I Wanna See You Looking Up 🍋

In which Amaryllis and Nadia make a little exchange. 2.3k words

Part 1 of ?

(nsfw: bdsm, pet play, degradation, brat taming)

@nvvermore

“So how shall it go, poupée?” Amaryllis looks Vissenta over, admiring the wine-colored leather straps that cross her torso, at the way the gold rings holding the straps together glint in the lamplight, and they wind the gold chain of the leash in their fingers. “Will you be a good girl for Nadia, or should I tell her that you need to be tamed?”

With a growl, Vissenta bowls Amaryllis over onto the bed. The prospect of spending a weekend with Nadia is thrilling, yes, but she doesn’t want to go yet. She wants to have one last tumble with Amaryllis, and the more spirited, the better. After all, Nadia shouldn’t be the only one leaving marks on her this weekend.

She pins Amaryllis’ shoulders down and bares her teeth in a grin, snapping them a little as she grinds against their hip. “When have I ever been a good girl?”

Amaryllis’ eyes flash up at her as they yank her down by her leash to skim their teeth along her throat. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” The flat of their palm lands a sharp, cracking blow on Vissenta’s thigh, and almost immediately they rake the points of their nails down along her skin until Vissenta hisses and growls again. “I haven’t even told you how you’ll be delivered to Nadia’s chambers.”

Vissenta sinks her teeth in Amaryllis’ neck, still grinding her bare pussy against them, her breath coming in heavy pants as the tension in her groin builds. “On a leash?”

In one smooth motion, Amaryllis rolls them both over, taking hold of Vissenta’s wrists to pin them over her head as soon as she’s on her back. Their hair falls in a red curtain around Vissenta’s face, and Vissenta is overwhelmed with the scent of rose oil, momentarily forgetting that she wants to put up a fight. Instead, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, moaning softly as Amaryllis leans down to brush their lips to hers. But the gentle kiss is punctuated with a sharp bite, and her eyes fly open as she gasps. “No,” Amaryllis whispers, their voice low and dark. “Especially since it seems I have a rabid bitch on my hands.”

Vissenta wriggles, bringing her legs up to wrap around Amaryllis’ waist to try and pull them down to her. They’re strong, though, and they release their hold on her wrists - but not before working a spell to keep those wrists pinned in place - to reach down and slap her haunches again, wresting her thighs apart to pin her to the bed, splayed wide open before them. They pause for a moment to look at her, a smirk playing on their lips as they run a finger through her folds, as if they’re inspecting a new toy that’s been brought in for their approval. When Vissenta whimpers, they tear their gaze away, bringing it up to meet hers. Their tone softens, along with their expression, and their thick brows quirk up in concern. “Are we all right?”

Nodding, Vissenta licks her lips. “Allons.”

With their own brisk nod, the wicked gleam returns to Amaryllis’ eyes, their face once more a mask of cool indifference with more than a little danger. The sight makes Vissenta sigh, her heart and stomach doing that strange dance that always happens when all she can think about is how much she loves them, and how much she loves the games they play.

It takes her a moment to remember how she’s supposed to be playing, though. She writhes again, realizing with a start that her thighs are now pinned down by magic, and she watches Amaryllis stand. They move just outside of her line of vision, no matter how much she cranes her head, and she summons up another irate growl. “Afraid to tame me yourself?”

“You and I both know I’d break you, chienne.” Amaryllis must be moving something large, as they let out a small grunt before circling back to where Vissenta can see them. “And I did promise Nadia that I would deliver a pet with spirit.” And with that, they snap their fingers, and Vissenta can’t move her head to look anywhere but up, her eyes trained on the burgundy gauze drape of the bed canopy.

First, leather cuffs are fastened to her wrists and ankles, though once Amaryllis releases their hold, she’s still magically held down to the bed, spread open and helpless. Vissenta still can only stare upward, whimpering as Amaryllis switches the barbells at the tips of her breasts with gold rings - “to lead you around, of course” - and leans over her to tease her lips with their own plunging neckline.

She yelps when she feels Amaryllis run an oil-slicked finger down along the line of her cunt, and then further down, stroking and teasing her taut rosette open. Their finger is soon replaced by a cool, smooth tip - a plug, Vissenta knows, and she feels fur brush against her thigh, and she shivers when she realizes just which plug - and they slowly work it into her, murmuring a spell all the while that makes the plug itself start to softly thrum. “One hole filled,” they say, pinching Vissenta’s thigh until she yelps again. “And now for the second.”

The curved glass toy slides in easily, and Amaryllis pauses as they press their hands down to still the bucking of Vissenta’s hips as she struggles against the invisible bonds. “Eager little thing,” they purr, flicking a nail against Vissenta’s taut nipple. “Shall you like to see how I’ll deliver you to the Countess?”

Vissenta regains her movement, then, and she sits up, scrabbling for Amaryllis and seizing them by the wrists as she snaps her teeth again, catching the pale freckled flesh of their upper arm in her bite. “Do I have to go now?”

They yank her by the cuffs on her wrists, roughly pulling her to stand and turning her around as they clip the cuffs to the rings along the back of her body harness. “You’ll go,” they murmur into her ear. “And you’ll go however I want you to.”

It’s only then that Vissenta sees the large kennel, a box made of open metalwork, slim bars criss-crossing over one another around a wide, flat, cushioned base. It was surely originally made for a large dog - perhaps even one of the late Count’s dogs - and while luxurious for an animal, the sight of it makes her cheeks flame in exquisite humiliation. She twists her head around to try and catch Amaryllis’ lips between her teeth. “I’m not going in that thing.”

“You are,” Amaryllis replies, an edge to their voice now as they press a small, round bell into Vissenta’s open palm. “And you’ll go quietly, chienne.”

“I will n—“ Vissenta’s cut off as Amaryllis brings the muzzle up over her head, pressing the leather panel’s plug between her lips as they cover the lower half of her face and start buckling the straps in place. She mewls when they give her a sharp tap on the rear, their signal for her to move forward. Resigned, she acquiesces, stepping into the kennel and giving Amaryllis a doleful glare as they look her up and down with another one of their wicked smiles.

“And that’s the third hole filled.” They step back to admire their handiwork, grinning as the toys inside of Vissenta hum to life, stopping only when she’s on the brink of coming, her knees shaking and her moans loud even behind the muzzle. “Sit.” Amaryllis punctuates the command with a snap of their fingers, and when Vissenta obstinately refuses to do so, they step forward, taking hold of her leash and yanking her down. “I said sit, chienne têtue.”

When Vissenta finally obeys, they follow her, bending down to seek out the clips on her ankle cuffs in order to fasten them to the rings in the straps around her thighs. “Nadia isn’t as tolerant of disobedience, you know.” They push down on her upper back, until she bends forward, and they swing the top of the kennel shut and latch it. With a flick of their wrists, they drape a thick length of fabric over the crate, shrouding Vissenta in darkness. “Perhaps this weekend will teach you some better manners.”

Vissenta growls again behind her muzzle, but the growl turns to a whine when the plugs vibrate anew. And with that, the kennel is wheeled into the hall.

***

It’s not a long walk to the Countess’ chambers, but to Vissenta, the journey feels torturously slow. All she can do is kneel, folded over as she is, and listen to the soft voices above her as Nadia opens the door.

“Don’t be nervous,” Amaryllis says soothingly, and Vissenta knows they’re speaking to Deirdra. Their tone changes, however, as they rap on the top of the kennel. “Nadia?”

“Yes, Amaryllis?”

“I’d like her groomed and taught some new tricks.”

Nadia chuckles. “So not fully broken and tamed?”

The words make Vissenta’s cunt clench around the curved toy inside of her, and she whimpers. “No,” she hears Amaryllis say, after a moment’s pause. “No, I believe I like her best with a little spirit.”

“As will I, I imagine.” Nadia begins to move the kennel. “I’ll see you in two day’s time, darling.”

Deirdra’s voice is shaky and breathless. “Of… of course.”

“Come along.” Amaryllis’ voice fades as they lead Deirdra back down the way they’d come. “You and I will have a marvelous time.”

The door to the Countess’ rooms clicks softly shut, and the fabric is drawn back from over the kennel. Vissenta cranes her neck up and blinks, moaning again behind the muzzle as the humming of the plugs begin their relentless cycle anew.

“Oh, you are a lovely package,” Nadia coos, unlatching the kennel and swinging the top back before she guides Vissenta up to sitting. She strokes Vissenta’s hair as she begins to work at the buckles that hold the muzzle in place. “But for tonight, we’ll take away these trappings.”

A hot meal and even hotter bath later, Vissenta is in a daze, seated on the plush bed at the head of the room as Nadia runs a boar-bristle brush through her hair, wondering what exactly is going on. “Countess—“

“Nadia,” the other woman replies, coming around to sit across from Vissenta, her deep red lips curving up in a gentle smile. “Vissenta, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Nadia?”

She grimaces. “Sorry Coun— Nadia.” Nervously, she tugs her robe tighter across her chest, frowning as she searches for the words. “I was fine, the way I was. I thought that was how… how we were doing things.”

“Well of course it is,” Nadia replies smoothly. “At least, it will be. But given that you’re here for two days, instead of two hours, I wanted us to have a chance to… converse. Sketch out the blueprints, as it were, to make absolutely certain that we have an understanding.”

Nodding, Vissenta runs her own hands through her hair, nervously twirling a strand around her finger as she continues to stare at the pattern of the robe that falls to her knee. “I have my words with Amie, and I can just use them, if that’s okay.”

“Vissenta.” Nadia’s tone, soft as it is, brooks no argument, and it effectively makes Vissenta look up to give her undivided attention. “This is about more than safe words. This is to let you know that I respect you, and I respect Amaryllis, and…” She leans forward to take one of Vissenta’s hands in her own. “As forward as it might seem, I do care for you. We are here to enjoy ourselves and, most importantly, to trust and care for each other, just as we care for our own spouses.” She levels her garnet gaze at Vissenta. “Speak to me as Nadia. Not as your Countess.”

Biting her lip, Vissenta takes a deep breath. “Nadia. I… gods, you’re a gorgeous woman, and there’s not too many people I want to…” She twists her mouth in a wry smile. “Well. Try to break me, I guess.”

Nadia quirks a brow. “And I’m honored to be one of those few.”

They both start to laugh, and Vissenta feels a little of the tension in her chest ebb away. “I’m sorry. I guess I never thought of you as someone I could just…”

“Talk to?” Nadia’s grin is infectious. “Well, I do suppose we’ve not done much talking when you’ve spent time here, have we?”

Vissenta feels her cheeks flush warm. “I… well, you weren’t complaining.”

“Certainly not.” Nadia laughs softly. “I just want, above all else, for you to be comfortable, and to enjoy yourself. Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

Vissenta can’t help but look at Nadia shyly, then, ducking her chin to hide the way her blush has spread to the rest of her face. “I want…” She clears her throat. “I want to see just how far you can push me.”

With a smirk, Nadia shifts, pushing herself back to recline on the bed. “Dangerous words, dear girl. Dangerous words indeed.”

When Vissenta moves to join her, the Countess shakes her head. “Ah-ah.” She points at the floor, on the other side of the bed, and when Vissenta follows the line of her finger, she sees a large, round cushion, with a single pillow and folded blanket in its center. “My pets sleep on the floor, dear girl.”

Vissenta’s heart is hammering as she slides from the bed and crawls to the cushion, spreading out the blanket and preparing to slide beneath it.

“Naked.”

She makes a mewling whine as she shucks off her robe and crawls under the impossibly soft blanket, cheeks burning and head already swimming again at the way Nadia’s voice has shifted, taking on a commanding tone that sends warmth pooling between Vissenta’s legs. She curls up on the cushion, tempted to reach down to ease the ache there, until Nadia speaks again.

“You will not come unless it is by my hand.” The lights around them dim, and Vissenta can hear Nadia settling in above. “Now, get some rest. Tomorrow, the real work begins.”

Allright Jetko AO3 tag I’m coming at ya in like... a week, hopefully

I Heard That you Fell in Love or Near Enough

hm yes TITLE :D (mmmm slowed my beloved). Look a way longer chapter because we’re setting up some fun foreshadowing and I just went nuts with internal dialogue. So much fun with this lmao. It’s v chaotic 

Maeve x Lucas. From bad to worse. 4.5k (we arent gonna TALK ABOUT IT)

TW (more squicky than anything): mention of blood, robbery, LOTS of language 

@dela-png

To say today was a terrible day was the understatement of the century. 

First she didn’t get any sleep due to some noise going on close by. Of course it had to be loud on the first day she was actually willing to sleep in mm say...two three days? So she was even more irritated in the morning. 

Then of course after eating she went downstairs and screamed so loud she broke her soundproofing charms.

Fan-bloody-fucking-tastic.

She kicked at the broken pieces of what used to be one of her tables. Looked like someone took a running jump and broke it. 

And to top it all off she had been robbed. 

She let out a frustrated yell, muffling it by biting down on her knuckles. 

“Gods and stars fuck,” she snarled, stomping her foot once as she tried to think things over. There was paint. 

There was paint everywhere.

And don’t even get her started on the blood.

Bloodied handprints! All over her front door! Smeared along with the paint.

“And what the fuck is with this W?!” She spun to look at her back wall, palms open. Blue paint. Like her tattoos. She rubbed her arms as she moved closer to look at it. 

Crescent spots. A W. What was this? A threat? 

They left a calling card of course it was a threat. But why against her? Did she do something? Not that she remembered. 

Was it to get to someone?

But who? She had cut off everyone who tried to get close besides the kids. And she doubted someone would go to...these extremes to get back at a child.

Maybe she did something. 

But even if she did, what did these even mean? Wouldn’t it be more effective to threaten someone who recognized the markings? 

Ugh it was giving her a headache. 

She moved to her trashed backroom, grabbing a cleaning bucket and a rag. Taking the green handkerchief from it’s hook and rolling up her sleeves she knew it was going to be a doozy of a day. 

And of course, with her luck, her lucky stars, it got worse. 

~~

She collapsed against her counter, now covered in blood and so much fucking blue paint. They had painted those damn animal print spots all over her fucking clinic. 

AND they had stolen the medicines she kept locked up! Including the herbs she made them from!

Oooh if she ever got her hands on the thieves she was going to make them regret laying eyes on her clinic. String them up she would. Might even skin them like a fish if she was in the mood. 

Oh great she’d have to go to the market as well. Sure she was now out of food. She had been meaning to go. 

But fucking hell did she not want to. 

She adjusted the green handkerchief (it...stopped smelling like him), cleaned her paint stained hands down the front of her skirt and steeled her nerves.

Oh she hated going to the market for many many many reasons.

Reasons she was not going to go into.

Grabbing her basket and muttering to herself angrily, she slammed the door to her clinic shut, locked it and then stared. 

“...they’re going to come back. Dipshits won’t stop. Not after one night,” she huffed, resting her palms on the door.

Locking charms. Right. 

Aislin taught her this one. 

Breathing in and holding the air, she willed her magic to life. A gentle warmth settled across her skin, small locks appearing at her fingertips. This didn’t take energy from her, she pulled from the air around her. Aislin’s magic was more wind and air stuff so this was easier for her younger sister anyways. Much stronger than Maeve’s locks. 

Speaking of, thank goddess her charms held. She didn’t know what would’ve happened if whoever stopped by had managed to get into her house. 

Stepping away to admire the fading glow on her door, she nodded, satisfied. There. Those would have to do. She might need to update her soundproofing charms though. 

Who knew the neighbors didn’t like it when patients screamed? The things you could get away with back home. 

Stepping away from her clinic she made her way down the street. 

Maybe if she tried a disguise spell so she wouldn’t be bothered…

No, that wouldn’t work. She was shit at disguise spells. No one in her family was good at them. Last time her Seanmháthair tried she grew a fake beard and it didn’t go away for a week. 

...fine she would just suffer then. 

It’s not like once she got there anything could possibly get worse. No sir. Only being fucking robbed and then having to deal with the market. 

All she had to deal with for today. 

Letting out a sigh she walked into the market. It didn’t take her long to start gathering medication and plants. Of course they were backwater stalls. 

But it’s always been like that. 

Feeling a bit lighter she started to hum as she went through her mental checklist. Still didn’t have aloe, the asshats stole her entire fucking plant. 

...she also didn’t have anything to make lunch.

Great. 

She opened her eyes, turning around to go look for something to eat, letting out another small sigh.  

And there was Lucas. 

She choked on her sigh. 

Why oh why did he have to be there today of all days. She couldn’t even go back home! She needed something to eat (thinking about it now she hadn’t eaten in quite a bit) but noooo. 

So why did all those stars and spirits above decide today would be a good day for him to come to the market as well?

Sometimes she wondered if some deity had it out for her.

She turned to quietly sneak away.

“Thumb- Maeve?”

...oh fucking fuck. 

She forced a smile, slowly turning back around. Mmmm so this was how today was going to go. Fucking fantastic. “Giiiiant.”

...too informal, too informal. Abort mission.

He flinched a little at the nickname. Ah yes, this is definitely how she wanted her afternoon to go. This was perfect. So wonderful. 

She was going to fight whatever star had been assigned to watch over her and her fate.

“What are you doing here?”

Wow it wasn’t obvious? “...shopping. What else would I be here for?”

“Shopping for what?”

Oh she did not like his tone. Her eyes narrowed. Her basket swung off her wrist as she placed her hand on her hip. Sure maybe snapping at a seven foot tall man who was still fairly hurt and mad at her (for good reason) was not the smartest thing she could’ve done but…

She was in a terrible mood and ready to just go home and call it a day. Of course after she actually got what she needed for dinner. And actually eat something.  

“Do I have to tell you anything?” she huffed. “I am here to get something to eat for dinner and herbs to make more medication? There? Is the marketplace police happy?”

His eyes widened. “O-Oh! Didn’t mean to come across…” The softness and the...actual innocence of the apology sent her reeling. Then, as her luck would fucking have it, he seemed to remember he was still mad at her. “...sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, moving to look past him. Fine. This was fine. She just needed to get something for her to eat. Maybe something for Tehi. The old bat would kill her if she went hungry. 

Maybe she herself could deal without dinner. 

Her mood soured even more when she spotted mortal enemy of Maeve #1. 

The fruit stand guy. Malory. (it was a very unfortunate name)

Malory’s eyes narrowed when he spotted her. “Well well well, if it isn’t the little thief.”

She shifted away from Lucas, glad she now had someone to direct her building frustrations to. 

“I am no thief, you just want me gone!” she sneered, glaring at him. “You accuse me of taking things and then try and get me arrested! Every time I come here! Without fucking fail! Aren’t you tired of it?!”

“I will never be tired of it until I see the likes of you behind bars!”

“Unfuckingbelievable!” She threw her hands into the air. “I am not a thief! It was an accident. Tehi was hungry and I paid for it!”

“Your little bat has it out for me! And her owner is no prize either.”

She gasped in offense. “You fucking dickjerk ASSHOLE!” Her footsteps were loud to her ears against the rush of blood. Oh he got on her very last nerve. EVERY TIME! She jutted a finger at him as she growled. “I. Did. Not. Steal. Your. Shitty. Merchandise!” Well that was a half lie. His produce was quite good. 

It’s why Tehi stole from him so much. 

All too bad the guy selling was a balding old man who had it out for her. A vendetta! 

“Malory you are a slimy weasel who has no idea what he’s fucking talking about! Tehi was hungry. I caught her and I paid for the few grapes she had stolen. What else do you want?!”

“For you to go to jail!”

She was on the verge of fighting him. 

This close. 

“For the last time,” she snarled, stomping closer as she felt her skin heat up with her rage. She slammed her hands on the counter of his stall, opening her mouth to snap back. The others around went quiet with the show they were getting. She. Was. Going. To. Kill-

The ground under her feet was all of a sudden not under her feet. 

And she was thrown over someone’s shoulder. Like a sack of flour. 

“Put me down! I demand it! Right this instant!” she yelled, smacking the back of the person who had picked her up. 

Gray shirt. 

Oh fucking hell. Today was just not her fucking godamned day. Maybe if she became a hermit things would go her way in the luck department. 

“Lucas set me down!” 

“Maeve as angry I am with you I don’t want to watch you murder someone and then get sent to jail.”

“Well he would fucking deserve it!”

“Murder is still murder no matter how much he deserves it.”

She sulked, propping her face up with her hand, elbow resting on his back. “I thought you hated me.”

“It’s broad daylight. Very least do it at night.”

“Killjoy.”

She and Malory glared at one another. “Fuck off,” she sniffed, lifting her hand in a very vulgar gesture. 

“Maeve!”

“Guards! Guards! These two stole from me!”

“FUCK YOU TOO, MALORY!”

“Maeve!” 

She kicked her legs. Didn’t Lucas like, hate her? This was the first time they saw one another in weeks and it was a total fucking accident. 

“Put me down!”

“...you’re going to give the guards a reason to arrest you if I do.”

“Yeah? He would FUCKING DESERVE IT!” She yelled the last part at the fruit vendor, still flipping him off. “Droch áird chúgat lá gaoithe! Go mbrise an diabhal do dhá chois! Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire do chnámh do dhroma!”

“Maeve what the hell are you saying?”

“Droch chrích ort! Droch chrích ort!” she said, waving her arms. “Go dtuitfeadh an tigh ort!” 

“Maeve I have no idea what you’re saying but watch your language.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said, sticking her tongue out. “If I want this asshat’s house to fall on him I will tell him such!”

“...you said what?”

“You heard me! Go dtuitfeadh an tigh ort! Fucking bastard.” She sneered at Malory, who was still calling for the guards. Who were coming around.

Quickly. 

Ah fuck. 

And goody for Lucas, he was now an accomplice. 

Meaning she wouldn’t be able to get rid of him. 

Though judging by how people gave him a wide berth it wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing. Maybe she’d actually be left alone. (but why did people look so skittish? And then there was the anger? What the fuck did he fucking do?!)

“...shall I escape with you or do you want me to leave you behind?” He was still hurt. She could hear it.

But this was a short truce. 

She sulked, falling limp. “Fine. Carry me away. Just to a hiding spot. You can hide in one of the alcoves down the street if you hurry.”

“...thank you for the tip.” His voice was just dripping with sarcasm. 

“Well I’m sorry if I do this every other week and know what I’m doing!”

“You’re also tiny! You think I can fit in an alcove?”

“Fine! Don’t listen to me! Just set me down and let me get arrested! Save yourself.”

“You know I’m not gonna do that.”

“Oh you hate me anyways,” she groused, her filter was coming completely off as he moved quickly through the market. Guards shouted after them as he dodged the crowd. “Why not just abandon me?”

“Stop being dramatic, I'm not abandoning you.”

“Hmph you didn’t even touch the hate me part.”

“Just because I’m saving your ass doesn’t mean I’m not mad.”

“Ah! So you do hate me!”

“I never said that.” He didn’t elaborate, only tapped his fingers lightly on her thighs. 

She squirmed. “Hey buster watch the hands.” 

“Nervous tic.”

Even with his defense he didn’t stop. Little bastard. 

She kicked her legs a little as he ducked into an alleyway. It wasn’t what she recommended but oh well. 

“Hey stop that, you’ll get us caught,” he huffed as she tried smacking his nose with her heel. He shifted out of the way. 

“Put me down.”

“If you promise to be quiet I’ll put you down.”

“...fine.” She didn’t promise. 

He set her down, she huffed and dusted off the front of her skirt. 

“Malory is a fucking dick,” she muttered. 

“I thought you promised you’d be quiet.”

She stuck her tongue out at him again, getting more irritated by the second. “I never promised that. Only said ‘fine’.”

His eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. “Don’t be a child.”

“I’ll have you know,” she snarled, pointing a finger at him. He almost went cross eyed staring at it. “I have had the shittiest fucking day today and seeing you has done nothing to improve my mood or overall day so thanks a fucking lot.”

“...you’re really going to blame me now?”

“Well I do not appreciate being picked up and thrown over your shoulder when I had the situation under control.”

“You were going to kill him.”

“I was and as I’ve said many many times; he would’ve deserved it.”

Lucas seemed to weigh what he would say next. She huffed, staring up at him with her fists at her sides. Damn him and his height. She was going to strangle the person that decided making him this fucking tall was a good fucking idea it made fucking arguing with him or even just ranting a pain in her neck. Literally. 

“Ugh!” she yelled, standing on her tiptoes to be at least a little taller. 

God fucking damnit she was just BARELY up to his shoulders now. He looked almost amused as she puffed up her chest a little. 

“You listen here buster,” she snarled, shifting so they were chest to chest. “I have had it up to here with the BULLSHIT I just had to put up with today!” 

His face was red.

Why the fuck was his face red?!

Excuse you sir, she was in the middle of a RANT here. 

And he was still fucking mad at her for the shit she pulled. Yeah sure it was to protect him. Yeah sure she should not be as close as she was to him at that moment. She should also not be ranting. She should also not have been robbed didn’t she lock her doors?!

Also why the fuck was he still adorable when blushing?! Unfair! She was calling bullshit! She was supposed to be distancing herself and her feelings to not feel attracted to him. But nooooo the gods and stars above just had to bless him with being so fucking adorble she wanted to kiss him. Oh stars and spirits she was not going off on a fucking mental tangent about wanting to kiss him. That was not going to happen.

Even though she was close enough to. 

Gods why did everything have to be so fucking complicated?! 

That’s it she was going to fight someone. 

“Hey! Are you listening?” she asked, they were now chest to chest. She was off kilter with being on her tiptoes, back arching to get a good look at him. God fucking- height. 

She growled, settling back down onto her heels. He pursed his lips to keep from laughing and that was it and that was the last straw.

She pulled him down by his ear, hissing through her teeth. “You listen to me here Lucas whatever-the-fuck your last name is.”

“K-Karimov.” He stumbled a little with the weird angle which she was holding him in. But somehow, the filter was off and so was her ability to care. 

“Thank you. You listen to me here, Lucas Karimov. I do not want to be stuck in this alleyway with you anymore than you want to be stuck with me. Today has had it OUT for me the whole fucking day!”

He seemed to hear something but she was too caught up in herself fuming to notice. “Maeve-”

“And don’t get me fucking started on what happened to me this fine morning-”

“Maeve!” He shifted out of her grasp. 

“-with my clinic and the mess I had to- MMPH!” He slapped his hand over her mouth, shoving her roughly against the alley wall, caging her in between his legs and resting his elbow beside her cheek. 

“Shut up,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder. 

She watched the guards run by their hiding spot, yelling about hearing something. 

His face was so close to hers, his breath tickling her ear as he murmured to her. “You’ll get us caught.”

She glared at him over his palm. He wasn’t looking at her. Her brows furrowed as she squirmed, but he held firm. He didn’t let go of her even as the guards disappeared. 

So she took matters into her own hands. 

Or well, between her teeth. 

So she bit down on his hand. Hard. 

He pulled away with a yelp. She scrubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand as he nursed his wound. 

“You...you bit me!”

She placed her hands on her hips. “You needed to let me go!”

“You bit me!”

“Indeed I did!”

“What put you in such a sour mood?” he muttered, rubbing the bit gently. 

“Hm? Bad mood? Me?” Her eye twitched a little. She was so done. She was actually ready to sleep for a million years. 

Fuck the nightmares he was starting to star in she was done. 

“Yeah! Me getting fucking robbed was great to put me in the best of fucking moods!” she snapped, pacing around the small space of the alley while she waited for the clear. 

She shocked him into a stunned silence. “You were...what?”

Her head whipped around and her eyes were deathly narrowed. Absolutely done. 

“Heavens and stars are ya deaf?” Oh no her accent was coming out. Fan-fucking-tastic her accent was coming out. “I was fuckin robbed! So I was not put in the bestest of moods today so you get to see me when I’m irritated. I know! I’m so fucking fun aren’t I?”

Who would’ve guessed having her clinic trashed and her things stolen then having to deal with both LUCAS and MALORY would put her in such a sour mood that she didn’t even care if half of her words were clouded by her accent?! Oh and being handled like a sack of potatoes REALLY added to it! Then being pinned…

Hmm okay being pinned against the wall by Lucas wasn’t the worst thing to happen to her that fine day. 

Even so she felt the tiniest spark of pride at biting him. 

Was she guilty over that? Surprisingly no.

Check back later. 

“Who...who robbed you?”

“Shit if I know! I’m sure that weird thing I found was a fuckin callin card though. Why do you care?”

“Calling card?”

“It was a pain in the fuckin ass to clean too! I don’t know where the hell they got all that blue paint to paint my entire back wall but they fucking did it! And then leaving the weird stains on my door. Blue and I don’t know probably blood. All and all it was fucking disgusting.” 

“...blue paint? What did they paint?”

She rubbed her temples. She did not have to share this with him. She did not have to share this with him. “Some weird crescent spots and a letter. Took forever to clean.”

Annnd she shared it with him.

“Spots? Letter?”

She cracked one eye open. “Yeah. I think they were either leopard or cheetah spots. Letter was a fucking W. And then they tried to break into my house and left bloody handprints! I had quite the scare this morning.”

All the colour drained from his face. 

“Blue...cheetah marks?”

“Did you just...ignore everything I just said? Yes! And blood! Like everywhere! They tried to break into my house and I don’t know why I am sharing this with you I should not be sharing this with you and I am going to regret this later but oh well I have no filter and I’m rambling.”

There was a slight anger swirling in his eyes. Barely contained. 

Even with how pissed she was it spooked her. 

What did he have to be angry about? 

“Were you hurt?”

“Does it look like I’ve been hurt?” He crossed his arms. She threw her hands into the air. “No! I have locking charms on my door. I didn’t hear them because of the sound proofing charms I have on my clinic and above that in my flat.”

Why the fuck did she just mention that?!

And she kept fucking going. 

This was it. 

If he didn’t hate her before because she rejected his kiss (like a fucking MORON. She did have a good reason for it (at least to herself. She was such a liar) but why oh why did she have to break things off with him. Granted if she kissed him that would’ve made things so much worse even though she really wanted to kiss him holy fuck she wanted to kiss him why was this hitting her now of all times when he was so close why was he so close and why did he look so scared and so pissed?!) he would definitely hate her now. 

Nice fucking going O’Connor. You did it. Messed up one of the only good relationships you’ve had in a while not just once but twice. 

Give the girl a medal. 

“Do you need help cleaning it up?”

“My tables are broken and I need to fix them and set them up again but I cleaned up this morning. All my medications and herbs were stolen. My tools. Stolen. My clinic? Fucking wrecked. Fruit stand guy? Tried to get me arrested again. You? Pick me up like I weigh nothing. So yeah. Having a great fucking day today.”

“...you are scary when irritated.”

“Oh and you barely scratched the fucking surface. I. Am. Going. To. Kill. SOMEONE!”

“Calm down Maeve the guards could hear-”

“I am not going to fucking calm down. I have bottled up everything for too fucking long. The only time I could sleep in peace was fucking ruined by my neighbors being obnoxious. And they bitch about me. So no a ghrá mo chroí, I am not calming down! You haven’t talked to me in weeks and now that you do you tell me how to feel and no. I am so done! I am done with you, I am done with Malory and I am done with the shitty fucking gods who decided creating me and giving me my fucking luck was a good fucking idea!”

Hold on. 

Did she just say that nickname out loud? 

The hurt on his face let her know that she did, indeed, say that out loud.

And he was taking it in the entirely wrong direction.

“...sorry.” His tone was deathly soft. 

Ah great.

Third times a fucking charm. 

“I...didn’t mean for it to come off that way. But you don’t need to curse me in another language.” Great, she hurt him again. As per fucking usual. 

Maybe he was right by calling her a trainwreck. Useless without him. 

Her voice cracked a little, hoarse from yelling. “Lucas-”

“The guards are gone now. I’ll...see you.” He was angry with her. 

Gods...fuck. 

“That's not what I-”

His expression was a mixture of hurt and anger. “I get it. You don’t like seeing me anymore. I was too...too much. Too much too soon. I understand. I overstepped again and I’m sorry.”

She brought her hands back to her chest as he moved out of the alley. “...if you go to your right and then down the first alley you should avoid the guards,” he whispered. “Get home safe.”

“Lucas I didn’t-” But he was gone. 

Her hands shook with both the raw snapping hurt of his words and just even more anger. 

“I didn’t insult you,” she snarled to the open air. “I said some dumb fucking shit by accident...a ghrá mo chroí.” It felt...right to say.

Because it was true.

He was her heart’s beloved. 

Even if he was a fucking dumbass. Shit, she was a fucking dumbass. 

Maybe she didn’t deserve love. If this was how it was going to treat her, maybe it was better if she just was...alone! 

Once again Maeve was off by herself. 

Hurting people she really liked because she couldn’t keep her dumb mouth shut. 

She muttered to herself as she picked her basket of new (if she found the perpetrators she was going to whoop their asses) medications and plants to make medications. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

She followed Lucas’ instructions after she ran into the guards on her normal way home. 

Damn you Malory you asshole.

With a sigh she arrived at her doorstep. His way added ten extra minutes to her walk. How fun. 

She peaked inside the clinic to see if anything else was destroyed but it was...cleaner than when she left it.

Her tables that had been turned over were set up again. There was paint and blood all over the tops of the tables but...they were up again. 

She ran her hands along the grooves, looking around. 

She stopped when she saw a small cloth bundle sitting on her counter. The string was a ribbon, and it was tied into a messy bow.

Her earlier bashes slowly dissolved as she stared at it. 

And that one lone butterfly fluttered to life. 

Paramay Prompt 4: Para + Home

funny enough I’ve actually thought about where these assholes (loving) live

i do think that I can chill with doing all four at once, though. They can take turns from now on because my brain is tired.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grey Wilson hadn’t stepped foot in his apartment in nine days. He’d worked overnight in the Society building for every one of them, sorting through files and organizing the archives and really taking any excuse he could get not to sleep. He had been having the nightmares again, and he had put them off for as long as he could. Until Fox confronted him about it, rather bluntly telling him that he “looked like shit” and needed to get some rest before he overworked himself too much.

Fox was probably right, of course, but Wilson wasn’t going to tell him that. He would never hear the end of it.

The apartment - one of many that the Society provided for agents without a different home - was as immaculate as it always was. Most would look into it and think he was obsessively clean, but really, he just didn’t have anything he would dirty it with. Had the Society not provided basic furnishing, it likely would’ve been completely empty.

He flicked the lights on, stepping through the doorway with a small sigh. White tile covered most of his floor, switching to a beige carpet where the living room started. The walls were painted a dark gray, almost black but not quite. Wilson slipped into his bedroom, flopping back on the bed.

God, he was exhausted, but sleep brought back the same nightmare every time.

And yet he was asleep in seconds, without even changing out of his suit. He hadn’t taken off his shoes, either - something he’d scolded Hollister for just a few days ago.

Maybe a few minutes of rest wouldn’t kill him.

Girl Crush (Lucy and Bianca, Backstage)

Author’s Note: This one-shot is longer than I excepted, but I hope you still like it! Since there is no mention of a drama teacher at Keaton, I decided to make one up (Mrs. Williams)! Also, check out the moodboards that @perhapspearl made for Izzy and Lucy: they are super awesome! Anyways, enjoy! 

---------------------------------------------------------------------- She had to get a crush on Bianca Blackwell.

The very same girl who Lucy thought of as Isabella's rival.

No one knew about her crush on Bianca, not even Isabella, and they tell each other everything.

Lucy bit her lower lip as Bianca continued to talk to Alya and Scarlett, unaware that Lucy was looking at her.

"Hey, why are you looking at Bianca?"

Lucy jumped ten feet in the air at the sound of the voice, and when she turned around, it was only Isabella.

Lucy started to panic, thinking that Isabella figured out her crush on Bianca.

"I wasn't looking at Bianca." she said, and Isabella frowned.

"Are you sure? Because--" Isabella started to say, but Lucy cut her off in mid sentence.

"I'm sure."

As they walked towards the auditorium, Isabella turned to Lucy, smiling.

"Are you excited for the auditions for Teen Angel?" she asked.

Teen Angel was the play that Keaton was putting on this year, and Lucy would have been excited:

If she didn't have terrible social anxiety and a fear of huge crowds.

It was sort of ironic, in a way.

A girl with social anxiety wanted to be an actress (a fact that Bianca always loved to point out).

"A part of me is excited, but.." Lucy started to say, and Isabella nodded.

"I know huge crowds freak you out, but you got this!" she replied, and Lucy gave her a half-smile.

"Thanks, Izzy."

They pushed the double doors to the auditorium, and the auditorium was full of students, and not just students who were in the Drama program.

Everyone got to try out, whether you were in the Drama program or not, and Lucy had butterflies in her stomach.

"Nope." Lucy replied, turning around to the exit, and Isabella looked at her.

"It'll be okay, Luce. Maybe the auditorium seems packed because there are people who want to cheer on their friends."

Isabella could be right, but still.

Lucy frowned.

"Isabella, there is no way I'm getting up on stage with everyone looking at me. I'll make a complete fool of myself, especially in front of--"

"Miles!" Isabella stated excitedly, and Lucy raised an eyebrow.

"Miles?" she asked, but Isabella was already gone, and Lucy sighed.

She scanned the row of seats until she found Isabella, who was sitting next to Miles, and they were talking.

They stopped when Lucy sat down next to Isabella, and Miles looked at her.

"Hey, Lucy! Are you trying out for the play?"

"No." Lucy replied, just as Isabella started to say 'yes', and Isabella glanced at her.

"Yes, she is." Isabella explained, and Miles smiled.

"Cool. I bet you'll get the role of Peggy."

"Or Bianca." Lucy muttered under her breath.

Once everyone was seated, Mr. Park and Mrs. Williams (the drama teacher) stood up from the table in front of the stage, and Mrs. Williams smiled.

"Welcome one and all to the auditions for Teen Angel! We'll be doing solo auditions and some pair auditions as well, and finish the auditions tomorrow, while the cast list will be posted on Friday. Mr. Park and I will be judging the auditions on both days too."

There were several girls who were trying out for the role of Peggy, the main girl, including Lucy and Bianca.

After Bianca tried out, it was Lucy's turn, and Lucy didn't move from her seat, even after Mr. Park called her name.

She eventually got up, after looking over at Isabella, who mouthed 'you got this!', giving her a smile and Miles gave her an encouraging smile.

Lucy made her way towards the stage, and after Mrs. Williams gave her a script, she stood in the center of the stage, looking at the crowd, Mr. Park, and Mrs. Williams.

"Lucy, what role are you trying out for?" Mr. Park asked, and Lucy tried to control her nerves.

"Um, Peggy." Lucy explained, and Mrs. Williams smiled.

"Whenever you're ready, dear, you may begin."

You got this!

Isabella's words of encouragement didn't help Lucy, and the lights and the people looking at her made everything worse:

It got to be too much.

"I'm sorry."

Lucy's words echoed through out the room as she ran backstage, feeling super anxious and on the verge of crying as she sat down in a chair.

Someone sat down next to her, and Lucy didn't even flinch.

"Go away, Izzy." Lucy said, looking up, and she started to blush when she realized it was Bianca sitting beside her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, and Bianca looked at her.

"Isabella sent me over. She wanted to come and find you, but she had to do her own audition with Miles."

Lucy wasn't surprised to hear that:

All Isabella could talk about was how she and Miles had practiced their parts (Kate and Rick) together, and were doing a pairs audition.

"Oh." Lucy replied, and Bianca looked at her, frowning.

"What happened?” she asked, and Lucy went into full defense mode.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Only her parents and Isabella knew she had social anxiety, and went to see a therapist for it.

She didn't want to say that in front of Bianca, who might tease her.

Lucy saw Bianca bite her lower lip, and suddenly Lucy was telling Bianca about it.

"I get super anxious around huge crowds, like today. I know: it's ironic because I want to be an actress, but I can't seem to overcome it, no matter how hard I try."

Isabella told her that everyone was a super-hero at Keaton, but Lucy never felt like one.

Lucy thought that after she said that, Bianca would make fun of her, like she always did.

Instead:

"Everyone gets nervous when it comes to auditions, so it's natural you feel this way."

Lucy shook her head.

"It's all the time whenever there is a big crowd: not just at auditions."

Bianca looked at her, and smiled.

"I could help you: I mean, if you want."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, suddenly suspicious.

"Why?"

Bianca wasn't the nicest girl at school, even if Bianca helping her meant spending time together.

Bianca looked at her.

"I may not be one of the nicest people at school, but I always overhear you and Isabella talking about it, and I thought I'd help."

Before Lucy got to answer, she saw Isabella coming forward them, and she looked worried.

"That's my cue to leave." Bianca said, getting up from her chair, and Isabella walked over to Lucy.

"Lucy, are you okay?" she asked, and Lucy nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry I missed your audition with Miles: how did it go?" she asked, and she saw a dreamy expression on Isabella's face.

"It went great." she replied, and Lucy grinned.

Isabella's smile turned into a frown.

"What were you and Bianca talking about before I got here?"

Lucy looked over at Bianca's vacant seat, and then she looked at Isabella.

"She just wanted to make sure I was okay: thanks for sending her to see if I was okay."

"I knew you had a crush on her, so that's why I did that."

When it seemed like Isabella didn't know about her crush on Bianca, Isabella figured it out without Lucy telling her, and Lucy looked surprised.

"Was it that obvious?" Lucy asked, and Isabella nodded.

"Very obvious: but, I think you and Bianca would make a cute couple."

Lucy shook her head, blushing.

"No: Bianca would never like me back: not in a million years."

-------

I’m Still Hurting (Orc x Reader) Part 2

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2107 words

Summary: You and your boyfriend establish a new normal

A/N: At long last, the highly requested part two! I had a bit of struggle coming up with a proper followup to the first part (which was part of why I left it with an open-ended ending in the first place lol). Little less angst this time, I felt these two deserved a little sweetness after the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoy!

Part 1

The first thing that caught your eye when you walked by the music store was the Grand Piano. It was gorgeous: Polished mahogany, a nice velvet seat, and keys that looked like they had never seen the sticky fingers of a curious 8 year old.

“Wow, is that new?”

You nod, admiring the old-fashioned air of the instrument. You knew jack shit about music, but even you could tell that this piano was an antique, one probably worth a good chunk of change.

“Must be. I’ve never seen it before and this place is on my way to work.”

Waruck hmms, pressing his hands up against the glass. His eyes sparkle when he sees the “Free to Play” sign right next to the piano. It probably reminds him of his Grandpa’s, the one he played when you guys visited his family for Christmas.

That was a long time ago.

“Want to go in?”

Waruck pulls away from the glass, eyebrows raised. He rubs the back of his neck and steps a couple feet back, trying to curb his enthusiasm.

“Uh, we don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind. It's been a while-” You pause, the slight-anxiety in the air making every casual word difficult, “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you play.”

Waruck smiles, small and polite, and opens the door of the shop for you. Before, he might have done a little bow and said “Ladies First” in a British accent.

But that was before, and this is now. Now, every comment is walking on eggshells, whispered tentatively and under your breath. Testing the waters for how comfortable you two could get around each other.

Still, it was exponential growth from two months ago.

--------

After your meeting at the coffee shop, you had asked Waruck for a month; A month of privacy, for you to collect your thoughts and feelings, to be alone for a bit. He had agreed immediately, shuffling out of the cafe with a hunched back and a melancholy air, but he had kept his promise. You took the time to focus on other things, shifting your relationship to the back of your mind and enjoying the day-to-day.

But a part of you felt a little bad, like maybe you were stringing Waruck along for an inevitable breakup. Getting his hopes up for an extra tortuous punishment that left a sour taste in your mouth. So on one brave Saturday night, you sent him a meme you saw on Instagram, one that reminded you of him.

That second month saw the two of you texting more and more frequently, sending little jokes, asking how your day was, so and so. Each week rebuilt a little bit more of that familiarity, that comfortableness. It finally got to the point where Waruck asked if you were free one weekend. He just wanted to get some lunch and stroll around the neighborhood for a bit. For the first time in a while, that idea didn’t seem too bad.

--------

The air is considerably cooler inside the store, a tiny bell ringing as a rush of air-conditioned air hits both of you. Waruck makes a beeline for the piano, his footsteps short and quick. You feel a smile crawl on your face; He always acted like an excited kid when it came to music.

Waruck plops down in the center of the stool, fingers lightly brushing over the keys in awe. You walk up the piano’s side, laying your hand on the wood and admiring the lack of smudge marks on the polished wood. Waruck tests out a G note and although the sound is short, it’s extremely pleasant. Waruck’s smile grows even larger.

“When I was a young boy…”

You mutter under your breath. Waruck chuckles, quickly continuing onto a G flat.

“My father took me into the city,” Waruck hums

“To see a marching band.” The two of you sing together, laughing a little bit too loudly and gaining a sharp look from the tired sales clerk. Waruck waves a little apology, but that playful grin stays on his face.

“Wow, that brings back some repressed Hot Topic memories.”

“Seriously. I can almost feel the book my band teacher used to thwack me with. Me and my buddies would sneak into the choir room and play that all the time.” Waruck’s fingers dance over a couple more notes, aimless.

You’ve always liked watching Waruck play. His fingers were so dextrous and controlled,  not to mention long and nicely articulated. He’d probably make good money from a hand-model side-gig.

“Want to take a seat?”

You shift your focus away from Waruck’s hands. He’s made space on the bench and pats the open space next to him.

“Yeah, sure.” You say, despite the fast pace your heart is now beating.

You keep a solid two inches of distance between your bodies, keeping your thighs together as to not brush your legs with his. It felt like a middle school dance, keeping a bible length away from your partner to avoid the disapproving stare of the chaperones.

Waruck nods, absentmindedly running his fingers up the scale. “Any requests?”

Immediately, all non-love songs depart from your brain. One of your favorite pieces sits on the tip of your tongue and your brain refuses to let it go. You shake your head.

“Nope. It’s all yours, music man.”

Waruck chuckles, a little louder and a lot more comfortable, as he sits deeper in his seat.

“Prepare,” Waruck cracks his knuckles, “to be amazed.”

You bite back a laugh. He’s still such a dork.

He starts to play, his hands easily finding the right keys, moving like a well-oiled machine. Your heart nearly skips a beat before it melts into a puddle of sentiment.

It’s your favorite.

The song brings back memories of your childhood, a rainy day in, and delicious food. It’s like chicken soup for the soul and you can feel any of the left over tension leave your body.

Waruck’s eyebrows furrow with concentration, but he has a large smile on his face, his large tusks peeking out from his lips. His arm stretches across the piano as the song hits its most fast-paced part. His biceps and shoulders lean more into your space, but the feeling isn’t unwelcome. It feels natural, as if his presence and yours is part of the piece itself.

Waruck’s thigh brushes against yours, but his pace doesn’t falter and neither does yours. You stay enraptured, watching how easily he slips into the music. You barely even notice how you have begun to lean closer to his side; Your mind says it’s to give his arms plenty of space to play, but it’s still far more comfortable than you are willing to admit.

How easy it feels, in the moment, to fall back into routine.

The song begins slowing to a stop, only a couple seconds left, when the sounds of the music shop return to you. A giggle from not too far rings discordant with Waruck’s piano.

Three girls stand not too far from you, watching with fascination as Waruck plays.

“Wow, he is so good!” One whispers to her friends.

There is nothing even remotely lascivious in their eyes or in their words, but a knife still twists in your gut. Your throat constricts as flashes of your bedroom, of unanswered texts, and a picture of a bar corner booth send needles down your spine and into your heart.

Is this wrong? Is this giddy feeling you have only distracting you from reality? Is it like this song, Waruck’s playing, beautiful but temporary?

“Ugh, I want what they have.”

“I know, right? How romantic.”

They’re wrong, you’re wrong, this is wrong; It’s fake, fake, fa-

Your eyes dart to and fro, trying to desperately avoid Waruck’s quickly overwhelming body heat and your audience, before it catches on the distorted shape of your reflection in the window.

The glass is old, slightly drooping, even the golden lettering of the music shop’s name looks dusty and sun-bleached.

But what is unmistakable is you and Waruck. Waruck, playing piano, and looking at you. Looking at you with the love in his eyes you thought had died, or had never been there at all. The group of girls stands in the background, small and out of focus.

And Waruck is staring at you.

“Are you okay?” Waruck asks, his warm hand on your shoulder.

You whip your neck around, almost getting whiplash.

You’re here, in the music store, with your boyfriend. He looks at you, brow slightly puzzled from your wild eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I,” You suck in a deep breath, “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my own head. That song gets me kind of nostalgic.”

Waruck pats your shoulder and you miss it’s heat when he pulls it back to his side. He smiles, but you can tell he is still slightly worried.

“No problem, I get it.”

You notice now how much closer Waruck is to you. His chest has shifted towards yours, the fabric of his shirt sleeve pressing against the skin of your bicep. Waruck’s knee absentmindedly knocks into yours, but the contact doesn’t sting or jolt you. Not even the continuing silence makes the situation awkward.

It’s nice.

“Do you want to check out the record aisle? They might actually have that piece on vinyl.”

Waruck gestures with his thumb to the piles of CD’s and records not too far from you two. You nod

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

--------

The two of you spend about an hour in the music store, pointing out hilarious cover art and admiring some vintage finds. Waruck even gets you to chuckle a couple of times, slowly bringing out his old cheesy puns.

Waruck’s missed this.

You two walk out of the music store at the tail end of one of Waruck’s jokes, you playfully punching his shoulder.

The two of you wander, in the opposite direction of your cars, for a little while. But Waruck hasn’t lost track of time; No, he’s soaking in every moment he can, every smile and lingering look you give him. Every reminder that this is real.

He spent a week agonizing over what he did. Stuck in silence as he gave you your space. His friends (His real friends, not those assholes from the bar) had offered to come by and keep him company, but he turned it down.

When Waruck got back into routine, it was slow-rolling. It was difficult to fight the instinct to check his phone for a good-morning text, or check your Instagram for any ‘post-breakup’ partying.

No, he had already broken your trust once. The least he could do was give you some time. Spend some hour not wallowing in self-pity, but actively make a change.

Waruck began to accept those invites to a chill hang out, playing some poker and sipping on beer with the gang. He played his keyboard when the thoughts got too loud and went jogging when the music wasn’t loud enough. He called his mom a couple of times, even sent his sister a  couple of texts to catch up. They hadn’t spoken outside of holidays for almost three years.

Maybe he was the one that needed time.

God, why did you have to be so smart?

“Oh shit, how long have we been walking?” You mutter, checking your watch for the time. Waruck turns around you, already knowing the answer was 27 minutes, exactly. The both of you were nearing the edge of the neighborhood, cafes and shops turning into residential suburbs. “Dang, time really flies, huh?”

Waruck smiles.

“With you? It always does.”

You give him a half smile, patting his bicep. “Oh my god, you’re such a cheeseball.”

Waruck winks and shoots you some finger guns.

“You know it babe.”

You giggle, checking your watch once more, face turning just a little bit.

“I should probably head back, I’m getting dinner with some friends tonight.”

A small part of Waruck yearns for more time, but he lets it go.

Space, this was about establishing space.

“I had a lot of fun today, Waruck.” You step a little closer, Waruck’s heart skips a beat.

“Me too.” He whispers, his breath catching as your fingers brush against his.

It’s a simple gesture, one you’ve down a million times. But when your palm slips into his, your finger’s interlocking, it’s like fireworks have gone off.

“Same time, next week?”

Waruck nods, not trusting himself to speak without a voice crack.

That’s all he needed, all you wanted; The promise of the future.

“Yes, I would love that.”

Chapter 1!

Summary: Being a young single father in socially conservative Hyrule is hard enough, but it's even harder when your son turns out to be the Hero of Legend. Nevertheless, Garrett tries his hardest to break the cycle of abuse and be a good father.

This is a spin-off to Made to Be Broken, but it's not necessary to read that to understand this fic (though it is greatly appreciated if you do!). This is going to be a mostly character-driven story exploring the complicated relationship between Link and his father, so buckle up and get ready for some daddy issues!

Also the titles of the chapters are lines from the song "...well, better than the alternative" by Will Wood, as it is a major inspiration to this fic

Clarification (and a new pinned post)

With season two of The Owl House right around the corner, I wanna clear some things up about my AU.

I've already made decisions about the overall plot, characterization of several characters, episodes and events past the first season and what we see of the cast there. There will be characters completely nonexistent in The Owl House, and things already planned that might or might not end up lining up with what you get in the show. I'm not trying to rehash TOH with swaps, I'm telling a different story with these different versions of the characters.

Also, this is a reboot of an AU I started a while back! If you want to read the first (and only) two chapters of the original you can find them here, but know that they're being redone now that I have a clearer idea of what I'm doing with everything. Feel free to consider it a sort of "Pilot episode" if you want though!

If you want to see my other work I have a very unorganized carrd that can be found here, though I may create another one at some point with more focus on full pieces, or just taking out a lot of the older low-quality stuff.

I want to start writing fanfic anyone got any advice on it?

OKAY! i probably am gonna change my ao3 to match this blog. If i change the icons I'll always do it to both of them. Though, we know the one on here will change later... but yeah. I am gonna change it. I'll update the links on here if i can. Like, I'll probably do it slowly. Like change a few a day. Cuz it takes ages and i have.... so many links. I'll probably change it tomorrow. And start updating a few links.

I might make a masterlist of chapter links for the series I've been working on lately. But maybe not. Either way I'll make an official post and pin it to the top of the blog with just my general Ao3 link. That way you can hopefully find what links wont be working for a bit. Sorry this is sort of annoying but its easier to change ao3 links than to have to repost every damn thing cuz this site doesn't function properly. Hahah! Thanks for hangin out here guys! I'll post an update about the state of things tomorrow unless something happens!

💖💖💖

kind of odd how you can’t exclude a character with no info or character analysis on them without being called terrible, false names

Friendly Stranger

Summary: Xiaotian has a mild meltdown on a stranger.

Notes: Had a concerning idea about Macaque’s reappearance in the show and wrore this out. Not really sure what this is.

-_-

The street that made up the shadow play festival was bustling with people.

Except Xiaotian had never felt so alone.

He was supposed to be happy. It was Red’s first public hangout sessions with them. Shadow plays were interesting and he had loved the festival in the past. But his thoughts were consumed.

“That he made the wrong choice. He picked the wrong successor.”

He came to a stop, feeling cold ripple down his spine. Xiaotian looked around, halfway convinced that the Lady Bone Demon’s eyes were on him. Again. He hadn’t slept in days, still afraid that he would wake up in that cavern.

He hadn’t told Monkey King.

He should be, except... Xiaotian turned down an alley, away from the smoke and mirrors of the various shadow plays. His feet walked down the familiar path. Dread curled in his gut when he finally came to a stop, right in front of a rundown dojo. He took a deep breath and then reached out.

The door slid under his hand with a creak. Xiaotian poked his head in, looking around. “Macaque?” he called into the darkness.

There was no answer.

He took a step inside, followed by another. Soon, Xiaotian was poking around, looking for the dark monkey. But his results turned up nothing but dust and cobwebs.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Except...

Tears beaded up in his eyes and he found himself leaning against the wall. He slid down until he sat on the floor, dust puffing up under him. He needed to be stronger and sure, Macaque wanted to hurt him but... He needed...

He needed...

“Hey there.” Xiaotian startled, looking up with tears rolling down his cheeks. The man leaned back, holding up his hands. “Sorry, but are you okay? Are you lost?” He shook his head, curling up tighter. A sniffle, unwillingly, leaked out of him.

There was silence and then footsteps walked away. He didn’t look up, too busy digging his nails through the fabric of his jacket into his arm.

Then something cool pressed against his hand. Xiaotian looked up in surprise, finding the man was kneeling on the floor. He held out a juice, a smile on his face. “Here. You look like you need it.”

“Thanks.” he managed out, taking the juice and cracking it open before taking a swing. It was peach-flavored, which only reminded him of Monkey King and the fact that he was a bad choice and... Tears rolled down his cheeks and he sniffled, frantically wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry, sorry, I don’t mean...I’m sorry.” he managed out.

“It’s okay.” the man said kindly, moving to lean against the wall like him. The purple sweater he wore seemed familiar but Xiaotian was distracted by the fresh wave of tears. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...I don’t know.” he admitted, curling up tighter.

That seemed to be the end of the talking. The man sat there in silence, watching as more fat tears rolled down Xiaotian’s cheeks. Eventually, a warm hand rested on his back and started to rub circles. The feel was enough to slow the tears and he gave one last sniffle before leaning back.

The man pulled his hand away. “Is that better?” he asked. The younger nodded, taking another sip of his drink. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Xiaotian shook his head. The words were lodged in his throat and he couldn’t really take the idea of this random stranger. “Sorry, because I was just crying over you and all but... I’m not ready.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” The man stood and offered a hand. Xiaotian took it, resisting a yelp at the ridiculous strength of the pull up. “I’m just glad I could help.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Xiaotian walked away, giving one last wave over his shoulder. He needed to get back to his friends before he worried them further. “See you around, I guess.”

“No problem.”

He never noticed the man’s friendly smile slid into a smirk, or his eyes lit up in purple.

ok squad is it too late for me to say i HATE swim and want to delete it????😁

i read two words of duplicity and..... i cannot do it i can’t read it i’m sorry 

girls5eva s1 rewatch thread pt 3

When you don’t follow the game of life, you tend to feel stagnant. You know you’re growing, changing, improving, but what does that matter when you’re still at the same small square on that board game?

Where were the detours, the less traveled paths in that game?

I could use the guidance. I could use the encouragement.

tfw u wanna redo ur ENTIRE tagging system but that means having to clean ur entire blog AGAIN.

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

thirty-six - absolution

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

LESYA TUGS AT the ropes on her wrists, but the knots have no give. Searching the belly of the trireme, she finds him sitting across from her, his head low, armor still stained with soot, mud, and blood from the battle. The struggle against her bonds only brings back the sudden surge of pain in her bandaged thigh and bruised arm. Deimos lifts his head, catching her harsh glare. Even so, a wave of relief crashes over him. "I'm your prisoner now?" She hisses, snapping him from whatever fog had taken hold of his thoughts.

He doesn't reply, but silence is answer enough —the Cult has taken her prisoner. They will go to Delphi, or perhaps to Athens since Kleon has taken charge of both the city and Kosmos. Stilling, she looks down at the ropes, can hear the echo of burning trees mixed with the rise and fall of the Aegean's waves. "What you did was reckless," Lesya mutters. 

"Trying to save you from an inferno?" Deimos asks, raising his scarred brow as he leans toward her. There's a tinge of mirth in his tone. Even after crossing blades, he hadn't hesitated to put himself between her and a burning tree. Protecting Lesya is second nature to him. It had been for years —they could fight on and off the battlefield, but he would always try to save her from pain. 

She shakes her head, recalling their training and days long past. Biting down on her lip, Lesya glances at the hull of the ship, unable to meet the warmth shining in Deimos' tawny-gold eyes. "We were taught to save ourselves, not one another," she reminds him. 

"And when have we ever listened?" He challenges. Ever since they were children facing the trials, Enyo and Deimos always looked out for one another, and time wouldn't change that. They never took all of Chrysis' teachings to heart anyways. Elsewise, neither of them would be here now in the belly of a trireme sailing back to Athens. 

"You should have left me." Lesya's voice cracks. She thought freedom from the Cult would mean freedom from the killing and the horrors, but she still found her blades dripping with blood at every turn. There is no muting the taunting voice of Enyo in the back of her mind every time she wields a weapon, no calming the bloodlust craving monster. There is no escape from the endless cycle. It will be the same for him, no matter how much they dream or speak of a simpler life.

"Deimos," she breathes, a broken prayer, "when the game is done and all the pawns are spent, where in Hellas will we go?" Kassandra telling her not to return to Sparta after what happened in Boeotia brought the realization upon her —there is not a single polis in the Greek world that would welcome her and Deimos, if they did, it would only be to see them at the chopping block. "The Spartans would gladly have our heads, as would the Athenians." Their crimes against the two city-states are too numerous to count. "There's no place we haven't desecrated with bloodshed. Nowhere and no one will want us."

Silence settles between the two champions. Deimos weighs her words carefully, not denying the truth of it. When the Cult falls, they will have no safe haven to turn to without facing persecution. Even so, he can tell there's something different in her gaze, a new kind of defeat in her voice. He reaches for her, rough fingertips brushing across her jaw and bruised cheek. "What've you done?" Deimos asks. 

"Killed one of the Spartan generals–" her eyes flash up to meet his, despite the guilt in her tone there's still pride shining in her eyes "–your step-brother, Stentor." Deimos knows the name. He knows Stentor as the son of Nikolaos and as an informant for the Cult of Kosmos —one of the Redbloods they speak of. He doesn't say anything, just runs a hand over his face with a slight sigh. Yet another ally lost by Enyo's hand. Deimos cannot help but wonder how things would have turned out had she remained at his side. He imagines by now the Cult would have Hellas beneath their heel.

She holds out her bound hands, laurel eyes shining with something Deimos thinks he's never seen before —fear and weakness. "Take these ropes off," Lesya says, nigh pleading, but Deimos does or says nothing, just sits back with her dark gaze flitting across her face and the bruises and scars. She can see it in his expression, doubt —a voice in the back of his mind saying she will run as soon as the bonds are severed. "We're in open water–" a smile tugs at her lips, even she could not hope to swim to shore from this far out at sea "–where would I go?"

Deimos slips one of her twin blades under the ropes, cutting them loose. Lesya rubs her wrists, lost in a daze. "Lesya," he breathes, cupping her cheek —the rough pad of his thumb tracing over the scar running through her brow, a mark left by his blade. She lifts her gaze to meet his and feels her chest tighten as all their past encounters come racing to the forefront of her mind, all of them a culmination of what she'd told him on that Megarian beach. I love you. Lesya swallows the lump in her throat.

"I meant what I said," she tells him. Nothing could change the way she felt about Deimos, not after all the years they stood side-by-side, not after the things they'd done. She could never want anyone else, only the broken boy named Alexios, who grew into a twisted weapon. Lesya leans into his touch, turning her cheek to press a short kiss to the center of his scarred palm. 

He stares, lips parted, a funny feeling in his chest —he thinks it might be remorse. Remorse for not telling her sooner. Remorse for turning his back on her when she'd first told him. "I know," he whispers, leaning forward, still unable to tell Lesya he feels the same too. For now, though, it doesn't matter. She shifts, tilting her chin up so their lips brush against one another. It's hesitant, like when they were younger, but then Deimos' hand slips from her cheek to the nape of her neck, pulling her against him and swallowing the startled gasp that leaves her lips. Lesya melts against him, thinking everything feels right once again now that she's back in Deimos' arms.  

WHEN HE WAKES to the clash of thunder in the middle of the night, Lesya's warmth is no longer pressed against him. Her armor is gone, as are her blades. There are no signs she'd ever been there save for the cut rope and bloody scraps of linen. He peers around the bowel of the trireme, finding only the dark outlines of resting rowers —no need to fight Poseidon's wrath so far from land.

Sitting up, he ties his black-and-gold chiton around his waist, eyes still searching the darkness. Certain Lesya is not there, he rises, making his way above deck with the thrashing wind and pounding rain. The wooden planks are slick from water and the blood of three beheaded Cult guardians. 

Deimos strides to the commander of the guard, his face twisted in anger. They are in open water with no land in sight on any horizon, nor is there any sign of another ship. Lesya should not have slipped through their grasp so easily, should not have slipped through his grasp either. "You let her escape?!" Deimos roars, expression twisting to anger and rage.

"She killed the guards!" the commander refutes, though his tone is also a pitiful cry for clemency.

Deimos bends at the waist, picking up a spear. He surveys the point —dull but still deadly. "Apparently not all of them," he remarks, thrusting the spearhead into the man's gut and forcing him back into the dark, churning depths of the sea. Deimos ascends the steps to the quarterdeck, the wind and rain pelting his face and chest. He grips onto the rail, looking over the deckhands fighting to keep the sail from tearing and across the choppy water surrounding the trireme. Lightning flashes across the sky and far off on the horizon, Deimos sees it, a ship with dark sails emblazoned with an eagle clutching a serpent in its talons —the Adrestia. 

[taglist:  @wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fucking-dip-shit @elizabethroestone @maximalblaze @balmacedapascal @kitkitvm @dynamicorbit @thepreciouspurrsian ] it’s been a hot minute since the last update hasn’t it? 

foggy — kai w, may 18, 2021

transcript & taglists under the cut. send an ask to be added or removed.

general — @sautrns @pperegrines @aliasastrid @mishaal-omer @perditism @casabii @alicekaiba @doriians @edgarallanbro

poetry — @fairnell​ @emdrabbles @theforgottencoolkid @cielosky @birdquils @eatingjupiter @lustminaj

[ BEGIN IMAGE ID /  a screenshot of a poem from a google docs document. it reads:

“i open my eyes but all i see is fog. i reach my hand out in front of me, and yet all i can touch— is fog.

i take a deep breath in. the fog, it does not move. i open my mouth and lick the air— it does not move.

i lay on my back on the ground i stare into the fog. where am i? outside? inside? anywhere at all?

i roll over to my side and stare into the fog. if i started running through it, would i get anywhere?

i do not get up, unmoving like the fog. i let it envelope me, so maybe one day i can leave it.” \ END IMAGE ID. ]