skitskatdacat63 · 3 months ago
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misc lore drop day 19/?
Re: this post
Yesterday I said I'd go into more detail about how they'd react when they're flustered so! I've written a bit about it in regards to Fernando, particularly in the oneshot I wrote. Seb is a harder case because I think he needs to be extremely caught off guard, otherwise he's 100% winning the flirting, teasing game. Vettonso are obviously in a perpetual state of one upness. And as I've said before, I think Seb usually has the upper hand, because Fernando in this AU is sooooo concerned about how he's being perceived and is also not in his element, so he's not really playing around, he takes things way too seriously. So I think it's a big moment for him when he realizes how he can catch Seb unawares.
Fernando gets flustered quite easily in this au when they're in private, because all he's concerned about is having this perfect stoic image, so that image is really difficult to keep up when it's just them because there isn't a greater need. He's the type to get all sanctimonious about it, like, oh my goodness, Seb you truly are being a harlot. And the type to get all huffy, and walk off....concealing his erec- It's less that he's like some sort of puritan, more that he 1. Wants to win the idgaf war(he's not btw.) and 2. Will NOT fall victim to Seb's flirtations(he will btw.) He wants to appear as more morally upright, more serious, so he's so easy to break because Seb's not afraid of his desires and that's all he cares about.
So how does he get Seb back? As I said yesterday, through exhibitionism. The way they play with each other is to try and catch each other when their guards are down the most. Fernando is more suseptible in private because that's when he let's his image slip just a bit. Seb is more suseptible in public because he really has no interest in maintaining that stoic image but he HAS to, so he's very hyper focused on it and easy to tease in those moments. I imagine that Fernando first finds out about this vulnerability when he accidentally brushes Seb's bare wrist at or something at some public event, and Seb instantly turns bright red. Fernando, in the beginning, gives him affection very sparingly, so Seb is obviously not used to it, especially in a setting where he is never touched. Fernando LOVES to unsettle him in this way, it's like he's learned a cheat code, how to flap the unflappable, how to make the pervert blush, etc etc.
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rek88k · 1 year ago
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Mmmm
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blissfali · 2 years ago
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Eiaoififs There are weasels in my LUNGS!!!! WHY IS IT WHEN EVERYONE GETS SICK AT ONCE AND I COME THE OUTLIER THAT I SUDDENLY COME DOWN THE SOMETHING. HATH GOD STRUCKEN ME DOWN FOR MY FATTETH ASSETH? DOES MAN NOT UNDERSTAND THE LENGTHS AT WHICH I GO TO BE ABLE TO BREATHE NORMALLY AND YET HERE I LAY PEEVED BY THE SUMMERSAULTS OF MADNESS AND ITS COUGHS SENT SPIRALLING UP MY THROAT IN RIFTS OF VOLCANOS. THE DRYEST COUGH ON THE WILD WEST MY ACID REFLUX IS GOING TO KILL ME IF I COUGJ TOO HARD I WILL JUST VOMIT THIS IS A TERRIBLE CIRCUMSTANCE
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visenyaism · 4 months ago
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Do you think daemon actually wants the throne, and would steal it from rhaenyra given the chance, or is it just a product of the harrenhal/alys induced hallucinations?
oooo this is tricky. i’ve been saying since season one that daemon’s character seems to really center around the fact that daemon is desperately chasing…something. he cannot quite articulate what it is. but you see this overwhelming compulsive want without form control his entire life and never ever lead him to happiness.
He burns out of several small council jobs and is listless in the capital. he wants his brothers attention but can’t help himself from saying and doing things that he knows will get him banished. He wants his own life in pentos, but nope. he is miserable but does not want to go home. He is desperate to be respected as an adult but blows up whenever anyone criticizes him like one. wants to be an authority figure but hates responsibility.
I think in season one he takes more of the role of like an attack dog. He wants the warmest spot at his brother’s feet he does NOT want any other dogs in the kennel he wants all of his brother’s (and by extension rhaenyra’s) attention and he wants to be pointed at stuff and told and trusted to go be of service by enacting violence on others. but from what we’ve seen so far in season two, that doesn’t seem to be enough for him anymore. He’s still miserable.
All of this to say that i think that Daemon thinks he wants to be king, but that’s not what he actually wants, is it? in season one I think being the heir was a symbol of being his brothers favorite, and a stand-in for actually having his unconditional love and trust and that’s why he wanted it. In season two I think being the king is an idea he likes because:
1) he’s a misogynist who cannot be seen as subservient to rhaenyra because she’s a woman,
2) because post blood and cheese all of his relationships in his life are currently defined by the ways in which he has significantly let every one of his loved ones down in some way and no one can trust him to show up for them. he is now super lost and wants to be his own person but:
3) Being from the incest psychosexual enmeshment house has no idea how to do that. every single relationship he’s ever had with another person has been sexual, familial, or violent, sometimes all three. there is no self to be found in that abyss it all boundaries are obliterated. and clearly he equates being his own person with exacting power over others violently. Which is how he’s in his tyrannical Riverlands arc right now and demanding he be called king because he thinks that’s what they do.
This will not be enough for him either. I don’t think he will ever find it.
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milksuu · 7 months ago
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pairing: 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
tw: mild suggestive themes, minor injury, age gap (in the mythical sense)
notes: don't know why but i wanted to try something original? if i make a part 2, def. will be nsfw. (oh and, i know sirens are usually part bird rather than fish, but we're going with the fish lol.)
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Yandere!Siren who lures you by ethereal hymn from the safety of the beach sand, smirking when all those pretty little sea shells drop to your feet once you hear his voice. your hands reach for him, and his scales glitter in the dusk light as they take yours---so cold yet inviting. the biting waters tickling your skin with goosebumps. your enchanted giggles a beautiful song before a feast.
Yandere!Siren who guides your spellbound body below the shimmering waves, into a blue stasis where only you and him exist. he takes your cheeks, warm against the ice of his hands, bringing his mouth to yours with every intent to feast on your body. your lashes curl closed, and bubbles rest like pearls against your lashes, completely at bliss listening to his death song.
Yandere!Siren who stops before he grazes the heat of your lips. behind the drowning fractals of sunlight weaving through his eyes, an overlapping memory crashes against him. this wasn't the first time he's met you; you were a mere child then, and had found him during one of your silly human adventures. you'd freed him from an entrapment of netting and barb. but dared to insult him by calling him a 'pretty lobster', all while waving him off with a wooden-toy sword—a promised threat, no doubt. if it weren't for the fact you had saved him from poachers, he would've eaten you just for comparing him to those lower-living crusted things.
Yandere!Siren who curses and clicks at himself, for having even a shred of reluctance to devour your kind. he reasons a life for a life is a fair debt to pay, regardless of vitriol, and would pay it by sparing yours. he floats your listless body to the surface, and weaves you through the lapping waves back to shore.
Yandere!Siren who hesitates to dive back into the waters. not able to discern the rise and falls of your chest. he wonders if he'd held you beneath for far too long. long enough for sea water to be kept prisoner in your lungs. he drags himself to your side on the sand, hovering intimately above you. he presses his long fingers into your chest, finding your heart beat; soft but present. and although shallow, he observes the rise and fall of your chest. he wouldn't dare acknowledge the small sigh of relief in his throat.
Yandere!Siren who's gaze then roams your sun kissed skin and nipples melting through your soaked linen dress. but doesn't know why heat flushes through his tail, his heart throb at his fingertips, and scales shimmer a dusty pink. the drops falling from his hair pitter-patter on your lips, stirring you awake. he inhales sharply when you share a glance. your face and lips gilded by the afternoon glow.
"Pretty lobster..." you whisper dreamily, eyes still swimming on the lingering notes of his melody.
Yandere!Siren who half-flustered and half-scorned, wants to surrender to the reflex of plunging his sharp teeth into the suppleness of your throat. to mark you for this moment of not only sparing your life, but then having the gall to insult him—again. before he can commit to the idea, he hears the clanking of metal and footfalls of sentrymen descending the beach cliffs.
"Princess!" The soldier's call out. "Princess please, by orders of the King, return at once."
Yandere!Siren who hisses and nips at your hand in compromise to his deadlier wishes for you. He then thrusts himself back into the frigid waters, swimming a safe distance away from shore. when he deems himself veiled behind a jagged rock, he leans to watch, damning himself for certain curiosities. he watches with narrowed lashes as the guards help you to your feet. some patting the sand from your dress, one draping a shawl over your drenched form, and another bandaging your bitten hand.
Yandere!Siren who stiffens when you turn a head over your shoulder, and just like before, wave at him with a smile. that indignant human grin of yours, possibly cursing him with joy. he simmers at the thought, his face warm again, and slowly sinks himself below the surface tension. and to his own annoyance, wondering when you would come to bother him again.
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siren-nate · 2 months ago
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The AvA crew are masters of body language
It might seem obvious, given how emotional the stories are despite being told with characters that don't have facial expressions or dialogue, but I never realized just how incredible the body language is in these animations until a recent rewatch with a friend (@butchpeabody) who really pointed it out and emphasized it to me.
I want to talk about it a bit using what may be my favorite scene across the entire series, that being the scene of King in the void during the climax of Season 3.
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Even after the point in the story where we learned his sympathetic backstory, King is a character that lives up to his crown by being a villain of imposing presence and even an appreciation for finery. But after the moment where he cracks and tries to save Purple in the middle of a full-blown PTSD attack, this is the very next scene we see of him. He's haggard, hunched over, walking listlessly with none of the intimidation or class we've gotten used to seeing from him. For an antagonist defined by his determination and refusal to stop or slow down for even a moment, this is already striking even before he finds the memory of his house.
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It's an incredibly subtle thing that lasts less than a second, but I love how he has to duck his head down to fit under the doorway due to his crown. It's symbolic of something important: this place was once his home, but now that he's finally returning to it with his descent into obsessive villainy completed, it feels alien and uncomfortable. He's no longer the man that lived here as long as that crown sits on his head.
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The first thing in this entire scene that gets some spark of emotion out of him and breaks his listless walk is the chalk appearing on the wall.
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And when that vision continues, reminding him of how this alien world took his child away from him, he doesn't move. His lack of reaction IS a reaction; you can imagine the stony look on his face as he silently agrees with his past actions to destroy an entire universe just to get revenge for Gold.
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But then that finally changes when he sees all of the living beings that the drawing of himself is hurting. His head raises in shock, and you can imagine his eyes widening as he has to grapple with his actions for the first time. The moment his empathy cracks through, that crown is completely off-screen, reminding us of the caring man smothered underneath it.
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And then, Gold appears. It makes sense that seeing the child he lost enter the vision gets the biggest reaction out of him yet...
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...and that reaction gets even bigger when he sees what "King" is doing to his child's memory.
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For the first time since he started on his revenge quest, his composure shatters. He starts beating on the wall, desperate to make the vision stop, to undo all of the harm he's caused, to take back all of the mistakes he's made wielding his memory of his child like a cudgel. He only becomes ever more frantic and desperate when Gold turns into Purple, and it fully sinks in for him that he's become the evil force he imagined in his head just to have something to take revenge on. He never wanted to cause anybody the same pain he went through, but not only did he dehumanize all the residents of this universe in his mind, his endless rage has even started hurting people that come from the same dimension as him.
The imagery of King desperately beating on a wall with everything he has is absolutely vital to this episode; it shows up twice in his backstory, and for the third and final time here. The first time, it represents how he couldn't save Gold. The second time, it represents how pointless his mission to avenge them is.
But the third time is different.
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Because the third time...
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The wall finally breaks.
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You can see him standing there in shock. He expected it to be just as indestructible as every other time, expected his struggle to be just as futile as always. Because that's always been King's fatal flaw: short-sightedness. An inability to consider "And then what?", or to look at what he's doing and ask himself if it's worth it, or to think of something better he could do.
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But when he raises his head and looks, he finally gets it. Now, the wall is breakable - because he does have something better he can do with himself.
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It takes a second for him to get over his shock and put it all together, but once he does, he's not walking anymore. He's running like his life depends on it.
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Purple's screentime in this scene is much shorter, but it's no less impactful or brilliant in its execution. They raise their head as they hear footsteps, but just like King seeing a false vision meant to show him the truth, Purple doesn't see him running at them - they see Indigo.
They stand up, but it's just as slow as how King walked earlier. They don't care that Indigo is back, not really - they've moved on from how their parent abandoned them. But they still care enough to stand up to find out what the hell Indigo wants.
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At first, Purple almost seems like they expect to be attacked and hurt again. In which case, it's extremely powerful that they don't move to defend themself...
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...and even moreso that because of that split-second vulnerability, King is able to practically tackle-hug them unimpeded.
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Again, purely through body language, you can see so clearly how Purple has absolutely no idea how to react. Being held so tightly by someone who cares about them so much is something they haven't experienced in years.
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But just as King can let go of his painful past to make a better life in the present...
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So can Purple.
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auncyen · 4 months ago
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"Disappear...disappear, disappear, disappear...don't come back, don't come back, don't come back..."
M'dame Odile was right. You should have said something sooner.
Siffrin had been acting strangely since yesterday afternoon. When the bathroom break turned much too long, Mira encouraged Bonnie to share with you and Odile what they'd already told her: that Siffrin had run up to them while they were looking at the field and nearly grabbed them, only backing off at the last second, trying to laugh off the uncharacteristic behavior while looking sick to his stomach. Mira confirmed that she'd found Siffrin waking from his nap with a disturbed look on his face, and that beelining to the field had been the first thing he'd done. At the time, the explanation of a nightmare was enough for both Mira and Bonnie to not push further, and Siffrin had seemed back to theirself in the evening.
But Siffrin wasn't acting right again. They'd been tense all through the House, attacking Sadnesses at the slightest sign they might get close instead of skirting around and evading as they normally did, and at the same time listless, barely present when you all stopped and talked about something. They chimed in, yeah, but their tone had been flat nearly every time, even when they were beaming. None of those smiles had been real. All of them dropped the second they thought no one would notice.
"Something's wrong," Odile said before looking at you. "Isabeau. You should talk to them."
"Me??" You'd been trying to figure out what would snap Siffrin out of the weird mood all day and couldn't come up with anything. For all the work you'd put into expanding your emotional intelligence, it apparently was still lacking when you really needed it.
And yet Mirabelle nodded too, apparently convinced alongside M'dame that you were the one for the job. "They might listen if it's you!"
You'd really like to think that but also you didn't think that at all. "I don't even know what I'd say..."
"It doesn't matter," Odile said emphatically before amending herself. "Well, what's said does matter, but how it's said is important too. There's a reason I'm not volunteering myself for this, Isabeau. With how on edge he's been, he probably needs someone...gentle, at the moment. But being gentle doesn't mean passively standing by." Her eyes narrowed at you.
You could figure out what she meant easily enough. She was afraid she'd be too forceful for Siffrin right now, and you could agree you'd be concerned if she tried. She wasn't afraid to push you on this, though.
Before she could say anything more, though, you heard one of the bathroom doors swing as Siffrin finally emerged. "There you are, Frin!" Bonnie shouted. "Did you fall in?"
Sif laughed in the empty way that didn't meet their eyes, offering no explanation for how long they'd taken. "Let's get moving," they said, and didn't wait for agreement before proceeding down the hallway. Mira looked at them worriedly, then at you. Odile's eyes were burning holes in the back of your shirt as you all followed Sif to a rather...unique-looking statue of the Change God. It...offered you a Keyknife? Or a Knifekey? And teleported you back to the start of the third floor, right in front of the door you needed to get through???
It was more than you'd ever heard of the Change God doing, and your surprise (and slight disorientation--you weren't sure what the mechanics of teleportation were, but they made your head feel floaty) almost distracted you from Siffrin's hands trembling slightly as he sharpened the blade: "please be sharp, please be sharp, please be sharp".
But you did notice. You knew you needed to talk to him. And you did try when you all took one last snack break before approaching the King. You hadn't let Sif dissuade you with more empty smiles and a chirped "I'm fine, Isa!", the tone just slightly wrong in the way everything had been wrong today.
But you'd let the matter drop for the moment when Sif looked away, frustrated, and his shoulders dropped. When he looked up at you again, it was with a slightly sad smile. "You got me, Isa. There is something wrong. Can we talk about it after the King?"
You'd been so relieved he was admitting something was wrong. That they trusted you to support them. As long as they knew that they could rely on you and the others, sure, you could talk about it after the King!
...They'd
frozen
at the King.
Not in time, but in fear, their breath starting to hitch even as you all walked toward the King in a way that would have made you grab them and run if you'd been facing any less of an opponent. You were pretty sure there was no running from the King. They'd stayed behind you at the beginning of the fight as you jumped forward to try hitting the King. Normally Sif would be right by your side, the two of you both close range combatants when not using Craft. Something was wrong. You had to keep the King's attention off of them.
But the King was overwhelmingly strong, shrugging off your blows, and his eyes narrowed at Siffrin after Mirabelle's shield saved you all from an attack that you could feel would've otherwise been fatal in your very heart, still shuddering from the dread it'd inflicted. Siffrin had choked out a cry for her to make the shield at just the right time, like he'd somehow known the fearsome attack was coming. ...The King waiting beforehand was suspicious. You'd made a mental note to look out for that, and thanked Change Siffrin had realized beforehand. But right at that moment, the King swung out to hit Siffrin--or grab him?--and you sidestepped to push Sif out of the way--
The King's huge gauntlet hit you, and--
You must have blacked out for a few seconds. You came back to a throbbing head, painful breathing, and a teary-eyed Bonnie who was patting your arm anxiously as they swam in your vision. You tried to force a reassuring smile and push yourself up and immediately cried out. Your arm was broken. You think--the King must have slammed you into the wall, and Change, what a beastly strength he had. You felt like a cracked egg shell.
"'Za, can you--I have--" Bonnie was crying too hard to get the words out, but the tonic in their other hand was explanation enough. They'd been trying to wake you so you could drink. You nodded, tilting your head to drink the tonic they lifted to your lips. The sour taste cleared your head a little, and you tried to look past Bonnie to find Siffrin...
Sif...
Sif...was...
Sif's earlier hesitation was gone now. They were--they were tearing into the King with savage abandon. The mysterious strength they'd found against the Sadnesses today had returned, double what it was before, maybe triple, Craft attacks being used with no cooldown, Scissors and Paper and Rock and sheer fury. Or maybe it was still terror.
Odile had pulled Mirabelle clear of Sif's range, and they were both assisting with their support Crafts slowing the King, shielding Siffrin. Both their faces were tense, Mira's betraying more of her fear at how things had turned out. Now that you felt a little less like a rolled-out crepe, you pushed yourself up with the one good arm, trying not to breathe too deep, and staggered back toward the fight. Mira startled at your limping approach, but both women looked at you only briefly, their attention focused on Siffrin.
"I'll heal you soon, Isabeau!" Mirabelle said. "I think...I think the fight might actually be over soon. I can't believe Siffrin is--were they this strong all along?"
"No," Odile said. "They're running on adrenaline. ...Maybe something else, as well. This isn't natural."
She could have been right. There was a strangely sweet smell in the air as Sif struck the King again, unless you hit your head hard enough to hallucinate smell.
Siffrin only seemed to calm down marginally once they'd reduced the King to his own panic. Then, he glanced to the side, to the three of you, and you could see the immediate relief on his face as he saw you standing.
The pain as his eye swept over, noting your injuries. It distracted him for a long enough second to scare you over his proximity to the King--and then, in the next second, Mira and Odile stepped in, taking Siffrin's hesitation as invitation for them to finally go back on the offensive. Odile started a Craft and a chant for the King to "disappear!" Bonbon was still crying, but managed to throw their wok and the Craft energy they know how to control into the spell. You made a rock sign limply with your good hand, mustering the energy you could spare. Siffrin somehow still had the energy to add to the Craft, the air spiking with sugar like you were at the boulangerie in early morning. Mirabelle finished the Craft, and the King, off.
"Disappear!"
The King disappeared. Light returned to the House.
Siffrin sank to their knees like a puppet discarded. "Disappear...disappear, disappear, disappear...don't come back, don't come back, don't come back..." He started shaking. "...No more...I can't...I can't do this anymore... I keep failing, I keep..."
"You haven't failed, Siffrin," Odile said, her tone both worried and confused. You wanted to say something as well, but every breath still hurt, even as Mirabelle used her healing Craft with a focus on your chest. There was only so much Craft could do in the short term; you needed serious bed rest.
But you were alive, you'd heal. So you weren't sure why Sif looked so devastated, shaking his head. "I got Isa hurt."
You understood even less at what he next said.
"Last time it was Bonnie, and it was--" A dry sob. He needed to calm down and breathe, he wasn't making sense. When had he ever gotten Bonnie hurt?
"Who next? You, Mira? I can't do this again, I can't, I can't..." He gripped his hair, nearly yanking at it. "Please, please, please..."
The air seemed to stand still around Siffrin.
You realized what was happening, even though the King was gone, just as Sif went lightless.
At the very moment they froze, their expression seemed relieved.
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sadlynotthevoid · 3 months ago
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I can't believe we don't have at least one LCFxTanaka-kun crossover.
Like, we have a protagonist who is a failed lazy ass and yet, we haven't thought on putting him in the same space that the lazy king, Tanaka.
Just imagine a highschool AU where they all go to the same school and:
• Og!Cale overhears someone talking about "that guy tanaka from the other class" who is "so lazy even his music slows down" and has a brilliant idea.
• One day, Tanaka, Otta and some of their friends stay after class because someone told them that "that punk guy Henituse from the other class" wants to meet with Tanaka. They all expect a scary angry dude seeking a fight.
• Instead, they get a weirdly enthusiastic Cale, looking like a puppy who got offered a hamburger. He first asks if he's Tanaka (curiously pin-pointing the right person at jis first try) and if whether he was "as ridiculously lazy as the rumors say". Then, in a petition that makes them think of Miyano, he requests Tanaka to become a lazy mentor.
• "No, not to me. To my brother— the new one, not Bassen—. He talks and talks about how much he wants to be a slacker and do nothing all day long. But, that guy, he wouldn't take a rest even if mundial peace was declared. He keeps running around, getting himself in troubles and always ends up hurt. It's troublesome. So, teach him to be lazy peacefully, please."
• So Rok Soo, the recently adopted Henituse kid, attends to Tanaka's listless lessons with Miyano.
• The first try fails magnificently. Instead of Tanaka's lifestyle sticking to Rok Soo, Tanaka gets infected by Rok Soo's logic. For a whole week, Tanaka's friends (plus Cale, because "he started this") have to run after him trying to stop him from doing dangerous things. Luckily, his stamina is really low.
• After every try, more and more people get involved in the "Let's Teach Rok Soo How To Slack" plan. They still keep failing tho.
• At some point they forgot why those meetings were for and just use them to hang out with friends. Except Cale, he keeps trying.
• Otta, Alver and Shiraishi bring baked goods to their meetings and exchange recipes. They're baker friends.
• Echizen is confused at Cale's reputation sometimes. He's mostly harmless and he won't do anything unless the person in question crosses a line, but people still fear him more than her. After seeing him in action, she gets it. People surely love to make assumptions. He only has to put a face and be vague here and there and they'll come up to their own conclusions.
•They bond about their cute likings.
There's more but that's what I can think about right now.
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callsign-venus · 11 months ago
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I'll Be Home for Christmas | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader
Description: With Bradley on deployment, you don't find the Christmas season as cheery as usual. The Daggers make it their mission to help you get into the holiday spirit. Cue intensely competitive gingerbread house decorating competition.
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: Fluff with a teeny dash of angst. Drinking. That’s pretty much it. Really just self-indulgent, friendship-heavy fluff with lots of pining. Enjoy x
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Nat King Cole’s voice dances out of your record player has you put the finishing touches on your cranberry Aperol spritzes. Their cherry warm color makes you smile despite yourself. 
You have always loved Christmas, but this year it hits you like a truck – and not even one with a tree strapped on top. All the little traditions that usually warm your heart with holiday cheer feel just plain sad to do alone. You had a tremendous battle with your artificial tree, which fell on you twice. You were proud of yourself for not crying, and in the end you were able to admire all of its eight feet of glory. Then you remembered you had to light the whole thing. Two hours later, you had undone no less than three tangles of light strands, found out two of them were dead (and all your untangling had been for nothing), and had one big cry fest for yourself. Not even a steaming cup of cocoa made you feel better after that disaster.
Wrapping presents for your friends and family, rewatching all your favorite Christmas movies, and driving around rich people neighborhoods to admire their lights hadn’t gone as poorly, but they all made his absence grow harder to ignore.
When Bradley told you his deployment would last through the holidays, you struggled to keep your disappointment to yourself, though you’re sure he could see it shining in your eyes. As much as you would miss him during the holidays, you knew it was worse for him, with only emails and skype calls for comfort – no silly little Christmas rituals to occupy his mind.
“You need help in here?” Natasha’s voice jolts you out of your pity-party spiral.
“No, I just got distracted,” you say, scooping up two of the spritzes and offering her one. “Let’s get this party started.”
Phoenix smiles and accepts your cocktail. She herself had just gotten back from her own deployment, and pretty immediately sensed your holiday ennui. She was the one who suggested this festive evening, and you’ve never been more grateful for her friendship.
While you were listless in the kitchen, she had assembled the most perfect gingerbread house making station you’d ever seen: frosting packed into several near-bursting bags, candy canes arranged in perfect rows, gumdrops with a shimmering dusting of sugar, and a scattering of gingerbread roofs and walls waiting patiently to be dressed.
“Wow, Nat, this looks great.”
“Thank you. I’m sure the boys will mess it up in three seconds flat, but at least you appreciate it.”
As if on cue, your front door bursts open, and a clot of merrily dressed sailors spills into your home, arms stacked with presents for Secret Santa. You point to the open space under the Christmas tree, and quickly your and Natasha’s presents are joined by all the others.
After the presents are unloaded, you and Phoenix are engulfed in hugs. Fanboy is wearing a Santa hat, and he has two in hand that he passes to you and Phoenix, insisting that you put them on right now. You happily oblige, as you’re inching closer to how you usually feel during the holidays now that you’re surrounded by friends. Even Jake is cheery, having rocked up in an ugly Christmas sweater covered with bows and tinsel, which is bizarre yet comforting. You do your best not to think about the person you wish was here most, as the Daggers seem dead set to help you have a great Christmas despite his absence.
“This is for you, our gracious host.” Bob hands you a potted poinsettia. “Thanks for putting up with us.”
“It’s really no problem,” you insist as you place the flowers on the side table by your couch. “I love you all.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Still, we’re a lot, I know.”
He’s not wrong – Coyote and Payback have already found the spritzes and Fanboy’s popped three gumdrops into his mouth – but you don’t mind. Even when the gingerbread house decorating competition starts. Calling it a competition might be an understatement. The Daggers are more than competitive, especially about inconsequential things. Nobody speaks as they draft their houses in bright white icing and stud them with decorative candies. The only way to get them to quiet is through arts and crafts, you muse as you decorate your house with swirls of icing like snow drifts and tiny snowflakes dotting the roof and walls. 
The sabotage begins early, when Hangman reaches for a bowl of peppermints and not-so-subtly brushes his hand over Phoenix's roof, smearing the frosting.
“Hey asshole,” Natasha says. “That’s my house.”
“Oh really? Looks like you got a little smear there.” Jake slides a finger across Phoenix’s carefully piped shingles, messing up her roof even more.
“You’re a dead man, Seresin.” Nat narrows her eyes. She won’t go for Jake’s gingerbread house, she’ll bide her time. You’re glad you’re not Hangman right now.
“Got anymore spritzes?” Coyote asks you.
You nod your head. “In the kitchen, help yourself.”
When Coyote gets up to refill his glass, Fanboy snatches his piping bag and swaps it for his almost empty one. While Fanboy’s distracted, Payback helps himself to the pile of Twizzlers Fanboy’s been hoarding since the beginning of the competition.
“Who is even going to judge these?” You ask almost absentmindedly as you stand a gingerbread couple together at the door of their house with copious amounts of frosting. “We all know whose house is whose.”
There’s a smattering of laughter.
“We’ll figure it out after Secret Santa,” Nat assures you as she completes the retiling of her roof, the eaves perfectly punctuated with peppermints.
Before you can question the logic of that solution, Bob asks for your opinion on colored versus strictly green and red gum drops.
“Hey, no helping the competition,” Fanboy complains.
“What?” You level a heavy gaze on him. “Scared you won’t win if Bob and I combine forces? I would be.”
“I’m just saying, this should be a fair contest,” he says.
You shrug him off and answer Bob, but in the spirit of sabotage, you neglect to tell him about the frosting dried on his cheek.
Even though you’re risking your gingerbread house’s safety, once you’ve finished, you slip into the hall. You refresh your inbox on your phone, and you smile as you see an email from Bradley.
Subject: Miss you
Hey pretty girl. Been missing you all day today. Wish I was there to hang stockings and give you the best mistletoe kiss the world’s ever seen. Don’t forget to hang it – you can leave it up until I get back. Don’t have a lot of time, but I just wanted to let you know that I love you and I can’t wait to come home to you.
Your heart flutters, as it always does when you get an email from him. You quickly type out a response.
Subject: Miss you more
Hey hot stuff. I’ve already hung the mistletoe and have no plans to take it down until you make me see stars under it. I miss doing holiday things with you (you really know how to wrangle the tree), but Nat especially has been helping me through it. Still, I really miss you. All I need is your arms around me and everything will feel right again. Can’t wait to see you again.
You press send and sigh. You never want to complain – it’s Bradley who had to live on an aircraft carrier for months at a time – but sometimes it feels so unfair for two people to be so in love and yet spend the holidays all alone.
You give yourself a moment to collect yourself before you go back to the increasingly hostile competition. Jake has icing in his hair – you know Phoenix is responsible, but her wrath won’t end there – and Payback’s house had a giant fist-sized crater in the roof. Surely unrelated, Coyote’s knuckles are dusted with gingerbread crumbs. You couldn’t help the smile the chaotic scene pulled from you. Especially since your gingerbread house remains in pristine condition.
You thank Nat for watching over it, and she responds with a bright smile. “No problem, I can’t have the boys messing up your Christmas celebration.”
“Hey!” All the boys except Bob protest in unison. Phoenix raises her brows, point proven.
Once all of the gingerbread houses are complete and aligned in a row like a candied neighborhood block, the party shifts toward the Christmas tree. Bob distributes presents to each of you. Yours is an envelope, and you know it is from Nat. Your name is written on the thick, cream paper in Nat’s graceful script, which you know like your own after years of friendship.
“No one can beat my present,” Nat boasts as she catches you studying the envelope.
“Oh we’ll see,” Coyote says.
You swallow down a little lump, seeing everyone around the tree without Rooster. Though you love and appreciate your friends, the emptiness of his presence is almost smothering.
Your mood warms when Jake volunteers to go first. You’re his Secret Santa, and just as you predicted, he loves the smartphone-controlled paper airplane you got for him. He opens it and has it folded  in a matter of seconds. He syncs it to his phone, and his first flight ends with the plane crashing into Coyote’s head.
“Durable.” Hangman remarks as he picks up the paper airplane, which holds its shape just fine.
“Asshole.” Coyote replies.
Payback is next, and he gets a bottle of scotch from Jake. You don’t know much about scotch, but from Payback’s reaction, you can tell it’s a really nice bottle.
Coyote gets Bob a navy Aran sweater, which Bob wastes no time throwing on.
“Feel how soft!” Bob says as he smothers Coyote in a hug. Cue three minutes of Bob inviting everyone to touch his sweater – you can’t blame him, though, it is really soft.
Bob’s gift to Coyote makes you wonder how Nat is going to top it. Bob made a crochet version of Taffy, Coyote’s miniature pinscher. 
“Thank you, I love it.” Coyote cradles the crocheted dog tight, and you wonder if you’re just imagining the tremble in his voice or if he’s actually about to cry.
“Come on Javy,” Jake says, “don’t go all soft now.”
Fanboy gets a countertop pizza oven from Payback, which instantly becomes one of his most prized possessions based on the sheer amount of pizza he consumes.
“Thanks, man.” He gives Payback a friendly punch on the arm. “You all have to come over for pizza night.”
You all hum in agreement. Fanboy’s pizzas are amazing, and you wouldn’t mind spending another night with everyone together. Well, almost everyone. You swallow down the lump in your throat.
Phoenix opens her gift from Fanboy slowly, as if she’s afraid of its contents. She peels back the shiny green paper to reveal a charcuterie board and a set of cheese knives with wooden handles that match the board. She hugs it close to her chest and mouths thank you across the room to Fanboy, who doesn’t notice because he’s reading the pizza recipe included with his oven.
Finally it is your turn. All eyes in the room land on you, strangely sober despite the freely flowing spritzes. You give Phoenix a quick glance as you slide a finger under the flap of the envelope, but her expression is unreadable.
“It's a…” you say as your fingers graze a satiny band of fabric. “Blindfold?”
You hold it up for everyone to see. Everyone’s expressions are carefully arranged to not convey anything. Not quite the laughter you were expecting. A sense of uneasiness blooms in your stomach.
Nat stands up and takes the blindfold out of your hands. Quicker than you can think, she’s tying it around your head.
“What is going on?” You ask.
She finishes the bow and pats your shoulder. “Just you wait.”
A few suppressed snickers fill the room and make your uneasiness melt into dread. The gentle shush of a door opening and closing makes it worse.
“I swear, if you guys are ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas-ing’ me right now I will be so angry.”
The silence that falls after you speak is so, so loud. No one turned the record, so even Nat King Cole is quiet. But then you hear it. It’s hard to explain, but you’d know that breathing anywhere. You’d spent many nights falling asleep to that gentle lullaby or hearing it as he held you close in the kitchen, neither of you caring that dinner was burning on the stove.
You rip off the blindfold, and there he is. Bradley. Bradley. Standing next to your Christmas tree, a bow tied around his chest. The Daggers surround him like magician’s assistants, all their hands raised in a sort of ta-da manner.
You leap off the couch and into his waiting arms. He smells like an aircraft carrier and shitty coffee, his clothes rough and government-issued, and his hair cropped a little too close to his head than you know he likes – but he’s yours. He’s yours in the way his embrace consumes you, blurring the line between you and him, erasing the months and miles of distance between the two of you. He’s yours in the way the beat of his heart drums in rhythm with your own. Yours in the way that you are his as well. He lifts you up so your feet dance in the air, pressing kisses to the top of your head.
He sets you down and crashes his lips into yours. He slips his tongue into your mouth unabashedly, and despite your audience, you let him. The kiss is long enough that you start to feel bad for everyone else, so you sheepishly pull away.
“Goddamn, Rooster,” Hangman says, “let the girl breathe.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves the comment away.
But you don’t want to breathe. Not if your other option is to kiss Bradley until you’re both oxygen starved. Because you’re starved for him, need to feed on his presence. 
Then the realization sets in. Rooster is supposed to be deployed for another month. You wheel around to face Nat. “How the hell did you do this?”
She shrugs. “Loverboy emailed me last week, just after I got home from my deployment. Said he was coming home earlier than expected, and he wanted to surprise you.”
“Wait, so all of you knew?” You pointedly look at everyone, but nobody can quite keep eye contact with you.
Bradley wraps an arm around your waist. “They all did pretty good keeping it under wraps, huh?”
“I would hope so, given our clearance levels,” Jake says.
Everyone laughs, but you’re still reeling. You can’t believe Bradley is here. His calloused fingers rubbing the skin of your back, just under the hem of your shirt. His gentle laugh reverberating against your body, reminding you what wholeness feels like. His lips, slightly chapped (with none of your chapstick to steal on the carrier), murmuring into your hair. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you know what he means nonetheless.
You’d imagined Bradley’s homecoming as a flurry of ripped clothes, bruising kisses, and mutual insatiable hunger, but this is better. All of your friends in the same room, sharing in this festive homecoming, looking like absolute dorks. Fanboy’s Santa hat sits askew on his head. Payback and Coyote are obviously drunk off their asses (they definitely pregamed the festivities, as Payback has been reduced to giggles and Coyote has actual tears streaming down his face). Jake has yet to realize the frosting in his hair, Bob the frosting on his face. And Natasha is a dork by association. You and Bradley too. But the overwhelming love in the room makes you want to sob happy tears.
Bradley happily indulges you all in judging the gingerbread houses. He gets down to eye level with each entry, runs his fingers along the roofs, occasionally snaps off a piece of candy and pops it in his mouth.
“Very good job, everyone.” He speaks to the group as if you’re all kindergartners, reveling in the building anticipation. There’s never a prize for Dagger competitions, but there doesn’t need to be. Bragging rights is all they need, no matter how menial the situation.
Bradley carefully reshuffles the houses in order from last to first place. Fanbody. Jake. Payback. Coyote. Nat. He purposefully shields first and second place. Only you and Bob are left – maybe the least competitive people in the room – and still, tension is thick in the air.
“And the winner…” Bradley’s voice booms like an old-fashioned gameshow host, “...is…”
He finally slides to the side to reveal your house sitting in first place.
Bob sticks his hand up for a high five. Your hands collide with a solid thunk.
 “Not fair,” Fanboy protests. “Rooster’s obviously biased.”
“Come on, he didn’t know whose house was whose,” Phoenix says. “Besides, you weren’t even in the top five, and Payback had a hole in his roof.”
“It’s ok, Nat,” you voice oozes with fake sympathy. “I’d be upset too if I spent so much time on a shit gingerbread house.”
Fanboy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh you want to play that game?”
He lunges around the table, and you immediately grab Bradley to use as a human shield. 
“Lots of talk from someone who’s gonna hide behind her boyfriend,” he says teasingly.
“I’m not hiding.” You tighten your grip on Bradley’s waist, his hands covering yours. “You can get to me, you’re just gonna have to get through him first.”
Bradley puffs out his chest. “Nobody disparages the gingerbread contest queen. She earned her title by being the best.”
Later, because he can’t keep a secret from you (the only thing that saved the Secret Santa surprise was only being able to communicate through email), Bradley confesses that he knew which house was yours the moment he saw it. But still, that one little detail doesn’t negate the fact that you are the gingerbread contest queen.
And Bradley defends your honor well as you maneuver him from behind to keep a distance between yourself and Fanboy. Eventually, Bob steps in to broker a peace deal to end the conflict. Somehow, you are roped in for bringing more spritzes to Fanboy’s pizza night, but he can no longer dispute the fact that you have the best gingerbread house. A win is a win, and your gloating privileges remain.
Later, when everyone is winding down and glancing at their coats hanging by the door, Bradley pulls you into the kitchen.
“Honey, I think our guests are about to leave.” You try to move back toward the living room, but Bradley keeps hold of your hand. “Please, let’s not be rude.”
He shakes his head. “They’ll understand. They know. They know exactly what it's like.”
You relent because he’s right. Even you don’t know what it’s like. Loneliness has been a long lingering companion of yours, but you suffer her presence at home surrounded by close comforts and your parents a short drive away. For Bradley, for Nat, for Jake, for Bob and all the rest, it’s different. It’s their job. They suffer loneliness with mostly long shifts and shitty food for company. 
So you let Bradley chase out his – and your – loneliness in the kitchen. As he pulls you ever closer, his palms flattening you against him, you wonder how you ever survived apart when it was so clear that your souls were really just one.
You break away panting. God knows how long you were indulging, but you just about jump out of your skin when you realize Phoenix is in the kitchen right behind you, pouring herself a glass of champagne.
Your cheeks warm. “Nat!”
“Sorry, didn’t bother me, so I didn’t want to bother you.” She shrugs. “Want a glass?”
You decline, and you and Bradley shuffle out of the kitchen like teenagers caught in the act. Nearly everyone is shrugging their coats on, chatting about the night, when they catch sight of the two of you.
“Now, just where in the hell did y’all run off to?” Jake prods.
You can’t even look at them.
“Just the kitchen,” Rooster says, locking his hand in yours. “Needed to make sure the champagne was still flowing.”
Everyone shares the same knowing look that makes you want to shove them all out the door. Instead, you and Bradley post up at the door like perfect hosts and thank everyone for coming as they slip into the surprisingly chilly night. Then, only you, Bradley, and Phoenix are left.
While everyone was saying their goodbyes, she was sipping her champagne and quietly wiping sugar, gingerbread crumbs, and crusted frosting off the dining table.
“You bitch,” you say as you swoop in to help her clean up. “How come you didn’t tell me as soon as you found out?”
She laughs and takes another sip of wine. “Why don’t you ask Rooster?”
You raise your eyebrows at him. He sheepishly grins.
“In my defense,” he says, “it was a really good surprise.”
“I can’t believe you two.” You laugh. “But thank you for the surprise. It was wonderful.”
You try to direct your gratitude to them both, but something in Rooster’s expression snags your gaze and won’t let go. There’s still an unsatiated hunger heavy in his eyes.
Nat sets down her now empty glass. “Alright, lovebirds, I’ll take that as my cue to leave.”
She gathers her things, and you walk her to the door.
“Thank you.” You give her a hug. Neither of you are super touchy, but your gratitude for her tonight is almost endless. “Thank you for everything.”
“Don’t mention it.” She squeezes you tight before letting go. “Goodnight, Rooster!”
“Goodnight!” He calls from somewhere deep in the house.
“Sounds like he’s waiting for you,” she winks. “See you soon.”
“Get home safe!”
And with that, it’s just the two of you. You expect Bradley to pounce the second the door closes, but he doesn’t appear as you linger by the doorway. Odd. You check the kitchen, living room, and dining room. All empty.
“Bradley?” You call.
“Right here.”
His response floats from down the hallway, from your bedroom.
And sure enough, there he stands in the doorway. Right under the mistletoe you hung up earlier in the week, the biggest grin on your face when you pictured his homecoming some time after New Years, all the Christmas decorations gone except the lonely mistletoe, waiting patiently for his arrival. But now, you can put the mistletoe to good use while Christmas is still bright on the horizon. The warmth of the season bleeds into the warmth of your kiss. Christmas will come as surely as it would have if Bradley was on deployment, but now you welcome it. You want lazy days sipping eggnog and baking cookies. You want late, festive nights at the Hard Deck with the Daggers, getting into pool competitions with Bradley as your loyal teammate despite how disastrous you are at pool, assured in his easy we-lose-together attitude. You want a Christmas morning with presents that don’t matter because the best gift you could ask for has already appeared right by your tree tonight, wrapped in a bow.
“Don’t leave me ever again,” you whisper against his chest.
“I won’t,” he says, “I won’t.”
You both know it’s not something you can ask of him, not a promise he can keep. It’s not fair to either of you to pretend like this will be his last homecoming, the last time you both are starved of each other for months. But right now, it feels good to pretend.
You can’t think long about his future deployments, however. Your worries melt away as Bradley makes good on his promise to give you the best mistletoe kiss the world’s ever seen.
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sovereignjojoz · 1 year ago
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Matrimony
Pairing: Illumi Zoldyck x reader
Summary: you miss your husband and find out he’s been thinking of a solution to remedy that.
Warnings: suggestive, minor angst?
Notes - sugar plum pookie bookie babe illumi😘
To live together in matrimony.
That is what was promised.
Matrimony itself was a subjective matter depending on the individual. The typical concept involved two spouses living with one another, engaging in domestic affairs, all normal commodities.
Yet the Zoldyck’s were never a family who valued normality.
Even now, you could hear the hollow creak of the renovated floorboards as the breeze beneath the cracks yearned to break free of the atmosphere of listlessness.
A gentle knock sounded at the door, ever so slight, you wouldn’t had noticed it had you not been brooding. Your feet ran across the cold floor as your night dress skimmed across your legs.
Immediately your hand dashed out towards the silver door handle, a sense of hope ignited in your chest.
You opened the door a centimetre as a dimly lit candle light illuminated the surrounding darkness. “Hello?”
“Good evening missus Zoldyck,” disappointment welled in your chest, of course you had been foolish in believing it might have actually been him. “I have brought the water you requested.”
“Thank you.” You drank a copious amount of the cool liquid, setting the glass back on the polished tray.
She placed the tray down just outside of the room, briefly stepping out of the room to retrieve something. “From Master Zoldyck.” A bouquet of white orchids was placed delicately into your hands. You brought it to your face and inhaled deeply, a soft smile plastering itself on your face. He never sent a card or anything of the sort, however you didn’t mind, you thought it was very illumi.
She pivoted on her heels, pausing at the door, “would you like anything else?”
“No thank you.”
She nodded and lightly closed the door. A sigh slipped past your soft lips as you crawled back onto the king sized bed, letting the splendid silky covers caress your body.
It almost felt like a hug although it lacked any of the warmth of being embraced, just a lingering sense of frigidity. For a moment, you thought of your husband and his embrace too. It was slightly frigid and he was usually cold too, however it was a sensation you could never truly forget. His return the manor was a mystery to you, you often wondered when he’d come back to you. The manor way by no means empty, far from it with all of the household staff and residents; in fact you frequently found yourself playing with his younger siblings of conversing with his father and grandfather.
But there was no company quite like your husband’s. Although his presence was quiet (and somewhat menacing) he treated you well and indulged your every need. You couldn’t deny that you missed h dearly, you were told prior to marrying Illumi of what being married to a Zoldyck entailed but that didn’t mean you couldn’t detest the lack of communication or the time that you barely had together.
But matrimony is subjective and this is how the Zoldyck’s perceive it.
You shifted in bed, turning to face the door as the handle rattled, thinking nothing of it.
Till you saw a slender silhouette silently step into the room. Reflexively, you sprung up and crossed the room, pouncing like a cat on the lithe silhouette sending you toppling downwards.
Your fall was softened by illumi who steadied the both of you by placing his hands on your hips.
“You’re back.” You cupped his face in disbelief, feeling his defined features just to make sure you weren’t dreaming.
“Mhm.”
“I-“ you could hardly formulate nor properly covey how you felt, all this pent up longing which flowed within your veins burst out as you hugged him tighter. Then you kissed him abundantly: once on his forehead, twice on his cheek and thrice on his lips (or perhaps a little more than thrice).’
“I gather that-” you pecked his lips interrupting him, “you missed me.”
“Dearly.” You admitted. “It’s not the same without you.”
He hummed, letting unspoken words transpire between you.
His nimble fingers played with the sheer fluffy ends of your night gown, “I don’t like it when you leave.”
The slightest curve of his lips could be seen as you puffed out your cheeks, a pout present on your face.
“You know I cannot do anything about that, this is what marrying a Zoldyck entails.”
You caressed just silky smooth hair between your fingers, “I know. That doesn’t mean I have to like it…” you grumbled, “I haven’t seen you for two months.”
“Yes. It seems like it’s been a while.”
You squished his cheeks together and mockingly glared at him, hoping your falsified anger would bring out some kind of a reaction; knowing he was teasing you. “That’s an understatement., Lumi”
He surprises you by abruptly standing up, lifting you into his arms and holding you close.
“Illu-?”
“-then we shall have to find a solution for that.” He told you, throwing you onto the bed as he shed his garments then moved till he was hovering above you.
You give him your full attention as curiosity overcomes you. “What are you suggesting.”
Obsidian eyes roam over every crevice of your face as he stared at you with unprecedented earnestness.
He picked your hand up gingerly.
“Perhaps it is time we have an offspring.” He went silent, partially to see your reaction however he was also thinking upon what a baby comprised of both your features would look like. He had found himself thinking about this topic quite often these days, about a baby girl with your beautiful eyes and his luscious hair. That would be nice wouldn’t it?
“Mmm.”
He pressed a soft kiss to the palm of your hand.
“Shall I make you a mother then? That way you won’t always be by your lonesome, what do you say?”
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emilykaldwen · 11 months ago
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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy on AO3
Excerpts from the Targaryen Histories in regards to Lady Abrogail Strong, as collected by Archmaester Gyldayn
[…] Introduced by the Lord Hand's wife, Lady Cybell Reyne, Lyonel Strong and Celeste Reyne were a love match. The third and final marriage for the lord, the two of them complimented the other well. The Lady Celeste was both a kind and formidable woman, a true lioness of the Westerlands. It was said that she could speak so sweetly for nightblooms to open in the day, and command an army as easily as she could command the ladies at a summer picnic. Lord Lyonel was a quiet man, intimidating upon sight but could easily indulge in discussing more obscure moments of history with great vigor. Children would be difficult for the couple, and after miscarriages and a child who passed shortly after birth, Abrogail Strong was born in the cool, early days of spring in 109 AC. Lord Lyonel named her for one of his more obscure historical interests of the demon sorceress, Abrogail Thrune, of Asshai.
Grandmaester Mellos has the most to share during this time, having attended the Lady Celeste in her final years and thus we can take his writings as primary source. The child, Abrogail, was installed in the nursery along with the young Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. The children were soon joined by the infant Prince Aemond, raised together as kin, under the watchful eye of the Queen and Lady Celeste. The children were rambunctious and close, frequently seen together exploring and playing. Sources agree that tensions began to rise once Princess Rhaenyra's firstborn son, Jacaerys Velaryon, joined what had been affectionately dubbed The Clutch per the command of the King. Later sources suggest that the rumors of Jacaerys' bastard parentage were strengthened here as the children grew older, with many remarking that both Abrogail and Jacaerys shared the same smile and dimples. The initial rumors questioned due to the darker features the boy had compared to both his assumed parentage; it was the similarities with the young Abrogail that narrowed the potential fathers down to Ser Harwin Strong, Rhaenyra's champion and sworn shield.
Stories are told that the Hand of the King had attempted to resign but the King refused his request, and demanded that he return after setting his heir up in the Riverlands. Abrogail was meant to have accompanied them, but Larys Strong himself states that his father decided that he would send for her later. It was a decision that saved the child's life. Fire broke out in the holding, killing Lyonel and Harwin without any chance of rescue.
Grandmaester Mellos' records state that the child fell into a depression so deep, they feared she might take her own life. She had gone mute and listless, refusing to engage in activities that once delighted her, and refused to eat. She was considered unwell enough that it was deemed unwise to allow her to attend Harrenhal for her beloved father and brother's funeral. When informed of this, Lady Abrogail gave no reaction, and seemed to sink further into her grief. Septon Eustace provides an account of witnessing both Abrogail and Prince Aegon in the sept, where the Prince had joined her in her prayers. He does not know what words were exchanged between the pair, but witnessed a smile grace the Lady's face before he led her out by the hand to ride Sunfyre, a past time that the pair would indulge in together for years to come.
[…] There was little surprised when, on Prince Aegon's nameday in 126 AC, the official betrothal was announced between the prince and the Lady Abrogail. What was surprising was the declaration that the pair would reside in the Riverlands. House Targaryen had one holding outside the Iron Throne, that of Dragonstone, which Aenys Targaryen had made the seat of the heir. While many had expected the king to name his first born son heir during the festivities, it appeared that the king had other ideas. Had Queen Alicent sought to bolster her son's position and gain the support of the Riverlands when the time came? Or had King Viserys finally stepped in between the factions of his household, declaring Aegon's seat to be gained through his wife, and a holding that held such tragedy and foreboding?
@fyeahhotdocs, @ocappreciation, @stannisfactions, @fragilestorm, @starcrossedjedis, @darkwolf76, @arrthurpendragon, @dopedaegus, @hiddenqveendom, @mantillon, @lightofthearrow, @songsonacliffside, @acrossthesestars, @insabecs, @prosemoireia, @dragonsbone, @corporalicent, @jadore-andor, @selfproclaimedunicorn, @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, @notbloodraven, @impales, @arcielee, @thesunfyre4446, @thatmagickjuju, @kingsmakers
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apomaro-mellow · 1 year ago
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King&Prince 1
Steve moved like the sword was an extension of his body. Normally, he thought nothing of it when he sparred with some of the knights. But today his father was watching. Steve had been the apple of his parents' eyes once. But it didn't take long before everything he did turned from 'adequate' to 'not good enough'. Alric watched his son from a window high above.
Steve had showed promise when he was coming up. He wasn't especially bright but in body he was sound. He had surrounded himself and made himself the center of attention of the young lads of the court, as he should. Alric encouraged Steve having an entourage who looked up to him and hung on his every word. But at some point, he'd grown... well the best way he could put it was listless. No longer did he have a crowd who trailed after him. He had discussed it at length with his wife and they both agreed he needed something to whip him back into shape.
And a good smack just didn't do the trick anymore.
Alric had his suspicions. That Steve had gone soft for one reason or another. The cause mattered little to him. What was important was fixing it while there was still a chance. Alric's slight frown turned into a deep glare. A young squire had fumbled and stumbled with his practice blade and Steve stayed his hand while he waited for the other to right himself. Whatever happened to the son who would have struck down any enemy without a thought?
"We could be going to war soon", Alric said late into the night. He stood before the fireplace, staring into it. Juliana sat, nursing a drink.
"I thought we were doing all that we could to avoid that. If that Mad King retaliates with all his forces..."
"He won't. He talks a big game. My father knew it and my grandfather knew it." The previous kings of the Harrington line had all fought with the beast one-on-one. It was rare to hear about him moving any number of soldiers. But it was well documented that he had power over a horde of monsters. If he ever decided to invade, Alric had to admit, if only to himself, that he would be strapped for man power right now. But he was assured that the Animal across the border wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do anything.
"What does this have to do with Steven?", Juliana asked, worry creeping into her voice. She knew what her husband might say next but was dreading it. They had discussed before but...
"I'm going to send him to the mountains. To the keep we've maintained in the north. The retainers up there will put him back together again."
"Alric please, they'll destroy him."
He walked from the fireplace to the window. "They'll make him into a proper king. Something that we've been unable to do somehow. If a few pieces of him get chipped off in the process, then all the better."
And if it was more than a few pieces, if Steve was completely broken, well Alric could work with that as well.
They announced it about a week later, when the preparations had already been made and Steve walked into his room to find a servant already packing his bags.
"You're sending me away?!", Steve shouted as he nearly crashed into his father's study.
Alric had his back to Steve, looking out onto the horizon where their enemies lay in the distance. He was like a stone and Steve almost took a step toward him when he caught his reflection in the window. He was looking at Steve through said reflection, clearly waiting on something. Steve took a breath and turned around. He walked out, closed the door. Now on the other side, he knocked.
"Who is it?", Alric asked.
"Steven, Father", Steve announced himself.
"You may enter."
With a sigh, Steve, opened the door, gently this time, entered, and then closed it behind him, but stayed by it until his father invited him closer.
"What brings you to my study, Steven?", Alric asked as he turned around.
"I had to hear from someone else that you're sending me away. Why?"
Alric sat down behind his desk and templed his hands. "Why am I sending you away or why did you hear it from someone else?"
"I don't understand? Did I do something wrong?" Good princes didn't get sent far away to a frozen hell.
"It's to build you some character. You'll thank me for it later."
"But why am I going?"
Alric suddenly stood up and the abruptness made Steve take a step back towards the door. His pulse quickened as his father slowly moved around to stand in front of the desk.
"You may have forgotten, but I am your king. You go where I order you to. And perhaps while you're there, you'll learn some manners."
"How long am I to stay?"
"Until I get a report that you have become a proper prince."
Steve turned and opened the door, ready to leave when he father cleared his throat. Steve looked down at his feet as he closed the door and turned back around, asking for permission and having it granted before leaving the study.
It was honestly just his luck. Winter would be over in a couple of weeks and spring would be finally showing its face and he was about to be shipped off to the coldest place on earth. On the day of his departure, his mother kissed his cheek, the last bit of human warmth he'd probably be feeling for a while. And it was just as chilly as a snowflake on his skin. There were platitudes as they were packing his things away into the carriage, but Steve felt like he only heard half of it.
As the carriage set off, Steve realized that he honestly wasn't leaving much behind. He had no friends, and his parents were devoid of anything but disappointment. He would miss the greenery, though. Steve kept his eyes on the passing scenery, taking in as much as he could before it would be taken up by snow and rocks. Steve was so deep in his own wallowing, he had forgotten that the path would take them close to the border. And as the carriage edged closer, an ambush lied in wait.
Part 3
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atinylittlepain · 2 years ago
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Firehouse Harrington
firefighter!Steve Harrington x f!reader/f!oc
series masterlist
warnings | 18+ SMUT, wooh boy very much smut, angst, PTSD-like behavior, rough sex, slight dubcon in the beginning, seriously it's very much smut, ok???
a/n | this was inspired by a post I saw from @carolmunson about Mr. Harrington being a fireman, need I say more? Will definitely be writing for this man again.
For a long time, Steve felt like he wasn’t really great at anything. School never came easy to him, getting by with barely passing grades. Sure he was alright at sports in high school, but that faded fast. And King Steve? Well, that was all a facade. It seemed like everyone around him had some sort of talent. Nancy was a great writer. Jonathan, a great photographer. Robin was wicked smart. Eddie had the guitar. And Steve was just… Steve. 
After Vecna was defeated, he felt listless, like he was just moving through life without any direction. He didn’t have the grades for college. He was stuck in a dead-end job. All his friends were moving on to bigger and better things, and he was watching grass grow in Hawkins. At least when the world was ending, he had a purpose. 
But then, when Operation Desert Storm kicked off in 1990, Steve realized what he was great at. He enlisted that year, shipped straight to the gulf, because the one thing Steve knew he was great at was running towards danger and somehow figuring out how to handle it. It was the worst two years of his life, fighting a useless war that no one really understood. But it was there that he met some older men, vets who had reentered service. They told him that, when he got back to civilian life, the best job for a man with a taste for chaos would be at a fire station. And they were right.
Before he served, there was still a softness that Steve let show to the people he cared for, but something slid into place, steel plates over his heart. When he returned, he was harder, quieter. He moved to Indiannapolis, and while he was only twenty-six, he fit right in with the older men at one of the local fire stations. His days fell into simple rhythms. He smoked like a chimney, waiting for the alarm to blare so he could go into auto-pilot action. He never felt more at peace than when he was running into a burning building. It made him feel useful. 
On his nights off, some of the other men at the station would usually drag him out to bars, more often strip clubs, always goading each other into trying to get laid. Steve hated it, usually getting himself so drunk he could only remember slivers of the night behind his throbbing headache the next morning. The men were downright predatory towards women, wolf-whistling and shouting from the open garage at anything with legs. Steve hated that too, but he joined in because another part of him really liked it, the false power he felt when he’d flash a smarmy grin at women passing by. 
Today was no different. An uncharacteristically sweltering day towards the end of August. It was time for monthly maintenance on the trucks and Steve had been tasked with hosing them down. He was stripped down to just his white wife beater tucked into a pair of work pants, his dog tags sticking against the slightly damp skin of his chest. He heard one of the men let out a low whistle, whipping his head around in time to catch a glance of a pretty thing in a sweet little dress.
“Hey, sugar, you wanna come take a ride on a real fire truck?”  
“Pretty girl, where you going so fast, come spend some time with me!”
The men continued lobbing borderline obscene phrases her way. Steve just chuckled, watching her stop, stricken by the men’s shouts. Her knuckles turned white around the strap of her bag.
“In your dreams, perverts. Go fuck yourselves.” The men howled at her retaliation. Usually the women didn’t stick around to give them a piece of their minds. She flipped them off and then kept walking. Steve couldn’t help but smile at her boldness. A brief interruption to the usual rhythm.
They got a call that night from the Indiana University Campus. A microwave had exploded in one of the dorm’s communal kitchens. The fire itself was not a big deal, but they had evacuated the entire building, a frantic crowd of teens to sift through outside. Steve and his team have been trying to figure out just how the microwave exploded in the first place, and it’s proving near impossible as they try to talk to hysterical co-eds. A freshman points him to that floor’s RA and Steve feels his stomach twist when he sees who she is. The same girl that flipped him and his cat-calling team off just that afternoon. She was still wearing that pretty dress, now with a large sweater thrown over it in the cooling night. When she saw him approaching, it was clear she remembered him as well, letting out an incredulous laugh before furrowing her brow at him.
“You’re who they called? Fan-fucking-tastic. Tell me, did you put out the fire with an extinguisher? Or did you just harass it until it smothered out?” Steve’s jaw is slack. The mouth on this chick.
“Ma’am, my team and I are just trying to figure out what caused the fire in the first place, then we’ll be out of your hair.” She huffs.
“Well, I don’t think it takes a genius to put two and two together. You take a witless freshman coupled with an ancient microwave and sooner or later you’re gonna have a fire on your hands.” Her arms are crossed over her chest, hip cocked to the side as she glares at Steve. 
“Are you referring to the freshmen you’re supposed to be in charge of? I was told you’re the RA for the floor the fire was on.” She falters, just slightly. Steve’s got her on that one.
“Look, the fire is out, douchebag. Thank you so much for your help, now can you just let us get back into our fucking dorms?” Steve’s about to tell her what he thinks of her foul mouth, when one of his team calls him over. A resident has admitted they had started the fire by putting a metal fork into the microwave on accident. It’s a quick flurry of activity, giving the kid a stern talking to, and then clearing the scene. As the students start to shuffle back into the building, Steve cranes his neck from the truck, trying to find her again, but she’s lost in the crowd. He collapses into bed that night thinking about her very angry, very pretty face.
It’s Friday, Steve’s night off. He’s been prodded out to a bar by some of the other men at the station. The music is blaring and the lights are dim and all Steve wants is for the (very) stiff drinks to keep coming until everything starts to blur a little. Both of his buddies have slinked off with nameless women, getting their dicks wet while they can. Steve sits alone at the bar, nursing a few fingers of whiskey, when he hears a very familiar voice ordering a beer. He whips around in his seat, and sure enough, there she is, this time in jeans that fit too good and a little tank top. His throat tightens, and then she sees him and lets out that same disbelieving laugh.
“I must be more drunk than I thought because there’s no way in hell I’m actually seeing you again.” Steve snorts at her exasperation, throwing back the rest of his whiskey, grinning around the sting.
“Sorry, baby, we meet again.”
“I’m not your baby, dickweed. Have a nice night.” She spins to walk away but Steve, seemingly loosened up by the few glasses he’s already had, stands, grabbing her wrist to yank her back towards him. She stumbles on her feet, body pressing up against his to get her bearings.
“What the fuck is your problem? You can’t just—”
Her words die in her throat as Steve brings one large palm to rest along her neck, thumb pressing under her chin to tilt her face up to him.
“You know, you should really be careful how you run that mouth, baby. Someone might have half a mind to put it to better use.” His other hand rests on her hip, fingers dipping just below the waist of her jeans. She sneers at him.
“Oh yeah? Someone like you? You gonna put me in my place, big, tough, fireman?” His fingers on her neck firm up, pressing harder into her skin. The music’s too loud to hear, but he can feel the whimper thrumming in her throat. He splits into a snide smile.
“Oh baby, I think you want me to teach you a lesson.” Her eyes are blown wide, staring up at him, lips parted.
“Mmhm. In fact, I think you’d enjoy it.” He’s dipped down to let his lips murmur right up against her ear. He can feel the way she shudders against him. She gasps when he jerks back from her, grabbing one of her wrists to pull her behind him through the crowd. Her protests die in the thumping bass of the music.
He finds the bathroom towards the back of the bar, dragging her in behind him. It’s empty, and he locks the door before turning back to her.
They’re on each other in an instant. It’s a fight for dominance, all clashing teeth and clicking spit, hands grasping at whatever bare skin they can find. He wraps his hand around her throat, pulling back to look at her, swollen lips and darkened eyes.
“My name’s Steve, baby. I’m gonna wanna hear you saying it. Do you understand?” She nods, trying to dip back into his mouth, but he muscles her around until he’s pressing her up against the wall, digging his thick thigh between her legs to press harshly against her clothed cunt. She lets out a whine.
“I said, do you understand?” He presses against her harder, drawing a gasp from her.
“Yes.”
“Yes what, bunny?”
“Yes, Steve.” He grins, keeping his hand around her throat as he licks back into her mouth. He brings his other hand to her jeans, quickly undoing them and shoving his hand down the front of her panties. When he swipes through her folds, she moans, throwing her head back against the wall.
“Aw, you’re fucking soaked. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you like me, baby.” She whimpers as he presses hard circles into her clit, starting to grind her hips against his hand. He slips two fingers down to her entrance and she preens as he starts to thrust up into her. She’s putty in his hands, a writhing mess.
“This all you need, huh doll? Just needed my fingers to shut that dirty mouth of yours up? Look how desperate you are. Fucking slut. You like getting fucked in some dirty little bathroom by a stranger, huh? You that much of a whore?” He can feel her clenching around his fingers with his words, can tell she’s close. He takes his fingers away, and she whines at the loss of his touch.
“Asked you a question, doll. Tell me, are you that big of a slut?” 
“Fuck– please, p-please keep going. I was so fucking close– please keep g-going.” He just tuts, stepping back from her, noting how unsteady he is without his hand holding her up by her neck.
“Still such a dirty mouth, I think it’s time we put it to better use, yeah?” Her mascara is running, and though she still glares at him, she nods.
“Get on your knees, like a good girl.” He starts unbuckling his belt, watching as she slowly sinks to her knees.
Her eyes widen when he takes his cock out, stroking himself lazily before stepping forward to run the head along her bottom lip.
“Gonna be good for me, baby?” She nods, gazing up at him through her damp eyelashes.
He bends down, bringing his hand to stroke her cheek before smacking her across the face. It’s light, but still enough to make her head turn, she gasps.
“Words, doll.”
“Yes, Steve, I’m gonna be good for you.” He grins, standing back upright, guiding his dick to her lips. It’s heaven as she sinks her mouth down onto his cock. When she gets about halfway down, she starts to try to pull back, but Steve has another idea. He grabs onto her hair, fisting it to keep her in place. She whimpers, bringing her palms to his thighs to try to push away.
“Shh, shh, baby. You wanna be good for me, right? You gotta take it all, pretty. Take all of me down that little throat.” He starts to cant his hips forward, until he can feel her nose grazing his pelvis, her throat constricting around his cock. He pulls her off his dick by her hair and she sputters, eyes watery and choking on air. 
“Go ahead, baby. Keep being good for me.” He doesn’t even have to guide her, she dips back in, hollowing out her cheeks around his dick before taking all of him again. Steve groans when he hears her little gags. She slowly finds a rhythm, taking him as deep as she can and pulling off to suckle at the tip.
“Got a perfect mouth, bunny. Fuck– just needed something to do with it, huh?” She moans at that and the vibrations around his cock make him throw his head back.
“You like this, baby? Getting your throat fucked?” She hums in response. Steve chuckles.
“God, you really are a whore.” He looks down and can see that she’s dipped her hand into her panties. Steve yanks her back by her hair, causing her to gasp.
“Did I say you could touch yourself, doll?” She’s a mess, spit drooling down her chin, her makeup all but fucked off. She shakes her head.
“N-no, daddy.” Her eyes go wide the minute she says it, seemingly shocked by her own words. Steve’s brain short circuits for a moment before he chuckles.
“Oh, doll. Is that what you need? You need daddy to teach you a lesson?” He’s already hauling her up by her arms, pressing her front down against the sink countertop.
“Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s gonna give you exactly what you need.” He yanks her jeans and panties down in one harsh swoop, causing her to whine from the stark chill of the air.
He runs his palm from the back of her thigh up to the meat of her ass, kneading into the skin there before drawing his hand back and slapping her hard. She jerks forward into the counter, and for a moment, Steve worries he’s gone too far, but then a long drawn out moan sounds from the back of her throat. He smirks.
“You’re something else, bunny. Why don’t you tell daddy what you need, huh?” He leans over her, cock slipping between her slick thighs. He pulls her head up by her hair until she’s looking at him through the mirror. He brings his lips right to her ear.
“What do you need, baby?”
“You, daddy. I need you.” He rears back to smack her ass again. 
“Gotta be more specific than that, doll.” She gasps, “y-your cock. Please, I need your cock. Need you to fuck me, daddy, please–”
“Shh, shh, pretty baby. Just had to ask, yeah? Use your words like a good girl. Daddy’s gonna give it to you.”
He strokes his cock between her folds, groaning at how wet she is before pressing up against her entrance. She keens as he starts to push in, back arching under him.
Steve lets out a low moan, “fuck, bunny, think your pretty little pussy can take all of me? S’fucking tight, christ.” She gasps as he continues to press forward, wiggling her hips back to take more of him.
“Yes, yes, I can take it, I can take it– fuck– please keep going, Steve.” They both sigh when his hips meet the plush of her ass. He hovers over her, pressing his forehead between her shoulder blades.
“God, you’re perfect. Fucking made for me.” He presses a kiss to the nape of her neck, “can I move, baby? You ok?” 
“Yes, yeah, please fuck me. Want you to fuck me, Steve.” That’s all the permission he needs, starting a desperate pace as he rolls his hips against her. His dog tags have slipped out of the collar of his shirt and are trailing the top of her spine as he continues to fuck her.
He brings one hand to snake down her front, finding her clit and drawing firm swipes across it, “need you to come for me, baby. Want you to come on my cock. Can you do that for me, pretty?” She whines as he starts to draw sloppy circles around her clit.
“Y-yes, gonna come for you. Don’t stop– fuck– don’t stop.” He’s practically laying over her now, grinding his hips deeper into her. Steve can feel the pleasure pulling taut in his spine, on the brink of snapping.
“Come, baby. Come for me.” That’s all it takes. She yelps out a broken cry and he can feel her pulsing around him. He quickly pulls out, pumping himself a few times before he’s spurting all over her ass, shivering as he comes down. They’re both breathing hard, he rests his palms on the countertop, framing her body with his arms. She’s sunk down on her forearms, head dipped between her elbows. Steve takes a few deep breaths, tucking himself away before stepping back to take in his cooling spend dripping down her thighs.
“Shit, I’m sorry. Let me clean you up.”
He keeps a hand pressed to the hilt of her spine, a reassurance as he grabs a paper towel and gets it damp before drawing it across the mess he made. She whimpers under his ministrations, and he feels his heart catch in his chest. He gets down on his knees behind her, pressing a kiss to the back of each thigh before he slowly pulls her jeans back up around her hips. Steve can’t explain it, just a while ago she was making his blood boil, but now all he wants to do is take care of her.
He steps back, letting her press up and turn around to lean back against the counter. She swipes away the drippy mascara under her eyes. Steve’s fingers flicker with the urge to cup her cheek, stroke that soft bit of skin where he can still see the dampness of her tears. She’s smiling, still a little dazed. He clears his throat.
“Wanna apologize. For that day outside the station.” Her brow furrows.
“You weren’t the one howling at me, last time I checked.”
“No, but I didn’t stop them. I know that’s not right. They shouldn’t be talking like that to anyone. I should’ve stopped them.” She shrugs.
“I’ve heard worse. I should apologize too. For being so rude that night outside the dorm. I was really stressed, you know? And seeing you brought all that rage at those bastards back. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were just trying to do your job.” She holds out her hand to him and he tentatively takes it in a firm shake. Steve speaks first.
“I’m sorry, but I’m realizing that I don’t even know your name.” She smiles and when she tells it to him, his brain starts playing it on an infinite loop, like a ditzy drugged-out drumbeat.
“Might be doing things a little backwards here, but are you hungry, wanna go get something to eat?” She grins, stepping in closer to him to let her palms span over his chest.
“Uh, yeah, you just gave me the workout of a lifetime. I’m fucking starving.” Steve feels like he’s melting under her touch. Something long dormant starting to stir.
“Still gonna have to work on that dirty mouth, huh, pretty?”
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electricabsolution · 1 month ago
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im so obsessed with how similar Thorin and Boromir are despite being in two completely different stories. their whole arcs are SO similar, from beginning to end. especially the end.
the whole prince of a failing kingdom vibe … makes them both pretty grim even if they don’t always act that way. Boromir isnt going to be king exactly, but the fact that his father is (just) the steward puts him in the same sort of listless position that Thorin is in to me. there’s uncertainty. (and, in that, loss of hope.)
Thorin gets obsessed with the arkenstone, similar to how Boromir becomes swayed by the ring. they’re the two main characters who become “““bad guys”””.
however. ignoring all of that, it’s the nature of their death scenes thats really striking, in the sense that they’re both purposefully short. empty.
im talking about the book versions here, by the way. they do die heroically in battle! and we root for them! but Tolkien does not let us watch at all.
in the Hobbit, the narrative follows Bilbo during the battle, where he meets an already dying Thorin. same in TTT, it follows Aragorn to find Boromir already riddled with arrows. we aren’t privy to the fights themselves.
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the movies show the epic battles, of course they do! its gripping and emotional. but Tolkien is writing about war, from personal experience. he’s telling the readers that we shouldn’t want to read about something that horrific. so he doesn’t allow it to be entertainment.
how many enemies they killed in battle, or what sick fighting moves they made were not deemed important enough for Tolkien to write about. what was important, though, were the connections they made with other people before they died. that although their burdens were too much, and they made mistakes along the way, they still have friends there to remind them that there is still hope for a better future. even if it’s difficult to see.
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lalunanymph · 9 months ago
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𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 — f. megumi, i. yuuji
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─── Caught between a man with a hidden curse inside his body and another man carrying the heavy burden of his father's sins, your fate was sealed the second you crossed paths with them
tw. language, mention of injuries, mentions of food, aged up! characters, mentions of pregnancy, violence, degrading language, slut shaming (from sukuna ofc)
masterlist | playlist
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CHAPTER 2
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“Don’t you think it's overkill that they are keeping her bound in the basement?” Yuuji asked, scratching the back of his neck.
Ever the blunt one, neither of his other two friends bothered to ask the pink-haired sorcerer to use his inner voice anymore. They simply let him say whatever popped up in his preoccupied mind.
Nobara shrugged, chewing slowly, her brown eyes listless. 
“Megumi wants to speak to her alone.”
“Yeah, but… it’s not like she's a curse user or even remotely evil. She saved that old woman.” 
His comrade sighed and stretched. “Who knows what that sea urchin is thinking? I think he wants to know what her deal is.”
They were loitering in the cafeteria, the both of them unable to sleep, replaying what they saw today. 
Nobara was breaking her intermittent fasting rule to snack on Megumi’s leftover convenience store sandwich without his permission and Yuuji was stalking across the floor, ruminating on what Sukuna had said.
“But, it seems like your little friend recognized her,” she said, referring to the King of Curses that resided in him. 
Yuuji stopped in his tracks and shrugged. “I could ask him if you want.”
The young woman rolled her eyes and shook her head. “The last time he came out, he rambled on about how much he wanted to end the world. I, for one, would like to have some peace and quiet.” 
The two sorcerers cast their gaze in the general direction of the basement slash shrine, both thinking the same thing but not wanting to admit it.
What they saw in the alleyway was a show of power they had only seen on a grade 1 sorcerer. 
And power and control over something as insubstantial as shadows took a lot of training. 
Training that somehow this strange girl did not have. 
Whoever she was, she scared them and they hoped Megumi would be able to get the truth out of her.
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The ropes were taut around your wrists and you shifted uncomfortably in the chair.
It was a good thing that this room held no mirrors.
The rustle of the paper talismans around your body was loud in the awkward silence. His eyes on you made you squirm and you couldn’t look at him. 
In contrast, Megumi was quiet, his expression drawn and tense. Behind him, the headmaster of Jujutsu Tech looked on, willing to let his student take over this interrogation session. 
“Again,” he bit out, making you flinch. “What is your name and where do you come from? How did you leave Jujutsu Tech? Which clan do you belong to?”
At the mention of a clan, you lifted your head up, meeting his blank stare with a defiant one. “I don’t belong to any clan. I’m an orphan.”
Megumi grunted, bracing the heel of his palms on his spread knees. You tried not to quiver at the blatant strength radiating off him. You didn’t even need to ask about his powers; you had seen it first hand when his Shikigami appeared. He was one of the few shadow wielders who could tame them and that feat alone made him a formidable sorcerer. 
You had to play your cards right.
“At least we’re getting somewhere.”
A harsh throat clearing caught both of your attention. “Don’t you want to wait until Gojo-san comes back before we interrogate her?”
Megumi cast his gaze to the principal. The soft glow of the candlelight filling the room threw shadows across his face, his long eyelashes caressing his cheekbones. 
“I want to speak to her first. I don’t think she would pose a real threat…” He trailed off as if reconsidering that and you nodded to reassure him. 
It seemed like a good time as ever to reveal the real reason why you were miles away from your home.
“I will tell you everything from start to finish,” you muttered and your gaze flitted towards the hard-faced principal. “But only to Fushiguro-san.”
Principal Yaga grunted. “Anything you want to tell him, you can say it in front of me.”
You shook your head. “I’ve been given explicit orders to only speak to Fushiguro-san and him alone.”
At the mention of orders, the two men glanced at each other. Yaga conceded and left the room, closing the door behind him with a loud thud. Megumi turned his gaze back to you and you dropped your eyes, shy to have been caught staring at him.
“Well?” he said gruffly. “It’s just us. What do you want to tell me?”
You cleared your throat and sank back in the chair, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts.
When you opened them, he was still waiting with that same impassive face.
“I meant it when I told you that I needed your help to bring honor back to my family,” you started. “I come from the countryside. I was born to a humble family and I had two older brothers. When I was five, my mother told me a story of one of our ancestors who used to belong to the Zen’in clan.”
A flicker of interest passed across his expression. 
“He denounced them as he wasn’t a sorcerer. He had no cursed energy and was fed up with their cruel ways. They erased his name from the canals of history and for centuries, our family lineage lived in relative peace. Until I was born.”
At this, you had to pause, fighting back the rising panic.
Megumi leaned in closer. “Go on.”
That simple sentence and the fact that he was listening intently made you slowly ease back from the edge of nervousness. This was a story that you were not used to telling. Indeed, only you and your mother knew of the truth since your father passed away. 
“My mother told me when I was born that the world went dark for a few seconds. It fulfilled the words of my ancestor’s prophecy; that one stronger than the innate shadow wielders will return and restore balance back to scorned non-curse users. Starting with the Zen’in clan.”
You could see that his mouth was mashed into a thin line. 
“And when my father found out about me, he wanted to reach out to them. To beg for their protection in exchange for me. The leader of the clan came to see him, but he did not give up my location without a promise of protection from the Zen’ins. They did not concede to his requests and… they killed him right where he stood.”
Gathering a deep breath and courage, you recounted the next moment with a shaky breath. 
“They went for my brothers next. My mother placed them with my grandmother. All of them turned up dead over the next few years. They wanted to teach my family a lesson and chased us for five years. No matter where we went, they would somehow find us. My mother took me to an orphanage, begging them to change my name and take care of me. I have not seen her since that day.”
“Why did they want you so bad?”
Your eyes fell to the floor and you whispered, “They wanted to buy me off my mother, but she said ‘no’. She knew that if the Zen’ins got their hands on me, I would be nothing but a spare womb for them to be filled with babies until one of their sons would inherit my technique.”
Megumi made a sound of disgust at the back of his throat. 
“She did her best to keep me safe.” You sighed. “As for why I’m here; I met an ex-sorcerer back in my countryside. He told me of a school dedicated to the study of cursed techniques and told me that I would meet another scorned Zen’in. And then, I shadow-travelled here and you found me.”
Megumi sat back, absorbing your story. He ran a hand down his face and fixed you with a tired look. “That doesn’t make sense. How would I help you with your family?”
You gave a broken chuckle. “There was a second part of the prophecy.” 
At this, his gaze became sharper, focused on your face. 
“The second part of the prophecy states that when the strong one is born, in order to reclaim back the power of the scorned one, he or she would have to… bear an heir with the leader of the clan. An heir that would unite the two warring sides.”
His brow furrowed in confusion and you realized with dismay that he had not caught on to your meaning. You gathered your courage and plowed through with your explanation. 
“In this case, it would mean that in order to help preserve my remaining family lineage and bridge the chasm between both families, you and I…”
Megumi caught on to your meaning and his face flushed a deep red.
He stood up and stalked away from you, arms crossed in front of his chest, suddenly unable to look at you. The air was thick and hot; palpable with both tight tension and awkwardness.
You made the brave choice to break it with a whisper of his name.
“Fushiguro?”
He jerked his head towards you, a deep frown lining his mouth.
“It’s for the best of both our families. I know we have just met, but I can see that you’re the next Zen’in leader. I heard all about your history from a family friend. You hate them, too, right?”
He didn’t reply to your question, preferring to keep quiet. 
His silence was getting to you, and when he cleared his throat, you waited with a held breath. 
“That is… insane,” he whispered. “I cannot—I’ve just met you, I… I don’t know…”
“I know,” you murmured. This truth was not easy on you, as well, but at least you had a few years to adjust to that reality. He was hearing this heavy prediction for the first time. 
“But, there’s another catch to the prophecy.”
He waited for you to continue.
“If an heir is not produced, the innate shadow ability that you have and the innate control over the shadow world that I have would fall into the hands of someone dangerous. All that amount of power distributed to someone unworthy and not begotten by the technique holder would result in a mad leader—someone cruel who does not care for the balance of the world and would rather watch it burn to the ground until all that’s left are shadows.”
If it was possible, the furrow in his brow deepened.
“I’ve… I need to speak to my other relatives,” he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
You nodded, and to your surprise, he knelt down, unbinding your wrists. The ropes melted off you and you winced as the blood returned back to that restricted part of your body. You picked the talisman seal off your head and chucked it to the floor.
“Those would not really stop me,” you said, and he snapped his attention back to you.
“What?”
“I’m not a curse user,” you said in amusement. “I thought I told you that in the alleyway. And this whole room was full of shadows. I could’ve easily summoned them and cut through the rope.” 
He regarded you with a leveled gaze, though you could see a flicker of fear behind his dark blue eyes. 
“How kind of you to spare us the embarrassment,” he said drily. You tried not to smile at the sarcasm in his tone. 
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said earnestly. “Minus the pending prophecy that made things awkward between us, I think you’re a really cool person.”
He fought back a scoff, muttering softly, “But, you’ve only just met me.”
“Don’t you know?” 
The astonishment in your tone stopped him short.
“Know what?”
“You’re well-known everywhere. Ever since your father sold you to the Zen’in clan, your name has been whispered around the whole country.” You smiled and pointed your thumb to your chest. “How else would you think even a country-bumpkin like me knew what you were capable of?” 
This time, you turned serious, your hand and bright expression dropping. “Your powers are feared, Megumi. But, I don’t have to tell you that. I saw how you controlled Shikigami. That is a talent that comes into the world once every millennium.”
If it wasn’t for the seriousness of this situation, you would’ve found his flustered expression and pink cheeks adorable. 
“Thanks, I guess.”
It was your turn to scoff. “You’re welcome.”
“Your powers,” he started. “They are… formidable. Did you have someone teach you how to control them?”
At that question, you ducked your head down so that he wouldn’t see the conflicted expression on your face. “That is, um, complicated to answer.”
“Huh? It’s a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question,” he deadpanned.
“I know, it’s just…” You trailed off with a frown. “I guess no one helped me. I… I once got stuck in that shadow void.”
A look of confusion eclipsed his face. 
You shot him a smile. “I guess that’s a story to tell you for another time.”
He paused, looking you straight in the eyes. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Oh!” you started, suddenly feeling bashful. “I’m Y/N.”
It seemed customary that you should bow to him and you did so, keeping your gaze peeled on him. Megumi returned your gesture of respect and inclined his head. His otherwise impassive gaze flickered with mild interest when he watched your cheeks burn warmly from his incessant staring. 
“I guess you already know my name,” he said gruffly. 
“Yeah,” you muttered, abashed. “I guess so.”
The room suddenly felt too warm, and it seemed that the both of you could sense that the atmosphere was taking an unexpected turn. The candlelight that felt ominous when you were brought into this room, bound and waiting for an interrogation, seemed softer now. 
Warmer and welcoming. 
It brought out the individual lashes on his face that were too long and pretty to belong to a boy, and the scowl he wore fractured slightly at the edges as his mouth parted in shock.
You both caught each other’s eyes and averted your gazes, the same tension from the hospital room shadowing the both of you. 
“I think—”
“We should go—”
You both fell silent, cheeks red and mortification settling all around you.
“Have you eaten?”
You shook your head at his question, not missing his soft sigh of surrender.
“Fine. Let’s get you something to eat.”
You were starting to realize that Megumi’s silence meant he was deep in thought. He barely spoke to you when he got you some ramen noodles, preferring to stand a little way to the side as you sat down and ate your first meal of the day. He had his arms crossed around his chest once more, and you didn’t need a body language reader to know he was uncomfortable.
“Megumi?” you called and watched as his dark blue eyes flickered to yours. The clench in his jaw loosened and he regarded you with a furrow in his brow.
“What?”
The silence was getting to you and you wanted to know his thoughts, however gloomy or dark they may be, judging from his impassive stare.
“Are you okay?”
He dropped his gaze to his boots, muttering, “Yeah.”
When the silence got a little too unbearable, you stood up and stretched, fixing him with a smile. “I should return back to the hospital room. I think I’ll be discharged tomorrow and you all have to decide what to do with me.”
He echoed your last words with confusion. “What to do with you?”
“Yeah,” you said with a shrug. “Whether I’ll be banished, have my memories wiped, or who knows—maybe even dropped back to my little village.”
To your surprise, he shook his head. “No. They would want you to help us. Your powers would be a great asset.”
You blinked and this time, he was the one who rendered you silent. 
Megumi arched his brow. “You okay?”
You shook your head and fixed him with a bright smile. “Yeah. It’s the… it’s the first time someone has asked me to help them. I’m not used to it.”
“You were raised in the country, right?” he asked, begrudgingly remembering that bit about your story. 
“Yup,” you chirped. “It’s a good thing I can shadow travel. I don’t know how to use the train or the buses.”
Megumi evaluated you with those deep blue eyes. “I’ll make you a deal.”
He rubs the back of his head as he considers his next words, knowing you were waiting for him to speak. “I’ll teach you how to get around Tokyo, and you teach me how to shadow travel.”
You pause, considering his offer. It seemed harmless on the outside, but you knew that once he mastered the art of moving in the shadow realm, he would be unstoppable. If this was any ordinary person, you would be wary; power like this was dangerous if it was in the wrong hands. But, Megumi didn’t seem like a bad guy to you. He was taciturn and quiet most of the time, but that didn’t mean he was evil.
You slowly nod. “Okay. Deal.”
He gives you a version of his farewell, dipping his head slightly. “You know how to get back to the infirmary?”
You hesitated and he made a face. 
“Right. Sorry. Forgot that you were unconscious when you first arrived. I’ll take you back there.”
You finish the last of your noodles and throw the cup into a nearby bin. He leads the way and you both walk quietly down the empty hallway, both of your minds occupied. You replayed his offer in your mind, wondering if this solemn young man in front of you was slowly opening up to your presence. 
Megumi snuck silent glances at you, his mouth set into a frown. He was deep in thought and was trying to figure out if he could trust you. 
Years of experience taught the young dark-haired man to be wary of his clan. A part of him wondered if Toji would still be awake so that he could speak to his father about you. He wanted to know if the story you told him matched up and whether you were being truthful. He couldn’t be too careful.
After all, it was the Zen’ins who ripped his family apart.
Toji told him countless stories about how the Zen’ins would not stop harassing him until he made a promise to sell Megumi to them. 
They spent years following his family, sending men to stalk his parent's move and even going so far as to foil any plan of his father’s efforts to live an ordinary life. 
They weren’t given a choice in this matter.
Toji folded. The Zen’ins were formidable foes if they were crossed. Power and money ensured that they had the means to corner and pressure anyone to bend to their whims. 
Megumi supposed he couldn’t blame him. Toji was a struggling young man when his mother passed away, leaving him to take care of a newborn baby. Then, he married Tsumiki’s mom in the hopes that she could help him raise a son, but that woman proved to be traitorous when Toji caught her in a deal with Naobito Zen’in.
She was banished from seeing her daughter and stepson and his father went back to square one. 
He was fifteen when his father first reached out to him and told him that he was still alive. At first, Megumi had slammed the phone down, too angry to even give his father a chance to speak. Toji had respected his son’s wish for space and waited for him to come around.
Megumi eventually did and the moment his father heard his voice at the end of the line, he swore he heard a gust of relief in the older Fushiguro’s tone when he exhaled Megumi’s name in disbelief. His father had promised to tell him everything—sparing no detail—once they met each other. 
That was five years ago.
Megumi was now the heir apparent to the Zen’in clan, a position his father had to barter and negotiate just for the older clan members to leave him alone. 
Toji told him that even before Megumi could walk, a deal was struck: The younger Fushiguro was allowed to live a normal life and grow up under Gojo Satoru’s care while his father promised to stay away. The Zen’ins were stern in their belief that Toji would taint Megumi’s development because he was not a sorcerer—a bitter truth he still couldn’t swallow till this day.
Not only had the diabolical clan disposed of his mother when they viewed her as a threat to their bloodline; they also made Toji promise to never reach out to his only son. 
Megumi detested them. That was why when you approached him with this proposition, he saw it as an opportunity.
An opportunity to defy them and go against their wishes. His life was set out before him. The young man knew that the elders were already deciding who he should marry and have a child to carry out their legacy. He had no doubt that it would be some prissy, stuck-up, half-cousin or someone closely related to him. Megumi despised that they would have a say in who he would start a family with.
At first, he couldn’t deny that your preposition had stunned him. But, when he let the thought marinate in his head, it became clear. 
You were a way out of the Zen’in’s rigid laws.
Childishly, he could imagine Naobito’s expression when news came back to the old man that the one and only Megumi Fushiguro – heir to the prestigious Zen’in clan made a young woman with no last name and no prestigious bloodline the mother of his child.
It was devious.
It was perfect. 
You would have a child that could continue the lineage of your family and eventually became the head of your clan, and he would have physical proof of his rebellion against the dictatorship of his. 
Convenience. 
That was the first word that came into his mind when he wished you goodnight, closing the infirmary door behind your retreating figure.
It was an agreement built on convenience. 
The fact that you caught his eye made it easier for him to make the decision. You were a strong ally, your techniques on par with some of the most powerful sorcerers he had ever seen. There would be no doubt that you were capable enough to hold out on your own. 
All he had to do was work up the courage to take the first step and agree with your proposition. 
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Megumi was terrifying. 
You watched from the shadows as he sparred with Itadori, not going easy on the pink-haired young man. Though Yuuji held the upper hand in terms of strength, it was the quickness of Megumi’s strategy and the swiftness with how it was executed that made your breath catch in your throat when he exploited his friend’s weak spot. 
Yuuji landed on the mat with a loud huff and he groaned.
“Again,” Megumi huffed, moving into a defensive stance, arms raised in front of him. 
The other young man grumbled and stood up. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with beating me. Are you doing it because you want to impress your new girlfriend?”
To your surprise, the corners of Megumi's mouth twitched. “Maybe.” 
His admission surprised his friend as much as it surprised you. 
“Eh?! Are you serious?”
Megumi threw a punch that Yuuji avoided, reacting with a swift kick that was aimed at the shadow wielder’s chest. He swiftly blocked the attack and Yuuji braced his palms on his knees, staring at his friend through narrowed eyes.
“So, you and her, huh?"
“Don’t start,” Megumi sighed. “You know, she made me a proposition.”
Yuuji lifted one brow. “A proposition, eh?”
Megumi dropped his arms, sighing. “She wasn’t lying when she said I was the only one who could help her with her family.”
“She’s a lost orphan or something? Did her family disappear into the shadows?”
Megumi was staring at Yuuji with a raised brow. “Read between the lines, Itadori. I am the only one who can help her with her family. Y/N is an orphan.”
Yuuji scoffed. “I heard you for the first time, Fushiguro. What I don’t get is what does it have to do with you?”
“It’s because—”
“It’s because I need his help to sire an heir,” you interjected, materialising next to Megumi from the shadow near his feet.
The young sorcerer flinched and his friend squawked in fear at your sudden appearance. 
That was not the only sudden thing about this untoward event the three of you experienced. The same mouth on Yuuji’s cheek you saw in the alleyway opened with a hiss, sharp teeth bared in your direction.
“Whore! Traitor!”
Slapping a hand to his cheek, Yuuji cringed. Hard.
“Shut up!” The markings on his face seemed to glow as if in warning, and the pink-haired boy bent forward in pain, eyes scrunched close and sweat beading on his forehead. 
Megumi was by his side, kneeling down and pressing a hand to his shoulder. As if spurred by his presence, Yuuji's literal inner war presented him a winner when he cracked his eyes open, grunting in exhaustion.
“Yuuji, are you okay? Did Sukuna get to you?”
Sukuna. That name struck you with a chill down your spine.
“D-did you say, Sukuna?” you gaped, and both men looked at you. 
“Yes,” Yuuji said eventually. “I’m his vessel. I—um—ate a few of his fingers a while back and now I’m here.”
“You… you have the King of Curses in you?” The horror was evident on your face, dripping in your tone and spilling all around you in a dark cloud.
It would seem the two of them were not immune to your sudden turmoil.
“Y/N?” Megumi asked, standing and giving you a hard look. “Do you know something about Sukuna?” 
You nodded and found the courage to meet Yuuji and Megumi’s eyes. One was staring at you in confusion and the other in suspicion. 
“My technique,” you start, swallowing hard. “My technique comes from an ancient spirit called the Shadow Woman. I am her descendant. But, it’s more than that.” You struggled to find the words, suddenly feeling dizzy. 
It was with a startling realization that this was the reason why Nana Ryu was not averse to you arriving in Tokyo under the guise of searching for the young Zen’in leader. She must’ve known that the vessel of Sukuna was activated and wanted you to meet him.
The fourth part of the prophecy loomed in your mind, bright and clear.
You felt nauseous. 
This was her plan all along. 
You forced yourself to speak the next words, your lips feeling frozen. “The Shadow Woman was… she was Sukuna’s first wife.”
That wasn’t the hardest part to articulate.
This was:
“The fourth part of the prophecy states that if her vessel ever meets his vessel, they are bound in a marriage to stop the impending Underworld Riot from happening.”
You met Megumi’s wide gaze and exhaled shakily, the next words coalescing thickly with the short-sightedness of your plan. 
“And… And I am her vessel.”
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a/n: megumi/yuuji/sukuna quadhrouple with yn ???
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©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.
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gabessquishytum · 8 months ago
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Warprize cat!Dream the morning after his gifting to cow!Hob.
Dream has been undernourished and stressed to the max and he's absolutely exhausted the next morning even after a belly full of milk and and a tender orgasm and a good sleep. He's practically listless and Hob knows he needs more than just milk to recover his strength.
Hob considers having food brought up to his rooms to feed Dream but he needs/(discovers he very much wants) to show off his new prize a bit for political reasons, so he brings Dream down to the huge dining hall for late breakfast (a king is never late, brunch is served when the king wishes it to be). Dream is so slight and so skinny that it's nothing to shift him around. Hob sits Dream in his own lap and supports Dream against his chest, cradling and shielding him against his soft chest and feeds him the best bits.
Hob assures Dream he doesn't have to worry about anything right now, just eat and drink some more of Hob's warm milk and Hob will carry him back to bed to rest some more as soon as the meal is over.
This is so somft, I just love it!!! Skinny scraggly Dream being propped up in Hob’s big soft lap. Leaning back against the King's soft round belly and pillowy chest, just opening his mouth and chewing whatever Hob picks out for him. Cowpeople are naturally herbivores, but (hopefully) extensive research was performed before the new cat warprize arrived. So there's plenty of fish as well as the usual leafy greens and dairy products.
After breakfast Hob carefully shifts Dream in his arms so he can gently rub his poor thin stomach - Dream is too listless to move around, so he'll need help with his digestion. Plus he seems to love the belly rubs. It's the first time he purrs in a public setting and the whole court melts. So cute!!!! Rumour has it, catpeople only have one stomach compartment, which is a little odd. But it's good to know that they enjoy similar physical touches to cowpeople.
Then it's time for more milk, and Dream sleepily sucks away on the King's generous teat before falling into a doze. He's still sucking in his sleep, which is great. Hob wants him to get as much nourishment as possible. Maybe he'll make sure that Dream gets to feed during the night if he ever wakes up hungry... he'll have to make it extra clear to his prize that he's allowed to drink from Hob whenever, wherever.
Now it's time to get Dream back to bed. Breakfast was a complete success, and everyone's talking about how the King doted on his poor little prize. Its great PR for Hob, but most of all? He's just glad that his pretty kitty has a full belly now. Hob will make sure he's never hungry again.
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