way. She smacked his head against the wall until he bled.

His mother loved to be obeyed. Conditions were what she valued over coin. It was as close to power as could be gotten by someone with so little to begin with. She watched rehearsals, was ‘gifted’ favored seats, and was given a voice when it came time to pick the next play.

He was urged to nurture his curiosity; it would suit him when his mother sent him off to be a soul reaper. She always said she would, even when his entire face became a wrinkle at the thought of fighting on and on for nothing he cared about. At least the actors had grace, built up by makeup, masks, and finery.

Mayuri wasn’t fond of the actors as a rule. Their egos and posturing annoyed him. In opposition, his mother’s eyes followed them endlessly. The exceptions to his ire tended to moonlight as jesters; they came and bid him ask his mother to dye their kimonos or to copy the latest en vogue brocade—but better. That was her specialty—brocades.

He was often bored and lonesome, so when the actors spoke to him, he spoke back despite the cool facade he gave them when with his mother, which was often. The room in which he wove and dyed fabric was often filled with his chatter, to himself. But silent when his mother was there, which was often.

Mayuri pushed limits like all children do, but with himself. How far could he poke a needle into his skin before it became unbearable? If he sewed an eye shut, would it fuse together? His mother seemed very occupied and payed him little attention, until she noticed that his eye was, indeed, fusing shut.

She had a real son by an actor most beloved for his roles as heroines and not long after they were called for by a 1st rukongai theater, where the actor could not follow. His mother accepted, gave her conditions, and stayed for a few last shows. Playing a woman determined to follow her lover in death, he gave a long, wailing speech and did not get back up after twisting the knife to his gut. His mother smiled, looking satisfied that he had done it as the audience leapt from the pits to crowd the dying body.

Thereafter, he seemed to leave his mother’s side for good. Even if his little brother was too young to weave and was bland to everyone including Mayuri, he had an eye for color. His mother wove, aided his brother with dyeing fabric, and told Mayuri it was time for him to do more. “You think it’s only fighting, but my sister became a soul reaper. And now she lives in the clouds, doing as she pleases. No-no, not dead. Just dead to me.”

Mayuri left for the academy before he could watch a 1st rukongai production, his spiritual pressure growing well under instruction. But he hated the large emphasis on battle. Strategy interested him, but his questions soured many teacher’s attitudes toward him.

So used to his hands always being at work at weaving, Mayuri began to tinker on things during class simply to help him think. He sat in the back as a thin courtesy, but was known to dissect animals during lectures. His row was often empty but for himself.

Reishi, again, became a large focal point for him and Mayuri had more than a single book at his disposal. Texts both aged and modern were poured through with hunger. If all living things contain Reishi, then could some form of reishi revive the dead? Could life be made of reishi not through natural processes? Could the essence of the soul exist if pried from the shell, would there be enough reishi to support that?

He understood the concern behind the meetings meant to discourage his questions and lines of study, but he resented them all and burned his theories for show, every wondering word fresh in his mind. His logic was sound, his questions legitimate, and his ability up to the task. How could a soul reaper do as they please in such an environment?

Mayuri went to his mother when he neared graduation, pausing his education, years having past with much frustration, at her call. She sought opportunities for him, now that she served nobles, and he hurried back at the illusion of freedom.

His brother still wore an expression as blank as unmarked paper, but he hugged Mayuri round the legs whenever he entered the room. His mother scolded him for it.

It was here that he once again turned his wondering in on himself. Skin opened and tested for the conditions that would allow regeneration. Could healing Kido be broken down into a liquid or pill? Was there an alternative to healing Kido? With few tools or funding, Mayuri found his conclusions compromised. His skin became scarred, but healed well enough under his skilled needlework to cause no harm.

Not that Mayuri was afraid of harm. It hurt immensely to experiment on himself, but he was greater than the academy would let him be and beneath the pain would be the glory of discovery. At times, he had his little brother do what he could physically not. It worked well—though young, his brother seemed largely unaffected and his needlework had improved enough that Mayuri did not scold him about it. Which was praise enough.

While serving the Shihōin family, his mother made sly introductions to several of the clansmen and one who was not. A soul reaper named Kisuke Urahara, a dear friend of the Shihōin princess , who seemed impressed with Mayuri’s work, but only enough to praise it. He was two faced and annoying and worst of all brilliant. Mayuri wanted the praise he got as much as he hated the man. He was too touchy, always patting his back or hair or shoulder.

Urahara’s words gave confidence to the clansmen, who worked out arrangements with his mother. Instead of paying in full for expensive kimonos and debt-inducing brocade, Mayuri would have funding and permissions. It was all unofficial, under the table, and unknown the clan head. The only ones on the line were he and his mother and Mayuri knew that meant he would take the blame, alone, if relations soured.

The work the two nobles loved best in the beginning were that of regeneration, which suited Mayuri enough since they also gave him freedom to do more. He, too, wished to complete his work in that area. It was, once again, when he wandered back into questions of artificial life—the limits of reishi and the ways to change reishi to break those limits—that he was warned by Urahara. “Any good mind wonders about life and death, Mayuri. But you’re not cute enough to break the rules! Maybe if you looked like your mom ❤️ Instead of an angry burlap dolly~! Good thing you’re a little genius in the making, huh?”

Begrudgingly, Mayuri took the condescending advice and kept his work that did not suit the nobles at a minimum and extremely private. His notes were few, coded, and progressing badly without workable experimentation. What the nobles wanted were likewise becoming more petty; looking to outdo the humans on this or best another clan on that. Unbearable, demeaning work considering the fewer freedoms they gave him—the funding was running out.

He became more restless. More reckless. The Shihōin family and his mother parted ways. Mayuri’s freedoms were gone. He stuck holes in his little brother’s forehead until his face was covered in blood. Made horns. Tore off his own ears. Made better ones. Dug out his own fingernails. Tried to carve himself into something better—someone above these circumstances. His mother sewed his skin shut wordlessly one night, the one he’d rid himself of his ears, and pinched his cheek like he was a toddler again.

So too did his approach to his appearance change. Like the actors and jesters of his earliest memories, he painted his skin white. Covered his eyes in a strip of black. Set his blue hair stiff and neat like a wig. Unique to him were the metal improvements that replaced his ears.

His little brother began to follow him everywhere after he was given horns, his mother once again occupied. One day, they found their mother dead together, murdered body tangled in a weaving loom.

Mad, for sure, Mayuri took her body to his lab, determined to find out as much as he could before discovered. His mother was unsalvageable, but the fetus within her could be something extraordinary. A third sibling. A first sister. A wonderful dream. Someone to take his mother’s place, but better. Always better—always striving to be more than before.

The data was invaluable even if it was coated in failure. Not that he had truly expected to breath life on the first try, but he had wished to not be caught. The Shihōin were famed for their leadership of the secret police, though, and caught he was. Even his most ingenious traps could not stop an entire force.

Unlawful tampering of a soul, theft of Shihōin funds and equipment, unlawful creation, and the murder of secret police, mother, and unborn sister. He was sentenced to the maggot’s nest, no access to anything but a cell. Too valuable of mind to be die, but too dangerous to be free.

Too valuable of mind to die. He always knew he was. It was nice to hear it, though.

#Mayuri Kurotsuchi #bleach imagines #don’t look at me oh my god #i have so much brain rot for this fucker #also of course I’m right about Akon because I will not leave him out of anything ever #his mom is like horrible but also such a bad bitch

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c0smicheaux · 5 years

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Twelfth House In The Signs

Aries-

When the twelfth house is set in the sign of Aries, it is almost always a sign that problems with healthy boundaries will be present in a person’s life. Others will intrude in their world as if they had no membranes to recognize and defend themselves from those who steal their energy. In time, they will have to “remember” what it was like to follow the passion within, fight for their rights , yell at others if that is what the moments asks for, and be true about everything that is on their mind. While Aries would like to have a certain goal and aim all its energy towards it, this energy seems to get bent here only to end up in a strange subconscious state where it is neither manifested nor used. This is a position that speaks of a past life that ended in aggression, in the army or from fire weapons, sharp objects, and most often “before one’s time.”

Taurus-

If the twelfth house is in the sign of Taurus, the mystery of the material world can remain a hidden for years, as well as hedonism and the chase for satisfaction in this material world. This is a position typical for those who have never felt real pleasure, and everyone with secret sexual encounters, or at least those who have the need to eat hidden from everyone else. Spirituality and real talents fall into the sign ruled by Venus, meaning creativity and inspiration come as a given, but only once they are discovered and approached studiously. True intimacy is found in secret bonds, and warmth will have to be built in solitude, realizing at first just how much we are worth and only later starting to search for someone who will recognize this. If one wants to make their dreams come true, this position is perfect, for it brings the Earth into our personal dreamland, making everything we imagine possible.

Gemini-

The twelfth house in Gemini isn’t very easy because of its Piscean nature and everything it has to do with emotion as an entity entirely apart from rational thought. Speech can be impaired, while those with lower self-esteem easily turn to gossip and matters that aren’t theirs to discuss to begin with. This is also a position that could give a wonderful talent for languages, words and writing. It is a shame to use it on other people and spend too much time thinking of their business, abilities and weaknesses. Those born with the twelfth house in Gemini must have ended their past life with a vast desire to speak their mind, share their inner truth, and express their personality in some way. Ties that get created here will manifest through strange friendships and their relationships with children, but most of the time, they will manifest through difficulties in their mind they cannot fully explain.

Cancer-

With the twelfth house in the sign of Cancer, you can see a family secret instantly, as well as the tendency to idealize one or both of the parents. This is a burden of an entire family tree and a mark that debts were left in spheres of the emotional and the fragile within. Strange matters are hiding in the twelfth house and when Cancer is here, you can see these strange matters in one’s home and intimate relationships. Depending on a very personal position of the Moon, we will see how well incorporated this can be in their everyday life and if disappointment is their family story or not. The emphasis on sensitive emotion is also seen here, and we will come to find that the twelfth house cusp in any Water sign gives one the ability to feel what others feel, often being unable to recognize where one person ends and their emotional body begins.

Leo-

When the twelfth house begins in Leo, the personality itself seems to be strange, sensitive, and unknown. These individuals will have to learn about their power and their inner truth, while they remain in the blurry waters hidden from plain sight. This is often a signal that previous life carried a story of success, and image that was maintained and remained important to the person until they died. It can be extremely rewarding if unconscious memories of it are pleasant and bring confidence and peace. However, if there was any dishonesty in their approach once upon a time, this will be the life to rectify it, accept the flaws in others, those we don’t want to see and don’t want to show, and find brothers and sisters in crime finally set free from self-criticism. Since the clear image of one’s Self is blurry, overall good of the mankind will be important to these people, as well as humanitarian efforts they often turn to at some point in their lives.

Virgo-

If the twelfth house is in Virgo, we can almost imagine the mechanism in a person’s mind making them seem stupid when they want to show how smart they are, and incredibly intelligent at the most unpredictable situations. They will rely on their brains while practical matters will keep some of their mystery at all times. Ties created here will have to do with old, used things, those that can or cannot be fixed. That halfway principle of Virgo can be quite difficult when we speak of someone’s twelfth house, for dreams tend to get crushed by reality, sensitivity by common sense, and vice versa. If a person with the twelfth house in Virgo wants to find happiness, they have to realize where their true talent lies, so they can use it and share it with the world. Very often their talents will be found in writing, detailed analysis or communication with the strangest of beings here on planet Earth.

Libra-

With the twelfth house in Libra it seems inevitable to lie or be lied to, and usually both. Still, if we put this aside, we can see the magical story of Libra in this mysterious house and realize that someone we once left behind is there for us to find them again in this life. Things that were lost in our twelfth house have a tendency to show themselves someday. This goes specifically for great loves, and with strongly set Venus, even greater loving relationships. If Venus is not that strong in this kind of horoscope, the obvious debt has to be repaid through emotional sacrifice of some kind. In most cases, this will develop through a romantic relationship in which the trust has been broken, finally liberating the person from unrealistic expectations. This is always someone talented to recognize beauty, often artistic and with a knack for drawing or music. However, they have to be very careful not to disrespect people around them in any way so that their personality has room to grow.

Scorpio-

The twelfth house in Scorpio is an interesting place. Something as taboo and as hidden as Scorpio rarely finds an appropriate secretive hideout, but this position allows them to. The most unfortunate thing here lies in one’s ability to bury their own feelings, doings, or aspirations, finally ending up without any awareness of their true inner light. This is the sign that speaks of our shadows and everything we want to bury and dismiss along the way, and when it is set in such a secretive house, shoving things under the rug becomes a routine. This can make these people explode in numerous ways, ending up in strange circumstances, weird conversations, interventions, institutions or even jail. To see the magic in Scorpio this person has to be truly and deeply open-minded, fully willing to accept the most devastating, darkest and most dangerous emotions they carry within.

Sagittarius-

When the twelfth house is set in Sagittarius, we usually see someone who has no idea where they are going. Being lost seems to be the congenital disease in these people and they have no way of knowing where they want to end up. Ties were made to the most distant of places, and past life regression could help them discover where they have lived and what makes them lose their place and their hopes. Beliefs have to be examined, as well as their religion views. Blessings will come from the most unexpected people and places, and although there are a lot of secrets to be expected in lives of others, these individuals are able to sense anyone’s goodness of heart from miles away. This is a very strong position for spiritual work and meditation, but if they don’t get enough sleep, they risk their entire life passing them by.

Capricorn-

With the twelfth house in Capricorn, there is no knowing which responsibility falls under whose jurisdiction. The difficulty of this setting hides in the inability to see that a strong foundation makes all the work, and while good ideas can come a long way, they aren’t easily materialized if hard work isn’t put in. Even though it might not seem like it, this is one of the most demanding positions in the twelfth house, for it speaks of karmic ties and our strong, physical connection to past life experiences. Strange things will manifest as circumstances that are hard to avoid or overcome, with many obstacles standing in one’s way towards liberation. If Saturn is strong in a person’s chart, there will be a sense of security, wisdom and unconscious power in doing the right thing, and that will become a wind in their sails and open them up for real inner experience of faith.

Aquarius-

The twelfth house in Aquarius speaks of a stressful death that happened in our past life. This is a place of stress and strange mental orientation, pulling strongly with its humane gravity and the unconscious need to set free, set apart from everyone else, and sink into all natural oppositions as if there was no other way. Mending the differences and finding middle ground seems distant and impossible to these individuals, as if they had a talent for true friendship, but lack of awareness for those who don’t fall into this category. They need to learn to be humane, so charity work will come in handy, especially if they are the secret benefactor nobody knows about. Their eccentricity will make them happy but in secret and in silence, with as little words said as possible. Even though they might be on the mission of solitude, they are often calmed by the peace of their marriage and relationships that represent a good basis for their personality rather than making them feel at home.

Pisces-

If the twelfth house is set in the sign of Pisces, all secrets will be sunk even deeper than in other cases. This practically means that all digging through subconscious matter will have to be thorough and results will seem more distant than those others tend to dig up. Usually, these individuals tend to look forwards, fully unaware of their dependencies and ties to the mysteries of their distant past. They will live their lives unaware of their own inner faith, needing healthy sleeping routine in order to stay in a calm and peaceful state. In many cases, these people will sleep every day for eight hours, avoiding late nights out or losing sleep over any burning issues at hand. They understand that the night is not to be messed with and hide from their own family in plain daylight. With true faith in the background, it would be good to raise awareness about their talents and their true life within, however scary that might seem.

Source;Astrology-Zodiac-Signsdotcom

#Astrology #Astrology Facts #Astrology Posts #Astrology House #house astrology #houses in the signs #twelfth house #astrology post #astrology fact

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