#trying to hide the fact that she's falling apart because she's been corrupted

[phantom-does-a-thing]

you know maybe I should go back to that old WIP in like middle school bc that was a really interesting concept actually

[caparrucia]

For the prompt meme, Cor and Nyx reunite after time apart, if it strikes you? Congrats on finishing your fic!

Thank you! Have some Witch!Nyx, because I haven't played with that verse in an age!

They meet again in the Nebulawood, exactly two years after the fall of Insomnia.

Rumor has it there’s a witch hiding in the woods, that she trades potions and elixirs for basic supplies. With the King dead and the Prince AWOL, the remnants of the Crownsguard and the mutinous forces from the Kingsglaive do not have the steady access to such things they once did. All the stashes remaining are carefully inventoried and painstakingly dosed out. But still, the rumors remain.

A witch in the woods, who cannot be found on command but who, if actually encountered, will trade a crate of potions for a week’s worth of water.

Once, a fledging recruit from Lestallum’s stronghold comes back with a crateful of elixirs and insists the witch asked for nothing at all.

It the rumor is true, Cor reckons it’s the elusive Witch of the Thicket, who’s been missing ever since Caem went up in flames. But it’s just as likely the rumors are false and it’s just a trap waiting for idiots to fall for it. Well, no bigger idiot than him around.

After a somewhat harrowing hunt – really, a series of increasingly annoying hunts, including what appeared to be a corrupted behemoth – Cor determines the following: the witch is no witch at all, and he is no she at all.

“You put on the ring, didn’t you?” Cor asks, watching Nyx sit back after their initial scuffle, which might have devolved into some playful sparring if not for the fact Nyx ran out of stamina halfway through.

Nyx grins, overgrown hair giving some credence to the misguided rumors, as it hides the bits of his face the obligatory witch-like cloak and hood doesn’t. His skin is charred and scarred, but not healed, glowing still like embers at the back of the fireplace.

“You know I’m a sucker for a bad deal,” Nyx replies, and beneath the ruin of his appearance, his eyes glint with the same stubborn, monstrous light they always did.

“I thought that was my line,” Cor says, offering a hand, trying to reach out.

“You shouldn’t get too close,” Nyx rebuked, but gentle, the way he always did whenever Cor tried to take a bunch of bad habits, some recurrent dates and their insistence to orbit one another, and make it into something approaching a relationship. “I’m due combusting any time now.”

“Combusting,” Cor says, deadpan.

Nyx grins, wide and wild and more than a little bit mad.

“They keep trying to smite me,” he says, eyes bright, “and I keep stealing their magic when they do.”

“Which you then turn into the supplies you’ve been distributing out of this shithole,” Cor surmises, impressed nonetheless at the sheer viciousness of it.

Nyx laughs.

“Hey, my shithole,” he shakes his head. “Fuck, it’s downright homey at this point.”

“You live in the skull of a dead behemoth,” Cor points out, because he can never resist the urge to quip back at Nyx and the reflex is there, like no time has passed at all.

Nyx laughs, a clattering noise, like a magpie but worse.

“I wouldn’t be a very good witch if I didn’t, right?”

Cor knows better than to nurse something as poisonous as hope in his heart. He knows better.

But of course, that has never stopped him before.

[bitchyfanwombat]

What makes a love story, good?? I think there could be number of things, respect, understanding, loyalty, sacrifices....... these are the small things that makes a Love story, ethical. Love doesn't always mean meeting random people at random time, though that's what movies show.

One thing I believe in is, love hits when you least expect it. There's more to love than meets the eye. We have our own perspectives.

Love is infinite, like the universe.

Relationship is all about falling in love. But that's not the only thing. It's about exploring. It's about starting a new chapter with that one special. Some relationships don't work out, no matter how hard you try. There's one thing though, you can't truly love someone without letting go of the fear of getting your heart broken.

Key to a happy relationship is honesty. If you feel like y'all are drifting apart, confront them. Express your feelings to them. If they understand and make you feel...wanted or special, then trust me it's worth it. You can fight the world for them. But if they don't care despite the fact you tell them how you feel they're not the one. That's a sign of letting go.

Someone once told me "When you know you're supposed to be mad and you chose to understand, I think thats love." That's the wisest thing anyone's ever said.

The right person will be with you through you thick and thin. But it can't just be one sided. If you don't reciprocate the love you get, you! one day end up alone. You gotta make sacrifices for your partner. You gotta be honest to them. If you feel like you've fallen out of love, tell them. cause by hiding the truth, you're hurting them. And that's no way fair. They deserve yo move on and be happy.

It's the little things that makes love beautiful. The little moments with your partner. Something that ties y'all. Like a bond. When that special bond is broken, you start feeling

incomplete, lost.....like you're not good enough for anyone. They can be the right person for you! still things come to an ended because it's not the right time. There's a right time for everything.

I'll let you in on a little fact. No matter how much y'all love each other, when things begin get a little rough, y'all will end up breaking up. It might be bitter but it's facts.

Has it ever been like, you were madly in love but things had to end? well.....it happens but rather than crying over something that can't be changed, try cherishing the little moments that made your relationship amazing. It'll take a bit longer because you Loved them unconditionally in love with them. But did you ever try taking it positively?? were you thankful, cause you got to experience something you you could only dream of? Don't be sad that it ended, be happy that it happened. Trying moving on because there might be brilliant other people out there with whom you would be a perfect. match. "He's not the only guy on the planet" this was hard for me to hear perhaps because it was the truth. I thought it was harsh but I'm THANKFUL TO "YOU".

Coming to the hard part. THERE IS NO PICTURE PERFECT GUY OR GIRL. Everybody has flaws, accepting them with their flaws is what makes a love story full. On the other hand, the might have something that others don'ty Moky can't throw harsh judgments at them just because they don't match

your expectations. When something like this happens, know that it's your thoughts that are corrupted not the other person's looks.

It doesn't matter if you've never found love....like ever because one day you'll find that one person. But how can you tell if he or she's the one? There's no right answer for that. There could be multiple things. Feeling right, safe, happy at times when you were always sad. It varies from person to person. Nothing is certain.

There's something everyone has to know, all these are, sure, in context of a couple, relationships. But this also apply to other kinds of relationships. Breakup with bestfriends, for example, can hurt more than breakup with your significant other.

No matter what kinda relationship that is, you feel disrespected.....LEAVE. Self respect is also just as important.

[amberfossils]

I'd like to hear about Chatt!!!! I remember him.

Okay I see the asks about the diner au and for Edd hcs is anyone is wondering, both are in the works

But!!!! This one is very close to my heart because 1) it's my boyfriend asking, 2) Chatt was made specifically for a Minecraft (I love minecraft) universe with me, Tom (asker/boyfriend) and one of my friends, Blurr, 3) the Casino Crew is something I've been working on and is currently my favorite side group in the universe

So without further ado, here's some fun facts and lore with Chatt, plus some other stuff about the casino crew!

Firstly, Chatt doesn't have any canon sexuality or romantic attraction. He's not interested in exploring it, and fuck it he probably doesn't know what that means if you asked him about it.

In this universe, all mobs and creatures are humanoid. It technically splits off into 2 versions of the universe:

1) Corruption Calls (Blurr's version, all hurt no comfort, with Mycena and Shroom as the main protagonists)

2. Chaos Squared/Chaos² (The original, multiple plots going on and multiple sets of characters and mostly us hugging our OCs like little plushies and loving them)

Chatt is apart of both, but since Corruption Calls has a real plot and will eventually be turned into a comic I won't be spoiling that. So, all of this stuff is for Chaos Squared!

Chatt is a part of the "casino crew", and is the direct sidekick to Whisper, a female phantom with torn wings who can't fly. Whisper is the owner and manager of the casino.

Chatt doesn't actually work at the casino (and is the only character in the casino crew that doesn't) but he's an honorary member anyway because the crew all love him.

The Casino Crew consists (currently) of Chatt (parrot), Whisper (phantom), Creek (creeper), Patches (white cat), Stitches (black cat), Honey (bee), Vati (spider), and Punk (skeleton).

Firstly, let's start with the trauma because ahaha suffer, birdbrains!

Chatt basically falls out of the nest- in this universe, a very high-up treehouse with little to no railing or closed in sections that is only able to be entered by flying or climbing. Since it takes so much energy to get chicks back up to the nest, as they can't fly, they're often abandoned- and Chatt is.

He, god knows how, manages to hide and roam from place to place avoiding any other mobs, completely isolated in the jungle away from anyone else. He learns to fly on his own, albeit very clumsily, and makes his own nest, learning on his own how to do skills that seem rather basic to others, like cooking and foraging and building and finding materials.

One day, either by the sheer luck of Whisper treading near his nest or him finding her whilst searching for food, they meet. And Chatt is ecstatic. He hasn't spoken to anybody or really even known that there are friendly creatures period, and he quickly latches onto her. She's the only person he has, and continues to be his best friend and practically family to him even when she does slowly introduce him to the more populated, open areas with lots of mobs.

Firstly, I made him autistic because I love self-projecting onto everything I make. He has a difficult time integrating with society and communicating with others- he constantly interrupts, he never stops talking unless he's genuinely uncomfortable and/or upset, he doesn't understand metaphors or social cues or anything not literal. He learns a few idioms (his favorites being "let the chips fall where they may", "to not see the wood for the trees", and "every cloud has a silver lining"), but generally if you use one he'll be stuck for a bit trying to figure out what it could mean. He'll go completely nonverbal if upset or uncomfortable, and will only speak to Whisper (or one of the other casino crew members if at the casino) when semi-verbal.

He also doesn't understand the difference between private and public settings- everything he's ever done has been private, so public as a concept isn't great. He'll often be too loud or show his emotions way too obviously and talk to strangers and stim very visibly, but he starts off blissfully unaware that those aren't the most common things to do in public. He slowly realizes as he gets more accustomed to "public" that he's often looked at weirdly and that people sometimes sneer at him for being visibly autistic (not like he knows what that word is anyway). He eventually stops caring if he's being watched, and instead purposefully gets louder both physically and vocally around people he knows is judging him until they leave. It bothers him sometimes, but he's constantly reminded that the people around him that truly love him enjoy seeing him happy, and don't find his loudness a bother.

Speaking of, some of his favorite stims are whistling, dancing, singing, humming, chirping, stomping his feet, flapping his wings, swinging his arms, and echoing various sounds, noises and words he hears.

His body language also differs a lot, as he emotes a lot more visibly than most people, although his facial expressions are unpredictable and it's often that it's hard to tell what his body language means if you haven't seen him demonstrate it before. He'll often raise or open his wings when surprised or startled; fluff his wings when angry or anxious, or just when it's hot and he needs to cool his body temperature; and also wraps his wings around his face and body when wanting to hide either out of embarrassment, discomfort or anxiety.

I've already talked about his relationship with Whisper, but it's also different with the other casino crew members.

Firstly, Punk- Punk isn't the most talkative, and isn't great friends with Whisper (she goes from not liking him to being neutral about him). He's extremely good to all the other workers, bringing them water and food and letting them know when their breaks start. Chatt doesn't officially work there, but when he is around he'll happily listen to him talk and nod along, careful not to interrupt him and will happily tell him stories if the topic arises. He's also security, and keeps an extra close eye on Chatt too as if he was a worker since he knows Chatt is very important to the other workers.

Secondly Honey- Honey is very, very sweet to Chatt and loves to hang out with him when it's a slow night or on her breaks, and will happily talk to him for hours and play games with him. He gave her a glow stick bracelet once and she wore it every day and kept it in a freezer so it would glow as long as possible. Honey is also very bubbly and charismatic, and they vibe.

Third-Sixth is Stitches, Patches, Creek, and Vati, but we (me & blurr) haven't really talked about them interacting with Chatt so (shruggie)

Some extra stuff:

His hair mimics how the minecraft parrots have feathers sticking up

The horizontal stripes on his arm pouches mimic one of Whisper's designs, in which she wears vertical stripes (unsure if she still does because Blurr is redesigning her too)

One time Whisper gave him chips to gamble with for free expecting him to lose so he wouldn't have to pay and he'd still be preoccupied for a bit. He won repeatedly even when it was rigged against him. She cut a few zeros from how much he won, he definitely noticed but he doesn't care about money (Whisper is rich as fuck). In the future they made a new currency for him specifically, in which he gets glowsticks for winning instead of actual cash. He immediately runs around and gives them back to all the workers, including Whisper.

He gets lemonade from the bar. They don't serve lemonade but Patches has it just for him, and also adds edible glitter and puts in one of those ice spheres just for him. Nobody else is aware of where the hell he keeps getting lemonade from, except for Whisper, who learned from Patches being like "hey can we buy edible glitter?" and that basically went like "for what" "for the lemonade" "we dont even serve lemonade"

Honey did Chatt's makeup before

Whisper paid for Stitches' top surgery (not chatt related just a fun detail)

Stitches and Patches are twins, and Stitches is aro and Patches is ace.

Creek is dating Patches

tba <3

[ystrike1]

The Tyrant Husband has Changed (8/10)

(I wish clumsy yanderes were more popular.)

Duke Khalid and his new wife, Idris, both had bad childhoods. Khalid was raised as a soldier, because of his red eyes. Children born with red eyes are more physically powerful, and they have magic. It's like being born with an instant stat buff, but it's not entirely a good thing. Khalid has been used as a weapon since his birth. His family intends to marry him off in order to create more convenient red-eyed weapons. He is a powerful man, but he trusts no one. Countless assassins have tried to kill him, and everybody fears him for good reason. He does know (dark) magic, and he's not a merciful man. He was emotionless and eager to kill as a kid too. He's not a misunderstood sad boy. He really is a killer.

Idris is the bastard daughter of a Duke. Her lowborn status is kept a secret, so she can be married off. When she marries Khalid she tries her best to be a good wife. She brings him herbal tea and tries to get along with him. He doesn't trust her, and she doesn't trust him, so their relationship becomes strained. Developing romantic feelings for someone is tough when you're traumatized by years of abuse.

Totally understandable!

Unfortunately that misunderstanding leads to a tragedy.

Idris has no friends. Her only ally is her maid, Lily. She's deathly afraid of being abused by her cold husband, because her birth family hates her. Her half brother, Keith, pushed her around in the dressing room while she was trying to get ready for her wedding. Her father treats her like a dog too, but she never fought back. She couldn't. In the end she is just the daughter of a servant that caught her father's eye.

Khalid does fall in love with her. She's the only person that speaks to him normally. She's not terrified of him, because her own family treated her alot worse. He watches over her, but he stops visiting her. They drift apart and basically become roomates. Tragedy strikes hard when Idris is assassinated.

Khalid turns back time and promises to be a better husband. He's very earnest, and he puts in alot of effort. She eventually realizes that time turned back, and understandably freaks out a little, but the couple gets along great. Idris is a little more confident this time. Khalid is alot more affectionate. They both like eachother, and they don't live with abusive family members anymore.

Good for them.

Khalid sends her black roses, and plants a rose garden for her. They are a symbol of eternal love and possessiveness. (Basically he painted a giant sign that says "Idris is mine" on his lawn) He uses his second chance to spoil her properly.

He spends money every day like it's nothing, and when he confesses he promises to give her the world.

He says he'll start a war and make her the Empress if that's what she wants, but the current Emperor is a decent guy. Idris isn't interested in power either. She just wants to be happy with her (overly) loving husband.

She tells him to stop talking about war and just be by her side. The misunderstandings that damaged their first relationship do make some sense. Idris thought she had to hide the fact that she was a bastard child. Khalid thought he was too monstrous to be loved. Seeing them enjoy their second chance is pretty sweet.

Khalid is an awesome husband. He helps Iris save her mom and he destroys her corrupt family. She slaps her nasty brother, Keith, and turns them all into peasants. She knows them well. Losing their status and wealth will hurt more than death.

A second yandere does appear, but he's a toxic villian and I'm %100 sure he'll lose. Khalid is too overpowered. His literal only weakness is Idris. That makes the plot slightly bland, but the main couple is very cute. The yandere villian is the more extreme yandere of the two, but he's absolutely no match for Khalid.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Hidden (Kim Hongjoong) Rated

Pairing: Soccer Jock! Kim Hongjoong (Ateez)× Nerd! Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Slight Angst, College AU.

Summary: There's nothing that makes Hongjoong feel better after a game than to spend it with his secret girlfriend.

Word Count: 3.5+K

Warnings: male breast play (we love the hiddies), light gropings, dry humping, light degradation, corruption kink, unprotected soft, vanilla sex (always use protection), dom! Hongjoong, sub/slightly inexperienced reader.

Taglist: @seacottons (I wrote this for you ♡), @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @yunhoiseyecandy @galaxteez @hanatiny @deja-vux @brie02 @multidreams-and-desires @daniblogs164 @couchpotatoaniki @a-soft-hornytiny

•––––☆––––•––––☆––––•––––☆––––•

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause and cheers when their prized center forward kicked the ball with full force into the opposing team's goal, effectively allowing them to take victory over another college from the area. His teammates hoisted the bleach blonde male over their shoulders, parading him around the field and letting the spectators admire him once more. The athlete shyly smiled and gave tiny waves towards the crowd. His eyes passed through all the rows of people standing about, searching and scanning for a particular person he hoped would come to see him.

Once he spotted a familiar red plain hoodie tucked near the very end of the bleachers, his smile grew even wider and he even felt bold enough to send a wink their way, the tiny group of admirers sitting nearby mistakenly thinking it was directed at them. The figure in the hoodie tried not to let any suspicious look give her away, but even she couldn't stop the faint pink hue that appeared on the apples of her cheeks. He mouthed a few words to her, which she understood to mean for her to wait for him at a certain place while he went to go get changed. Quickly picking up her bag, she made way to step down the bleachers, but unfortunately for her the little group of popular girls had the same idea, thus ending in one of them bumping into her rather harshly and sending her crashing down onto the concrete stairs that allowed one to get out of the spectator area.

The soccer player of course saw this and slightly hissed when he watched her palms come out instinctively to lessen her fall, only imagining the stinging sensation they went through. He then turned his attention to the tiny clique leader who looked completely unapologetic, her mouth saying something that he couldn't quite make out, but judging from the way her little minions snickered and laughed, he deduced it was only another one of the usual jabs they liked to fling at the poor girl. And he hated it, the scowl clearly visible on his face. Just when he was about to turn around and give them a piece of his mind, the victim looked up and gestured for him not to intervene and just run along to the showers. He hesitated briefly until she once again assured him she was fine, getting up and quickly escaping before another accident occurred.

Left with no choice but to follow her instructions, the soccer player joined the others in the showers to freshen up after a long and arduous game. He made sure to be quick about it, as he wanted to go check up on her injuries as soon as possible. After drying off completely, he stuffed all his belongings into his bag without caring to check if he was crushing anything and sped out of there. Along the way to the place where he parked his car, he only waved at his fellow classmates and belatedly ignored the prissy bullies that caused the incident back at the bleachers.

"Snakes." He mumbled to himself as he passed by them.

Rounding a tiny corner of the building, he took out his keys and unlocked his car, looking around in confusion when he didn't see the person he was expecting anywhere nearby. Hearing a tiny rustling of leaves, he rolled his eyes when he finally realized they were hiding behind the hedge that decorated the stairs that led one inside the building.

"There's no one else around, now come out of there before the groundskeeper finds out you were messing up his artistic shrubbery." He called out as he walked over to the hedge.

Peeping her head out, the girl looked right then left to make sure he wasn't lying before throwing one leg over the green barrier, trying to get out. It definitely proved more difficult getting out than getting in, as her foot accidentally got stuck when she tried to swing her other leg out. She grunted softly as she tried to yank her foot out, which she eventually accomplished but with how hard she pulled she was thrown off balance. Had the male behind her not have run up to catch her, she would have surely hit her head on the floor. Luckily he had indeed caught her before such tragedy occurred. Looking up, his unamused face was bearing down on her.

"Thanks?" She sheepishly said.

"Don't mention it honey bunch." He snorted when she frowned at one of the many nicknames he enjoyed teasing her with.

"Don't start now Kim Hongjoong." She grumbled with a huff as she sat upright.

When she turned around, she had no chance to say or do anything as he took her hands and made her palms face him. Hongjoong sighed when he saw the tiny scrapes on her fragile skin.

"I'll be fine. It's just a scratch." She asserted before he got anymore upset.

"These 'scratches', and the mean names, wouldn't happen at all if only you'd let people know about us."

She recoiled slightly at his words. He was right, she knew that. Still, she was hesitant about letting the entire school know about their secret relationship, something that he was more than eager about sharing. But he respected her need and wanting of privacy, even if it irritated slightly at times.

"I'll be fine Hongjoong. Really... their words don't bother me anymore. And besides, I'd rather not have all eyes at me at every moment. I like being an invisible wallflower." She repeated what she often said.

He understood her, but couldn't help the sigh that came out his lips.

"Honestly L/N Y/N, I don't know what to do with you sometimes." He confessed as he turned her palms over, his eyes focusing on her left hand. Or more precisely, on the black promise ring that was wrapped around her left finger. He smiled softly as he rubbed his thumb over it, knowing that on the inside of it, his name was engraved in white, followed by his birthstone in the shape of a heart. He wore a similar one around his neck, held up by chain that dangled right above his chest, close to his heart. Only the one he wore was a white band and had his lover's name in black with her own birthstone on it. It was a present he had bought for their 1 year anniversary, which had happened not too long ago. Every time he saw her wear it, he felt a warm and tranquil feeling in his soul. He himself never took off the chain off his neck, only when he needed to shower and even then, he made sure to never misplace it.

It was a somewhat nostalgic feeling, standing there, holding her hands kinda like the first time he worked up the courage to come up to her and state his interest in dating her. Even to that day, he couldn't believe she would have actually agreed. He was so happy and full of bliss at having her that he couldn't help himself as he closed his eyes and began leaning his face towards hers. His girlfriend widened her eyes and let out a muffled shriek before pulling away from him. Hongjoong grunted angrily as he walked after her towards his car.

"It's not a crime to kiss my girlfriend in public you know." He exclaimed.

"Someone might see us." She kindly reminded him.

Throwing his hands up in frustration, Hongjoong was about to start nagging but opted for taking a deep breath instead to calm down.

"Ok fine, but once we get behind closed doors, I'm expecting a lot of cuddles and smooches from you. You've been giving me the cold treatment at school even beyond what we agreed on and I'm slightly hurt." He pouted as he turned on the ignition.

Shaking her head, Y/N leaned over and placed a peck on Hongjoong's cheek.

"Ok you baby. Only because you were amazing on the field today."

•––––☆––––•––––☆––––•––––☆––––•

Safe in the sanctuary and privacy of her apartment, Y/N couldn't hold herself back now as she tangled her limbs around her boyfriend, face pressed against his chest. Hongjoong couldn't stop himself from snorting when he felt her cheek rubbed against one of his protruding pectoral muscles. The arm that was stationed around her frame came up to lightly scratch the back of her head.

"Having fun there you cuddle bug?" He raised an eyebrow at her when she snuggled closer to him.

"Hmmm yeah. Your man boobs make such comfortable pillows." She beamed as she reached one hand up to caress the muscle that her face wasn't buried in.

"They are not boobs Y/N. We've been over this how many times?" He dropped his head back onto the pillow as he released an exhausted and frustrated groan.

Feeling a bit on the bolder side that evening, Y/N shifted her weight over so she was fully laying on top of him.

"If they're not boobs, how come I can do this?"

Hongjoong half gasped- half moaned when he felt his girlfriend's mouth part and latched onto one of his highly sensitive nipples. Of course his girlfriend took advantage of this little fact, suckling onto his skin in a tender manner. Hongjoong lost himself in the feeling of her tongue flicking at his hardened peaks, closing his eyes as she kept on enveloping his buds with her warm mouth, first one breast then moving to the other one. This time her suction was a little more rough, teeth baring to lightly bite on the skin around his nipple. Hongjoong obviously didn't mean and was thoroughly enjoying the more harsher treatment as he began bucking his hips up against hers, his tent brushing against her folds which were only covered by her cotton underwear.

Satisfied at being able to rile her boyfriend up, Y/N sat up with a smirk as she peered down at Hongjoong's dazed look. Before he could get a word out, his girlfriend begin grinding herself against his bulge, her hands steadying themselves on his lean but firm abs. Hongjoong looked up at her, his eyes glowing with the same lust that mirrored in her own. Not able to bear to leave her in charge, his hands came up to grip her hips, forcing her to stop momentarily before they started taking control of her movements. He guided her so every time her clothed mound would rub against his tent they would both feel the best friction between them. Not only was he in full control of her body rolls, he made sure to lift his hips up so she would feel him even more. The air around them thickened as their sexual tension grew more and more, their once soft sighs turning more into heavy panting as they both waited for the other one to give in and say they wanted more than just the semi clothed dry humping they were currently doing.

Y/N knew fully well Hongjoong wouldn't say anything, it was in his nature. He'd just keep donning that signature smirk he was hailing at her at the moment as he continued to grind himself up at her. She knew he wanted her to tell him how much she wanted him, as a form of payback for not acknowledging him back at the university. She wanted to play at his game, keep her mouth shut and even get off him only to leave him frustrated and aching. But she had no will or mind to do that. Not when her body yearned for his, cried out to have him pin her to the bed as he tore through her intimate places. She couldn't hold back any longer, her bottom lip was starting to hurt from how hard she was biting down on it.

"What's wrong babygirl? Something on your mind? Do you want something?" He teased her as he moved his hands to cup her ass, fingers digging into her flesh and brushing against the hem of her panties.

"Hongjoong... I want...I want.." Even after having done this quite a few times, she was still very nervous and shy about requesting such things from him.

"Use your words darling, I know you can use them. After all, you're the smartest person in school. So tell me...."

Sitting up so he could lean his face close to hers, Hongjoong brushed his lips against hers, replacing her teeth with his own as he tugged at the corner where she had been biting on just a few seconds ago.

"What do you want?" He asked once more, hands going underneath her shirt so they could fondle her perky breasts, a satisfied grin lightly appearing on his face when he discerned the subtle whine that came from her throat.

"You, I want you." She finally answered, her arms wrapping around his neck as she closed the space between them and kissed him passionately.

Their tongues tangled themselves together in a desperate and slightly sloppy fashion. Flipping their positions, Hongjoong carefully laid Y/N down on the mattress, never once breaking their kiss even when his hand dropped down to tug her underwear down her legs. She helped him out by lifting her hips up and was about to pull the hoodie over her head, but Hongjoong stopped her.

"No baby. Keep it on. You look more adorable wearing my clothes." Briefly pulling away from her, he had a cocky smile as he rid himself out of his own boxers.

"Even if I do enjoy taking them off you." He admitted with no shame, which didn't surprise her.

Prying her legs open so he could fit himself between them, Hongjoong peppered butterfly kisses across her forehead and temples, sighing blissfully as he aligned himself at her entrance.

"I love you." He always made sure to state those 3 words before they got lost in their love.

"I know. I love you too." She responded.

Satisfied at hearing his confession being reciprocated, Hongjoong slowly pushed himself inside her, always taking care to be gentle as his lovely girlfriend wasn't as experienced as he was. He let her walls adjust to the intrusion of his member as he busied himself by kissing along the side of her neck and near her jaw while his thumbs rubbed circles on her waist. Y/N took a deep breath and lightly tapped his arm, a sign for him to start moving.

Hongjoong started off with slow and deep strokes, making sure to angle his hips properly so his head would brush against that sweet spot that would have the girl underneath him crying out his name. Y/N's eyes dropped down to look in between their bodies, always fascinated by the image of Hongjoong's cock disappearing inside her. One of her hands came up and slid underneath her covered stomach, a soft gasp escaping her lips when she felt her boyfriend's bulge poke out from under her skin. Noticing this, Hongjoong chuckled softly.

"You like that baby? Like feeling my cock deep inside of you?"

She could only respond with a light nod of her head as she released a faint moan that turned louder when Hongjoong abruptly slammed back into her at a quicker pace.

"You feel so good around me love. You're so tight, warm, and soft- fuck! I can't get enough of you." He hissed as he continued to roll his hips into her.

Y/N loved hearing him say things like that to her. Hearing him say how much he wanted her, it turned her into puddy. However, there was something she had been meaning to ask him to try but didn't know how to approach the topic. Figuring it was the best opportunity then, she looked up at him with large eyes.

"Hongjoong? Can we try something tonight?"

His eyes instantly lit up when she asked that, always eager to satisfy anything she was curious about or wanted to try.

"Of course. Anything you want." He assured her.

"Then can you..... can you degrade me a little?"

Hongjoong suddenly stopped moving and blinked at her with a worried expression on his face. Y/N wondered if maybe she shouldn't have asked that given his reaction. She watched as Hongjoong's bottom lip poked out in a light pout.

"Baby why on earth would you want something like that?" He tilted his head at you.

"I just.... I want you to call me your bad girl." She muttered softly, feeling embarrased at declaring that.

Hongjoong let out a heavy sigh as he cupped her cheeks and squished her face.

"But you're not a bad girl darling. You're my good girl. My sweet, kind and obedient angel who doesn't misbehave or cause trouble." He reasoned with her as he planted his lips on her cheek.

Y/N let out a tiny huff as she began to think she would not be getting what she was hoping for.

"That's what everybody else thinks....don't they?" She could hear and feel the shift in Hongjoong's mood, confirmed even further when he suddenly clasped her wrists and pinned them above her head as he started moving once again, only this time it was a more rough and fast pace. He stared down at Y/N with a hungry gaze, tongue poking out to lick his lips as he slammed his hips deeper in her.

"Got everybody in school fooled thinking you're such a goody two shoes, little miss perfect who is oh so sweet, innocent and pure, has never even kissed anyone."

Hongjoong smirked mischievously, pausing briefly before continuing.

"How do you think they'll react when they found out I ruined you? What will they say about the fact you opened your legs for me and allowed me to steal your virginity?"

Y/N threw her head back against the pillow and groaned loudly. It was true, she had let Hongjoong take away her purity a few months back. It wasn't anything she regretted, she loved and trusted him enough to give herself up to him, and she knew the feeling was mutual with him. And now to have him use that against her at that moment, to remind her of it, it felt amazing.

"What will your parents say? Their perfect daughter not only dating behind their back but actually letting her boyfriend stay over with her and fuck her into the sheets. Bet they'd be mad, bet they'll hate me for tainting their precious little angel." He laughed in a mocking tone.

Y/N's moaning now turned to whining and whimpering, her legs wrapping around Hongjoong's waist when the unrelenting tempo of his thrusts was threatening to throw her over the edge. Hongjoong knew this too given he felt everytime she clenched around his shaft, her walls squeezing onto him as if her life depended on it. He muffled his raspy pants when his lips attacked her mouth once more, his pecks aggresive and teeth nipping at her bottom lip.

"And so many guys will be jealous. You don't know but I've overheard even some of my teammates whisper about how they wanted to rob you of your innocence. Hell, I know for a fact even some of the professors wanted to shove their cocks inside your little pussy." As he dished out those tiny secrets she never knew about, Hongjoong's pounding became more harsh and he snarled with jealousy at the thought of anyone else looking at his prized possession in an erotic way.

Y/N clung onto him as she was on the brink of topping over, nails raking along his back.

"But they'll never get a chance because you're mine. All mine. This pussy of yours is mine. I claimed it a while back and only I get to fuck it. It's mine..... you're mine."

Unable to contain herself anymore, Y/N softly cried out Hongjoong's name as her body started twitching underneath his, face heating up as her juices pooled down her body. With only a few more strokes, Hongjoong himself was shooting his own cum into her, letting out shaky breaths that matched hers, their bodies collapsing on the bed as they tried to recover from the orgasm they just had.

After a few minutes and with his heartbeat back to normal, Hongjoong looked over at the girl beside him. Taking her hand, he held her arm up and aligned it with his so that the matching couple tattoos they got the month before would connect. It was a rather simple and subtle design, both of their wrists decorated with a beach wave that to anyone else wouldn't look out of place or arouse suspicions, but when they held it against each other, the waves formed a heart, which was exactly what Hongjoong was admiring at the moment. Rolling her over so she was facing him, he grabbed her leg and wrapped it around his waist so it would be easier to slip himself back inside the warmth of her walls. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, both of their eyes closing as they began to drift into a serene sleep, safe in each other's arms.

"I love you munchkin." He giggled when her hand smacked his chest.

"Don't start or else you're sleeping on the couch."

[mypoisonedvine]

Rough Ride | biker!Chris Evans x reader

summary: for a biker, chris is quite the romantic.  for a small-town waitress, you’re quite the rebel for falling for a biker.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: smut!!, biker gang shenanigans, references to smoking, love at first sight, a touch of possessiveness, vaguely soulmate au?? (because of aforementioned love at first sight), kinda innocent reader, shy reader, essentially a very fluffy pwp

The gang had never really scared you, even if the other girls working here were intimidated by them.  In your mind, having a motorcycle club frequent your hole-in-the-wall meant being more protected rather than more vulnerable.  Most of them were nice enough, even if their glances were less than subtle and they brought in the smell of cigarettes with them.  They tipped well, and what matters other than that?  

When you saw Chris for the first time, though, you were intimidated.  Maybe that wasn’t the right word.  It wasn’t him that scared you at all, but the rush of feelings that overcame you.  What scared you was knowing that, as absurd as it was, you were in love.

He sat at your table, as if he knew you’d be serving him, spreading his legs as he got comfortable and draping a leather jacketed arm over the worn pleather booth.  You’d tried to keep your cool, taking his order in spite of those crystal blue eyes piercing right through you.  Ink decorated his skin, peeking out from every edge of his clothing— unreadable words on his neck, abstract shapes on his wrists and hands, letters on his knuckles.  You watched from the kitchen as those tattooed fingers wrapped around the mug of coffee you’d served him, his neck tattoo shifting a little as he took a long sip.

“Do y’all want anything to eat?” you asked quietly, waiting for a chance to hear his voice.  His buddies answered first, ordering hashbrowns and bacon and their various usuals.  With no one else left to ask, your eyes met his and you waited in tense silence for him to say something.

“You got pancakes?”  

How stupid that those were the words that made your heart stop, slurred with a Boston accent, monotone to the point it barely sounded like a question.

You were in love with him.  Before now you hadn’t been the type to dream about soulmates, to wait for your Prince Charming to come save you.  But this guy had a noble steed you could ride off into the sunset with— except it was a Ducati, and sunset wasn’t for another nine hours…

“Hello?” he frowned.

Oh, had you forgotten to actually say something?

“Y-yes,” you finally blurted out, “we’ve got pancakes.  Best in the county.”

“Blueberry?”

You nodded quickly.  “Or cinnamon, or banana, or original…”

“Blueberry then,” he decided.  “Thanks.”

You shuffled to the back, spinning behind the saloon door into the kitchen and leaning against the wall with a sigh.  It was a miracle you remembered any of the other orders, since all you could think about was him and his eyes and his voice and those ridiculously lovely tats.

You passed the order on to the cook, taking off the apron part of your uniform so you could try to cool off for a second, only peering out to check that the table didn’t need anything every few minutes.  As much as you wanted to hide away in the kitchen forever, you could see that a few of the mugs were empty at his table and you needed to give them a refill.  

Sighing and grabbing a fresh pot from the coffeemaker, you ventured back into the dining area; of course it only took him a split second to lock his eyes on you, watching you come closer with a stare that made the silence so much more oppressive.

“Everything alright so far?” you asked, voice much shakier than you meant for it to be.  One of the other bikers asked about getting a cup of decaf, another wanted more creamer, but he just sipped at the black coffee and kept his eyes trained on you over the rim on the mug.  “Food should be out in a minute…”

You all but ran back to the kitchen; you could only take so much of him at once.  Looking at him was like looking at the sun, and looking anywhere else was like a waste of your vision.

You made busywork for yourself in the kitchen, rearranging utensils and refilling ketchup bottles.  You heard the kitchen door swing open behind you, the light shifting in the corner of your eye.

“Charlene, can you cover my table for a while?  I can’t go back out there—” you began, but heavy footsteps stopping behind you made you realize it was most certainly not Charlene.  You spun around to find him staring down at you, contemplating the way you shrunk into his shadow.

“Were you really gonna run so quick?  Make Charlene bring me my pancakes?” he asked with a gentle voice, stepping slightly closer.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” you explained sheepishly.

“I heard we own this place,” he returned, raising an eyebrow, “and everything in it.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “something like that…”

Then he moved in so close— almost too close, even though you simultaneously wanted more— until you were clutching the cool metal table behind you, your eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips and back.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he whispered, “do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I’m starting to,” you admitted quietly.  And he kissed you, so much more delicate and tender than he had any right to be.  Maybe you should’ve feigned disinterest, but not even for a moment could you do anything but kiss him back, slipping your arms around his neck.  But that wasn’t enough to keep him close, unfortunately, as he pulled away much too soon.

“How about now?” he pressed, and your eyes were a little delayed in opening again as you tried to process the fact that you’d just experienced the most perfect kiss of all time.

You nodded a little, looking back up at him and biting your lip slightly.  “You never told me your name,” you realized.

“Chris,” he answered quickly.  You started to tell him yours but he finished it for you, making your eyes go wide.

“How did you—?”

He smirked and tapped on the hard plastic nametag pinned to your chest.

“Oh,” you giggled, “right…”

He leaned in a little closer, one arm caging you in as it rested against the wall by your head, while the other was playing with the hem of your yellow uniform.  “When do you get off?” he purred in your ear, his fingers brushing over your legs just under your skirt.

“Whenever you want me to get off,” you answered quickly, not even noticing the double entendre.

“Right now,” he decided.  “Your shift ends right now, and you’re gonna get on the back of my bike and ride with me.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

You stood a few feet away on the gravel while he started the engine, enraptured at the way his fingers gripped the handles and pumped the gas and brakes to test them.  When he guided you to get on the back, you tried not to notice the way the vibrations of the bike shot right through you, and just focused on his face as he turned back to look at you.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Your place.”

He chuckled lightly but revved the engine, kicking off and sending the bike spurring forward onto the highway.  You clutched at his torso tightly, resting your face on the leather of his jacket and watching your tiny little town roll by.

//

Normally this would be the time to describe his apartment, but you didn’t even notice it; you were too busy grabbing him by his jacket and pulling him into you the second he’d unlocked the door.  You’d never kissed anyone like this, or ever tried to, or ever wanted to, so you didn’t know if you were doing it right.  But he sure seemed to like it considering he pressed against you and moaned a little into your mouth.

Maybe it was all a game for him, his chance to corrupt an innocent waitress who bought his crap because she was gullible enough to believe he loved her.  You knew that was more likely than not, you weren’t stupid for all your naivete, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to believe it.  It felt so real, the way he pulled you closer, the way he kissed you— it didn’t feel like he was rushing you, since you were the one who helped him take his jacket off before you started to unbutton your uniform, and pushed him back onto the mattress on the floor, straddling him as you moaned into his mouth.

“Baby,” he whispered against your lips, something like shock mixed with pride painting the tone of his voice.

“I need you,” you whimpered, “I’ve never— I don’t usually— this isn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he nodded, “I get it.  I’ve never felt this way before either.”

He pushed your hands away from their task of opening the uniform, his thick and ink-decorated fingers taking over instead.  Your face warmed as he pushed the fabric off your shoulders, revealing your practical bra— not very sexy, unfortunately, but he didn’t seem to mind as he ran his hands all over your newly-exposed skin.

Not that you would’ve been especially irritated if it took him a minute to unhook your bra, but of course he did it seamlessly.  Faster than when you tried to do it yourself, even.

His palms were warm as they cupped your breasts, your nipples already hard but reacting further to being tweaked between his thumb and forefingers.  A shiver danced down your spine, and you fought between looking back into his piercing gaze or glancing away to spare yourself the intensity of it all.  You stammered out his name when he pinched a little harder, almost losing your balance but catching yourself on his chest.

He stopped and sat up to quickly pull his shirt off, and you bit your lip at the sight of his chest and torso littered in ink.  You wanted to trace each one with your tongue, but that would have to wait for another time; instantly he pushed you off of him and flipped you onto your back, caging you in with his absurdly thick arms and grinning as he hovered above you.

“You are so goddamn beautiful,” he mumbled, “did you know that?”

You stammered, never really getting out an effective reply, as he reached down and toyed with the hem of your panties.  His fingers tickled your skin while he started to pull them down, excruciatingly slow; his eyes bore into yours for the longest time, dark and brooding, until he finally glanced down and watched the fabric slide over your thighs.

With bated breath, you waited for his reaction to your nude body.  He was silent as he pushed your legs apart, finally letting out a low growl as he spread your folds.  “Fuck, baby…” he sighed just under his breath.

The moment his fingers made contact with your soaked folds, you gasped; he gathered the abundant slick he found there and spread it over your clit, drawing relaxed circles over it as you fought not to buck your hips up already.  That was impossible, though, when he slipped a finger into your soaking entrance, and then another.

“Oh—” you gasped, sitting up to watch him work as if you couldn’t really believe it was happening otherwise.

Watching his tattoos disappear inside you was… indescribable.  Your head fell back as those fingers curled inside you, his thumb rubbing over your clit roughly.  “Fuck,” you groaned, “Chris, don’t stop…”

He didn’t, in fact he only pumped and twisted his fingers faster until you clutched at the sheets beneath you and arched your back.  You couldn’t exactly keep track of what you were saying, or how long it had been going, but you were pretty sure that you were doing lots of begging and that it had not been long enough to justify the fact that you were already right on the edge of coming.  When his fingers moved a little faster and a little rougher, you moaned his name before you could stop yourself.

“Yeah, you gonna make a mess all over my hand, baby?” he growled through his teeth.

“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, I’m so close.”

“Then do it,” he encouraged gruffly, “come for me.”

You must have reached up and grabbed him at some point, because your nails were digging into his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark if it weren’t for the marks already there— hard to see a bruise on black ink.  Hard to see anything when you’re coming so hard that your vision goes a little spotty.  If you had realized the intensity of your involuntary convulsions in that moment, you would’ve likely been self-conscious about it, but you didn’t really notice since you were too busy gasping and moaning and writhing for him— and he didn’t even stop until you reached down and grabbed his wrist.  You weren’t strong enough to push him away, of course, but it was a clear signal, and he thankfully slowed down to a stop.  You whimpered a little when he pulled his fingers out of you; he hummed as he brought the digits to his lips and sucked your flavor from them.

Any other day and one orgasm would satisfy you, especially one like that.  And in a sense, you were satisfied; but in another (and stronger) sense, you needed more— you needed everything.  You just hoped that sitting up and fumbling with his belt would get the point across.

He didn’t help you this time, happy to sit there breathing heavily and watching you work on his belt, then his fly, then his boxers until you were gasping as you revealed his thick cock.  Maybe it was just going to go straight to his ego, but you had no interest in hiding your shock at the sight of it, a drop of precum forming at the slit; a picturesque vein running up the underside.  “Fuck,” you groaned, wrapping your hand around it and giving it a few slow strokes.

You yelped a little, in a good way, as he pushed you back onto the bed and kissed you deeply: it was needy, but not quite rough.

When the tip of him prodded at your entrance, you gasped against his lips, and yet you were still a little disappointed when he broke the kiss and pulled away, his eyes rapidly scanning your expression.

“You want it?” he asked— not a taunt, a genuine question.

“Yes,” you nodded, “more than anything.”

“This isn’t a fling,” he told you sternly.  “This isn’t a one-night stand.  We do this, you’re mine, you understand?”

“Yours,” you agreed with a breathless nod, and he finally pushed the tip into you.  He stopped when you winced, but you didn’t mind the sting so much— you wanted to feel everything, even the pain, as long as it was him.  You wrapped your legs around his hips and tried to push him in deeper, but he resisted.  “I want it all, please,” you begged weakly.

“Not sure you can take it,” he admitted nervously.

“I can, please, just need you inside me,” you whined.

He sighed a little but relented and pushed all the way in, still maintaining a measured pace; you sighed with relief when his hips were flush against yours.  The sting was nothing compared to the perfection of his body nestled in yours, the way he looked down at you before he kissed you again.  It was less rushed than before, less desperate as he savored every inch of you, like you had all the time in the world— it certainly felt like you did.

He didn’t pull out very far, focusing instead on grinding his hips against yours, which not only served to keep him so deep inside you that you could barely breathe but also pressed some very hard part of him right into your clit.  It was nearly overwhelming, but his kiss kept you grounded, along with his arms slipping under you so he could hold you tight.  You clutched at his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, kissing him back and moaning against his tongue.  It helped you relax a little, until your body opened up to his size and he could thrust a bit harder without resistance.  Even then, he kept it slow and steady, waiting until you whined and pleaded for more to start really fucking you.

You couldn’t keep up with the kiss anymore when he pounded into you like that, your head falling back and giving him perfect access to gently bite at your neck.  It only made you wetter to imagine that while he wore his tattoos on his neck, you could bare whatever marks he made on your skin with his lips and teeth and tongue.  Too bad yours would be less permanent.

“How’s it feel?” he asked you darkly, his voice rough but warm against your ear.

“So good,” you panted, “you feel so good.”

He reached down to grab your parted legs and hold them open wider, and you hadn’t realized that it would send the tip of him spearing straight into your most delicate spot.  Your back arched instantly and you made a somewhat embarrassing noise, but he grinned and nibbled at your jaw, thrusting a little faster and repeating the motion.

“F-fuck,” you shuddered.

“You’re— shit, you’re squeezin’ on me,” he groaned, and you took pride in the way pleasure affected his voice.  “Can feel you tryin’ to milk my cock.”

Lewd talk like that had never turned you on so much before, but it was different the way he said it.  Then again, everything was different when he did it, especially the way his fingertips were sure to leave little bruises on your legs from how tight he was holding.

“Look down,” he instructed as he sat up slightly, “look at how good you’re takin’ me, baby.”

You did, and sure enough, it was hard to believe that every time he pulled back, his massive cock was somehow going to fit back inside you again— or that it ever did in the first place.  But with every stroke he filled you to the brim, and when you looked back up, he was already staring down at you with those damn eyes that kept you frozen in place every time.

He pulled out suddenly, making you whimper at the loss as he stared down at you.  “Flip over, get on your hands and knees for me.”

You surprised yourself with how quickly you obeyed, arching your back as his rough hands gripped at your hips tightly.  When he pulled you back and speared you on his cock, it was like an entirely new sensation.  His cock was even deeper, stretching your walls in new ways as you keened and whimpered beneath him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” he groaned, already setting a new and much more aggressive pace.

“So good,” you cried, “it’s so good, you’re so good…”

“You like how I fuck you?” he pressed, like your mouth hung slack and your hands struggling to hold onto the mattress weren’t enough to make it obvious that you did.

“Love it,” you moaned, “please, don’t stop.”

And he didn’t, thankfully, not even close; he held your body and pulled you back onto him in time with his own thrusts forward, the sound of skin on skin rivalled only by your constant stream of moans and cries.  

Another orgasm was well on its way, though this one felt different than the first— coming on slower but stronger, making your legs shake as they fought to hold you up your weight.  

When the coil finally snapped, you didn’t feel the need to tell him you were coming again, because it was so obvious from the way you moaned and how your walls rippled and tightened on him harder than ever.  And just in case it wasn’t clear that he noticed you hitting the height of your pleasure, he leaned down a little and mumbled right against your ear: “Feels so good when you come for me, baby.”

You whimpered and let your upper body collapse onto the bed; the dramatic arch in your back was slightly uncomfortable, but your orgasm had made your whole body a little numb so you didn’t notice.

“Want you to come too,” you sighed, desperate to make him feel even a fraction as good as he’d made you feel.

“Fuck, I will,” he warned you, “god, you feel so good, gonna come inside you.”

“Please,” you sighed, “want it all in me, Chris, please…”

He followed through on his promise with a stuttered gasp, stopping his thrusts to stay buried deep in you as you felt his cock swell and flex against your walls.  Warmth spread within you as you hummed contentedly, his heavy breathing slowly stabilizing before he gently pulled out and guided you to lay beside him on the bed.

For a moment, you feared that he’d gotten what he wanted and would either toss you out or just slowly disappear from your life.  After all, he was him, and you were you, and there was something oil-and-water about it all, right?

Wrong.  He wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you into him, and kissed you one more time.  You reciprocated quickly and tried not to smile too hard.

“If I say something really stupid,” he whispered when he pulled back slightly. “will you promise not to freak out?  I mean, I know it’s impossible and it doesn’t make any sense and we just met but—”

“I love you too,” you interrupted, and he smiled back at you, letting out a sigh of bemused relief.  

“Bein’ a biker’s girl isn’t easy,” he warned you, “but I’ll keep you safe, I can promise that.”

His words were just that; words.  But the way he held you tightly and kissed you deeply made you sure that he would keep his promise. 

[sirensmojo]

"Crossroads" - Michael Gray x Reader

Warnings: Big fluff.

Summary: You visit Michael in the hospital for the first time in years after his departure from your village.

*Masterlist*

A/N: this is my first Michael Gray fic, plz take that into consideration...

“There’s a girl asking to see you, Sir.” The nurse informed Michael, “Do you accept the visit?”

“Who is it?” His eyes lifted up from the white bedsheet he was staring at, blankly.

“A certain Y/N.”

At the announcement of your name, his dull eyes lightened up, but it didn’t last. His mind suddenly got clouded with the hundreds of questions he usually was asking himself when alone.

Were you alright? Did you get out of town as you promised each other, were you still visiting his “mother” on Wednesday's afternoons, were you angry at him for leaving you?

“Yeah, let her in.” His answer was full of apprehension, making the nurse unsure of letting you in. She stayed there watching as the man shifted position, trying to get comfortable as he knew your reunion wouldn’t be easy. “I said let her in,” Michael squinted his eyes at the nurse seeing she was still there, and that’s when she got out.

He exhaled deeply, mentally preparing himself but he couldn’t escape the tremendous flow of emotions washing over him.

You were his first love, the first girl he ever saw as a woman, even if you were still quite young. He just couldn't ignore the way he felt when he used to be with you, even after all this time, even after going out with other girls, your face never left him.

“Michael.” You hesitantly entered, unsure of the fact coming in here was a good idea.

You were in town for quite long now, but never took the time to search for him. Not because you didn't care, it was the opposite.

He had never kept from you his wish to leave your little village and you thought that maybe having you in his life now wouldn't bring him anything but memories of a place he wanted to forget.

But as the time passed, you realized you couldn't get him out your mind, no matter how hard you tried. No matter what you did, it all came back to him in the end.

His smile, laugh, touch and love, you missed everything.

You knew very well the Peaky Blinders, just like every Birmingham residents, and you knew he was one of them.

You used to tease him back then about him leaving the village after burning it or something, and here you were, him being part of a gang. This couldn't fit your Michael best.

He was a very intelligent, talented, kind and good person, but you always knew that deep down, this tranquillity was hiding a darker side, a deeper meaning of who he was.

It wasn't a surprise at all for you when you heard about his new life, you were even quite happy that he could express himself and evolve in a favourable environment.

He seemed preoccupied with something but his eyebrows unknitted at the sight of your face.

Your finger waved curls were perfectly falling on each side of your head, and Michael’s eyes were falling over your olive designed dress, tassels falling right under your knees.

He always loved this green on you, and that only hit you now.

The aggressively sexy green dress you told him you would, one day, wear in the streets so everybody could be shocked and talk about how a woman should dress.

If you remembered this detail this morning you wouldn’t have come in this dress. Now, Michael was looking at you with those gleaming eyes and you knew that when his eyes will lift up to yours, you’ll find in them the same sparks behind his iris as when you were younger.

Maybe coming in here truly was a bad idea.

“Y/N,” he kept a stern face but you were reading him like a book. His hands were clammy, his jaw clenched, his shoulders tensed along with all his muscles.

You could see he was as nervous as you, and you also knew that if you could read him that easily he probably could do the same with you.

Michael was sitting on his bed straight like an “I”, and that’s only when you sat at his side that he leaned backwards on his pillows.

That idea of knowing each other despite time and distance was what helped you to breathe out the air you didn't realize you were holding, leaving your chest less heavy.

You didn’t dare to stay in his eyes, too occupied searching for your cigarettes anyway. You got one out of their case and handed it to the man that was shamelessly staring at you.

“You changed.” Were his first words, and you couldn’t blame him.

Michael grabbed the cigarette and stuck it in between his fine lips before you came lightening up the tip of it for him.

When he left you were still growing up, rough look and only wearing the elegant blue pants your mother accepted you to wear. You were obsessed with pants and used to always argue about the fact women couldn’t wear them.

“Not a bit, and you haven’t either.” You teased him. It was obvious he changed, even the way he was talking was different, and you couldn’t even imagine what else in him had changed if the external changes were that evident.

His eyes drifted to you once again, what a surprise it was for him to see you dressed up as you were with your high heels.

Men have looked at you before, but the way Michael laid eyes on you was different, you found fondness in it, perhaps love? Because after all, there was still love between you, right?

Else his chest wouldn't raise that quickly and he wouldn't flutter his eyes when you would catch him staring at you.

He chuckled and offered you a warm smile before puffing on his cig. He got lost in thoughts for a moment, doing the french inhale.

Nevertheless, Michael seemed so much more distant than what you remember. Either he was staring, either he was blanking looking into the void.

He never talked too much either, but presently his silence could kill you. You just wanted to feel his hands all over you again, but you couldn't jump on him as if your story happened yesterday.

The atmosphere tensed, “I knew you would start smoking.” You let out in a huff. “Mrs Johnson was so wrong about you, it wasn’t me corrupting you, you always had it in your blood.” You concluded, the words escaping from your mouth as you were failing to stop them.

You got a cig for yourself and Michael watched you carefully, following each of your movements as if you were to disappear in a cloud of smoke if he’d just blinked.

“No,” He clenched his jaw and shook his head as his eyes darkened, "I found it here."

"Find you?"

He nodded slightly as puffing on his cig. 'You don't ask why I'm here?" He raised a brow towards you.

"I read the news, you're a peaky boy now." You winked at him.

"It's not what you think, Y/N." He was chuckling, shaking his head to both sides.

"Well, my Micheal wearing suits and being part of a dirty business, that's what I think and that's what it is. And that's sexy." You were so concentrated imagining him in his suit you didn't realize you called him yours, but Gray noticed it, which led to his lips stretching into a smile.

"I knew you were about to tell it." He flicks his fingers, looking at you with squinting eyes.

You took advantage of that exchange to look at his face, examining each of his features and internalizing everything you missed during these years apart.

"You're sexy Michael, deal with it already." You stated outright.

You always liked that about him. He wasn’t talking much, not with his words at least, but his eyes bore enough emotions by themselves. If they could talk they would spill hundreds of words on the paper with no difficulty.

"Yeah? Well, I prefer when you tell that in other circumstances."

His words echoed in your head and you didn't know if he was making a sexual reference or if he just woke up the horny you.

You tilted your head to the side a second, puffing on your cig before the tip of your fingers instantly reached for his soft skin. You were rubbing the side of his face gently with your knuckles when you remembered something.

“I left the village over a year after you, my mother died and I just couldn’t stay there, you know.” Talking was your way of coping with the fact you were reunited with your teenage love.

“I’m sorry.” His facial expression changed, he now understood why you were here. Not that he was unhappy about your visit, but he wouldn't have thought you’d ever leave this village.

“Everything I know is there” was the answer you gave him every time he encouraged you to go to the cities to try to make a living out of clothing. London, Birmingham, whatever, as long as you would be able to be who you wanted to be, and live your passion fully.

You wanted to make clothes and Michael had always been your number one fan, solely because he was the only one to see the gorgeous dresses you were sewing, but still your number one fan.

“I’m currently working to be able to own my workshop. So everything’s fine.”

He peeked at your lips while you were doing the french inhale, but ended up staring at your lips as if they were mesmerizing him.

You ignored that as well as you ignored all the signs he still felt things for you since you came into his room.

“Michael, the reason for my visit is family. I Know you found your biological mother and all, but you got another family out there, right?” You got up and joined the table to crush your cigarette into the ashtray, a vain attempt to prepare you for what you were about to announce. “Mr Johnson’s gone... I heard he died in his own bed.”

You threw him a glance, you wanted to know what he was thinking at this moment because his face was unreadable. Even though you knew him more than he knew himself, you grew apart from each other, and here was standing in front of you, a version of Michael you did not know.

He was blankly looking at the void in front of him, fisted clenched around the sheets.

You got closer to him, putting down the ashtray on the nightstand and sat down at his side again, but this time you slipped one of your hands into his as your other one, slowly turned his head towards you, so you could look at him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered as you were nearing your face to his.

It’s when you felt a little squeeze on your hand that you completely dared to give yourself to him, leaning a slow kiss over his lips.

You then pulled away, but before you could go anywhere, you felt his free hand at the back of your head, pulling you closer for another kiss, this one being feverish.

Of course, he was still loving you. It couldn’t be any different.

His hand shifted from your head to your cheek, his thumb rubbing it softly. His tender fondles contrasted perfectly with the roughness of his kisses. They became needier and needier, as if he waited to do this for a long time.

You both finally let go of the other’s lips when your lungs were screaming for air, your lids directly opening into the other’s eyes.

Here we go again, that twinkling light dancing at the back of his deep blue eyes.

“Something actually changed there,” You caressed his lips with your index, “I didn’t remember your lips tasting this way, neither you being that much of a good kisser.” Your suave voice murmured inches away from him.

You were so close you could feel his warm breath against the sensitive skin of your lips.

“Well, teach me.” His voice aroused something inside of you, and you found yourself squeezing your thighs together.

PEAKY BLINDERS TAG: @retromafia

(ask me if you want to get in one of the tag lists)

[willowcrowned]

Grey Apprentice AU (Installment #4)

aka Sith!Obi-Wan AU Flavor II 

(Previous parts: x x x)

Qui-Gon paces the length of his and Obi-Wan's small sitting room, first once, then twice, then a third time. He looks up, expecting the usual dry comment from Obi-Wan on jedi masters’ peaceful bodies and minds, but he’s not there. Of course, that’s the problem in the first place: Obi-Wan is gone, off on a ship with a figure that felt like a maelstrom of darkness in the Force, and he’d left with a wink. The man must know something Qui-Gon doesn’t, but what it is, he can’t guess.

He turns, pausing at the entrance to Obi-Wan's room. He normally doesn’t enter without permission; it’s an invasion of Obi-Wan's privacy— privacy to which he is well entitled— but in this case...

Qui-Gon grimaces, opening the door. He won’t snoop, won’t do anything other than have a superficial look. At the very least it might calm him down to have tangible evidence of Obi-Wan's intention to return. When they’d left, he hadn’t taken the black bag he usually keeps with him, a velvet thing smaller than Qui-Gon's palm. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have left it if he thought he’d be gone for more than a week.

The room is just as Obi-Wan had left it, tidy and empty, with a plant on the desk next to a picture of his friends, a spare cloak hung up on the peg next to the door, and a blanket folded perfectly at the foot of his bed. It’s the room of a knight, not of a padawan, Qui-Gon realizes, and he has to push down the surge of pride and guilt that seems to swell up in his chest more and more often these days.

He frowns, for the first time noticing the odd pressure building in his brain. It’s a strange, blunt, thing— the marked absence of something, rather than its presence. He scans the room once more for the offending object, for the first time noticing an odd red glow from the closet. Qui-Gon pauses. He’d said he wouldn’t touch anything, but— The glow grows brighter, and he can hear the Force calling to him from it, not light, not peaceful, but not unkind. Qui-Gon sighs, and opens the closet door.  

The glow is coming from the floor, within the black bag Obi-Wan had left behind. Qui-Gon looks at it, a furrow forming in his brows. It’s not Obi-Wan's habit to leave things on the floor, and the cleaning crews haven’t been in their apartments since they left. When he picks up the bag, intending to return it to its place on the shelf, a white-hot pain sears through his hand, and he drops it. The bag tumbles to the floor, and out of it falls a holocron.

It’s the last thing Qui-Gon notices before the onslaught of darkness hits him, pressing him beneath a tsunami of emotion. The fury slams into him first, not so hot as the zabrak’s had been but far, far, deeper. Qui-Gon falls to his knees without noticing, forced to sustain the mental battering of his shields. He can feel them weakening even as he clutches them tighter, being torn away bit by bit like an old house in a storm.

How is no one noticing this, Qui-Gon wonders. How come no one has come in to see what this endless wave of darkness is— this storm with no light.

The first tear in his shields happens, and he works it shore it up, plugging it with whatever he can think of: random bits of trivia, a poem, a meal he shared with Obi-Wan. Stay, he tells them, give me time. The pieces do not stay, each layer being ripped away until all that’s left was the look on Obi-Wan's face as he realized the sandwich he’d bitten into was filled with candied ants. Then, abruptly, the maelstrom stops, and Qui-Gon is left grasping for the pieces of his shields, the void around them quiet once more.

“Do forgive my intrusion,” a female voice says, dry and unapologetic as Qui-Gon struggles to get control of his breathing on the floor. “You know how it is: better safe than sorry.”

Qui-Gon falls back, resting against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. “What are you?” He says, injecting his tone with as little worry as he can manage. “What are you doing here?” What are you doing in Obi-Wan's room, he wants to add. What have you done to my padawan?

Zannah’s nose scrunches slightly, halfway between amused and disgusted. “Your shields are down, Jedi.”

“I wonder why that is,” he manages.

She shrugs. “I’m not going to apologize.”

Qui-Gon patches up his shields, weaving the skeleton of the old threads of memory into a new place, beside several strong pockets of compulsion. It won’t be enough to stop the woman if she attacks him again, but it might gain him a few seconds of reprieve. It will have to be enough.

“As for your questions,” the woman says once he’s finished, “A Sith, sleeping, Obi-Wan brought me here, and I’ve done nothing to him.”

“Nothing,” Qui-Gon repeats, disbelieving, the aftershocks of her attack still filtering through his mind.

“Yes,” the woman says. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Darth Zannah. I’d tell you to sit down, but, well...” She gestures to him collapsed on the floor.

Qui-Gon shakes his head, trying to disseminate the information. “Does he know you’re here? Does he know what he brought back?” Surely not, he thinks. Surely Obi-Wan wouldn’t have knowingly brought a Sith into the heart of the Jedi temple.

“I should hope so,” Zannah says, “given that I’ve been training him for twelve years.”

“Twelve—” Qui-Gon freezes.

“Yes,” Zannah agrees, “since Bandomeer.”

“Impossible,” Qui-Gon breathes.

“Is it?” Zannah raises an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Obi-Wan— or, no, all this time Obi-Wan must have been imitating her. Qui-Gon remembers when he picked that little habit up; it had been the months after he’d turned seventeen, just beginning to grow into his too-long limbs, still gawkish and almost awkward. Then, over the course of their mission, his gait had grown smoother, countenance more graceful, and his awkward smiles at Qui-Gon's jokes had turned into an amused raised eyebrow and half-smirk. 

It had felt odd at the time, watching the maladroit child he knew turn into a clever, subtle, adult, but he knows it now as the sign of Obi-Wan growing up, leaving Qui-Gon as a student and returning to him as a friend. He remembers the white stone of the city, remembers the late spring blossoms of the sea-roses, remembers the first time Obi-Wan had turned that quizzical look on him— and feels the taste of the memory, sweet with the blossoms, turn to ash in his mouth.

“How—” Qui-Gon starts, mouth dry. “Why—”

“I offered him knowledge,” Zannah says, not unkindly, “and companionship not to be found in the constraints of Jedi.”

“Why train him?” Qui-Gon asks, clutching at proof that she has not— could not— have trained Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is kind, and clever, and selfless, and none of the things a Sith should be. He cannot have lied so fully for so many years. He cannot. “Why not train someone else? Someone you wouldn’t have to corrupt first?”

Zannah gives him an incredulous look. “You think I’ve corrupted him? Have you forgotten Ghé’aiit so easily? That was not the behavior of one corrupted.”

Qui-Gon feels ire stir deep in his chest, at her prodding, guiding rhetoric, but the memory springs to him unbidden.

It had begun as a trade dispute. Three families, each the head of a government and of a trade sector. The Jedi had initially been brought in to facilitate negotiations; those had lasted all of two nights, ending with Obi-Wan kidnapped and in chains— a hostage for the third family. Qui-Gon hadn’t known that at the time, of course. He’d only known that Obi-Wan was gone and the place where their bond was had turned to a jagged mess of edges before it disappeared into nothingness.

He’d found Obi-Wan again, oblivious to Qui-Gon's presence, escaped and facing the Third Peer, who was holding a blaster to his sister’s head. It would have been easy, laughably easy, for Obi-Wan to let him shoot her, claim he had gotten there too late to save her, and arrested the Third Peer with little risk to himself. Instead, Obi-Wan had lain down his blaster, and braced himself for the shot.  

(Later, when their bond was back and whole, Qui-Gon had blocked it off again, too overwhelmed by fear and relief not to yell at Obi-Wan. How could he yell at Obi-Wan, when he’d done exactly as a Jedi should do? But how could he not be angry, not be furious, that he had lain down his blaster and braced himself for death as if it were second nature? How can I forgive you, Qui-Gon had thought then, for almost leaving me? How will I be able to let you go when it’s time?)

“He scared me too,” Zannah says softly. “When I heard what he had done, I could barely restrain myself. Foolish, loving, Jedi, and their need to do the right thing.”

“I hope you don’t think,” Qui-Gon says, tired, “that I trust you.”

“No,” Zannah says. “You’re not a stupid man, on the whole. I hope you will trust Obi-Wan, though.”

Qui-Gon sits straight up, reminded of what had caused his agitation in the first place. “Obi-Wan. You sent him after that darksider?”

“Darth Maul,” Zannah agrees. “I wouldn’t fear, he’s not a match for Obi-Wan— merely the servant of the Sith Master.”

“You would send Obi-Wan to do another Sith’s dirty work?” Qui-Gon doesn’t hide the curl of his lip from her, meeting her gaze head-on. “I thought the masters were supposed to discard their apprentices themselves.”

“I do not,” she hisses, eyes flashing, “do that creature’s dirty work.”

“Lady Zannah—” Qui-Gon replies coldly.

“Lord, actually,” Zannah corrects, and all of a sudden the fire has left her eyes. “The title is ‘lord’ regardless of gender. A Sith Lady is a different job entirely.”

“Lord Zannah,” Qui-Gon corrects, making sure she can hear the eye-roll inherent in his tone, “Are you implying that not only are you embroiled in a rivalry with another Sith clan, but that you have, in fact, created your own?”

“We call them houses,” Zannah replies. “Mine is that of Athén. And you are correct, Obi-Wan is a part of it. We are a House of two.”

Fantastic, Qui-Gon thinks bitterly, and his patch-job must not be as good as he thinks it is because he swears he hears Zannah chuckle. He sighs. “Out of curiosity, what is the job of a Sith Lady?”

“A combination of cultural advisor, archivist, and magic user. And occasionally a consort.” Zannah smiles a wickedly sharp smile. “I much prefer being a Lord.”

Yes, Qui-Gon thinks, not caring that she can hear it. You would.

-

 Some notes:

-Yes Zannah did name her house after her dead wife, who is in turn named after Athena, because I am a basic, basic, bitch

-Yes, I did borrow the line about Sith jobs from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles. Patricia C. Wrede I’m so sorry I’m using your work for my nonsense AUs but also those books shaped me as a human, so. Too Bad. They’re a part of my writing now.

- I included a bug-eating joke because apparently I am constantly under the compulsion to talk about people in sw eating bugs. I have no excuses

[ashbrea381writings]

Flying Blind: Chapter 1, Bats in Paris

Four-year-old Richard Grayson glared at the girl in front of him. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was just six weeks older than him, and right now, she was taller than him too. “You’re gonna lose.” He taunted in heavily accented French, “I got super high scores and you can’t beat them!” “Don’t even think about it! I’m gonna win!” Marinette’s fists were clenched and her face red. “Just you watch!” The Dupain-Chengs and the Graysons shared an amused look over the heads of the children. “How are you doing?” Tom asked, chuckling about the children’s antics. “We’re good, we’ll be starting another tour this summer, then probably settle down for a couple years before moving on.” The two children started shouting even louder, causing them to be dragged apart by their exasperated parents. This happened every competition, for years.

***

Five years later, Richard stopped showing up to competitions. Marinette was annoyed at first, grumbling about him being a chicken who didn’t want to face her. At another competition, a month later, she heard one of the judges talking about the Graysons, making a sad comment about the loss of so many talented people, the wasted potential, an entire family of fliers just gone. Marinette stiffened in shock, her eyes wide as she processed what they had just said. Bolting to the locker room, Marinette yanked her hair out of it’s bun and changed back into her street clothes, hiding in the bathroom stall and crying. When her parents find her some minutes later, they make sure she isn’t hurt and take her home. “He’s dead… Dick’s dead.” She told them tearfully in the car on the way home. “All of them are.” Marinette stopped going to competitions after that.

***

Ladybug could feel the tension in her shoulders as she confronted the man before her, Chat a step behind and to her left. “If your Justice League doesn’t want to help, you could at least stay out of our city.” Her arms were crossed as she glared at Batman. “Why do you think the League wouldn’t help?” Robin asked, his accent strong but his pronunciation carefully precise. “We only heard of the situation recently.” “Oh? I called the League two years ago when our mentor gave up his memories to prevent Hawkmoth from getting something important.” Ladybug spat, letting her disgust show without letting it be bad enough that Hawkmoth could sense it. “I got told to stop playing games and they hung up on me.” “Who did you speak with?” Batman asked, pulling out a small tablet to take notes. “I don’t know, they didn’t say. Male, light voice in the baritone range, sounded way too cheerful until he decided I was lying, then he was just an ass.” She shrugged and gestured to the city around her. “‘Paris is fine, we would have noticed if something bad happened.’” She quoted in a near-perfect impression of Hal Jordan that made Batman frown. “Did you mean to do an impression?” Robin asked, somewhere between surprised and trying not to laugh when the girl his age was able to deepen her voice that much. “It’s accurate, I was there to hear him.” Chat chuckled, crossing his arms and shifting to lean on just one leg. “The guy continued to rant about children making prank calls and how he didn’t even know how we had the number.” “The fact that we had it at all should have told him the truth.” Ladybug scoffed. “Look, I’ve been doing this for four years. If you really wanna help, you’ll need to make sure you don’t fall victim to Hawkmoth yourself.” “And how does one do that?” “Mostly by repressing your negative emotions.” Chat shrugged, looking out over the city. “To be honest, it’s getting harder for Parisians to keep up their hopes. Our ages don’t help either, there are plenty who keep demanding we give up our Miraculi to older, more experienced people, but not just anyone can wield them.” “The personalities of the people wielding them must mesh well with the Miraculous, or it corrupts you and either causes you to become someone you wouldn’t recognize, or makes you very sick.” “That explains why you can’t pass them on, but why were you two chosen?” Robin tilted his head, moving forward a bit more. “We were the best candidates at the time. Our former mentor read our auras to make sure who meshed with which Miraculous and gave us a test to make sure we were the type of people to help others even when it’s not in our best interests.” Ladybug sighed and turned to look as a loud ‘bang!’ sounded from the direction of the Eiffel Tower. “Always the tower, I still don’t get it.” Chat sighed, prepping to take off. “Don’t ask me, Kitty.” Ladybug grabbed her yo-yo. “Stay back out of the fight unless you see a civilian in danger. You don’t know what you’re up against.” Batman looked like he wanted to argue, but the teen heroes took off in the direction of the Akuma that was currently pulling pieces off of the Tower and throwing them at the ground nearby. Batman and Robin found a spot just outside the action to observe. Other members of the Miraculous Team were already on the scene, moving civilians and calling out information to each other. Viperion split off from the action to intercept Ladybug and seemed to have a lot of information. Once they conferred for a few moments, a suddenly weary-looking Viperion gave signals to several of the team members. The Akuma was released, captured, and purified. With the Cure cast, the Tower was repaired and the Miraculous Team collectively shared quiet celebrations before separating except for Chat Noir, who’s Cataclysm hadn’t been used. “LB and the others are going to recharge, check in with their families after the attack, and meet us. I’m to lead you to somewhere private where we can talk more thoroughly.” Chat was brisk, seeming tired. “Your Snake friend… He spent a good portion of the fight observing and only really called out instructions for the most part. Why is that?” Robin asked as they started running across rooftops. “That’s his part. Ladybug is Creation, I’m Destruction, he’s Intuition. He watches the fight and uses his ability to make sure we do not fail when we cannot avoid it otherwise.” Chat answered vaguely, enjoying the verbal cat-and-mouse. “Are you going to tell us what his power is?” Batman asked, his exasperation audible in his voice. “The more information we have, the better we can plan and the more help we can give.” “I’m gonna let Viperion explain, he’s a chill guy, he won’t mind telling you. Besides, they’re all gonna be there and I think LB plans to give you two a rundown of everyone anyway.” Chat explained, dropping down into a small garden hidden between buildings. There was a small storage shed that Chat opened, removing a handful of chairs and a folding table. “I believe LB plans on bringing refreshments, will you help me set this up?”

***

An hour later, the rest of the team had assembled, with more than just Ladybug bringing snacks and drinks. There was something for everyone, although Batman chose not to eat. “So, a rundown?” “My powers stem from Creation, I create an object that helps us in the fight, purify the Akuma, and my Cure repairs any damage done by the miraculous during that specific Akuma fight. If too much time passes after the Akuma was purified, I can’t put it right.” Ladybug began, pointing to Chat next. “His power is from Destruction, he can destroy any one item he touches or a portion of a surface such as the ground or a wall. He can control how far the destruction spreads to a degree, it’s something we’re working on. Viperion has the power of Second Chance, he sets a timer and within that span of time he can reset to the beginning as many times as he wants theoretically. The problem is that he’s the only one who remembers what happened in the timeline he reset, so he has to be able to remember what to do so we can succeed.” “Is that why you suddenly looked more tired during the fight?” Robin asked, brows furrowing. “Yes. Seeing your friends get hurt over and over will do that.” The shaggy-haired hero sighed, shaking his head. “As much as I dislike seeing it, I know that I can prevent it as long as I still have my power active and as long as I’m able to give them the right information when we reset. I’ve gotten a lot better than when we started, but it helped when Chat started to realize I knew what I was doing.” His eyes sparkled with a bit of humor and Chat shook his head with a goan. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Chat asked, stretching. “Nope, never.” “Anyway.” Ladybug glared at the two boys, but it lacked conviction. “You’ll have to give me the rundown later of how many times we reset. Moving on, Rena Rouge, power of Illusion. Carapace, Protection, his shields are nearly impenetrable.” Ladybug pointed out each hero in turn. “Honey Bee, she can paralyze a person with her stinger, most of these have a duration and are usable just once for now. Pegasus can make portals to anywhere, again, once and there’s a time limit after using it. King Monkey isn’t here right now, but his power disrupts those of whomever is touched with an object he summons. We have one more teammate who doesn’t get involved often. Their name is Bunnyx, and they don’t show up much unless we really need them. They travel through time.” “So you have a time-traveler to come pull you out? Then why don’t they tell you who Hawkmoth is?” Batman demanded. “Because one: that’s cheating, and two: that’s not how they’re supposed to figure it out.” Came another voice from above before a blue, white, and pink blur dropped down behind Ladybug.

***

Note: The competition is for Gymnastics if anyone’s confused.

[gellavonhamster]

in the bleak midwinter*: an asoue/atwq peaky blinders au concept

...also known as the idea that’s been living in my brain for what must be a couple of years now; I have reconciled myself with the fact that I will never write this fic because I simply do not have enough patience to think it out and write it down in the way that would give it justice, so here’s a plot bunny or something.

This is basically the Sugar Bowl Generation of VFD (still young, before kids and all) meets All The Wrong Questions (some of the events + some of the kid characters of ATWQ as adults) meets season one of Peaky Blinders, but I guess it could be read and understood without the knowledge of the latter simply as an organized crime AU.

It’s the beginning of the interwar period, and VFD is a gang. Which, yes, would require a certain amount of OOC of the characters, though I imagine their intimidation tactics would still avoid too much bloodshed. They deal with bookmaking, contraband, and sometimes art forgery because even this version of VFD has to have something sophisticated about it. There’s a number of places, such as bars and clubs, that pay them for protection, and there’s also a number of places they own, such as the Hotel Denouement with the Denouement brothers in charge and the nightclub ran by Ramona Browning**, alias the Duchess (her father was some kind of aristocracy, see, too aristocratic to ever truly acknowledge her). They use their influence to become the informal rulers of their part of the City. They claim to strive for power to make the City a better place, and these are not just words - they do donate money to schools and libraries, for example - but it’s not like they don’t enjoy being in power, and their rule is still based on crime, those who threaten it being eliminated swiftly. 

The Snickets are the Shelby family of this AU, of course. Lemony is Tommy - the mastermind, already a legend of sorts despite being the youngest, plagued by the horrors of war - but still hoping for the best, strange as it seems, because he’s still Lemony. Jacques is Arthur, the fighter suffering from PTSD. Kit is Ada, but she’s also Aunt Polly - she’s the one who ran the business while the boys were in the army. 

Now, season one introduced Grace Burgess as an undercover police informant spying on the Peaky Blinders.

Enter Ellington Feint.

Ellington’s father, the only family she has left, has been kidnapped by a gang called the Inhumane Society, and she’d do anything and everything to save him. So she agrees to infiltrate VFD, their rival gang, to find out the whereabouts of a shipment of weapons that was meant for the Society but was accidentally stolen by VFD. Apart from machine guns and shells, the shipment includes some “statue of a sea beast”, and no one cares to provide more explanations to Ellington about it, but apparently it is the most important part of that cargo. So Ellington takes on the position of a barmaid in The Black Cat Bar, one of the places that pay VFD for protection and the one frequented by its key members, and starts listening and watching.

Ellington needs to get close to the Snickets, because if anyone knows where the weapons are, it’s them. Steward Mitchum, the corrupt cop on the Society’s payroll whom she is to meet from time to time at the Natural History Museum (which she used to attend with her father) to pass on the information, suggests she should seduce one of the Snicket brothers. The problem is, Ellington has a chance to learn very soon that Jacques doesn’t know much about the stolen cargo, and Lemony is too taken with his girlfriend, the music hall singer Beatrice Baudelaire, to even look at any other woman. There’s no getting between them, even though it seems Beatrice also has something going on with VFD’s bookkeeper Bertrand Markson, and Lemony seems aware of it. 

So Ellington decides to approach Kit instead. Kit, who seems so lonely - Ellington doesn’t know the details, but there was some serious falling-out between her and her ex-boyfriend, who has since left the City (and won’t appear in this story. Olaf is the problem for the hypothetical season two of this imaginary show). Ellington doesn’t plan on anything other than a very close friendship - yet, the closer they become, the more she understands that she is attracted to Kit.

(There certainly is a variant of the “I warn you, I’ll break your heart” - “Already broken” scene in which Ellington sings to Kit)

Anyway. Things progress, and they fall in love. Well, Kit seems to have fallen in love, and Ellington keeps trying to persuade herself that she hasn’t, because Kit has to remain nothing but a task for her.

The location of the stolen weapons, however, still remains a mystery, even though Ellington once hears Kit and Lemony discuss it. Whatever the statue is, Lemony seems to believe it has great powers, and Kit seems to believe it’s nothing but folklore. Lemony tells her of the stories of a mysterious sea animal (or spirit, or whatever it may be) he heard from other soldiers during the war, about what Widdershins heard during his time in the navy. Kit tells him that everyone is a believer in a foxhole, and that she loves W like her own kin but he’s a bragging idiot. There was nothing on the sea other than enemy ships.

Elllington’s mission is complicated by Lemony clearly not trusting her. He tells her it’s because his sister has been hurt before, but she suspects it’s more than that. He even admits that he had his people make enquiries in Paltryville, the town she claims to have come from, and found out that no Ellington Feint ever lived there. When he suggests her secrecy is due to a child born out of marriage, she is eager to confirm that. (Cue him asking her if she’s read Les Misérables - yeah, even this version of VFD would be literature nerds, how can it be otherwise - because this whole situation reminds him of Fantine, and her lying that she hasn’t and thinking that she’s more of a Javert at the barricade, really).

Then there’s a masquerade party at the Duchess’s club, and Kit takes Ellington there as her date. (Which is okay, because if there’s any place in the City where a woman dancing with another woman or a man dancing with another man would not be looked at askance, it’s the Duchess’s club. If I was actually writing a fic, there would definitely be a scene in which Ellington observes Beatrice asking Bertrand to dance with her and Bertrand trying to decline by telling her that, since he didn’t have time to procure a mask, he shouldn’t be on the dancefloor at all, and then Lemony approaches him with a spare mask in hand and encourages him to dance with Beatrice and puts the mask on Bertrand himself and it somehow looks so intimate as if he’s undressing him and Ellington’s like “Oh, so it’s like that with them. This is probably of no use to me but still, good to know”). 

When Kit disappears at some point, Ellington follows her quietly and eavesdrops on her conversation with one of the Denouements. He tells her that his brother is all right and sends his regards. Later at the party, however, Ellington sees two Denouements. Why would one of them send the other’s regards to Kit if they’re all in the same room? A couple of drinks with the already tipsy Olivia (officially a fortune-teller, but who knows what purposes VFD really uses her salon for?), and Ellington learns that there used to be three Denouements, actually. But the third brother, Dewey, had a conflict with one of rival gangs which nearly resulted in a war, had not Lemony agreed to dispose of Dewey. To stop that gang from going against VFD, he killed Dewey with his own hands.

Except he didn’t, Ellington thinks. Lemony must have staged Dewey’s execution, and now he’s out there very much alive. Perhaps this knowledge will come in handy.

Meanwhile, the Inhumane Society, who have other beef with VFD apart from the stolen weapons, are getting impatient. There’s a gun-fight which results in Ike Anwhistle dying and his grieving widow, Josephine, telling Lemony it is all his fault and leaving the city. (I know I said this is based on s1 only, but they’re the John and Esme Shelby of this story). And Bertrand is severely wounded. VFD needs another bookkeeper while he’s recovering, and Kit, who knows from The Black Cat’s owner Dashiell Qwerty that Ellington has also been keeping the books of the bar lately and doing it well, offers this position to her. This gives Ellington an opportunity to learn more about the asserts and resources of VFD - and a chance to discover some interesting notes scribbled next to the name of Dewey Denouement. Dewey Denouement, who is only officially dead, but still has a grave at the cemetery.

Ellington tells Stew she has an idea where the weapons and/or the statue might be hidden.

When she meets some of the members of the Inhumane Society to take them to the tomb, she is surprised to see Hangfire himself among them. She’s only seen him in passing before, this mysterious man with his face covered in bandages. They say he’s been horribly disfigured during the war. They also say he came back mad. When they’ve done some digging and unearthed, instead of a coffin, several crates of guns - and opened one of them to find a small statue of what seems like a very scary seahorse - Mitchum and Flammarion are suddenly shot down, and Lemony Snicket steps from behind a gravestone. 

He’s been following them.

Of course he didn’t believe that all Miss Feint is hiding is an illegitimate child, Lemony tells them as he’s holding Hangfire at gunpoint. He’s been doing research. In fact, the man whose grave they’ve unearthed is presently in a unique position allowing him to make research away from the City. He’s found out that Ellington Feint is the daughter of a renowned naturalist Armstrong Feint, who’s recently gone missing. And then they managed to discover something more. 

This is when Hangfire grabs a gun and points it at Lemony, and Lemony aims at Ellington instead, which for some reason stops Hangfire from shooting. 

This is also when it turns out that Lemony has also been followed, and Kit Snicket steps from behind another gravestone, pointing a gun at her brother. He keeps aiming at Ellington, wearily telling Kit she isn’t really going to shoot him. 

Kit tells him that unless he drops the gun, he’ll find out.

(When Ellington tries to speak to Kit, she just tells her to shut up. And it hurts, because Kit has stopped being just a mission a long time ago. And now she knows that Ellington’s been lying to her from the start. And she may not want Ellington to die, but she would also hardly ever forgive her. And that would be fair).

And then Hangfire tries to shoot Kit, and Ellington screams, and Kit manages to spring back, and Lemony fires at the man who tried to kill his sister, and suddenly Hangfire is bleeding out on the ground and calling out to Ellington in her father’s voice. 

That is what they’ve also found out about Hangfire, Lemony tells her as she’s kneeling beside the body, unable to bring herself to uncover his face. He sounds genuinely surprised; he thought she knew.

Kit makes him let Ellington go and tells her she doesn’t want to see her ever again. And Ellington leaves. She takes a train to some seaside town she’s never heard of before and leaves. Her job is ended. Her father is dead. Her love affair that never should have happened is in the past. She still doesn’t know why her father lied to her when he could have just asked and she would’ve done anything, why he kept up this double life, what was the significance of the statue and what it might become in the hands of someone like Lemony Snicket. She is too tired and sick of it all to try to find out.

She manages to build a life in Stain’d-by-the-Sea. She works in a coffee shop and sings there in the evenings. She never sings the song she sang to Kit again. She marries a man she doesn’t have any truly strong feelings for.

Then, a year or so later, there’s a phone call, and the voice of the woman she loved and betrayed tells her she still can’t stop thinking of her.

*This phrase used by the Peaky Blinders upon the death of one of them is replaced by “The world is quiet here”. Obviously.

**My Last Duchess, referenced in ASOUE in connection with R, is written by Robert Browning.

[shouldntcryoverit]

a clone fit for a ball.

Commander Fox x Reader

I think initially I wanted to write this as a whole story, but it’s quite a lot and (because i haven’t been too active) I just sorted wanted to post something yk :) hope you enjoy! <33

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It’s a dramatised reality if you think about it. The idea of a gathering with the only intention being to appease the aching sore that is political pillow talk, is one that is so pompous it seems that those who benefit from the scheme are the ones who design it. It’s a drawn out, legislative, painfully particular game of charades disguised in lavish clothes and large hats. In almost every way, those garments are often large enough and sparkly enough to hide the deceit they cover, and persuade each mindless baboon that is gormless to fall victim to it to enter into the game themselves. It’s a repetitive cycle, and stupid though it may be; it does work.

Though there was beauty in it that you just couldn’t deny. The decorations were enough to mesmerise you entirely; lavishly hung around each bannister and archway of the senate hall. Bright colours of orange and pink were scattered across the flower arrangements that littered the walls and their accents. Whatever had been done to spritz life into the chandeliers and lighting had worked its magic, for the perfectly lit definitions gave luminosity and warmth all in one squeezing breath. It was inviting and spectacular; a collaboration of everything the senate appeared to be. Even as the floor beneath your heeled feet glistened with rich delight, the pit in your stomach still swallowed your joy.

Your hatred for all things political had always been your strength and your weakness, especially as a senator. You represented your home planet well enough to protect it’s people, but you would not stand for the same deceitful bulldozing that reduced planets and people to nothing more than pawns or money makers. It meant that you stood for nothing you disbelieved in, including ridiculously regimented senate balls.

Nevertheless, you needed a way in. Your planet had been overlooked for far too long; the cries of your people ignored. You needed a trade deal and you needed one that wouldn’t result in republic outposts and war dependancy littering your already fighting home world. A ball was a good opportunity for political match making, and it was one you couldn’t give up.

It was that reasoning that had led you as far as a blue, bejewelled dress that suffocated what waist you apparently had, and hugged each curve with malice. Even with the anger dripping from your rouged lips, you couldn’t deny it. You did look rather pretty. It was a small triumph, but one that gave you confidence enough to manage the heels that’d been handed to you. As you caught a reflection of yourself leaning heavily against the arm of a guard in a particularly shiny section of the wall, you realised just how pretty you did look. Perhaps there was something addicting in the madness of it all: perhaps there was something powerful about a low cut dress and tousled hair.

Your entrance was timely, a rushed manner donned after slightly too much time taken trying to find the dammed place. Typical of Coruscant, you muttered. Two guards in white and red nodded at your arrival, both seemingly emotionless under their plastoid helmets. It was something that’d always confused you about the clone army; all painfully identical, yet lightyears apart from each other. A brotherhood was one thing, yet could you even call it that?

The thought itself was fleeting, though one you were sure to ponder later. You passed those statues of guards within seconds and continued on your warpath to the ‘reception’. It didn’t take much for you to be recognised; the perks of being one of the only senators with detailed and beautiful facial markings. It was something you prided most. The rest was a blur, but you made it into the hall and straight into a chair that’d apparently been pulled out for you. The man to your left was a kindly looking togruta, the woman to your right your stern faced guard, who looked murderous in comparison.

“My dear, aren’t you cold?” The togruta asked with a genuine smile. The question made a small laugh sprout up your throat.

“Perhaps, though my heart is beating far too fast for it to be uncomfortable.” You replied with that charming tone in your voice you’d perfected.

Everything was an act; your shoulders perked up and back to lift your chin in power and confidence, the planned placement of your hands across the table, your silken voice as it left your silken mouth. Even the unplanned conversation would seem regimented, though the Togruta’s nature settled your mind with authentic care.

“Ah, now that I can understand.” He shuffled, uncomfortable or unsure you couldn’t tell. “I do apologise, but I cant seem to place you.”

You paused again with an unfaltering expression of tenderness.

“Oh well I know you, Governor Roshti. But I don’t blame you, I took over from Madame Liobrev shortly after she resigned from senatorial status. This is my first ball to say the least.” There was a hint of an exhale by the end of your scentence, it felt good to admit even subtly that you were out of your depth.

“Well it doesn’t show, I only hope my name hasn’t ingrained in your mind the way it has in so many’s.” The sadness that fell across his face was just as genuine as the smile that it had replaced. It made the compassionate side of you ache.

“You did what this god forsaken war made you do, I see no reason for shame to fall upon you or your people. Battle leaves us all defenceless.” The spite of your tongue was heavy; anger for the war too many fell victim to.

“Thank you, my dear.”

You smiled once again, before turning back to your guard. She was perched haughtily on her seat, weapon securely hidden but it’s presence obvious. Her attire was in contrast to yours; armour and garments all of dark colours and metal accents. She looked like a warrior, and you were momentarily envious.

“Taurin you really ought to relax. Senators aren’t that vicious. Or at least not when they’re sedated with flattery and shiny things.” You joked, desperate to take the edge of both her and yourself.

Taurin, the guard, bowed her head in humor, a distant smile forming over her pursed lips. It was one you were incredibly fond of, and one you had grown to recognise as endearment.

“M’lady, it’s not the senators I’m worried about.”

You laughed; a breathy laugh that corrupted your lungs and throat.

“What more could you possibly find challenging about a ball this compensated for. Perhaps it’s that my shoes will grow painful on my feet? Enjoy yourself!” You pressured with sweet intentions.

She turned to face you with a vindictive smile laced with sour belief. Her eyes trailed over your reeling eyes in silent conversation, seconds before they jolted off their steady trajectory just past your head. What had been childish remark soon freezed over to slight panic and question. You noticed the change almost instantly and frowned with creased eyebrows. As your head began to swivel to turn to her opponent, she screeched and forced you down.

The fall from your chair wasn’t high, but the adrenaline and shock of the direct hit made it seem endless. You hit the hard floor with a mind numbing crack, one that caused your eyes to widen before you realised it was only one of the many jewels that laced your back splintering; rather than something a critical. Nonetheless, the shot that flew past certainly was real.

The bullet soared over your head, frowning that it had missed it’s target. You couldn’t even process what had happened before Taurin fell to your level, teeth clenched in agony. You reacted as best you could with hands fumbling around her leaking wound; but she swatted you away and thrusted your head down once more. That one bullet, the one that had cursed your luck and gone for your guard in spite of it, had previously had a purpose. Your mind lingered on that fact for a second before you pushed past it. Searching eyes found Governor Roshti’s, who had copied your move and positioned himself just under the table.

You couldn’t hear much over your panting breath; nothing except the shouts and screams of senators whose useless lives felt threatened, so naturally, just like their entire life’s work, they do nothing except complain and wail. It was dark under the thick tablecloth, too dark for anything to be made clear to you. Taurin had wriggled further away and was holding her position behind your table, a gun most definitely in her hand.

Three shots. Four shots. Two. One. Silence.

Now really all you could hear was your panting breath. The blood rushing through your ears made a ringing sound, and the tingling in your veins made the fastness of your heart seem ordinary. Governor Roshti made no adjustments to his stance at the silence, but you were itching to unfold your coiled legs and poke you head up and out of the cover. Like most things you did, you did it without asking. The carnage wasn’t as bad as the screams foretold it to be, but as soon as your vision shifted you saw the agony splayed over Taurin’s face.

“Help! Medic!” Was the instantaneous shout from your lips.

One of the clone guards from earlier shot up. He wore a kama around his waist and his armour was weathered; something that told you he was rough without him having to speak a word.

“Ma’am sit back down, we don’t know where the attackers went.” He commanded.

“I can manage.”

His helmet tilted slightly in what you assumed to be annoyance. With two fingers pointing he signalled for a medic to step forward. The new clone looked significantly younger through the way he held himself and the shining of his uniform. With Taurin being led away, you finally let go of the breath you’d been holding.

“Ma’am-“

“I’d like to know who just tried to kill me.” The clone looked slightly surprised at the deadpan tone of your voice. “And who shot my closest guard.”

He grimaced from under his helmet and lifted his hand up to his visor to tap into his comm channel.

“This is Commander Fox, what’s our status?” He spoke; a velvety tone lacing the authority in his voice.

Fox. It wasn’t bad. Your mind shifted once again as his comm crackled back at him.

“Suspect... run... in pursuit... ty hunter.” Was all you could make out, but it didn’t take a genius to fill in the gaps.

“They won’t find the assailant while pampering senators.” You spoke, cringing slightly at the privilege you held yourself; here you were demanding Commander of his time, all because you have some morsel of perhaps undeserved power.

“I’m sorry” Perhaps an attempt to reconcile your blundering thoughtlessness would change the trooper’s aggravated stance. “I only meant that it would help if the senators uninvolved were to be sent home and out of your hair, it can’t be fun listening to them whine.”

His head tilted slightly in what you hoped to be a grin. “You’re not wrong, but I’m afraid I can’t keep you alone in protection. Not when we don’t actually know who was the intended target.”

“Commander, let me help. Before I was a senator I was a member of the guard. I’m afraid I can just about handle myself.” There was more than a hint of pride in your voice as you spoke.

Fox shook his head and lifted off his helmet. It would be far to say you lost your breath at the sight of his actual face. In the few seconds you spent mentally sketching his face into your brain, your mind fastened at his slightly too-long-to-be-neat mop of curly hair, and how it fell playfully over his deeply tanned forehead. His cheekbones were sharp enough to shut you up (which was, as he’d come to discover, wasn’t actually that easy) let alone the bite of his jaw.

But it was his eyes that made you most intriguing; deep and wise auburn eyes set perfectly amongst weathered skin. They watched you for a moment before the eyebrows above them lifted slightly in confusion.

You hadn’t meant to stare. Or maybe you had, it was unimportant.

“Fine, I’ll take you back to the office while the boys take the others to a safe space.” He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem as begrudging anymore; a small victory.

“Thank you, although I may need a change in shoes.”

At this he did grin; and it was marvellous.

[grokebaby]

Summary of the eldritch angel story

Terminology masterpost

Central Characters

Heaven:

Lamera

ZZZ

Grandefel (Persecutor)

J'aimekiel

Ngah (High angel)

Kxxxtr (High angel)

Combfa (Caretaker)

Samuel (Angel in training) (not my character)

God's throne

Hell:

Deirdre (Persecutor)

Delilah (High demon)

Xerxes (High demon)

Hart (High demon)

Devoul

Limbo:

Godwatcher

Story summary/walkthrough under the cut

Our story kicks off when Lamera, J'aimekiel, ZZZ and Grandefel are all wondering what hell is like, since none of them (except Grandefel, who's lying about it) have ever been there. ZZZ is extremely curious by nature and decides to just go there because why not. Grandefel tries to resist and ZZZ calls her a coward (You can read this first part here, but it's not great quality imo)

About a day passes without much happening, until everyone hears a distress call from ZZZ. Ngah who's the mother of Lamera and ZZZ, scoops them out, whereupon everyone sees the sorry state the angel is in. Something bad and violent had happened in hell (You can read this part here, content warning for nonhuman gore)

We come back to the story not long after, with our two persecutors, Grandefel and Deirdre meeting secretly in limbo. Deirdre has news she's worried about but loses her chance to tell them when Ngah bursts into the scene, foaming at the mouth, demanding retribution for how ZZZ was treated down in hell. Grandefel is forced to leave and Ngah makes Deirdre escort her to speak to hells manager high judgement. Apparently ZZZ violated several rules upon entering hell and was generally very rude, driving some of Deirdre's friends to attack them on her behalf. Deirdre stayed compliant because she hasn't been feeling well lately and isn't fond of angels in general (except Grandefel). The explanation and lukewarm apology for what happened doesn't please Ngah and she decides to call on a high court case, aka essentially suing them. Hells high judgement has no option but to attend the case (You can read this part here)

After about an hour, hells high judgement along with Deirdre and a few punishers make their appearance in heaven, but not before J'aimekiel can wonder outloud about how empty heaven is. She tries to ask Lamera about why there's barely any angels but the high court case starts. Deirdre gets her apology in, but before it can be accepted properly by all high angels, Ngah directs the conversation elsewhere. She accuses Grandefel of "using her time unprofessionally", and starts trying to squeeze out something from both Persecutors. Delilah, Deirdre's sister, intervenes so the court won't dissolve to off topic accusations but Xerxes wants to hear what Ngah has to say. (You can read all that in more detail here)

After dancing around the topic with increasing frustration, Grandefel reveals that she and Deirdre are in a relationship. Ngah not-so-subtly expresses her disgust with this and makes a direct jab at Deirdre, revealing to everyone that she's pregnant. Since it's a surprise to everyone but Deirdre herself, the revelation is met with backlash. Ngah knows this because as a high angel she can sense angelic life, and because she has a habit of stalking keeping a very close eye on everyone around her. Now that everything has finally been outed, the court dissolves into arguing.

Most angels aside from Ngah and maybe Kxxxtr are actually pretty fine with this kind of crossover happening and Lamera would gladly step in to Grandefels defense but is held back in fear of Ngah's rage. J'aimekiel however isn't, and raises her voice from the crowd. She calls out Ngah for her hateful remarks and reminds everyone that she was born a demon but became an angel after, and if that is fine, this should also be fine, right? Ngah starkly disagrees and in vague terms makes it clear that J'aimekiels existence is only tolerated, and might be because they quote on quote don't have better options right now. J'aimekiel is quite distraught by this and Lamera tries to come to her defense but is shut down by Ngah.

After a painful few hours the court case finally draws to a close with some new rules put in place going forward. One of them being that only the persecutors can make cross visits regularly, since it's required for their job. If any high judgements want to make cross visits it needs to be agreed upon beforehand. This is to avoid all possible conflict. Ngah also makes it clear that, "if they ever survive birth", Grandefel and Deirdre's children must pick a side and that "it would be for the best" if they never knew what they really were, or who their parents were. Despite the backlash, she gets everyone to comply thanks to everyone still being a little confused about the whole ordeal, and Ngah promising to be their personal problem if the children act out of line.

Case closed, everyone goes home. Deirdre feels extremely isolated from everyone now. Grandefel is kept busy by being given alot of heaven-centric work. While not explicitly getting in trouble for it, it's heavily implied that Grandefel really shouldn't be seen with Deirdre again outside of work related situations. J'aimekiel also feels isolated from everyone now.

A few dreadful months later the children are born in hell with Delilah supporting her sister. There's three. One is confirmed an angel via her halo. When Grandefel hears about their birth she can't keep herself away from them anymore, and with her help the children are named. The oldest is Mihail, middle one Meredith and youngest Gabriel. They also make the difficult decision of who gets to live with who. Despite all Grandefel doesn't take the angel child with her, instead taking Gabriel who she thinks would fit in due to how he looks. The children are raised apart like this and don't get to meet their other parent, despite being aware of their existence.

Somewhere along the line, one of Lameras halos gets a crack, something that's painful and quite a big deal for an angel. It's on the collar halo. The crack is small enough that he manages to hide it from everyone, especially since his beard covers most of his neck from view anyway

About a year later things have mostly calmed back down again. Although there's now alot more people who hate Ngah. A certain rather ordinary demon named Devoul makes the news in hell, thanks to Lamera hearing about him from a mortal. The thing is that Devoul has been tricking mortals into working for him in exchange for superpowers and getting something they desperately want. He's been doing this under the guise of being "The Devil" who rules in hell. This is obviously unture and a trial ensues, but it's only kept to hell because nobody wants to involve heaven after last year's occurrence. It goes surprisingly smoothly, and a portion of the souls are reborn and the rest decide to continue on with their lives. One of them, Samuel, inspired to make up for his bad deeds, becomes an angel in training. Devoul is sentenced to 800+ years of tedious physical labor, case closed.

We resume to the story when in limbo, by pure happenstance, Devoul and Lamera bump into each other. They have a moment of "YOU" where Devoul manages to hit Lamera right in the mommy issues, making him drop all attempts at being nice. Devoul is taken aback by how much he unintentionally managed to rile up Lamera, knowing him to be one of the good™ angels. Devoul notices the crack in his halo and becomes curious, whilst also trying to pull up any shreds of decency he has. Lamera tries to deflect most of it and finds out Devoul is here to look for Godwatcher to ask some questions.

On their way to find them, the two talk over a few things and find themselves understanding each other better. Lamera still feels iffy about Devoul though, despite him trying to explain himself

They find Godwatcher together and ask some general questions about morality and the nature of angelhood. Godwatcher can't really give them any one correct answer, rather than "What you think is good or bad depends on what you value in this world. No angel is born being better and no demon is born being worse". The two mull over some of the things they've heard and talk about ""God"". Devoul keeps asking Lamera increasingly difficult questions that cause him to doubt his own worldview and dig into the fact that Ngah is absolutely not a good angel. This causes Lameras halo to crack all the way through, causing him pain and distress. He's deeply afraid of Ngah's reaction if she were to see him like this, and feels like he'll be in trouble. Devoul, having gained sympathy for Lamera, feels guilty that he caused this and tries to offer various ways to help, none of which end up helpful. Figuring that he'll have the next 800ish years of being punished anyway, he decides to dig his grave deeper by pretending to attact Lamera. As a cover up for what broke the halo, so Lamera himself won't be blamed since it obviously broke in conjunction with his trust in his mother.

Speak of which, Ngah hears them and scoops up both. Right on time too, since Deirdre was just about to retrieve Devoul to do his work. Up in heaven, Ngah Is "Dissapointed but not surprised" that Lameras halo broke. She lifts him up by it, intending to fix it, but being manhandled by his mother, through an injured body part, distresses Lamera alot. It doesn't sit right with Devoul and he tries talking to Ngah, who dismisses him as a speck of dust not worth listening to, and they dissolve into arguing. The stress of it all causes Lameras collar halo to finally shatter and fall off completely. He deflects any further attempts to fix it, and tries to confront Ngah about her behavior. This infuriates Ngah who then accuses Devoul of corrupting her child. More arguing ensues, during which Devoul uses his special power of reading people's memories to briefly look at Ngah. He sees her attempted murder and banishing of their third high angel who hasn't been seen in a long time. Apparently heaven had a big inner conflict some time back, which Ngah resolved this way. Their current low number of staff is due to a huge chunk of the angels leaving since they supported Ezekiels cause more.

Ngah, despite wanting to sweep it under the rug, doesn't deny that she did all this, which upsets Lamera even more. He and Ngah argue. Lamera hits her where it hurts (insulting her divinity) and she's about to possibly get violent, when Devoul casts a spell that paralyses her physically. As she's a powerful high angel it won't hold her for long, and the duo flee heaven

Devoul and Lamera hide out and rest at the foot of a mountain on earth. They go over everything and get to know each other better. Lamera is surprised that Devoul would care this much about what's happening upstairs to which he replies "Hey I still have morals" - "Except for that one time". Their bonding is interrupted by Deirdre who caught up to them finally, intending to take Devoul back. Lamera resists, to her surprise, and they explain the situation. Deirdre sympathises with them heavily but is unsure if they can do much. She promises to speak to the high judgements about this all anyway, as a start. Lamera decides to try talking things out with the high angels. Devoul makes a spell that allows him and Lamera to call and talk to each other just in case. The duo separate after sleeping through the night at that mountain.

Heaven: Lamera goes to talk to Kxxxtr about everything he's found out. Kxxxtr expresses regret over letting everything go on like this, especially since she doesn't necessarily agree with how Ngah works things around here. Witnessing the murder attempt has been traumatic for them, hence they stayed compliant out of fear. Kxxxtr does also make clear that whatever Lamera tries to do to change things in heaven, he'll have their support. Ngah who's been listening in on them, bursts in angrily, accusing them of conspiring against her. Kxxxtr tries to get past their fear and stand against Ngah, who proceeds to purposefully trigger them in order to get them to stand down. Instead of backing out, Kxxxtr strikes Ngah in a bout of rage. Regretting the move immediately, they send Lamera up to the higher heavens to safety, and so he could talk to the highest power: God's throne.

Hell: Devoul goes to his house to look at his spellbook in case there'd be anything useful, while Deirdre proceeds to talk to the high judgements. Before he can really find anything, Lamera calls him to tell that Ngah and Kxxxtr are at each other's throats and he's afraid and not sure what to do. Devoul helps him calm down and barely gets to explain what he's doing before the call forcefully disconnects with Lamera notifying how beautiful God's throne is (using both he and it pronouns). Devoul has just enough time to find a spell that will take away a big chunk of power from a powerful individual, before Deirdre comes to him in a rush. One of the high judgements, Xerxes, takes things related to Ngah very seriously and has decided to go fight her. It's not entirely clear if there's ulterior motives, other than wanting to fight her. Deirdre and Devoul head to an opening where they find the three: Delilah chewing out Xerxes for throwing his staff at the heavens, and Hart snickering in the background.

While waiting for the staff to hopefully return, Devoul decides to call Lamera back just in case. At first it feels like the call is forcefully blocked and directed away but eventually he responds. His answers are cryptic and he sounds overall very out of it. At one point, he starts talking entirely differently, way louder and with a completely different voice, asking Devoul if the staff should hit something. He makes it clear that it should definitely not hit anyone or anything and the staff gracefully floats back into Xerxes' hand. The call disconnects. Devoul is worried and decides he really needs to get up there. Luckily for him, despite Delilah's efforts to stop him, Xerxes is about to throw again. Impressed by Devouls determination, he puts the little demon onto the staff and throws it. This time the throw is alot less coordinated due to Delilah physically restraining his hand. Devoul however makes it to where Ngah has currently dropped Kxxxtr down from the cloud. They have a brief confrontation before Devoul uses the powersucking spell on her, causing her to also fall off the cloud. The spell takes a physical toll on him, partially by causing him to feel extremely hungry. All of Ngah's now removed power manifests as an orb. He hopes Lamera is okay and tries to look for him, and is suddenly lifted up to where he is, as if on command.

He enters the throne room where Lamera looks.. Off. He's extremely swollen, like a balloon blown to it's limits, and his entire face is engulfed in flames. He doesn't respond to Devoul trying to make sure he's okay. He only speaks in that different voice that's clearly not suited to his vocal chords. In the background Devoul sees God's throne, mouth moving slowly. He has a hard time really registering the Throne's physical form into something he can comprehend. There's separate elements (Crystals and gems, large mouth and eyes, galactic matter streaming in and out of it) but his brain can't bring them together in his head. Despite this he addresses the Throne With "What the fuck did you do him? (Lamera)". The throne proceeds to ignore his questions and attempts to take the orb from him through Lameras body, since the entity itself can't move much at all. Devoul is unwilling to hand it over until God's throne explains that now, since Kxxxtr is heavily injured, and Ngah technically not a high angel (in terms of strength), they need a new one. He exposits how He was just going to make Lamera into a high angel instead but having Devoul enter with the orb brought another option to the table. Devoul hands over the orb, which God's throne takes into it's mouth and Lamera falls limp, now presumably free from it's control. After both making sure they're okay, they exit the throne room and take a moment to collect themselves and pass out from the exhaustion.

Meanwhile Kxxxtr fell down to limbo, bleeding, where they're still laying, unable to move. Xerxes, who partially went to look for his staff, and partially to punt Ngah in the gut, discovers her. Kxxxtr is terrified at first but Xerxes offers her his armor, to cover for her leaking insides. She's taken aback by the kind gesture and they just sorta awkwardly hang out there while Kxxxtr explains what happens. Xerxes escorts her back later. Ngah has turned into a giant three headed serpent, and is having an episode somewhere, enraged and miserable at being demoted. Samuel and J'aimekiel are shook by the commotion and are trying to figure out what's going on. Xerxes finds Ngah on his way back and they start fighting (he still hasn't gotten his staff back).

Upon waking up, Devoul and Lamera lament over the whole mess. Samuel and J'aimekiel find the two and want an explanation. Devoul and Samuel aren't thrilled at seeing each other again. After a thoroughly uncomfortable interaction they part ways, Lamera leaving to clean up things upstairs and Devoul returning to his punishment work downstairs, dreading all the more trouble he might be in now. He stumbles upon Xerxes with Ngah in a chokehold, and doesn't even recognize her. Ngah is now even more pissed at him, but with some help he realizes who she is. Xerxes seems intent on killing her but Devoul tries to stop him, knowing Lamera would be destroyed by something like that happening. They heavily discuss it before concluding that Ngah really should answer for her crimes instead of getting the easy way out. She's locked up in the Void District until she can play nice again (and until they can figure out a proper punishment for her). Xerxes and Devoul chat on their way back, and Xerxes, still very impressed by the little demon's spirit, offers to recruit him. Devoul, although surprised, accepts the offer. He still has alot of punishment work left but at least he'd get to do it in consistent company.

About a day passes and everyone is almost getting to settle in, when something strange captures the attention of all the angels. God's throne is now finished making them a new High angel - how exciting! The new angel, instructed by the Throne, fetches and throws Xerxes' staff right back to him. They then backflip out of the high heavens to meet everyone, making a thoroughly.. Interesting first impression, to say the least.. The angels have a hard time swallowing that a demon - Devoul specifically, kickstarted the creation of their new High angel. Samuel nopes out, Grandefel heavily considers asking for a refund, and the new angel, not seeing anything wrong with any of this, hops down to hell to meet their "Daddy". Devoul is taken aback by the news but welcomes his "child" with open arms. He with Lameras help, proceed to name them Terjey, since God's throne didn't give them a name (which is very unusual). Heaven returns to cleaning up the mess and dealing with the staff shortage and Devoul returns to his work.

And that was everything that happened up to this point, the present day.

The end - for now!

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎! 𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜: 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝚂𝚊𝚗

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, justifying, encouraging nor trying to romanticize or promote yandere behavior. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warnings: Mentions of toxic relationship, violence, torture, murder, death, degradation, sexual scenes that might disturb some readers, and other yandere behavior. Read at your own discretion.

Tag list: @seacottons

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𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 :

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒 𝚂𝚊𝚗

𝙳.𝙾.𝙱: 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟶𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟿

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝟷𝟽𝟻 𝙲𝙼/ 𝟻'𝟿 𝙵𝚃

𝙰𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■□90%

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢: ■■■■■100%

𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: 𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝙳𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌

𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜:

•𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖.

•𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛.

•𝚄𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝙳𝚂𝙼 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜.

•𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍.

•𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

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It was his sweet and innocent smile...

That's how it always starts with him.

Everyone falls victim to that smile that radiates happiness with dimples that captivate your heart.

But he never chases anyone down.

San wants them to chase him, so he plays hard to get.

And he's not looking for a relationship, he just enjoys hooking up with people.

No strings attached, no commitments, his booty call list is miles long.

And then you came along.

What was it about you that drew Choi San to you?

Was it your pure and intact body?

Was it your curious and inexperienced eyes that begged for excitement and adventure?

Perhaps a mix of both aspects?

Whatever it was, the day you crossed paths with San, was the day you crossed paths with the devil himself.

"Hi. I'm San....pleasure to meet you."

San's first goal with you was just to get in your pants like he did with the rest.

But you weren't easy, and when he found out you were a virgin, the goal changed.

Now he wanted you.

He became obsessed with owning everything about you: your mind, body, heart, and soul.

He wanted it all and he'd get it no matter the cost.

So he plays the sweet caring boyfriend for a while.

Yes, Choi San was exclusively yours, much to the shock and disappointment of others.

As a boyfriend, he was very caring to you.

Perfect gentleman that held you in high esteem and made you feel like you were the most important person in the world.

You truly fell deeply and madly in love with his charms.

So you had no qualms about letting him take your virginity, letting him be your first.

After all, he did love you.....right?

Well he did love corrupting you.

And after your first night together, he became more demanding and started showing aggressiveness towards you.

He'd never hide his displeasure if he saw you wearing something he didn't like.

"Why are you wearing that in public? You look like a whore."

He'd make you tell him your every move about where you went and with whom.

And if you didn't answer or reply to his messages, he'd somehow always find you.

"Why the fuck weren't you answering me? When I talk to you, I demand an answer."

And if there was a particular thing he absolutely hated, was your male friend that you often saw.

"I don't want you hanging out with that friend of yours."

"He's my childhood friend? He's like my brother. " You told him.

San just glared at you. "I don't care. I don't want you hanging out with him. That's final."

You rolled your eyes at him and thought he was just being jealous.

It was wrong of you to disobey him.

Next time he came over to your house, you were there with your friend...

If that scene alone didn't make San angry, the fact you were wearing a very thin tank top and revealing shorts made him get rigid.

"I thought I fucking told you never to see him again!" He screamed at you, striking fear in you at the way he raised his voice.

Your friend, however, wasn't scared of San and decided it would be good to stand up to your possessive and controlling boyfriend.

"You need to leave Y/N alone. She doesn't deserve to deal with someone like you."

Grabbing your hand, your friend tried to take you away from there, but San wasn't having it.

Roughly, he gripped your arm and pulled you away from your friend, placing you behind him.

"She's not yours to decide what to do. She's mine. Got it?"

Your friend wasn't going to give in that easily. He shoved San which culminated in fists flying from both of them.

"Stop! Stop it! Both of you!" You begged, covering your eyes at the violent scene.

They ended up in the kitchen, with your friend gaining the upper hand and holding San down against the counter.

It all happened too fast for you to react:

San grabbing a knife which was withing his reach, coming up and striking your friend in his lower abdomen....

And it didn't stop there.

San took out the knife and began to repeatedly stab him until his body collapsed on the floor, completely lifeless.

You were in such shock you couldn't find your own voice to scream for help.

The last thing you saw was San's diabolical eyes looking at you, his footsteps getting closer to you before you passed out from shock and the intensity of what you just witnessed.

You woke up approximately 12 hours later, feeling sore and somewhat sticky.

You let out a mix between a whine and a moan when you feel something very familiar sliding in and out of you.

Turning your head, you're met with a smirking San, his hands on your hips as his cock thrusts deep inside of you.

Looking down, you notice your hands are bound by handcuffs that are tied to the bed.

You jostled the handcuffs, trying to get them off you but were met with a harsh slap to your ass by San.

"Don't you dare." Was his only warning before snapping his hips even harder, making you come all over him in mere seconds.

For the first few days, he kept you handcuffed to his bed, refusing to let you go.

"If I let you go, you'll try to run away. I can't have you doing that."

So your days consisted of waking up with San next to you, having him feed you things which you swore had something in them since you always ended up feeling drowsy afterwards.

And of course having him fuck you like you were his personal sex toy every single night.

Finally one day, he removed the handcuffs from you.

"Try to run away and I will break your ankles."

He often had to leave the house for work, so the first day you were left to wander around, you stupidly tried to check if any windows or doors were left unlocked.

But they weren't. They were all bolted in and out.

And San walked in just in time to see you try to smash open one of the windows.

"Seriously?! I give you a simple order and you disobey me?!"

You ended up not being able to walk for 6 weeks because San was true to his word: he broke your ankles.

Now you were deathly scared of pissing him off.

So you tried your best to just please him, do whatever he asked you to do.

Whether it'd be cooking him food, cleaning the house, sucking him off or letting him do any of his depraved sexual acts on your body.

The only request you actually enjoy doing for him is when he asks you to cuddle up next to him.

Feeling his chest move up and down, hearing his heartbeat while his hand strokes your hair, you think maybe.....just maybe.....there's still a hint of the sweet man you met at first, the one you fell in love with..

But that image is quickly shattered whenever he pushes you off him or strikes you across the face because you 'glared at him or rolled your eyes at him.'

And you can't even cry in front of him because it just angers him even more.

Once, he held a pillow over your face so as to muffle your annoying little whimpers.

And another time he almost drowned you in the bathtub.

Sometimes you really did wish he'd end your misery.

As the days passed by, it was getting harder and harder to deal with his violent mood swings.

Nothing was ever good enough for him, and if anyone from the outside world angered him, you were the one who had to bear the punishment.

Either in the form of harsh beatings or so many overstimulations.

"San...." You whined, tears falling out of your eyes as your body couldn't handle another orgasm.

San merely slapped your swollen and red pussy, making you hiss at the stinging pain.

"I'm not done with you yet my little slut. This dirty hole of yours belongs to me and I'll fuck it as many times as I want to." He growled in your ear.

You were often left limping for a day or two, while San merely snickered under his breath, proud of himself for ruining you yet again.

With how much sex he was making you two have it surprised you how you never ended up pregnant, considering that he always went in raw with you.

Your question was answered one day when your period came late and it was excruciatingly painful.

You were bleeding more heavily than usual and it felt like your guts were being ripped apart.

San took you to the hospital, warning you not to say anything.

It's not like you could anyway, you were in so much pain and under heavy medication that you never got the chance to say anything.

Especially not when San took you home early so you wouldn't get the chance.

"What happened? What did they do to me?"

Grudgingly, San handed over the hospital papers to you.

You felt like you lost the ability to breathe when you read that it was necessary for them to remove your uterus since it had been severely damaged by some weird chemical substance.

"I don't understand! I've never taken anything! Have I?!"

San only blinked at you, then looked down and walked away from you.

That's when it hit you: every time he made food, and you always ended up feeling weird.....

San had been altering with your own body all this time!

You were beyond disgusted, you were repulsed and you hit your breaking point.

Something in you snapped as you marched up to San and pushed him into the wall, demanding to know why he would do that.

"So you wouldn't get pregnant! If you had gotten pregnant, I would have had to be soft to you. I wasn't going to do that." He admitted that so casually, as if there was nothing wrong in the way he treated you.

And that was it for you, the last straw of your sanity left as you slapped San harshly across the face.

Of course he retaliated, but you weren't going to give in so easily.

Using whatever strength you had left, you tried to fight him off, even going as far as breaking a vase over his head, which rendered him immobile for a while.

You ran to the basement, and picked up a can of gasoline and a couple of matches.

Running back inside, you spilled the contents all around the hallway, the living room and in the dreaded bedroom that you loathed with every fiber of your being.

Then you struck up a match and let it fall, watching as part of the house burst up in flames.

You went to a part of the house that you left intact, where there was a window.

Picking up a baseball bat, the same one San had used to break your ankles, you tried to break it open, succeeding only in cracking it...

Before a pair of bloody arms pulled you back and dragged you deeper into the burning part of the house.

You struggled to get out of his grip, but he was much stronger than you and the black fumes that you were inhaling were only debilitating you more.

The last thing you remember was San glaring at you, wrath written all over his face as he said his final words to you:

"If I'm going to hell, I'm dragging you down with me...."

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[nitannichionne]

Secret of Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill Fan Fic Imagines)

“My mother has disappeared,” Sherlock says, entering his home. His strides are sure and precise as he goes to his study, the message in his hand. You take his coat and hang it. “Thank you.”

You follow him to his rooms. “Your mother disappeared?” you repeat, falling into step behind him. “Any idea on why?”

“That is the newest mystery.”

“Is Enola alright?” You stop right in front of him as he turns.

“I am sure she is fine,” Sherlock nods. “she sent the message, of course.”

“So you are going to see her,” you smile, but his is practiced and tight as he paces. The one thing you know about Sherlock is that he is always moving. If he is moving he is investigating and thinking. If he is sitting he is thinking and observing. But this is different. He is moving but there is no reason, and you realize he is struggling with going home.

“I am thinking about it,” he nods. “Mother does everything for a reason and Mycroft is Enola’s guardian. It’s not much of a case.”

“Enola sent for you.” You point out. “This is not a case, it’s a circumstance.”

“My missing mother is a case.”

“Circumstance.”

“Case.”

“Circumstance.”

He takes a breath. “How so?”

“You want to view this as a case, some sort of legal action. It is not.”

“Mother is missing—”

“I don’t believe she is in danger,” you say. “Neither do you.”

“Which means that there is no case, especially since Mycroft is there—”

“But there is a circumstance, and maybe a case,” you argue. “Your sister sent for you, because your mother’s disappearance is a fact that connects to Enola’s future which is circumstance, it is relevant to the coming days of her life. You know Mycroft is more like your father—”

It was a sore subject. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“Sherlock, you have to,” you argue. “you and I both know your mother taught you much before you left to make your way in the world-to observe and critically think.”

“As your mother did.”

You swallow hard. “She was a leader in the homeland, yes, but—”

“And she made you highly intelligent, therefore dangerous to men.”

“You just made my point. Men kill what they cannot conquer, one way or another, within or outside rules of law or society ,” you bite out, spreading your arms to present your maid’s uniform as evidence. “Your mother was banished by your father because she wanted to think for herself-still considered insane in these times-and he decided she was an addict, insane.”

“You don’t—”

“And you left as fast as you could, taking cases of the high society, picking out their criminals and knowing despite everything they show themselves to be, they are no better than anyone else, maybe worse.” You pause. “Your sister is in that danger with Mycroft, and you know it.”

“You were in danger when we met.”

“Exactly, and now I survive as Ms. Hudson’s assistant, but I can’t be much more, not in this society, not in a world like this, this one that’s made for you.” You pause, watching his eyes lower. “Your sister has a chance against Mycroft if you are there. That’s why she sent for you, her future is the case. He is like his father, a product of society, narrowing his intelligence. You are a product of education and intelligence, Sherlock.”

“So are you,” he argues, his blue eyes alight.

Your heart melts. The duel appears over, at least in this regard.

“What is it?” he asks with concern, walking up behind you.

“Do you know what they see?” you ask. “When they look at me.”

“What?”

“Clothes can be bought, education obtained, character and abilities inherited and taught.” you tell him. “I am dressed in the station that makes them most comfortable, but it is not who I am. They-they see a descendant of slaves, keep trying to treat me that way. I am also a woman, so they think I am weak.” You tell him, your throat tightening. “They will never see me as more than that and I have to remember--fight to remember-- who I am!”

“A lioness in a cage is still a lioness, my love.” He says gently.

“But the longer she is imprisoned, the less she is allowed to be her true self,” you shake your head. “In time others believe she is where she belongs, and tragically, she will forget who she is but what they see.” You shake your head as tears spring to your eyes. He takes your hands in his, brushing your knuckles with his lips. “I don’t want that. Enola doesn’t either. It’s not living, it is surviving, existing.”

He is quiet for a moment. “Want to know what I see?”

You swallow hard, turning away. “What?”

“I see a descendant of fallen kings and queens, of kidnapped chiefs and shaman,” he says gently. You hear the study door lock and your heart leaps. “I see that in the compassion and determination of your eyes, the grace under fire you hold when others fear your strength and resolve, your ability to love, protect and discern things in others. And yet, in all of it, you do not press advantage for the sake of gain, retain who you are.” He sighs, squeezing your shoulders and caressing your cheek with his. “I have always seen you on a throne, and I enjoy picking apart and exposing the corruption and lowliness of a delusional society that upholds repressing you.”

“I see you as my love,” you turn, blinking up at him, lost in the emotion of his blue eyes. It is a rarity, making it a gift you only see when you are alone.

“I see you as my love,” he echoes, pulling you into his arms. He lowers his head and kisses you, making your head swim, stopping the sad stream of past emotions from flowing with a river’s sweet taste of desire. The world swirled around you, it seems, but here, here, you are safe. We are safe, you think.

His hands are meticulous and methodical, making short work of undressing you. His kisses on your neck distract you as you feel the bow of your apron pulled apart in a single action and dropped to the floor. You return the favor, freeing him of his waistcoat and smoothing your hands over the crisply pressed shirt that barely hides his muscular chest. You unfasten the buttons of it and gasp at new bruises. “You have been fighting again?”

“It’s nothing.”

“They look fresh to me.” You kiss the scars, new and old, knowing that when he fights, it is an outlet for his anger, his frustration, especially if he cannot make it back to his rooms to see you, to talk and be together.

He turns you around, kissing your neck, unfastening the dress, and pulling it over your head along with your undergarment. He kisses the scars on your back even though they are old.

“They’ve long healed, Sherlock,” you chuckle softly, but this particular action touches your heart every time.

“They look fresh to me,” he says to you, his kisses cascading lower as he removes your underwear. You step out of them and cover your breasts self consciously. Your skin is brown, not the definition of beauty in the society you reside in, and though you know you are beautiful, you are seldom made to feel that way. Yet when you look in his eyes, he makes you feel beautiful for being who you are and what you look like. He picks you up and takes you to his room, laying you his bed so he can remove your boots and stockings. You watch him kiss your shapely and strong legs, and you like that he appreciates them. Your hard labor has sculpted them and you are not some dainty thing he must be careful of. You are so ready to wrap them around him, but his kisses trail up your inner ankle and to your knee, creating a delicious heat you cannot deny even if you wanted to. You squirm deliciously as his kisses pool hungrily at the apex of your legs, and your head falls back, allowing the pillow to support your head and trying not to scream.

He quickly undresses and you feel your excitement grow as he undresses. He was the most well-built intelligent man you’d ever seen. Finally naked with his erection seeming to grow by the second now that it is free, he joins you in bed, and presses you into the sheets. You kiss passionately, tongues mating and hands stroking and holding tight.

You give a whispered moan as he enters you, coming up on his elbows to cradle your upper body with his massive forearms. You appreciate his biceps as he gathers you close, his chest rising and falling with excitement as your legs wrap around him in welcome. Tears spring to your eyes as he surges and grows within you, each of you going still as if to just enjoy the union.

His eyes rise to yours and he begins to rock you, begin a steadying yet dizzying pace that makes you come almost instantly. He cries out softly, feeling you squeeze him, his blue eyes closing to savor and then reopening with renewed hunger. He pounds slowly, bring his length almost all the way out each time, and you both enjoy the long strokes, his repeated re-entry, but then passion takes hold and they become harder, shorter, needful. Your hips move with him as your fingertips dig into his back and he throws his head back, bucking harder as his eyes return to yours with increasing hunger. You work each other, kissing, clasping, stroking, the bed groaning softly under your moving weight until finally you both come together, panting and kissing, gasping as you throb around him, enticing more of his pulsing release. You gradually go still, and hold each other close.

He rolls to his back taking you with him, still embedded within you. His arms enfold you tighter now and your hands are free to comb through his tousled curls, now loose from exertion. His eyes look like the sea one finds on sandy white beaches and you think of home. You are welcome here, in his eyes, his embrace. His hand caresses your cheek and draws you down for another kiss.

“So I should go,” he whispers.

“You should go,” you tell him.

“See what the circumstances are and what I can do in the case of Enola Holmes.”

“That should be a lot,” you smile down at him. “You are, after all, Sherlock Holmes.”

He chuckles softly. “And you are my very own treasure.”

“A secret one at that,” you tease, but the light flickers in his eyes. “I shine for you.”

He holds you close and whispers, “And I carry you wherever I go.” He pauses. “I shouldn’t be long.”

“So you’re going?”

“I’m going.”

You hug him tightly. “I’m glad. I think she needs you.”

“I need you right about now.” He chuckles deeply, his member twitching inside of you.

“Elementary.”

“Elementary,” he purrs, drawing you down for another round.

I dedicate this to all the couples in human history who found love in a place that society frowned upon, with love stories taking decades and centuries to come to light though worthy of immediate note and acceptance. Still a long way to go...thanks.

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[lizardrosen]

Hello there!! I have a twelfth night exam tomorrow and the question is about deciet, deception, lies and truths within the play. What are your thoughts and opinions on these topics?

Hi! Because I don’t know exactly what questions will be on your exam, I’m not going to give you a simple thesis answer or anything. Instead I’ll give you some things to think about, mostly in the form of questions, and encourage you to look for your own answers, but hopefully it’ll be a good start.

The first thing I’d like to mention is that not all of the deception or mistaken identities are even intentional. Some examples:

Viola is disguised as a boy but she’s not tricking Olivia into falling in love with her — in fact she explicitly tells her that she can’t return her love and Olivia’s better off looking somewhere else.

Viola and Andrew aren’t trying to scare each other or appear better fighters than they are — that’s all Toby and Fabian exaggerating to make the fight more fun for them to watch

Viola isn’t trying to break Antonio’s heart when he mistakes her for Sebastian, and she tries to offer the help and money she can give him, unaware that by doing so she’s twisting the knife further.

Sebastian has no idea what’s going on when Olivia mistakes him for Cesario, and definitely isn’t trying to trick her — he wants to respect her by getting married. Now could he have handled it a bit better? Yes! Of course! But was he deceiving her? Not really! If anything Olivia was unintentionally gaslighting him.

Now that those exceptions are out of the way, let’s talk about some other (more straightforward?) ways those themes are conveyed!

Disguises

Viola as Cesario, Olivia and her gentlewomen wearing veils, Sebastian traveling with Antonio for three months under the name Roderigo, Antonio hoping not to be recognized in Illyria, Feste as Sir Topasz

Why are these disguises donned? Is it for self-preservation or for fun, or because SOMEONE doesn’t know when a joke’s gone too far? Who’s hiding parts of themself, and who’s using this as a way to uncover things they didn’t know and find a truer way to be themself?

Are the yellow stockings a kind of disguise for Malvolio, trying to change himself to be what he thinks Olivia wants him to be? On the other hand he already owned them, so maybe this is showing a side of himself he hasn’t been allowed — but then, was it himself or society that didn’t let him? Would that mean his fussy steward persona is a disguise, or masking? (See also this fantastic post about neurodivergent Malvolio)

Is Orsino’s bi awakening a disguise? Is he in denial about his feelings or does he just not understand what they are yet? This question could go for any of the characters going through similar queer transformations.

Messages and how they’re passed on

Written vs. word of mouth vs. physical objects vs. behavior/performance

Is it intended to be a truth or a lie? Is it even intended to be found/heard/read/observed? Sometimes watching how the message is received is the purpose of sending it

Andrew writes a challenge to Cesario which Toby immediately decides not to pass on, in favor of a verbal challenge to make him seem more of a threat.

Fabian begs Feste to show him Malvolio’s note

Maria says that sometimes she and Olivia can’t even tell their own handwriting apart

When Malvolio brings the ring to Cesario he exaggerates what he was told happened by adding “you peevishly threw it to her.” Does this count as a lie or an embellishment, or just the truth of what he assumes must have happened?

The sea captain tells Viola “Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.”

Some people let bits of the truth out even if they’re in disguise or hiding or lying

Viola as Cesario is able to speak a lot more frankly with Orsino than she probably would if he knew she were a woman, and it means they can take each other seriously. She uses this to push back against his assumptions and defend women’s hearts, including her own

Malvolio, alone in the dark, *knows that he’s not mad and that the house is dark as ignorance, and he’s just trying to reach out to someone who might believe him.

Feste!!

Yes they get their own section. Yes I’m using they/them pronouns. Just try and stop me.

They’re a fool as an occupation and as an archetype, so it is literally their job to use lies to reveal the truth. Have some classic examples:

FESTE I think his soul is in hell, madonna. OLIVIA I know his soul is in heaven, fool. FESTE The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

and

FESTE Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends, I am abused: so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives why then, the worse for my friends and the better for my foes.

AND they reveal a lot about the themes of the play. Funny how Fools can do that for you.

Feste makes people laugh if they’re too sad and makes them think if they’re too thoughtless, but does it in a way that’s not overtly threatening.

And as the resident “corrupter of words” they see the truth that others can’t or won’t. It’s my opinion that they know what’s going on with Viola’s gender, and all the love polygons in this play, and because the truth can be a heavy lonely burden, they do what they do best: make a joke out of it.

In conclusion:

Who is doing the deceiving? Who is being deceived?

How and why is it done? Is it intentional?

Does it have the intended effect? Does it change things that weren’t intended?

Can the lies be undone?