#// string of consciousness told in three parts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

farity · 2 years ago

Text

There is only one bed, part 2

Pairing: Modern AU Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: Spies running from a common enemy find refuge in a tiny inn.

Warnings: Smut

Points if you recognize the side characters’ names. Also: no, your name is not Jan. It’s a meme.

part 1

“The drive. Give me the drive.”

When he didn’t move, the guy aiming the gun at your head cocked it and you kept your breathing steady through the terror that ran through you. Training, you went through your training, remembering breathing exercises, how to keep your muscles from tensing. You glanced at the guy who had very recently fucked your brains out.

His face revealed nothing, his stance was relaxed. “The one with the porn?”

You heard, in the distance, a car. Another one. That couldn’t possibly be good. It stopped down the road, not like the previous car you’d heard earlier.

“Give me the fucking drive or I kill your little girlfriend.”

He smiled, “I picked her up earlier, don’t even know her name.”

The next thing you felt was a hard thump on the back of your head, and you fell to the floor, your vision blurry. He lunged towards the asshole who’d hit you and the other guy fired.

You saw him fall back at the same moment that the door slammed open and three men rushed in. They were shouting in High Valyrian, your weakest language, and you caught something like “man down”.

He was saying something to them and before you lost consciousness you thought you heard him say something like “friend.”

* * * * *

You awoke in a government hospital and the first face you saw was Lou’s. Your boss was dressed in a sharp suit as always, her blonde bob swinging as she spoke on her cell phone. “She’s awake, gotta go.” She smiled down at you. “Good to see you, kid.”

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

You sat up. “The guy, the Westerosi agent who was with me.”

Lou raised an eyebrow. “You were brought to us by two agents from Dragonstone, who said you’d been caught up in one of their missions.”

You nodded, “yeah, there was a wounded agent I patched up, he was shot right before I passed out.”

“They didn’t mention that.”

The doctor walked in, gave you an update. You’d been out a couple of days with a concussion but the swelling in your brain had gone down and your vitals were good. You could go home the next day if things stayed the same overnight.

You barely listened, your mind elsewhere. You caught Lou’s eye, and you could tell she was reading every thought in your head.

“I have to go,” Lou said, “rest and I’ll talk to you tomorrow once you’re home. Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded as she left, her brisk steps fading as she walked down the hallway.

* * * * *

Five weeks later you were ready to kick someone’s face in. Nobody had any answers for you. You had even called the Dragonstone agency and explained that you wanted to ask some questions of their agent. Very important questions for your boss at your agency. If he was alive, if he was still working for them, no one would tell you anything.

You had even thought of asking Lou if she could ask her contacts, but asking your boss to locate a guy because he’d made you come twice was hardly the most professional thing in the world. You liked your job and didn’t want to be sidelined because you got hung up on some guy whose name you didn’t even know.

Maybe you could get one of your hacker friends to locate him. Hey, can you find this guy, tall, gorgeous, amazing ass and stellar dick? You rubbed your eyes, wondering if a shower would help.

You walked towards your bedroom, leaving a string of clothes as you reached your bathroom. Would you ever find him? You’d known him for less than a day but there had been a connection and it wasn’t just sex. Mind-blowing, amazing sex. Sex that had ruined you forever.

He had to be alive. Even if you could just find out if he was ok, maybe that would be enough. Sure, Jan, you told yourself. You showered quickly, putting on your favorite robe after.

Lou had left a message on your phone, something about all the time off you had accumulated and to fucking take it before it disappeared. You’d been doing admin stuff since you got out of the hospital, but when you reached your laptop, all the files you had been working on were gone. Fucking Lou.

Maybe you’d travel. Take a few weeks, bum around the continent, avoid heading towards Dragonstone.

Who were you kidding, the only place you wanted to go to was Dragonstone so you could snoop around. Like you were going to turn a corner and bump into him coming out of a Starbucks. Did they even have Starbucks in Dragonstone?

And then there was the thought you tried to ignore. What if he was fine? Alive and kicking, and simply didn’t care? What if he had moved on to his next mission - and the next girl - while you were flopping around your place like a moron, completely hung up on him?

Your phone buzzed and when you picked it up there was a text from your ever-omniscient boss.

Answer the door.

Um, no one has rung the door, Lou, you thought as the doorbell rang.

You opened the door and there he was, alive and fucking gorgeous, standing before you.

Every thought in your head evaporated as you looked at him. His hair was a little longer, and he was dressed in black, like he had been back then. You knew your mouth had dropped open but no sounds were coming out.

* * * * *

She was well. Alive and whole and healthy. A little pale, but she looked good. More than good, Aemond thought.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another, suddenly nervous. He hadn’t given a thought to what would happen now, to what she would say or do.

“Hello,” he said, because she wasn’t saying anything. She was just staring at him, one hand clutching the lapels of her robe.

“You’re alive.”

“Yes.”

“You were shot.”

“Yes.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him into her home, closing the door. She stood a couple of feet away from him, still staring. “Was it bad?”

This time he nodded. He wouldn’t tell her how bad just now.

She let out a strangled sob and covered her mouth. “I tried,” she said breathlessly. “I looked for you.”

Fuck it, he thought, and reached out to envelop her in his arms. She started crying and he heard so much fear and anger as well as relief in her tears. “I believe you,” he whispered into her hair. She had freed her arms and wrapped them around his neck and he could no longer wait. He began kissing her neck, the sweet scent of her skin one he had dreamed of every night since that day in the inn.

She turned to meet his mouth with hers, fisted one hand in his hair while he lifted her up. Her robe, which had barely been tied together, began slipping off as she wrapped her legs around him. “Bedroom,” she ordered, “last room on the left.”

He made his way to her room, barely remembered to kick off his shoes before he lowered her to the bed. “I’ve dreamed of you,” he said against her lips, and felt her smile. “Every night. Every fucking night, you torment me.”

“Likewise, dragon boy,” she replied, and he smiled at her.

“Aemond,” he told her. “My name is Aemond. Targaryen.”

She told him her name and then pushed him onto his back. “Wait,” she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Where were you shot?”

He raised the t-shirt he was wearing, and first she saw the cut she’d treated. It was a neat thin line and she smiled. “That healed up nicely.” He sat up then, removed his sweater, then began to pull off the t-shirt.

“It looks worse than it is,” he warned.

He tossed the shirt to the side and let her look.

“Fuck.”

The scar was jagged and ugly, and it was right over his heart.

“They got it out.”

“How far?”

He looked at her, shook his head in confusion.

“How far from your heart?”

He smiled gently. “Less than a millimeter.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, looked away from him, unable to speak.

“I’m here. I got a second chance,” he murmured. “And I don’t plan on wasting it.”

With that, he reached for her.

* * * * *

Less than a millimeter, you thought. You would make that millimeter count, you decided, as he grabbed you and pulled you down to the bed. You ran your hands down his chest, gently skimming over the scars until you’d reached the waistband of his jeans and felt him shiver against you.

He reached down, undoing the button and zipper and then started pulling off your robe, the thin cotton giving easily as he bared you. “I never got to take my time with you,” he said, and your heart started pounding with anticipation. He slowly gazed at you from head to toe and when he looked back up, his eyes were almost feral.

He cradled your face in one hand as he loomed over you, kissed your temple before his hand slipped down to your throat and you arched against him, pressing one of your own hands over his. He kissed you then, hungrily, nipping at your jaw as he made his way to your neck. There he feasted, edges of teeth and soft swipes of tongue, until you began whimpering, wanting him inside you.

He pulled back to finish removing his clothes, but before you could reach for him, he turned you over, spreading your legs with his knee before settling half on you, half on the bed. You felt him push your hair out of the way so he could nip at the nape of your neck while he reached around and his fingers began moving between your legs.

You’d dreamed of those dexterous, long fingers of his, frustrated yourself with your own many times, and a long moan escaped you as he reached deep inside you.

“Am I hurting you?”

You shook your head, “No,” you managed as he sucked some of the skin at your nape between his teeth.

His fingers moved slowly within you, and you gasped when he spread them open, widening you. “I remember how tight you felt,” he murmured. “I remember everything about that day. The way you looked, the way you felt, I couldn’t get away from you. Not during the day, and certainly not at night.”

His voice had darkened, each word said against your skin like a prayer. His fingers were pumping inside you now, your hips matching his pace, and soon you arched against him, your body taut, a gasp escaping you as you came.

He was kissing your shoulder, slowly removing his fingers from inside you as he turned you onto your back. “I cannot wait any longer,” he whispered as he reached down and began aligning himself with you. When he started pushing inside you, you gasped, remembering how he had felt all those months ago.

“God, yes,” you breathed out as he began filling you. Nothing had felt as good as he did right now. He pushed your knees back, struggling to move slowly as he sank into you. When he was finally seated fully inside you, he closed his eyes for a moment.

“You feel so fucking good, sweet.”

* * * * *

“LIkewise, dragon boy,” she replied, wrapping her legs around his hips.

Aemond pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he started, and felt her fingertips pressed against his mouth.

“You really need to stop that, Aemond,” she said, and the sound of his name in her lips made him deliriously happy. “I can take it, and I would really, really like you to fuck me now.”

He needed no further invitation. Rearing back, he thrust hard, the sound she made somewhere between a moan and a purr, and he did it again, hips snapping as his restraint began to slip. He took her hands in his, pressing them into the mattress above her head. “Yes,” she whispered, “fuck yes.” She tightened around him and he let out a familiar string of curses in High Valyrian.

“What did you just call me?” she smirked up at him.

He took her mouth in a bruising kiss as his hips continued to pound against her. “Vile,” he murmured, “enchantress.” He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, then released it when she whimpered.

He could feel her thighs shaking, her breathing becoming more and more ragged, and he began to drive faster, her cries encouraging him as he lost himself in her. “Please,” she begged.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and she threw her head back, a hoarse scream ripped from her throat as she came. He managed to ride out her contractions until finally, he surrendered, letting her take him with her.

* * * * *

The blurriness in your head began to dissipate, slowly, as Aemond kissed your temple. “Hmm,” he murmured, “that was worth the wait.”

You couldn’t manage to put two words together in your mind, and simply enjoyed the warmth of him as he held you. Your fingertips found their way back to the ugly scar over his heart, brushing over it as if you could erase it completely. A thought had began to form in your head, a question you needed answered.

“How did you find me?”

He looked down at you, surprised by the sudden question. “Your boss knows my old CO, Deb.”

“Lou?”

“Yep. She sent Deb a text ‘for your wounded dragon’ and it had your name on it."

You shook your head, confused. “Wait, if she knew to give you my name, why couldn’t Lou just ask for your name?”

“I guess she wanted to know if I would run with it.” He caressed your cheek. “I had to wait until I could leave the hospital, which was three more weeks.”

“So why didn’t you just call, or email?”

He leaned in and kissed you gently. “I was terrified. If I called and someone else answered the phone. If I emailed you and you never replied. I decided I would show up, look you in the eye, and if you wanted nothing to do with me, then I could turn around and walk away, but I needed to see it in your face. Whether you wanted me or not.”

“I tried,” you said. “I tried so hard. There was nothing, absolutely nothing on any of the usual threads. Not about your team, not about a wounded agent, nothing.”

“I don’t exist,” he said simply. “My name isn’t listed anywhere. If we’d all gotten killed the agency would have never acknowledged us.”

“Your family?” you asked, wondering about parents, siblings.

He smiled. “They think I’m in the arctic. Eventually they would have received a letter stating that I was working for the government and was KIA. No return address, no phone number. The moment the envelope is opened, the ink begins to fade so within a couple of hours the page is blank. And it doesn’t show up on photographs or video.”

“Fuck.”

“I knew that going in.” He pulled you closer. “I also knew I had a deadline.”

You reached up, brushed a lock of his hair out of his face. “What is it?”

“Turning thirty.”

“When is that?”

He smiled. “Today.”

* * * * *

She baked him a cake. She only had ingredients for a plain vanilla sponge, but the buttercream was so good, he ended up eating half of it before she smacked his hand and made him sit at the table.

“And she bakes, too,” he’d said, admiringly, when she started pulling out ingredients.

“I am multitalented.” She lit one of the candles sitting on the little shelf by the TV. “But I have no little candles, so this will have to do.” She brought over the massive three-wick-candle, made him blow it out before she’d let him cut into the cake. It was a little wonky and there was only enough buttercream for the filling and middle since he’d eaten half of it.

He watched her over his slice of cake. “What about you? Any plans for the future?”

“Well,” she smiled, “not many of us live to see middle age, so I always thought I’d do research or translating when I was done with field work. Plus I want to travel. Like, actually see the places I’ve been sent to, like a regular tourist.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, “I’ve been to so many places and not enjoyed any of them.”

“Does that mean anything?” she asked, indicating the ring he wore on his pinky.

Aemond looked at his hand, smiled. “My sister gave it to me before I left. Something about threads of green, threads of black, weaving something or other. She gets strange thoughts sometime, but she’s cool.” He speared his fork into another piece of cake. “I keep it hidden unless I’m on my own time. This is really fucking good,” he added before taking a huge bite.

“All that sugar is going to leave you with a massive headache. Here,” she refilled his glass, “drink more water.”

He did, and got up to do the dishes while she sat at the counter. He had spent most of the past decade forgetting or ignoring his birthday and now she’d baked a cake for him.

“Look, I just need to say something-”

“Oh shit,” she replied, but was smiling at him. “You’re married with seven adorable, but unruly, children.”

He gave her a look. “No. I wouldn’t have tracked you down here just for sex. This is going to sound incredibly naïve, considering what we do for a living, but it’s like I can envision-”

“A future.”

“With you.”

He said nothing for a few seconds, only watched her as she looked up at him. “Come with me. Let’s go see the world. Not from safe houses or sniper points.”

She smiled. “I don’t know, I’m an excellent shot.”

He smiled back, but extended his hand out. And waited.

And then she stood, walked around the counter, and placed her hand in his.

* * * * *

Tagging:

@arryn-nyx @greenowlfactif @hydrationqueensworld @megzdoodle@melsunshine @queenofshinigamis @throughgoeshamilton @travelingmypassion

Aemond fics only

@kaemond-zafiro

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut

192 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 11 months ago

Text

LittleMouse!Series Part Six: The Hours In Between - Alden Parker x Reader

Tagging: @mandy426 @neapolitantoebeans @yezzyyae

LittleMouse!Series

Don't... - Alden hates what your doing.

Waiting - You leave your ex waiting.

In Sickness & In Health - Alden and your ex sit down to discuss you.

Bordeaux - You come home to an unexpected surprise.

Acts of Violence - Alden walks into a nightmare.

The next few hours flash by in a haze of chaos, noise and florescent lights. There’s too much commotion around you, too much activity. You can’t make sense of what’s happening because all you can focus on is the pain that emanates from the place where Kristof had stabbed you with the stem of a broken wineglass. You slip in and out of consciousness during this time, snatching at pieces of reality.

“You’re in the hospital.” Alden tells you during a brief moment of lucidity. “They’re prepping you for surgery.”

The darkness is already rushing back in again before you can open your mouth to respond.

You keep going back to that moment in the apartment, the one where everything changed. You can’t believe how quickly it escalated. There’s never been a threat of violence from Kristof before, not until tonight.

“You can’t just break into my apartment and make yourself at home.” You’d snapped at him when he tried to hand you the glass of Bordeaux.

“What else am I supposed to do?” He’d asked you, setting it down on the coffee table. “You won’t meet with me, take my calls, answer my texts...”

“You aren’t picking up the hint?” You return, running your hands through your hair in frustration. “I do not want to speak to you.”

“Not even after what Parker told you?” Kristof asks incredulously, his hands coming to rest on his hips. “Because he did tell you, didn’t he?”

You’d sank into the armchair then because you’d begun to see where this pathological desire for contact comes from. The thing about Kristof? He’s a powerful man, he’s used to other people doing his bidding and when they don’t, he acquires leverage, he forces them to bend to his will. This diagnosis isn’t something you can combat and that makes him feel helpless. You can see that he’s spiralling, he’s used to being in control and now that’s been snatched from him.

“I’m sorry that you’re sick.” You tell him, gesturing for him to take a seat on the couch across from you. “It must have been a shock.”

“It was.” Kristoff tells you as he sits down. He picks up the Bordeaux, his thumb chasing along the curvature of the wine glass. “In that moment it’s like the world just stopped and everything I had done up until that point it didn’t matter. It feels like I’m staring down the barrel of a gun and I…”

He’d shaken his head then before his gaze flickered up to meet yours.

“This is the first real conversion I have had about it. You are then only one I can let see this part of me, the only one I trust to be vulnerable around. That’s why I need you…”

You see your mistake almost immediately. You’d forgotten what it was like to be around Kristof, how he manipulates the situation to suit him. He’s intentionally pulling on your heart strings, strumming them the same way he did back then. The difference is you’ve grown now, moved on, you know how to set boundaries.

“That’s not going to happen Kris.” You say firmly. “We’ve been divorced three years now and it took me a long time to recover from what you did to me. You’ve never held yourself accountable for any of it, not the games, not the women…”

“You want me to say I’m sorry?” He interrupts you, his voice filled with ire. “Fine I’m sorry, but you were sad all the fucking time. What was I supposed to do when you decided you didn’t want to put out?”

You lose your shit then because the audacity of this man astounds you.

“My friend had just died. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to go down on you to help ‘relieve’ a little stress before the Congressional Dinner.”

“That’s not…” He trails off, the muscle in his cheek twitching because the reason the two of you had gotten divorced was because you’d walked in on him fucking a Whitehouse Aide in your bed after picking up his tuxedo. “That’s not what I came here to talk about. I need you to come back…”

“And I need you to get the fuck out.” You were on your feet at that point already heading back to grab your phone. “Fuck, I’ll call Metro myself.”

It’s the threat of a scandal that tips him over the edge. The idea of him being dragged out of his ex-wife’s apartment in handcuffs for breaking and entering. You suspect in that moment he saw his future, declining health, his reputation in tatters and he blamed you, the woman who refused to be controlled by him anymore.

It had become a fight for your life after that because you had no doubt that he wanted to kill you. You could see it in his eyes.

When you wake up, it’s with an intense agony in your left side and a dry mouth. You try to move your hand to pull off the oxygen mask on your face but Alden’s already intervening. His fingers gently curl around yours, guiding your hand back down as he raises to his feet so that you can see his face. You can’t describe how comforting you find his presence so instead you squeeze his hand lightly.

“Welcome back, sweetheart.” He says fondly, his lips brushing over your hairline. “Trust me, you’ve been missed.”

Love Alden? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#alden parker imagine #alden parker x reader #alden parker #ncis x reader #ncis #alden parker x you

34 notes · View notes

pancake-breakfast · 1 year ago

Text

Time for more TriMax! I'm told we'll be reunited with the girls again soon....

Archive

Trigun Volume 1: Covers + 1-3, 3 Detailed Thoughts, 4, 4 DT, 5-6, 5-6 + DT, 6 DT, 7-8, 9-10

Trigun Volume 2: Covers + Extras, 1, 1 Supplemental Research, 2-4, 5-6, 7-8

TriMax Volume 1: 1-2

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 1, Chapters 3-4 below. (More detailed thoughts will be their own posts.)

Chapter 3: Bravo, Girls!

Ah, there are the girls already!

He did warn them that it might be like July....

Awww, that cupcake is HUGE!

Meryl's face. I don't think she likes being reminded that she's been through so much at her age. Or maybe she just doesn't like people talking about her age. Or maybe... she doesn't like all the rumors around the story versus the actual facts.

Vash using people as tools? Dude. It's like they don't even know the guy. They don't.

Woooow, way to dictate what makes women happy.

I sincerely hope New Miami is better than current Miami.

Oh, man. They straight-up note the hair color change here.

Oh, no! Her reports! Not only are they all over the floor, but they're also being insulted! Terrible.

Hahahahaha, Meryl's making faces behind her boss's back. TBF he deserves it.

So... the insurance agency decided that, rather than send two young girls out to guard this "most dangerous criminal," they'd send a former military man. This theoretically seems wise of them, but Vash is Vash.

Also, what military?? Best I can tell, there aren't other nations on this planet. The closest thing to a military you've got is gangs and maybe a few organized militia.

Dramatic Vash is dramatic. This time, in silhouette!

I can hear the *ching* of this guy's spurs as he steps off the bus. The fact that he's not wearing spurs is irrelevant.

Vash doesn't even try to pull one over on the insurance agency and pretend he's a Mr. Smith or whatever.

LOL, shotgun-launching suitcase.

Assassination attempt: failed.

What's up with the bottle on the string? Was... that how Vash opened the door?

Vash sees right through this guy. What's his name? Bardeaux Keele. As in, "Hai, I'm an assassin and I'm gonna Keele you!"

Somehow, I don't think this was part of his job description from the insurance agency....

LOL, now you done it, Keele. You gone and pissed off Wolfwood, and he has considerably fewer qualms about taking you out than Vash does.

Oh, honey. You're only in volume 1 of TriMax. There's no way in hell your next shot's gonna "finish it."

LOL, Meryl's entrance onto the scene here is amazing. I wonder how long she was watching before she decided to speak up.

Ohhhhh, she's gonna get this guy on a different type of insurance fraud. TBF, it's kinda on Bernardelli for not realizing it was a bad idea to hire someone named Keele.

I love how absolutely unphased Meryl is despite having THREE guns aimed at her and her life most definitely threatened.

Oof, instead she's thinking about all the life-threatening situations she's been in, and of Vash's goofy smile. I have thoughts on all this.

Ah, he done threatened Meryl and now Milly's gonna make him pay for it.

Vacation!? This is a hell of a vacation.

That face is not very convincing, Wolfwood. Just whaaaat are you planning?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Tabasco.

Meryl looks so happy about being carried away by the storm that is Vash.

Despite poo-pooing her reports, Meryl is still their second pick for Vash Babysitting Duty.

Chapter 4: Hero Returns

CW: Rape mention

This title page, though. He looks like he's in prayer.

Even though we've had a face reveal for Knives, he's still cast in shadows here.

There it is. A summary of Knives as he COMPLETELY misreads the situation and tries to paint himself as the hero.

Heh, I love how in this moment, the best insult Vash can come up with is to tell Knives he's not human. Which, of course, hardly works as an insult for Knives.

Geez. Vash thinks, "Forgetting brings too much sorrow. Remembering leads to everlasting pain." And then he chooses to remember.

Awww, he's so cute in his groggy wake-up phase.

That's a lot of coffins....

I wish I could do one-handed handstand push-ups like that. But I don't want to train for three hours every morning before breakfast. That sounds like self-murder.

LOL, Vash has been working up too much of a sweat even for Wolfwood.

Vash, when he hears another of his sisters is alive somehow.

Wolfwood explaining what Plants are to Vash is hilarious.

That's right; rape isn't about sex. It's about power. So if you're trying to drive other people out or show dominance over them, it does often fall into the mix right alongside murder.

It's played off, but Vash is well within his rights to cry here, I think. He cares a lot for humanity. Seeing them rip each other apart like this is bound to hit a note for him.

I love how much Nightow says about both characters and their relationship in just these two panels.

Dude. Vash's happy face mug.

Nightow is very dedicated to not drawing mouths on characters who have moustaches.

Brad?? THE Brad???

Yep, it's THE Brad.

Which face? Um. How many masks does Vash wear?!

In spite of all the time that's past, Vash recognizes Brad.

He snuck away from you, WW!

Time to get some new fancy gear! Huzzah!

"Lost technology for lost technology." Hahahahaha, these guys know what's up.

He genuinely is sorry, guys. He just didn't want to cause trouble.

Oh, Vash.... He looks so... empty at Brad's comments.

This is just going to dissolve into me posting a bunch of Vash panels because I want to slap some sense into Brad and give Vash hugs. But his face is so... resigned and sad and kind of hard here after Brad points out how much of a threat he could be to humanity. Like... he gets it, Brad. I guarantee you, he gets it. And he doesn't hold it against Brad for speaking the truth.

Vash is pleading with Brad. I love the close-up on his clenched fist. This isn't what he wants. But it's the way things are. And he's gonna do his best because he has to. For their sake. Regardless of whether they want him to.

Oh, Vash, my babygirl....

Hahahahaha, Brad is just jealous. Don't worry, Brad. Vash isn't gonna go that route.

Dude, what's up with that surgery tool??

What the heck? Who's crashing into stand steamer?? Rude.

LOL, WW crawling around with his bowl of... ramen? curry? soup? Whatever it is, it wasn't designed to be carried while crawling.

I feel like WW's chaos sense went off and he immediately followed it, knowing Vash would be there.

Misspelling of the word "custody" here....

Wolfwood doesn't get it. But Vash is trying to be patient.

Wolfy noticed Vash's new get-up. He knows he's looking at Serious Vash now.

Current favorite serious Vash expression:

Hahahahaha, Vash is dying after being called a disaster-prone freak. WW is also dying, but of laughter. Because it's true.

Oh, no. Vash has an idea. He looks way too mischievous for it to be a safe one.

Dramatic gun twirl!

VAAAAASHU ZA STAMMMMPIIIIIIDOOOOOOOO!!!

Hahahahaha, that's right. Lean into your violent reputation as a way to quell the pending violence and lead to a non-violent outcome. This is how Vash wiggles out of trolley problems.

"These are the tactics of a the man whom our fate rests upon." "All I'm seeing is a total nutjob!" Beautiful.

#vash really knows how to cause a scene #we'll allow it though #it's for the greater goods of love and peace #trigunbookclub #trigun maximum #volume 1 #pancake thoughts

12 notes · View notes

galionne-speeding · 10 months ago

Note

Wait body horror? Hurt/Comfort? Yes please explain 👀

Alright so I'll preface this by saying the idea came from this post (and the reactiosn to it).

I have a bad track record of starting projects and never finishing them so I'll just dump the semi-detailled summary under the cut ; maybe someday I'll write the story. Maybe (probably) I won't.

Content warning for robot 'gore'/torture and robot body horror (in a sense, I guess?). Also topics of trauma and depression.

The story was meant to be told in three chapters: Carcass, Limbo and Recovery.

- - -

Carcass begins with Bocoe, alone in a dark room somewhere deep in Eggman's lair, held up by chains hanging from the ceiling. Everything below his chest is gone. Cables and bits of plastic and metal hang loosely out of his torso. He's still conscious as two pairs of robotic arms are slowly and meticulously taking him apart piece by piece.

At some point he, Decoe and Bokkun tried to escape from Eggman's lair- but their boss' Badniks were quick to catch up to them. Realizing they wouldn't be able to flee much longer, Bocoe allowed himself to be captured to buy Deco and Bokkun some time so they could take an escape shuttle. Now as punishment for his act of mutiny (and, Bocoe assumes, to make an example out of him) Eggman is having him dismantled while still powered on, slowly- from the feet up. (This Eggman is uncharacteristically cruel, but I'm not really interested in being canon-compliant here). Bocoe has no idea how long he's been down there- his sense of time is completely gone. Most of his other senses too, actually. His sight is still there but the room is so dark all he can see are occasional sparks and not much else.

Bocoe and Decoe always wanted to run away together and take Bokkun with them, live somewhere peaceful... But as Bo feels something snap in his neck and his head drop backwards, lolling limply as it's only held up by a few thin cables, he knows this life is no longer for him.

- - -

Limbo begins with Bocoe "waking up". He doesn't remember losing consciousness but somehow, he realizes instantly that something is very wrong with his body. He can't hear. Can't see. Cannot feel anything ; as though floating in a complete void. He tries to move but even something as simple as blinking suddenly seems impossible. Then a single word echoes directly into his head:

"Hello."

He doesn't recognize the voice- because there is nothing to recognize. It's flat. Emotionless. It has no tone or anything that could make it distinct in any way.

"Bocoe."

Bocoe tries to respond and manages to awkwardly string a few letters together, before finally uttering a "hello" in a voice that isn't his- instead it is the exact same one that has been talking to him. There is a long pause and Bocoe briefly wonders if this is some kind of dying hallucination. Then suddenly:

"It's me. It's Decoe."

Bocoe is in shock, but as Decoe continues talking he realizes that he's telling the truth. De goes on to explain that Bocoe was trapped in Eggman's lair for nearly two months, until Sonic and his friends attacked the Eggbase (for reasons unrelated to Bo's predicament). Decoe was allowed to tag along and searched the entire base for Bocoe until he finally found him in the scrap storage room. Or at least, he found what was left of him: a broken motherboard, two processors and a hard disk drive. His entire body, every little piece of him had been stripped and destroyed. For nearly a month now Decoe had been trying to bring his consciousness back and only managed to do so today ; by hooking the surviving parts to a specially modified computer. It's a temporary solution, he promises. He's working on building a new body for Bocoe, just like his old one. For now, Decoe and Bokkun can talk to him by typing...

Bocoe is happy to be back. But being stuck in a simple computer is hell.

Aside from not having any senses of touch, sight, hearing, etc... Even his own feelings are reduced to basically nothing. Unlike his former body that was made specifically so he could be as close to possible as a living being, this machinery is horrifyingly simple. Feelings of joy, sadness, and anger are too complex for binary coding. It cannot process any of it, so even though Bocoe desperately wants to feel those things again he physically cannot experience them and is stuck as an unfeeling block of circuitry. His thoughts, too, are stunted- anything too complex overwhelms his systems immediately. He can only speak in short, basic sentences.

It's hell, but he's pushing through for the sake of Decoe and Bokkun...

- - -

Recovery starts on a beach. Bokkun is drawing in the sand with a large stick. Decoe is sat on a blanket, watching him. Next to him, Bocoe sits quietly. He's been in his new body for two weeks now and, slowly, is re-learning everything it has forgotten over the past year.

Walking. Speaking. Balance. Touch. Hearing. Emotions. He has to learn how to process everything again.

Bright colors make him dizzy ; strong smells and bright lights overwhelm him easily. He still needs Decoe's help to get up and walk. He still has nightmares about being disassembled and being stuck in a computer again. Then there's the unshakeable feeling of loss- a year of his life he will never get back. A year of watching Bokkun grow up that he missed ; a year of Decoe being forced to take his place as the little imp's caretaker. There are days where he can barely get out of bed.

Today, thankfully, is not one of those days.

Today he gets to watch Bokkun play in the sand, enjoy the sun on his face, the sound of the waves, the smell of salty air and Decoe's fingers entangled with his.

After an hour or so, Decoe asks him if he'd like to go home for lunch. Bocoe nods and as he tries to get up, he hears Bokkun drop his stick and immediately run to him to try to help. He slowly stands up and leans on Decoe for support, while taking Bokkun's hand. The three of them set off, talking about what to have for lunch.

#ask #anon #machines don't bleed #wip #bodecoe #((implied))#OUUUGH this took so long to write out!!

6 notes · View notes

weaversweek · 16 days ago

Text

11 "Cloudbusting" - Kate Bush

writer Kate Bush

Seeeeeeeeeeee! [sirens wail] Alright, come out now chummy, we know you're in there.

Part of the UncoolTwo50 project, marking the best singles from 1977-99.

A story told through contemporary reviews, collated by rec.music.gaffa.

"In pop, Authenticity is what counts. Singing what you want to sing, no matter how stupid, instead of pandering to image or fashion. Kate Bush is an Authentic. An authentic hippy perhaps, but the public are now so hungry for that honesty that the very uncommercial "Hounds of Love" entered the charts at No. 1, whereas, just three years before, its equally off-the wall predecessor, "The Dreaming", languished in the cold. "Running Up That Hill" was "Hounds"' most obvious single. "Cloudbusting" -- the story of a man who invents a rain machine -- is blatantly an album track. Kate's luscious melodies are underpinned by a strident and remorseless chop of violins. But in a world of pretend groups like Eighth Wonder, even Kate's most indulgent honesty is refreshing. A No. 1."

— Martin Townsend, The Hit

"The song 'Cloudbusting' is said to be inspired by a book called 'A Book Of Dreams' and is about the relationship between a father and son. Our obscurity expert Sandy Robertson says this is undoubtedly the same book -- by Peter Reich about his unorthodox scientist father Wilhelm Reich -- which inspired Patti Smith's legendary song 'Birdland'. So there!"

— Snouds magazine

"SPOOKY singer Kate Bush's video team have been upset by a ghost. They had an eerie time in their four days of filming at the White Horse Hill beauty spot in Oxfordshire. "A local said yesterday, "They found it very disturing. They said they felt there was someone watching them all the time - but there was no one there." The hill is near Waylands Smithy where, according to legend, a ghostly blacksmith waits to shoe the horses of travellers. The seven-minute video is for Kate's new single 'Cloudbusting', which has just entered the charts. She plays 12-year-old Peter Reich, from whose Book of Dreams she drew the idea for the song."

— Daily Mirror

"Kate reminds me of those "astral" acquaintances I used to meet as a teenager on camping holidays -- unusual, unpredictable, but with a charm that always attracted me. Listen out for the stirring string section, an electric groove of Navajo red Indian drums and some British pomp rock. I'm a fan."

— Paul King, Smash Hits

"After the magnificent "Running Up That Hill", Kate returns with another dreamy breeze of a song. There's chugging strings, that soaring voice and a wonderfully evocative melody. Add to that a fascinating story line video and you've got another massive hit. Music to swoon by."

— Karen Swayne, Number 1

"The string sextet on "Cloudbusting" will wrap themselves round your nervous system and start to beat like a pulse, irresitibly. Kate's lyrics shift from harmless observations on weather conditions to glow in the dark yo-yos and hiding people from the government. The video apparently explains it all, but I really think she does this kind of thing deliberately, to be honest."

— Melody Maker

A personal note? Kate had always been on the fringes of my consciousness - a bizarre and slightly frightening witchy woman when she first appeared in 1978, a semi-regular on Swap Shop and Superstore, made unusual and vibrant contributions to Top of the Pops.

By 1985, I was properly into pop music, and able to properly listen to Kate's work. "Running up that hill" was impressive. "Cloudbusting" blew my mind. What is she on about? What is organon, how is she able to make it rain? The video, a little feature film with plot and story. Once heard, never forgotten…

… except by listeners to Simon Mayo's Identi-hit quiz in 1991. Day after day, the planks would guess how the clue was for something different: "See my baby jive", "Stop look and listen", "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts". Never got through on the phones, and the jackpot built up to unimaginable proportions - something like 33 record tokens, an alarm clock, CD wallet, CD player, portable television, and priceless signed photo of the producer.

The Utah Saints remembered it, and got Kate's blessing to release something good, "Something good". By the late 1990s "Cloudbusting" was remembered as a cultural treasure from a cultural treasure.

"And then, of course, there's Cloudbusting - not by an stretch of imagination the stuff of the typical pop single. For a start, its inspiration lay in A Book of Dreams, the childhood memories of Peter Reich, son of socialist Austrian psychologist Wilhelm "The Function of the Orgasm" Reich, who believed that with his invention, The Orgone Accumulator, he could alter the earth's climate and create rain on command. For the song's suitably cinematic video, in which Reich is eventually arrested by US authorities for transporting his contraption over state lines, Donald Sutherland played the scientist and Bush, in boyish drag, his son, adding knowing twist to the closing refrain of "Your son's coming out". More remarkably, by this point Bush's commercial fortunes had turned. In October 1985, Cloudbusting went straight into the Top 20 and Top of the Pops screened the strange promo in its entirety."

— Tom Doyle, Q magazine, 1997

#kate bush #cloudbusting #cloud busting #hounds of love #1985 #press cuttings #peter reich #the book of dreams #organon #one of the 50 greatest songs of the late 20th century #uncool two 50 #uncooltwo50 #pop music #20th century #1977-1999

0 notes

gawdforthelovers · 5 months ago

Text

suicide

i don't know tumblr's guidelines, if there are any. but i thought i'd write a little and see how it goes.

thinking about the line "i've been stabbing myself with the handle of a knife and i wonder why i'm not dead yet" or something along that track.

i feel apologetic about how much i want to die. i hold a knife against my throat but i never push. i just wait for myself to fall on top of it.

the thing is, i don't hate living. i roll down my window when my mom drives fast on the highway and i see the trees i never get to see in the city and i feel calmer. i feel nicer. and i understand and appreciate the depth in which i've been created.

and i can appreciate all of that because i would be a fool not to. i understand that the way my atoms align is a pattern that predates thought, objective. this matter has seen many "firsts" many "primaries" and "primates" and still marches the way it does. it collects itself into a stream of consciousness so that i may look up at the sky and recognize when the moon is in view. some of my atoms might even be from the moon's dust, re-materialized into an unfit teen.

my brother told me that all my music is depressing when i thought i was playing a happy song. the deeper meaning i'm assigning to this is that i'm not as happy as i think i am. i'm not as inclined to death as i once was, by any means, but i still lick my lips at the glint of a blade. i imagine a thoughtless, painless moment and i breathe deep.

i hate smoking cigarettes. they make me think too much and turn me nauseous.

i'm very bad at staying on topic. it all strings together in my brain. that's in part something beautiful and something that makes me want to die.

the truth is that the only reason i'm still alive is so that i can swim and run and sleep and write things down. that's all i've ever wanted.

the truth is that the only reason i want to die is because my life has been throttled and constrained so that these pleasures are limited. they keep them from me and let me do these things for 30% of the year and try to make me celebrate when i'm allowed like a gift. (do you know this meme? mcdonald-rib.)

in truth, i don't dream for work. my wish is to be a farmer for myself and myself only. i want a lake i can swim in next to my house and long long lands i can run through with food i can eat until the end of time and animals i can love. i want a small living room and a bedroom the size of an entire floor of my house and a kitchen big enough for at least three people. i want to chop vegetables and eat meat sparingly and make my own clothes. i want to own a truck for emergencies like when i need baking soda or cables or something ungrowable and when i need to escape from my haven. i want to take testosterone and grow muscle through survival and cut my chest smooth.

just today i was thinking that i might not survive to the point where i can afford top surgery on my own. but i don't know if i can ask my mom for her insurance. i don't know insurance. that's part of the death bit, i think.

again, i'm off topic.

i've always wished for things i don't have. that's part of the death bit, too. this life i want is a life i don't have. i want to be able to be happy with what i have.

oh, this incessant string of fucking nothingness i've just written out is another reason on my list.

i don't know if i'd write a note. my blog should suffice, no? and if not that, my journal. and if not that, my twitter. and if not that, my tiktok, and if not that if not that if not that if not that if not that

what else do you want.

#feeling ennui #chomp original

0 notes

bouwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Those Warm and Halcyon Days: Chapter 13

Tea for Two

Ao3.

First, Previous, Next.

Story under read-more.

“Draw it out through the palms of your hands,” Lysithea says. “Like it’s on a string. Just pull it out and let the magic flow.”

Veery tries, again. He does as she says, trying to focus on the magic within him, tracing the flow in his mind to his hands, imagining the magic coming out, but… he fails. Again. He sighs. “I don’t know about this. I don’t even know if I can do magic.”

“Not with that attitude!” Lysithea scowls. “Try it again.”

“We’ve been at this for weeks,” Veery complains.

She scoffs. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to conjure a harmless little ball of light?” To demonstrate, Lysithea opens her hand upwards, and a soft light appears over her palm, slowly drifting around the breadth of her hand. “Three months.”

Veery makes a choking, whining sound in his throat. “Months?! I thought they teach everyone magic here at the Academy.”

“They do,” Lysithea says. “That’s with proper teaching, and even then, not everyone manages it. I had to figure it out from watching others and from books. That’s why you won’t take nearly that long – because you have me and the professors to teach you.” Veery hangs his head. He understands her point, but he’s still discouraged. “And as everyone keeps telling you, the first spell is the hardest. You’re figuring out the very fundamentals of how magic works and trying to get your body used to using it at the same time. Try it again; I know it won’t take much longer.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so! You’re putting in a lot of effort, so of course, you will!” Lysithea smiles at him, but it quickly turns sinister. “And I won’t let you make that effort go to waste, so you’re going to do it one way or another.”

“Ack, alright, sheesh.” Veery sighs again and scratches idly at his ear. With a deep breath, he closes his eyes and tries again to focus on the magic.

It’s not… hard, exactly. It’s just that it’s always been there all his life, so he has a hard time trying to identify it. He tightens the muscles in his thigh for a moment, then consciously relaxes them, focusing on the feeling, that singling out of a singular part of his body that he normally wouldn’t think of. A trick Professor Manuela teaches him.

Magic doesn’t feel like a muscle, but it doesn’t act entirely unlike one either. Veery feels the flow of it outwards from his heart. He knows that’s where the bulk of it is, so it’s easier to start looking there. He tugs at it a little, mentally, and like tightening and relaxing a muscle it flexes and relaxes in response.

“Good,” Lysithea says. “Now out the palms of your hands.”

Veery breathes – in, out. In, push the magic out. His fur stands on end. In, out. There’s a tingle on his palms, and Lysithea completely breaks his concentration with her yell, “That’s it!”

He pins his ears back, wincing at the sudden noise. “What?”

“You did it! The magic had no shape, so you didn’t make fire or anything, but you expelled magic from your body. That’s the basis for every spell. You did it!”

Veery looks at Lysithea’s proud grin, then down at his hands. “…I did?”

“What, do you think I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“No, no! You do! I trust you! I just… I don’t know. It didn’t feel any different than the last hundred times I tried.”

Lysithea chuckles, shaking her head. “I’ve told you this before. It wasn’t that you were doing anything wrong, exactly. It’s just hard to get that first spell out. Like there’s a wall there that you have to chip through. But you did it! Now, I’m sure you can cast a spell if you try. Come on! You’ve been learning Faith theory, right? Let’s go stab Claude, I bet you can heal him.”

Veery squeaks. “What? Let’s not stab Claude!”

“With the needle!” Lysithea rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mean to actually… ugh, never mind. Hurry up, you’re casting a heal spell today, even if it takes until dinner!”

Lysithea leaves him no room to argue, dragging him by the arm towards the Golden Deer classroom, so he’s helpless but to follow her lead. All the way there, he wonders to himself, has he really done it?

If he’s honest, he thinks that learning magic is a fool’s errand, something he’ll never truly accomplish. The elders speak occasionally of ancient agell, notably the dragons, but also some birds, using magic. In theory, there isn’t that much functional difference between them all, but he can’t remember ever seeing an agell do magic himself. As far as he knows, the skill, if the agell ever possessed it, is lost among his kind.

Truthfully, he’s convinced he simply doesn’t have the capacity for it. Sure, the mages here say he has more than the average human in him, but he also knows that shifting requires magic. There’s every chance that shifting and casting as the humans do are mutually exclusive.

But he tries anyway, to appease Professor Byleth and Lysithea and Professor Manuela and even Dorothea, and for the sake of his own curiosity. (And there is a small, scared part of him that wonders if, by accessing this power, he will lose his power to shift – ultimately becoming more… human. The thought unsettles him deeply, and his skin crawls as he fights the urge to shift, just to prove to himself that he can, as Lysithea pulls him along.)

Claude is in the classroom, talking to Hilda. Lysithea grabs one of the clean needles from Professor Byleth’s desk (which are being kept there for Professor Byleth’s own Faith practice) and hardly takes the time to explain to Claude why she’s stabbing his finger with it before she does so.

Claude makes a great show of the pain, Lorenz scoffing and Hilda giggling nearby at his theatrics, but his eyes gleam curiously as he holds his injured hand out to Veery.

“Try it!” Lysithea insists.

Veery watches Claude warily. “Should I just…” He reaches up, unsure if it’s okay to just grab Claude like Lysithea does. He doesn’t really know how to heal. Sure, he’s got the Faith theory, mostly, and Lysithea says he can expel magic now, but how do those go together?

“Well, if you can’t, you can just kiss it better,” Claude says, grinning cheekily.

“I… don’t think that would help.” Veery frowns.

“Just try it,” Lysithea insists. “You’ll never get it if you don’t even try.”

Veery sighs and tentatively grabs Claude’s hand in both of his. Covering the injured finger specifically, Veery closes his eyes and focuses on the magic. That’s the basis of doing it in practice, Lysithea says, so he needs to do that.

It takes so much focus just to get that much done that he almost forgets about the Faith.

Oh, Faith. As if Veery believes in… anything. He doesn’t believe in himself most of the time, so he really doesn’t understand how these people can have any faith in him. Everyone is so confident that he can do this despite him being probably the objectively worst person suited to Faith.

But fine. When he thinks he has the magic going right, he wishes, hopes for Claude’s finger to heal.

And he opens his hands, releasing Claude’s, revealing the irritated red and the pinprick of the needle.

Veery sighs. He knows this is what will happen, but still he’s scared to look over at Lysithea’s face.

“Try again,” Lysithea says. “Remember what Professor Manuela taught you.”

“The willpower and bravery to have faith in people, not the belief in the fulfillment, or even sensibility, of that faith. That’s what you should use.” That’s what Professor Manuela says.

More concisely, Dorothea says, “I think sometimes, the point is that you do it anyway, despite your doubts.”

Veery sighs, takes Claude’s hand once more, and flexes his magic, pushing it out to bathe the wound. He can’t do this. He knows he can’t. It’s pointless to even try. But… damn it. He bites his lip and feels the frustration well up inside him. He almost wants to cry, or purr, and just go hide away somewhere. It’s ridiculous that he’s attempting this in the first place. An agell, a foreigner, a beast, who may or may not even be able to do magic in the first place, taking up the magic of Fódlan’s most faithful?

Only Professor Byleth can dream up something so absurd.

How many ways can this go wrong? How many ways can healing the prick of a needle on Claude’s finger get Veery killed? It can offend the faithful, for one. They’ll think him even more blasphemous than he already is and execute him on principle. He can mess up somehow, hurt Claude instead of healing him, and have the entire Leicester Alliance after his pelt. He can do it right and use up too much of his magic so that he loses the ability to shift – that’s as good as killing him. Or even, with confirmation that agell are indeed capable of wielding magic, everyone in this room can strike him down, and then hunt down every other agell because beasts on their own are bad enough, but beasts wielding magic?

Veery sighs. He can’t do this. There are so many reasons why he shouldn’t do this, even if he can.

Yet here he is, doing this. Why? Just… because he wants to understand. He won’t ever understand if he doesn’t push even a little. If he doesn’t push past the boundary separating him from the humans, push past his own fear, push past this stupid test of Faith, then he won’t ever understand humans like he wants to, so… so this is what he’s doing now.

A pointless, worthless endeavor, likely to get him killed, for nothing but his own self-satisfaction and an even more pointless dream of his people and the humans living in peace.

It hurts so much because he’s so powerless. So scared, so completely and utterly out of his depth, but here he is, doing it.

Is this really Faith? Veery honestly does not believe so.

And yet, when Veery drops his hands, convinced he’s failed again, Claude grins wide, smudges the little drop of blood away, and holds up his healed finger for all to see.

He… does it? Veery stares, dumbfounded even as the others congratulate him. All he can think in that moment is that if this magic really is the goddess’ power, then she must be laughing her ass off. Clearly, she has a sense of humor to allow him such a power.

“I thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Veery shifts awkwardly, tail lashing before he can think that he should probably try to control such open displays of irritation. “You make it sound like I had a choice,” he mutters.

Lady Rhea frowns, even that look on her face seeming unnervingly serene. “Did you believe that, because I am the archbishop, you had no option but to answer when I asked for your company?”

Shit. He’s already messing this up. Oh, well. “Yes,” he says honestly.

Lady Rhea closes her eyes and hums for a moment. “And if you had not felt obligated to come, would you have?”

Veery says nothing.

“I promise you, while we are here chatting over tea, you may treat me like a friend.” Rhea says. “I will not be offended if your answer is no.”

Veery sighs. He’s gripping the front of his seat, between his legs, and his tail is still moving jerkily, betraying his discomfort. “No. I wouldn’t have,” he says. Honesty is probably the best policy. Veery isn’t convinced he can pull off any lies more elaborate than what he pulled on Seteth about his Crest, anyway. And it isn’t as if Seteth won’t have told her about his dislike for her. She already knows, Veery is sure.

“I see,” Lady Rhea says. “That is a shame. Seteth is quite insistent that I make the effort to befriend you. He seems to think that you and I have much in common.”

Veery wrinkles his nose. “I… doubt that.”

Lady Rhea laughs gently. “I said the same, actually. But, despite his… caution, he is a very good judge of character. I trust him, so though I understand that you aren’t fond of me, I would ask that you allow us both the chance to get to know each other better.”

Of course, she knows. “You do understand why I don’t like you, right?” Veery asks, because he honestly has trouble believing that she’s sincere in the slightest.

“Of course.” She nods to him. “Since you have arrived, you have been exposed to the very worst of the church – both my own actions and of the faithful. You have every reason to be distrusting. I merely ask that you try to understand that those actions, at the very least, the ones made for the stability of Fódlan and of the church, were taken because there was no other option.”

“There’s always other options,” Veery says. “You all just don’t bother to look for them.”

Lady Rhea chuckles. “An answer I would expect from a visionary.”

Veery makes a face at that. “Visionary?”

“Of course. You are one who dreams of sweeping change, are you not? One who is working towards changing the way humans and agell both live. What are you if not a visionary?”

“A cat,” Veery answers simply, easily. He’s not… not a visionary. He’s not anything but a solitary cat who wants to see the world and understand what he’s looking at. One who wants the conflict to stop… so that he can live without fear for once in his life. That’s all.

Lady Rhea laughs, louder than before, as if he’s making a joke. Veery doesn’t understand what’s so funny. “Of course,” she says. “Well, I do understand your point. What I meant to say was that there was no better option for the good of the people. There were, obviously, many options available.”

Veery shakes his head and sighs. “Look, I don’t want to… you’re wrong – those were people you executed, too – but I’ve had Seteth trying to debate me about this for weeks now and frankly I’m not interested in talking about it with you. Seteth gave me all the arguments already; you’re not going to convince me that you’re right.”

Rhea hums. “Fair enough. Let us speak of other things, then. And please, enjoy your tea before it gets cold.”

Veery eyes the teacup in front of him. It’s prepared by servants, because of course the Archbishop isn’t preparing her own tea, and Veery honestly can’t remember if Lorenz says such a thing is gauche or not. Either way, he’s not eager to drink it. Call him paranoid, but he’s on edge just sitting here already. Not that he thinks she’s poisoning the tea or anything, but he just… doesn’t like it.

He sniffs the tea. It smells… fine. Bitter, maybe. Bitter is okay, Veery doesn’t have anything against it. He’s not very picky, though. He’s gnaws on enough frozen plant roots just to survive that taste isn’t high on his priorities.

He takes a cautious sip. It’s… fine. It’s kind of underwhelming, honestly. Mostly it just tastes like hot water. There’s hints of more there, some subtle lightness to it, but Veery isn’t versed in the art of tea, despite Lorenz’ best efforts.

At least he’s pretty sure Rhea can’t hide a poison in a tea with such little flavor. Not that Veery thinks she’ll poison him anyway, he’s just… been spending too much time with Claude.

“Professor Byleth tells me that you have begun training in Faith magic,” Rhea says. Veery frowns. “It is clear how proud she is of your progress. I hear you are already capable of basic healing.”

Veery shrugs. “Professor Byleth told me to. Not sure why.”

Rhea chuckles. “You know, I happen to be a skilled Faith mage myself. Perhaps our dear professor also sees those similarities between us that Seteth does.”

“…Doubt it.”

Lady Rhea sighs. “Why don’t you tell me about your training. Are you learning much about the faith?”

Veery rotates his teacup in his hands. He’s… probably being unfair right now. Well, no, this lady executes people at the drop of a hat so he won’t call being curt with her unfair but… he can stand to be a little more helpful in this conversation. If he keeps being so testy with her, it’ll just be a bad time for everyone.

“Not really,” he answers truthfully. “I’m still reading about the church in my free time, but it all seems kind of silly to me.”

“Silly?” Rhea blinks, looking for all the world honestly caught off-guard by his answer. “What about the faith is so silly?”

Veery shrugs. “I mean… what kind of religion is run by a proxy? If there’s no goddess here to tell us what she thinks, why should we believe that the church’s teachings are even what she’d believe?”

“The teachings of the church are based on the revelation given to Saint Seiros by the goddess herself.” Rhea frowns.

“Yeah, sure,” Veery says. “If you believe Seiros actually talked to the goddess. I mean, maybe she did, but there’s no goddess here now, so what’s her opinion matter?”

“The goddess is always watching over us,” Rhea says, though her tone is surprisingly strained. “Just because she no longer walks among us, does not mean that we should not give her proper respect.”

“…Sure,” Veery agrees. “Just… respect doesn’t mean unquestioning servitude to the lady who claims to speak for her.” He shakes his head. “Honestly, even if she were here, I’d be questioning you humans. Where I’m from, gods come and go. It’s not at all unusual for people to disagree with their gods. Gods are beings of immense power, so you have to respect them if only for that, but they’re still people. They can still be stupid. Their opinions aren’t the end-all be-all of what’s right or what ought to be done. I just… don’t understand the way you worship her. That’s all.”

Rhea takes a long breath. “Will you tell me about your gods? I don’t know much about them.”

Veery debates this for a moment, and then decides that she asks, so she can’t be that offended when he tells her what she wants to hear. Right? “Naga, for one, though there is a story of her saying that she’s not a goddess. She’s supposed to be very humble, but humans and agell both worshipped her at one point.”

“Naga?”

“Mhmm. Apparently, she was one of the last great gods before the mass extinction. She’s dead now, of course. All them except the first gods are. As I said, they come and go. The story goes that Naga died in the mass extinction, trying to fight it.”

“Mass extinction?”

“Yeah. Uh… I talked about this with someone else earlier. If all the stories are true, the mass extinction would’ve been before your goddess came to Fódlan. I’m piecing together agell tradition and your own scripture here, but I think your goddess returned life to this land sometime after the mass extinction wiped it out.”

Rhea blinks, then furrows her brow. “I see. What caused that mass extinction?”

“Another god.” Veery shrugs. “As I said, gods aren’t always good or right. This one was determined to destroy the entire world. The only reason the world outside Fódlan and the surrounding area survived is because it disappeared one day. The land wouldn’t recover on its own, though. It’s just a wasteland until another god intervened.”

“Hmm. You have very interesting stories.”

“I’ve been told.” Veery shrugs. “That’s just what I learned.”

Rhea shakes her head. “Well, that certainly explains your attitude towards the goddess. You said, all the gods except the first gods are dead?”

“Yeah. I guess, depending on your definition, the first gods are some of the only ‘true’ gods. Most of the others were dragon agell, ancient and powerful even beyond the other dragons. The line is blurry, but the stories do draw a line between the regular dragons and the divine ones.”

“Dragons?” Rhea’s eyes go wide. “Dragon agell?”

Veery nods. “There was a bunch of us before the extinction. Birds, wolves, dragons, rabbits. Dragons are easily the most powerful – powerful enough to be called gods after enough time – but they’re still agell.”

“And the first gods? Tell me about them.”

Veery bites his lip. “Order and Chaos,” he says simply. “That’s what we call them. They created the world, the land, the first life, the agell, then the humans… everything eventually traces back to them.”

“They sound quite important.”

“Mhmm. They’re the only really immortal gods, in that they don’t die even if you kill them. A lot of gods can linger, their power remaining in this world for generations and generations, even near-indefinitely, but only they stay forever.”

“In a way, you could say that they are your parents, then?” Rhea asks.

Veery snorts. “I mean… yeah, I guess.”

Rhea smiles widely. “Then you do understand our relationship to our goddess better than you think.”

“No.” Veery fights the urge to laugh. “No. Not at all.”

“Oh? The goddess is the mother of her people. As the first gods are to you. Is that not so?”

Veery chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s true, but it’s not the same. In one of our earliest stories, one of the first gods was being stupid, so a bunch of their children went and killed them.”

Rhea makes a strange, distressed noise when she hears that, very nearly spitting out her tea. “You… what?!”

“I told you,” Veery says. “The gods aren’t always right. Not even the first gods. We respect them, but they don’t control our lives. That story is actually all about how we can control our destinies even when beings so powerful as the gods themselves start trying to use us as they please.”

Rhea sips her tea, composure back, though her next words are quite frosty. “…I do believe you’re right about Seteth after all. I cannot imagine what we might have in common.”

Good. Veery honestly doesn’t want to be like Rhea. Still… “I wonder what he’s thinking in the first place,” Veery wonders. “With trying to get us to get along.”

Rhea sighs. “I… may have an idea about that.”

“Do you?”

Rhea takes a slow sip of her tea before answering. “Seteth and I are… family, in a sense. A long time ago, we lost the people we held dear. Through that tragedy, we both found comfort in each other’s friendship. I believe that, in the plight of your people, being hunted by an outside group, threatened with extinction, Seteth sees something of our home in you. The circumstances are… hauntingly similar, I admit.”

Veery ducks his head. “Oh,” he says. That is… not what he expects. He’s not sure what exactly he does expect, but… definitely nothing like this.

“To be honest, I saw the same. It is part of why I welcomed you so readily into Garreg Mach when we met. I had hoped that I could give shelter to someone like me. Unfortunately, it seems I have failed at that.”

“I like the academy,” Veery admits. “The students mostly, but I do like it here.” Mostly.

“It gladdens my heart to hear it,” Rhea says. “And you are, of course, more than welcome to stay. Though, I will ask you to keep those stories about your gods-”

“To myself, yeah. I know you hate even the idea of people thinking for themselves beyond the goddess’ divine dogma or whatever.” Veery sighs. How many times has he heard that sort of thing now? Too many. He knows already.

Though… perhaps the archbishop is not the one to get sassy with. Shit.

Rhea takes another deep breath. “The culture in Fódlan is very different from your own,” she says carefully. “If you stir up too much trouble, you could put yourself in danger. That is my concern.”

Says the woman who puts her academy students, and Veery, in danger every month for regular life-or-death missions. Usually, to clean up her messes. “Of course,” he says, testing his lying skills once more. “Trust me, I’m more than aware of how dangerous humans are.”

Surprisingly, Rhea’s eyes soften with his statement. “I understand you’ve suffered much at human hands.”

Veery shrugs. “Less than a lot of people. I’ve had a few close calls, but I’ve never gotten seriously injured from humans. They killed my parents for their fur, but that’s the fate of just about every agell, sooner or later, if it’s not the winter that takes them.”

“Your parents… how horrible. Do you hate them? The humans who killed your parents?”

Hate? “…No.”

“No?”

Veery shrugs. “Albinean winters are cold. Agell fur is warm. That’s all there is to it. Humans are hunters just like me. My parents were the prey that time, other times its rabbits or moose or seal. I don’t hate them for trying to survive.”

“…I see. You have a kind heart.”

“I don’t.” Veery shakes his head. “Just a fragile one.”

“Fragile?”

Veery sighs. “I’m a coward. I’m scared. Too scared to hate. It’s a complete lie to say that those hunters didn’t hate the agell as much as agell hate humans. Maybe more. I just… If I hate, then I can’t be here. I’d still be in the mountains in Albinea, living on my own. If I stay there, I’ll always be afraid of humans coming to hunt me for my fur. Nothing will ever change. I’m not kind or brave, I’m just scared and tired. I want this fighting between our people to stop so I can go back to my mountain and live alone in peace. That’s all.”

“…Scared, hm?” Rhea furrows her brow, looking deep in thought. “Perhaps…” She sighs. With a shake of her head, her attention turns right back to Veery. “May I ask… why do you live alone, anyway? You are so friendly with the students; it is hard to imagine you are not lonely all on your own.”

“I’m not,” Veery says honestly. “I like being alone. I’m friendly because I like learning about people, too. That’s all. I’m sure anyone can tell you that I need to be alone a lot, even now. I get, ah, what’d Professor Manuela say? Grumpy?”

Rhea smiles again. “Yes, I remember.” She lets the conversation lull to quiet for a moment, and then asks, “Is there anything you wish to ask me? I fear I’ve been controlling the conversation somewhat.”

Anything Veery wants to ask Rhea? A lot, but he’s not sure how to ask any of it without sounding confrontational. What’s safe? Veery bites his lip, thinking. “Why…” he asks. “Why was the Sword of the Creator in Saint Seiros’ casket?”

Rhea blinks, taken aback by the question. “I am afraid I do not know,” she says. “The casket was sealed long before my time as Archbishop, and the records only indicate that Saint Seiros’ remains should be in there. I imagine that the sword’s presence is a gift from the goddess. A sign sent to show her favor of your professor.”

Veery frowns, unconvinced. “Then what happened to Saint Seiros’ bones? Shouldn’t the church be concerned about that?”

Rhea smiles gently. “You need not worry yourself about the church’s affairs. Please, allow me to worry about Saint Seiros’ remains.”

That’s… not an answer. “…Okay,” Veery says. After thinking for a moment more, he asks, “Why would the goddess make weapons out of agell remains and grant them to humans to kill more agell?”

Rhea sputters. “Excuse me?”

“Does the goddess hate agell that much?” Veery asks, trying to wrap his head around this narrative. He probably shouldn’t tell Rhea he even knows this much, but if anyone is going to know, it’s her and she’s already been remarkably tolerant to his blasphemy, so she clearly has some level of trust that he’s not going to openly blaspheme in a way that’ll destabilize the church.

“I- I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. What is this about the agell?” Rhea asks, still off-kilter.

Veery shrugs. “Well… they’re not exactly agell remains, but they’re close. Actually, I’ve been thinking recently that they’re made of dragon remains. I’m not sure where she would’ve found those, but if anything survived the extinction it’d have to be them. Or at the very least, she could’ve harvested the remains left behind from the extinction.”

“Dragon?” Rhea shakes her head, trying to regain her composure. “What, exactly, are we speaking about?”

“The Heroes’ Relics.” Veery frowns. Either Rhea doesn’t know about the Relics, or she really doesn’t know anything about agell to not guess that he’ll figure it out. “Those Crest Stones are identical to agell hearts in every way except size and the power contained in them. They even transform people into beasts. I didn’t think about it at first, but that black beast that the Lance of Ruin turned into could be a degenerated dragon. It was… vaguely reptilian.”

“…I see. So, you think the Relics are made from agell bone?”

“The dragons, specifically,” Veery says. “But why did the goddess make those weapons – did she? – and why give them to humans to fight the agell? That just seems…” Veery shakes his head.

“…To fight the agell?” Rhea asks carefully.

“Mhm.” Veery nods. “The ‘darkness from the north’ that your Book of Seiros talks about. Isn’t that the agell?”

Rhea sighs and bows her head. “…I suppose there was no hoping you would not figure that out.” She raises her head to look Veery in the eye. “What do you think about the Relics?”

Claude asks him something similar, a while ago, on the march back from Conand Tower. Veery frowns. “They’re… the people they’re made from were…” Veery shakes his head. “Those Relics are filled with so much pain and hate. I’ve only seen one up close, but… its heart was… grotesque. Corrupted to the point that… I just feel sorry for those people. Whatever their final moments were, I cannot imagine they were pleasant, to be filled with such a horrible grudge for so long.”

Rhea tilts her head, looking at him curiously. “You can… feel the hearts of the Relics?”

“Of course, I can. Agell can do that with each other. When I attacked the black beast in Conand Tower, when I touched it, I… my heart connected with it, in a way. I could feel its grudge. I…” He shivers. “I don’t ever want to touch a Relic again.”

“…Incredible. After so long, to think something of them remains…”

Veery sighs. “Just… just pain and loathing,” he says. “Nothing thinking, nothing intelligent. If there was ever a person in the heart at all, something growing and living, it’s definitely gone. All that’s left is… I don’t have any better word for it in your language but a grudge. That happens with our hearts, too. Lingering feelings remain. People say that our souls are in our hearts, because even after we die other agell can hold our hearts and resonate with those feelings.”

“I see,” Rhea breathes, a little weakly. “I did not imagine you would feel such a thing from the Relics.”

“Only one,” Veery says, shrugging. “It’s not surprising, if I’m right about what they are.”

“Even so…” Rhea furrows her brow contemplatively. “I… hope you do not mind me changing the subject again, but… I am curious what you think of your professor.”

Veery groans. “Which professor? Or did even you forget that I’m not actually a student?”

Rhea chuckles gently. “Professor Byleth. And I have not forgotten, but I have heard that you are as good as a Deer among the students and from Professor Byleth herself.”

He shakes his head. “Professor Byleth is… I like her. She’s nice, although…”

“Although?” Rhea prompts.

“She’s… kind of weird, isn’t she? Even among humans. Not in a bad way. Actually, I think she’s easier to be around than most humans, if only because she doesn’t think it’s necessary to talk all the time. The gods only know what she’s thinking, though. I still have no idea why she’s making me study Faith, especially since I’m not even her student.”

Rhea giggles. “It seems our dear professor has adopted you. Even if you are not officially a Deer, you are very much her student.”

“Yeah, she said the same.” Veery frowns. “I don’t understand why, though.”

“Perhaps that is simply her way,” Rhea smiles enigmatically. “She is very attached to her students, and you have been training and working with the Deer on missions more months than not now since the start of the year. It should not be so surprising that she considers you one of her own.”

“I guess.” Veery shrugs. “Humans are still weird.” Rhea laughs. He sighs. “So… you didn’t answer me before. Why make the Relics at all? Why put Crests in humans? I don’t… I understand that the humans and agell were at war, but according to our stories, we’ve been warring since we were born, basically. I don’t understand the goddess’ motivation for doing such things to the humans and agell both.”

Rhea stills. “Her reasons for the Crests and Relics… Her children were being threatened. Does she need a greater reason?”

“For putting her enemy’s power into the blood of her children?” Veery frowns. “It seems… off, to me. Something doesn’t quite make sense. I can’t pinpoint it, but…”

“Perhaps there is more to the story that has been lost to history,” Rhea says carefully.

“There always is,” Veery protests. “But I mean… the Lance of Ruin, at least, it was… there’s something wrong with it. I haven’t seen many agell hearts, but even if they were killed, if that power was taken unwillingly, that doesn’t explain that horrible, vicious destruction inside it. I can’t imagine that a goddess that looks at a wasteland and uses her power to give life back to it would condone, much less make and enable the use of, such terrible things.” He sighs. “Ultimately, they’re still just tools, but… does she really hate agell so much that she’d do something like that?”

Rhea frowns at her teacup, countenance almost… wistful. Pained, in that nostalgic, tragic way. Eventually, she says, “It pains me to hear you doubt the goddess’ love for you.”

“If she does love me,” Veery says, “then she’s the only one. Especially among her faithful.”

This, it seems, Rhea has no comeback for.

“To be honest…” Veery says, “everything I know about the goddess makes me believe she hates me. Just like all you humans do, she hates me simply for being agell. Not just me, either; everyone not from Fódlan. I’m… not sure we can ever really live in peace so long as you all follow a goddess who teaches you to hate us. Faith is just too important to you humans, you don’t ever doubt what you think the goddess is telling you, so… nothing we say or do can convince you that we aren’t worthy of contempt and death.”

“Veery…”

“Am I wrong?” He looks Rhea in the eye as he asks, because even though this can get him killed, he needs to know. “Your church teaches your followers to hate outsiders. In a culture with such blind faith, how can anything change your minds? It doesn’t actually matter what your goddess believes, because that’s still what you’re teaching people she believes, isn’t it?” He shakes his head. “Your church is what people follow, not a goddess. So, it doesn’t matter if the goddess loves me or not, because the church hates me. So long as your church keeps going the way it is… my dream of peace is impossible.”

Rhea ducks her head. “The goddess does not hate you or your kind,” she murmurs. “She loves all of her children.”

“That war, those Relics, are in large part what put the agell on the brink of extinction,” Veery says. “Your church says that’s the goddess’ influence. Your Book of Seiros calls us evil.”

“The War of Heroes was not the goddess’-” Rhea cuts herself off quickly and takes a stabilizing breath. Her eyes meet his steadily, pleading with him. “The goddess has seen fit to bless you with her Faith. This alone is proof of her favor. Please, trust in her and you will see that she loves you as she does all her children.”

Veery refuses to drop his gaze from Rhea’s, frowns, and does not trust her words in the slightest.

#write #fanfiction #FE Fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h

0 notes

inbarfink · 3 years ago

Text

I keep thinking about how... like, out of the Three Heroes of Light, Susie is the one that has the least Interaction with the darker\meta aspects of the narrative.

Like, if you just look at it from the perspective of Susie, this IS just the story of a pair of troubled kids who discover a magical secret fantasy world, find ou that they’re the Chosen Ones, go on magical adventures to save the world and make a lot of fun friends on the way. She doesn’t know about stuff like Kris being mind-controlled by some otherworldly entity, or that this is supposed to be a world where no one’s choices matter, she doesn’t even seem to fully understand the way Dark Worlds are created based on inanimate objects in the Light World (since she assumes Lancer ‘ditched’ them when he turned into the Jack of Spades card).

But Susie is also the one out of our main trio that’s most likely to chafe and rebel against the puppet strings that’s been forced on her, and I think not “in spite of’ but BECAUSE her perspective is pretty much entierly focused on the ‘surface-level’ of the narrative and she doesn’t even know those puppet strings are really there.

Kris clearly knows more about the darker underbelly of the game if only because them being mind-controlled is a huge part of said ‘dark underbelly’. But they can’t do anything about the Player’s control over them, or about the whole universe railroading both them and the Player outside of some vauge Emoting in certain places. Ralsei.... seems to know quite a bit, but he also seems very content just following the rails he has been forced on - and he seems quite intent on keeping everyone else on them as well (whatever it’s fully consciously or not, and whatever his justifications for it is, we can’t quite be sure yet.)

But Susie... SUSIE is the one who's always the first to question The Way Things are Supposed to Go if it seems weird to her, she’s the one to call bullshit on stuff that just seems silly and arbitary, she’s the one who seems to go ‘off-script’ the most out of the three.

SHE LITERALLY CHANGED THE WAY BATTLES ARE PLAYED BECAUSE SHE REALIZED BEING CONSTANTLY ORDERED BY KRIS WAS A STUPID WAY TO GO ABOUT THINGS

Because she’s doesn’t even KNOW that there’s some Powers That Be that are intent on keeping her on a set path - it’s much harder to keep her under control (and when she does know, like with the Prophecy, she doesn’t really CARE).

And because her point-of-view is so DIRECT, so focused on the World as it is presented to her - that actually makes her better equipped to notice the Cracks even though she’s not consciously looking for them. She doesn’t notice that stuff is Off and Weird because she’s intentionally looking for evidence of stuff being Off and Weird, but because she DOES think this world is nothing but the lighthearted fantasy adventure she’s been told this is - so whenever it doesn’t quite fit that expectation, she IS going to notice it. And she’s gonna call it out.

Susie currently is mostly unaware of the darker and stranger elements beneath the surface, she only experiences the story’s surface leve. But that doesn’t mean she’s stupid or that her perspective is shallow. Susie’s perspective is direct and grounded. She has a better understanding of that ‘surface level’ then almost anyone in the story. And it gives her a great appreciation for the adventures and the world-saving, and for her friends and the character arcs they go through, and also gives her a unique insight of the ways the darker underbelly interferes with the Fun Adventures that she honestly wants to have.

And I feel like her direct, grounded POV of the Narrative is going to be more and more important as the story goes on. The more we’ll explore the strange and screwed-up things going on in the depths of the story, the metaphors and the meta-narrative - it will be more and more important to have Susie along to remind us that YEAH all of these things are important

But also, this is also the story about a pair of troubled kids who discover a magical secret fantasy world, find ou that they’re the Chosen Ones, go on magical adventures to save the world and make a lot of fun friends on the way.

#deltarune #deltarune spoilers #susie #ralsei #Kris #susie deltarune #ralsei deltarune #kris deltarune #deltarune meta

1K notes · View notes

symbi-eat-me · 3 years ago

Text

Prey Part 2 [Venom x Eddie Brock x female!reader 18+]

[WARNINGS/TAGS?: Female coochie-owning reader, lots of smut!!! with some plot, some implied? stalking, pet names, claws an monsters and all that good stuff]

[This chapter is SFW but the rest of the fic is major NSFW]

Summary: You can’t stop thinking about Venom after that night, so you give in and call Eddie to try and get some real answers...

I keep forgetting to upload on here lmao check my AO3 instead if you want regular updates.

No smut this time :( this’ll be the only chapter like that though, I just wanted to set up the relationship a little better

Part 1

You hadn’t slept that night. After Venom had his way with you, Eddie had kindly walked you back to your apartment. You didn't see Venom again.

When you got in, you'd locked the doors and windows twice over. Three times, in fact. Especially as you let the events of the night settle in, you wanted to ensure you were alone.

Lying in the light of your lamp, you turned the receipt over in your hands. Eddie must have slipped it into your coat pocket in your dazed state. Written on the back was a number. You recalled, the last thing he'd told you was that you could call him whenever you liked, just to talk, or anything. You smiled weakly. You supposed this was pretty normal for them, pick up some random dorky girl on the street after following her for a few days. Destroy her chances of ever enjoying sex with a human ever again. Yeah. You bet the number was a farce, just a random string he'd come up with to make you feel as though he cared.

But fuck, you couldn't stop thinking about them. Venom, more than anything. You'd had your fair share of fantasies sure, but to actually have a monster of that sort exist and be right in front of you? You didn't think it had even set in yet. He plagued your mind even more than Eddie had for the past week, all you could think about was his warm tongue reachi-

You sighed and turned the paper over for the millionth time that night. All that was printed on the other side was a corner shop receipt for 9 bars of dark chocolate. Nothing worthwhile. Although 9 bars did seem excessive. You clambered out of bed. Stumbling over in the dark, you softly unlatched your bedroom window and cracked it open.

After that you finally managed to sleep.

Despite your considerations last night, you were calling the number. In your last moments of consciousness you'd vowed to yourself that you wouldn't even try it, but it was a little too late for that now. It rang once, twice, three times and then went silent. You sighed.

“Hello?” you heard Eddie’s voice. He sounded half asleep and you mentally scolded yourself for not even considering the early hour. “H-hi?”

“Oh, y/n! How are you?” You were shocked to even hear his voice, quite honestly. You had convinced yourself that the call wasn't even going to go through. So much for planning ahead. “I'm...good,” you managed to splutter out. “That's good, that's good, he-“ you heard some commotion from the other end, like the microphone had been covered. “I'm so sorry, Venom wants to know if you're...aching and he won't shut up.” You heard various growling noises and couldn't help but laugh.

“Yeah...it's a good job I'm not working today, I can say that much.” It was true. Despite venom being surprisingly gentle with you, you supposed being suspended in the air like that wasn't great for your body.

Eddie chuckled, finally sounding relaxed, “yeah, he’s not really used to getting close with anyone apart from me and I have enhanced strength with the whole alien body thing so...”

You were reminded of how close they were yesterday, and reddened at the mention of them being intimate together. You supposed it made sense, really. If you had an alien in your body you'd be fucking every night. “Really? I thought you'd be picking people up left right and centre to fuel his hunger.” “Ha, yeah you'd think. But nope, you're the first person he's shown interest in in a long time. We tend to stick to ourselves, but I guess he couldn't contain himself.”

Still not convinced, you were shocked at the idea of Venom genuinely wanting you. You were more than happy, clearly, but you weren't sure if you could even trust them.

“Yeah maybe don't do the whole following people around thing anymore, hey.” “Fuck, I'm surprised you even said yes after that last night, god. I don't know what came over him, he just wouldn't let it go. Nothing like that ever again.”

“Without consent, anyway,” you said without thinking. He laughed again, “oh god he’s screaming to talk to you again now.”

You blushed and gnawed at your lips, “hi venom.” “Hello y/n, I would like to-“ you heard him at a distance before Eddie clearly shut him up again. “Okay this isn't going to work,” he muttered, “I don't want to come across too strong but do you...want to get coffee or something later? If you just wanted to be done with us that's totally fine, I'll delete your number and you'll never hear from us again.”

You stuttered, was he asking you out? This really was not how you'd expected things to go. You thought back to Eddie, the man who you'd been so intrigued by for so long. There was no denying you were itching to know more about them.

“Is that what Venom wants?”

“Ohh yeah he wants that real bad. He's practically clawing at my brain right now. I want it too though, I'd love to talk to you and get things straight. We share feelings you know, it isn't just Venom that's hungry.”

You stumbled, “okay, sure.” “I'll be at the coffee shop off the main road at noon, no pressure to show up if you change your mind.” “Okay,” you breathed. You gave your goodbyes.

After hours of mentally battling yourself, you were finally stood at the door of the coffee shop. You hoped this was the right decision.

It was fairly empty when you walked in, and immediately you saw Eddie wavin over from a booth at the back of the store. Staying hidden, you supposed they'd gotten pretty good at that.

“Hey,” you could hardly meet his eyes as you slipped onto the seat opposite him. “Hey! I'm glad you showed up.” He pushed a mug toward you, “I hope hot chocolate is okay.” You nodded, “thanks.”

A few moments passed of deafening silence.

“So...you wanna tell me why you have an alien inside you?”

He chuckled, “oh yeah, probably a good idea.” As he spoke, he grasped his cup with one hand and tapped his fingertips on the tabletop with the other. You ripped your eyes away, hoping he hadn't noticed u staring at his hands. “I used to be a reporter back in San Francisco, and I did a piece on the Life Foundation. Long story short turns out they'd been harbouring aliens there and I end up with this fucker latching onto me.”

You recalled the name of the Life Foundation, but had never given it much thought. He proceeded to explain that Venom was what they called a symbiote, and needed a match of a human host to survive and prosper.

“And you two are a match?” you asked. He nodded. “You're kind of like soulmates then, really,” you smirked at him. He laughed, “I suppose so.”

At that, you found yourself at ease with Eddie. He told you more about their past, and how they were on the run. “As it turns out, it's not the easiest thing in the world to avoid police investigation when you’re hosting a person-eating symbiote.”

Oh yeah, that was something you hadn't had time to unpack. “You...really eat people?” “Yeah, we like to stick to ‘bad guys’ though. And he can survive on chocolate for quite a while.” You recalled the receipt he'd given you, fondly. The whole eating people thing, you'd have to get used to.

“Do you mind it?” you asked. “What?” “I mean, do you mind him being there all the time?” “I did at first. But he's part of me now. We’ve separated a few times and it's just...quiet, and empty.”

You smiled, as strange as it was, it was sort of sweet. You suddenly felt a little self conscious, like you were forcing yourself onto them. They were symbiotic, that's what Eddie had said. They certainly didn't need you around.

Interrupting that thought, you felt a sensation at your thigh. Glancing down below the table, you nearly jumped out of your seat. Venom’s head nuzzled your leg and grinned up at you.

“Venom!” You whispered, glimpsing around the shop to see if anyone noticed him. “Don't worry, I'm hidden, sweet thing,” he growled softly. Having him so close to your lower half again lit up every nerve in your body, and you worried that he'd do something that would really arouse the suspicion of everyone sat around you. Instead, he just rested his head on your thigh and looked up at you.

You blushed and tentatively glanced at Eddie. “Why does he like me?” you murmured. He reddened himself, then, “I-well because you're cute? And the way you looked at us on the train that first time...”

“You like us too don't you, y/n?”

Your eyes shifted over Eddie's face, and then down to venom. You softly stroked his head and he made somewhat of a purring noise. A tendril gently wrapped itself around your fingers, warming your skin in an alien hand-hold. “I do like you,” you breathed.

The tendril shifted tighter around your hand and caressed you in a strange but comforting way. You risked a look at Eddie, to see him staring intently at you. His eyes were dark and he nearly looked...hungry. You could get used to that.

You spoke again, “So, you have any more stories?”

Part 3

#we back baby #venom #eddie brock #fanfic #fanfiction #y/n #reader #venom x reader #marvel #carnage

214 notes · View notes

wwilloww · 4 years ago

Text

restless sleep | myg

PAIRING yoongi x reader

RATING explicit. 18+

GENRE smut. fluff. established relationship. sleeping beauty!au.

WC 4.5k

SUMMARY When one of you is always asleep, spending quality time together becomes easier to do in dreamworld, especially when you’re clear with Yoongi exactly what it is you’ve been fantasizing about.

WARNINGS AND TAGS explicit conversation about somnophilia and consent. consensual somnophilia. fingering. mouth fucking. grinding. dirty talk. unprotected sex within an established relationship. creampie. cum play.

AN Please read the warnings and tags before diving into this piece! If it doesn’t toot your horn, don’t worry! And a little reminder: this blog is a space of sexual exploration into consent and kink in my own life and that this piece is a part of that, although in a different direction than I’ve gone before. With that in mind, I ask that you be respectful of this new exploration. Thanks!

With that out of the way, @joopiterjoon gets all the love and finger hearts from Namjoon today as they helped me beta this on a whim this afternoon. We can thank them for helping me string together this story to where it is now. And of course, sending love to @thatlongspringnight who somehow finds a way to becoming an integral part of my creative process no matter what it is I’m working on.

This fic is part of the Wish Upon a Star Collab. We have a full month of Disney inspired stories, so keep an eye out for them!

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

restless sleep

It’s been so long since you’d been to the ocean. You missed the sea breeze, that familiar and spiteful twang to the air. You missed the ocean, lapping at the tops of your feet as you walk for hours. You missed wandering into the gentle swells of the waves on impulse until the water reached your collarbone. You would only stop your walk into the ocean when you were far enough out that you could hear the breakers crashing behind you. And then you would just stand there — or float, if it were deep enough — and let the rocking rhythm of the ocean moving towards the shore roll through you.

The best part would be that as you fell asleep that night in some hostel bed or in the warm cocoon of a hammock, as sleep began to lap at your consciousness, your body would remember the rocking. The push and pull of water around you. Completely dry, you were surrounded by the water, the careful, pulsating embrace of the sea.

Yoongi promised he would take you.

“Soon, I promise, soon,” he would tell you, gripping your hand and smiling at you after you told him about another dream about the coast. When Yoongi made a promise, it was going to be kept.

But there were things to be done first. After your marriage, life exploded with expectation, with responsibility. Even as you settled into the gentle sway of life in your new home, there were obligations that kept you tied here.

So, in dreams, you chased the ocean. Hunted down the salted air, the sand between your toes, and the feeling of being wrapped up in something so much larger than you.

“What if I told you I wanted you to be able to do… anything to me.”

Yoongi lowers the book he’s been reading, looking up at you over the thick spine. You stand at the foot of the bed, wearing one of your softest, largest shirts. You often wore something like this to bed, only to shuck it off over your head the moment Yoongi’s hands came to rest on your waist.

His brow presses for a moment, mouth opening in that cute little gape.

“What — You don’t mean anything, do you?”

You laugh and plop onto the bed, crawling towards him. Why does it have to be so goddamn big? You think, eager to be in his lap.

Despite being a deep sleeper, you were also a restless sleeper and the reason why Yoongi had invested in such a large fucking bed.

A large fucking bed, he chuckled to himself.

Not only were you wild in bed, you were wild in bed, often switching positions at least six or seven times during the night. It was a frequent occurrence to find you half slumped off the end of the mattress, ass in the air, as if you attempted, failed, and collapsed in the middle of trying to climb into bed. Yoongi often woke to find you starfished across the blankets, a leg thrown across his abdomen and three fingers shoved into his mouth. If he wasn’t such a deep sleeper himself, if he wasn’t so fucking in love with you, he might be annoyed by it. So he just bought a bigger bed and made sure to thoroughly wear you out before you fell asleep. You were happy to oblige with his exercise suggestions, especially when they involved rope, roleplay, or pushing the boundaries of your desire for each other. With Yoongi, it was always safe to explore.

Finally settled in his lap, you take the book out of his hands and toss it towards the nightstand. You reach out for the thick lock of hair that has fallen into his eyes and brush it back, smoothing out the press of his forehead. He softens beneath your touch.

“When I say anything — I mean anything.” Your lips purse for a second, thinking about how to say the next thing. “There’s something that thrills me about the idea that I’m yours, entirely. That I’m here, for you, for every single one of your needs and wants and—” you smirk on the last word, “ — desires.”

“Surely you can’t mean anything.”

“Consider this my blanket consent statement.”

“So if I insisted on cooking dinner every night of the week? You would just let me?”

You frown. “I’ve just offered you a blanket consent statement and your first instinct is to take on more of the household duties?” He chuckles.

“Well, then. That and…” Yoongi shifts you in his lap and you gasp. He’s still wearing his jeans, but you can feel the press of his hard cock through the fabric against your bare pussy. “What if during those dinners, I asked you to crawl under the table, onto your knees. Take my cock out of my pants and suck me dry.”

“I’d happily oblige you,” you say, your voice wavering a little as you press your clit against the rough fabric, seeking any kind of friction to ease the quickly rising ache in your cunt.

“If we were out swimming in the lake and I wanted you there and then.”

“Then you’d have me, there and then.”

His voice drops, becoming quieter, darker, as his hands dip to your waist, underneath the shirt. “If I wanted to tie you up, spread wide and willing in the front room for everyone to see, and fuck orgasms out of you until you couldn’t cum anymore.”

“I know,” you say, brushing your lips against his. “that you’re actively trying to dissuade me of my desire, but instead you’re only convincing me that this was absolutely the right thing to bring up. See?” You take his hand and, lifting the fabric of your shirt, bring it beneath. You guide his hand to the apex of your legs to where wetness has gathered and is now dripping.

“You’re—”

“Not wearing anything beneath this. Do you see how willing I am to be anything for you, my love? To be fucked by you? Used by you?” You let your lips trace the angle of his jaw towards his ear. “To be your pretty little sex toy?”

His breath hitches in his throat.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll drop it. I won’t bring it up again,” you whisper.

“That’s not it. Not it, not one bit.”

His eyes glimmer with mischief.

“Then where is your hesitation?”

“Just contemplating when and where to begin.”

“What would you say if I told you I wanted you to fuck me while I was sleeping?”

In a moment, Yoongi has flipped you so that you’re beneath him now. Your breath rushes out of you as your back lands on the mattress. He crawls up your torso, an animalistic fire glinting in his eyes. He takes the hem of your shirt between his teeth, guiding it up your chest until your breasts are exposed to him.

“I’d say that sounds like an excellent idea.” He continues to move up ever so slowly until he’s face to face with you. In one swift movement, you feel his clothed erection press up against your cunt and you gasp. “Tell me more. Exactly how do you imagine me fucking you?”

“Good—” You gasp as he presses his hips to yours, your hand automatically reaching for his arm for grounding as pleasure shoots through you. “I imagine you fucking me good.”

Yoongi chuckles.

“Don’t I always?”

“Y-yes.”

“I need you to be more specific. When can I fuck you?”

“Anytime,” you say. “You can fuck me whenever. Whenever you want.”

His nose traces up your neck until his teeth latch onto your earlobe.

“You sure?”

“Y-yes.”

“And how can I fuck you?”

“Literally—” Your hands wrap around his neck, pressing him to you as he kisses and nips at the sensitive skin on your neck. “--however you’d like. I don’t think you—” You gasp as his hand drifts down to your center, two fingers sliding through your folds. But you grit your teeth and keep going. “--you understand what a blanket consent statement entails.”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the determination in his eyes.

“Oh, I do, my love. I just want to hear from you exactly how you imagine this little fantasy playing out.” As he slips a finger inside you, you bite down on your lip. “So tell me. Tell me about this fantasy of yours.”

You struggle to keep your breath under control as he begins pushing his fingers deep into you. He is still wearing his rings — just the way you liked it — and the shocking contrast of the warmth of his body and the cool metal of the jewelry slipping inside you always had you gasping.

“I want you—” You squeeze your eyes shut as he curls his fingers against your g-spot. “I want you to fuck me in whatever way comes to mind.” Another press, another gasp. “Want you to take what you need. Whatever thought crosses your mind—” He slides a third finger into you. Begins pumping in and out as he watches your face and drinks in every flicker of pleasure. “Wanna be your fuck toy.”

“And what else do you want?”

“Wanna wake up with your cum inside me.”

Sleep feels like a fucking boulder, resting on Yoongi’s chest. Crawling out from underneath it is painful. Difficult, even. If he wakes in the middle of the night, it’s with squinting eyes and a bit of an ache in his limbs.

But tonight when he wakes, his chest heaves, his breath coming quickly. He blinks as the wisps of his dream seem to linger around his mind, both intangible and utterly drowning:

Your fingers, wrapped around his throat, pressing so lightly. You smiled down onto him, that smile he couldn’t erase from his mind’s eye. Was it the pressure on his artery or the delight in your gaze that made his head dizzy?

He sucks in a deep breath, feeling his cock twitch against his stomach.

Fuck.

A light snore echoes from the other side of the bed.

You’re stretched out on the pillow next to him. No matter where he slept on your extra large bed, you always seemed to gravitate towards his presence. Tonight, your hand is reached out towards him, fingers wrapped lightly around his bicep.

Your face half pressed into the pillow, your cheek rounded and reflecting the lightest stream of moonlight.

Your lips, pressed so sweetly together, he could imagine himself slipping inside, feeling the warmth of your tongue lapping over him, the divine heat of your mouth sucking him dry—

His eyes shoot open.

The last time you two had tried this — fulfilling your little fantasy — you had been so excited that you woke up as soon as his dick touched you. It had ended in all of your sheets stripped from the bed and your head and one arm draped off the end of the mattress as you both panted like you’d just run a marathon without any training. It was good. Sex with you was always good. But it hadn’t been what you wanted.

Looking over you now, you’re dead asleep. With the ghost of a smirk playing against his lips, he pulls himself up to sitting and comes to kneel by your head.

You look so serene while sleeping, he almost doesn’t want to disturb you. But as your lips part and you take a long, deep breath, his dick twitches against his stomach and he realizes: He wants this just as much as you do.

Wrapping his ring-clad fingers around the base of his cock, he gave himself a slow stroke up and down the length, stroking from half hard to a little more than half hard. Carefully, he presses the tip to your lips. They part without him pushing.

Your tongue flicks out, licking up the bead of precum that glimmers at the tip. You hum sleepily in delight. While you were a restless and responsive sleeper, you were also a notoriously deep sleeper. Yoongi pushes the head of his cock into your mouth, your jaw widening, your tongue flattening instinctively at the intrusion.

You purse your lips and suckle softly at the tip of his cock and Yoongi can't help the hiss that leaves his mouth.

"Even asleep," he whispers, "You're such a good little pet for me." He reaches for you, smoothing the hair out of your eyes and coming to grip your head tenderly.

Ever so gently, he presses further into you, feeling the warm and wet heat of your mouth envelop him. He doesn't go too far though. He's not interested in gagging you awake with his cock. He'd much rather watch your eyes flutter open, mid orgasm. Fighting the urge to throat-fuck you - because that is always the urge with you - he strokes in and out of your warm and waiting mouth with deliberation, using his grip on your head to maneuver you to his whim. With each pull, his cock gets a little bit harder.

When he's fully hard, he slips out of your mouth with a slight pop.

In your sleep, your brow furrows and you sleepily reach out for him, fingers tracing over the now-unoccupied pillow. If a sleeping person could look disgruntled, you're the perfect image of it.

"Don't worry, baby," he murmurs. "I'll give you exactly what you want."

Yoongi moves the thin sheet aside and you mumble a little as the cool air of the room sweeps over your skin, raising goosebumps to the surface. Beneath it, you're the image of perfection. Every curve, every roll, every little mark and bump and detail you might have found issue with radiates with the mark of perfection: the mark of you. Tonight, your rambunctious sonambulations have brought you into a strange but oddly convenient position. Belly down, face half pressed into the pillow, knee pulled up to your side. The position adds a slight curve to your lower back and accentuates the round hill of your ass.

"Perfect," Yoongi whispers, pressing a hand to your lower back before letting his fingers spread wide, letting his hand cup the rounded swell of your ass, watching the way your flesh moulds to his touch.

Hand wrapped around the base of his cock, he glides the head of it through your sopping folds. A small sound of satisfaction slips from you as he presses against your clit, and you adjust in your sleep, pushing your ass up even further for him, already pushing towards the pleasure building in your lower abdomen. With a bit more bravado, Yoongi pushes more of his length through your lips, gathering the moisture there to coat himself thoroughly.

There’s a part of him that just wants to go like this, rutting slowly against your ass until he cums, spilling himself into the small of your back. But you had been specific in what you wanted — and, after all, who was he to deny you?

He notches the head of his cock against your entrance and after a deep breath, begins to push inside. A shaky breath racks through him as the tight walls of your cunt wrap around him, drawing him in, drawing him closer. He slides a hand up your spine, tracing your body as he continues to push inside you, working his cock into you inch by inch.

Finally seated fully within you, he lets out a quick breath, a laugh almost. You, wrapped around him, is as incredible as ever. Warm. Tight. Wet.

Slowly, he begins to move, pulling in and out, watching the way his cock emerges from your cunt coated in your arousal, watching the way your ass jiggles just enough when he slides in all the way. Your body accepts him, tightens around him, sparks him with pleasure. Your breath stutters as he sets a pace.

“Mm,” you murmur. “Yoongi.”

He pauses for a moment, gaging whether you are awake or not. But your eyes stay shut and your limbs stay leaden.

Are you dreaming of him? he wonders. With his cock buried inside you, will you notice the warmth that spreads through your abdomen? Are you dreaming about him fucking you, taking his pleasure — or are you somewhere else entirely, your body responding in tandem to his actions?

For him, the answers to the same questions cut like clear and cold water through his mind. Pleasure, rearing her head in his consciousness.

He wants to touch you.

He pulls out of you and you whine at the loss of contact, hand drifting through the sheets around you in search of him, coming up empty. But his touch isn’t quickly lost — his hands grip your hips, turning you gently and slowly until you’re laid out for him on your back. You smack your lips sleepy, a sloppy hand coming to brush the hair in your face. When he crawls over you, he settles his weight just enough on top of you that his presence drifts down through layers of dream, layers of sleep and into your sense of presence.

He fits right where he’s supposed to. On top of you, surrounding you, within you. He was there in your dreams too, sitting beside you in some kind of strange and foreign garden, speaking softly and in words you know but don’t understand. You’re drawn up through the dream, greens and pinks shifting into the deep purple of the room, the dark red of the pleasure burning low and hot in your abdomen. Dream, mid-sleep, waking: through it all there is one constant.

Yoongi.

Your eyes flutter open, splitting from the warmth of your mind to the blanketing darkness of the bedroom. He watches.

“Sh, baby,” he murmurs, brushing the hair off of your face. “Relax. You can go back to sleep.”

“Closer,” you mumble, the word half spoken. Your arm wrapping weakly around his back.

He chuckles, pressing his cock against your belly once more, grinding into you with the lightest of pressure. He’s hard. Painfully hard.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he whispers in your ear. “Fill you up with my cum.”

You hum, fingers slowly spreading down his arm. “Good boy.”

He’s not sure if it’s supposed to be deriding or complimentary or what, because a yawn is already spreading across your face, eyes fluttering closed shut again. Whatever you meant, it comes out sweet. Contented.

He lets his hands run over you, tracing the dip of your waist up towards your chest, hands skirting the swell of your breasts before taking them beneath his palm, kneading them softly and slowly. You sigh into his touch. This, getting to look at you, laid out beneath him, sleepy and still — it’s something else entirely. It is the act alone, an indulgence, a new way of looking at you. Getting to take you in completely and without boundary.

For the second time of the night — or early morning — Yoongi grips his cock and begins to ease slowly inside you. He grips your hip for leverage as he pushes inside, maneuvering your body to his will. Your walls part willingly for him and he slips easily within you. Laid attop you, it feels as if he is notched against you, within you, like a puzzle piece. There’s no way he could go any deeper, reach any further into you. When he begins to move, hips pumping at a dangerously slow pace he chokes a little at the pleasure of it all.

You’re entirely still beneath him as he fucks into you — and quiet too, beside a couple of hums and sighs that slip from your lips when he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

Sleep and wake are entirely blurred at this point. You hang suspended between the boundless embrace of dream and the guiding touch of the physical world. It feels like the sea, that rocking pleasure that rolls through you, tide taking you where it will. The pleasure, though partially in the movement of him against you, is in the letting go. The release as the current carries you to an unnamable location.

Body pressed against yours, his hips rocking in and out of you at an instinctual pace. His breath begins to build in his throat, a quick pant.

“Fuck,” he grunts as the walls of your cunt pulse around him. He holds his voice back, and the word barely brushes against you.

You stay silent — somewhere between sleep and presence — and the worry that he’ll wake you has entirely slipped from his mind. Beneath him, you are you, vessel of his love, his affection, as well as the means of the pleasure that you draw from him over and over and over again. The combination swirls dangerously in his mind, love, lust, animalistic desire combining in a heady mix until he’s not sure which way is up. All there is is you, your body, the pleasure of it all.

Your eyes don’t open again as he fucks you. He lets his desire set the pace — agonizingly slow in one moment — then pounding into you, chasing the reeling sensation in his gut in another. Is this what it is to let himself go too? To release himself to the limits of his own want?

“Do you feel me?” he whispers softly, quiet enough that he knows you won’t hear it — at least not in a waking sense — as he continues to rock against you, his cock reaching deeper and deeper into your tight warmth. He imagines that his words, that the deep gravel of his voice, will drift down through the layers of sleep and into your mind nonetheless. And they do, settling into you with a warm thrill. You reach for him, want him closer, want him deeper, want him to sink into every cell of you. Your hand smooths against his back, dropping lower to the small of his back.

“Can you feel me inside you, filling you, taking you—” The words are more of a grunt now, him forcing the sounds over his tongue, holding back the fire that burns in his abdomen just enough to linger on the edge of the drop. “Do you feel how good you feel around me? Do you know what you do to me—What you make me into?”

His breath comes in pants, the sharpness flickering across your skin like the flame of a candle. He continues to grind his cock into you, pressing his body as tightly to yours as he can.

“Do you know how good you are for me? Letting me use you like this? Letting me fuck you and fill you up?”

He grunts as your cunt clenches around him. Each thrust pushes you deeper into the mattress, his hips now ramming into you with power and desire.

“Fuck—” he hisses. “If only you knew—”

Your hips press into his changing the angle just enough that your cunt clenches even tighter around him. Your eyes flutter open, sleepily locking on his in the darkness of the room. His gaze burns against yours, a desire set free within his expression that you haven’t seen before. Through the haze of sleep you hear it:

“Come for me. Come around my cock. Come while I fill you up.”

You gasp as your orgasm rushes through you. Back arched, mouth pressed into a perfect o, sleep-ridden limbs wrapping around Yoongi, pulling him impossibly close.

He grunts as his pace quickens, pounding into you, stuttering as he reaches the final edge. His head falls against your shoulder, hips still rocking against yours as he bites and nips at your neck. Finally, he presses his hips into yours, stilling with a groan as he spills within you, cock twitching and spurting.

Your combined breaths shudder against one another as you slip down from the heights of your orgasm.

When he pulls himself from you, you whine, again, reaching for him. He watches for a moment as his cum begins to seep from your still clenching cunt, mouth watering at the sight. You begin to squirm a bit, still distressed from the loss of contact.

“Sh,” Yoongi murmurs, settling between your legs. “Sleep now.”

Your fingers trail down your stomach, coming to wake enough to feel the soft hush of bliss that radiates through your body and the stickiness that is coming to spill onto your thighs.

“Leave it inside,” he says, his hand coming down on top of yours to still your actions. “I want to see it drip from you.”

You hum in understanding as he lays his head down on your thigh, watching as his cum begins to spill out of you. His cock twitches at the sight. You, filled and marked by him. The thought quickens his breath, stirs the once-satiated ache once again. He chuckles at the thought. Filling you again and again until he’s entirely spent.

He watches the flow of the white liquid ease out of your spent cunt.

“Squeeze for me,” he whispers, and you oblige him, your instinct to please strong even when half-conscious. As you clench and even more cum leaks from your cunt. It slows, but only for a moment before he’s gently pushing two fingers inside you again, to see how much will spill from you. Then, he presses his mouth to your lips, licking a broad stripe up, collecting the taste of you and him mingling on his tongue before swallowing, his adam’s apple bobbing. He looks up at you, your chest rising slowly and steadily as you drift towards sleep. He lowers his head. Again, and again he licks at your cunt, until any trace of his own cum has disappeared.

If it could, your cunt would be gleaming with how thoroughly he’s cleaned you up. As he smiles at his handiwork, he realizes he’s entirely hard again.

A couple minutes of rest, he thinks. Then, he’ll fill you up again, leaving you to find another load of his cum dripping from your thighs as you wake, just as you had begged him to.

Sleep is already sneaking up on you, the tendrils of dream and of darkness seeping like salt water into your mind as you settle into the comfort of Yoongi’s body wrapped around yours, holding you safe and tight. You grumble happily as he pulls your body tight to his, so that you are both laid on your sides, your ass notched perfectly against his cock.

With stillness, you fall back into the dream of the garden. As warmth spreads through your body, the ground fills slowly and steadily with water, consuming everything in its wake. Together with Yoongi, his body pressed to your back, you watch with a calm and steady heart as the world around you turns into an ocean.

For once, you don’t stir once until morning, until the sky warms to a deep purple, streaked with the low burn of dawn.

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

-> if you enjoyed this, please consider telling me what you think by leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! -> want to read more?

taglist: @spicykoreantatertots @usuallynervoussheep @hesperantha @myimaginationsrunningwild @lucedelsole97 @heichooouuu @yoong-i @kookieskiwi @ries-universe @minyoongiboongi @shameless-army @thatlongspringnight @thatmultifandomhoe @ezralia-writes

971 notes · View notes

popopretty · 4 years ago

Text

Storm Bringer Spoilers (9)

I finally finished the translation of the last part in the epilogue where it is explained why Verlaine was still alive and how he became after that. Verlaine and Rimbaud’s relationship is just so sad :(

Please feel free to re-translate. Just be aware that I don’t speak English or Japanese as my native language so I may make a few mistakes here and there. Also, some meanings might be lost in indirect translation.

...

Going back in time.

The Demonic Beast Guivre appeared in the wood. Adam blew himself up. Chuuya opened the “gate” and defeated Guivre.

Four minutes and thirty seconds after that.

The place was the site of the collapsed highway overpass. Crushed foundation materials, concrete, wires, steel frames, cylindrical forms and such were scattered and piled up like dead bodies.

On the top of that place, Verlaine was in the progress of vanishing.

He couldn’t bend the tips of his fingers. His breathing was shallow. His vision was so dark and hazy that he couldn’t even see the stars. Verlaine is nothing more than a sealed string of codes. When the singularity lifeform that acted as his main body disappeared, his heart was slowly stopping due to the life-sustaining energy being depleted.

Verlaine’s thoughts were just as shallow and slow as his breath. Even on the verge of being engulfed into the hollow of death, his heart didn’t flinch one bit, nor did it seek for anything.

So this is death, Verlaine thought in his disrupted consciousness. It is not such a big deal as I thought. No groaning in pain, no crying of regrets, no distraught with fear either. It is flat and thoroughly empty. In the first place, my life is not a life that has anything to regret at this point. It is a life that should not have been born from the beginning. I didn’t live in a way as to regret anything either.

It’s just that, I caused troubles to so many people. The French government, my assassination targets, Port Mafia, brother. In the end, I didn’t get anything, even with all of that. That only is like a stain my life’s trail, that I regret a little.

Well, whatever. As you can see, I will die soon so forgive me.

His fingers grew colder and eventually he didn’t even feel the cold anymore.

His heartbeat weakened. And after a brief spasm...

It stopped.

His heart.

A few tens of seconds passed.

Verlaine realized that he was still breathing. At the edge of his field of vision, he saw something red. He turned his eyes to that.

A crimson red cube was passing through his chest and surrounding his heart. That thing was making his heart move.

What the hell is this? Verlaine was confused. It was not because he did not know what the crimson cube was. He was confused because that was something he knew so well.

Why is it here?

“This is the first time I saw you in such a terrible state.”

How nostalgic was that voice.

Verlaine couldn’t believe his own ears. And when the person entered his sight, he started doubting his eyes too.

“No, no...”, Verlaine spoke in a whispering voice. “This can’t be happening. You can’t possibly appear here.”

“Exactly”, the person nodded. “However, showing up in the most unlikely places, at the most unlikely times, isn’t that what a spy is?”

That was Arthur Rimbaud.

A fuzzy outer jacket. A thick scarf around his neck. A pair of earmuffs made from rabbit hair on his head. Long, black hair and somewhat gloomy eyes.

He was the person who saved Verlaine from the lab, and his partner. And the person Verlaine betrayed.

The subspace created by the crimson cube was the sign of Rimbaud’s skill. All substances inside it can be manipulated at Rimbaud’s will.

“Paul, what have you learnt in the world of spies?” Rimbaud sounded surprised as he asked.

“That if you don’t throw away your feelings, you won’t be able to complete the missions, it taught me that much. But what are missions? And what are feelings? Is that to vent out all of my hatred towards human? Or is that to get a little brother? I rushed into this without knowing clearly which one was the mission, and this is the result. If I hadn’t told brother the way to stop Guivre, I would have been able to kill off all those hateful humans.”

“Ahh... I see, you are Rimbaud’s hallucination.” Verlaine said as if he was ridiculing himself. “You are the illusion that I see on the verge of death, the death reaper my guilts are showing me. Otherwise, there is no way Rimbaud who died one year ago would appear here.”

“I’m not a hallucination, neither a reaper. I am a ghost.” Rimbaud shook his head. “I have been waiting for you, in this country.”

Verlaine stared at the other silently, as if he was trying to understand what that existence over there actually was.

“No way, there can be no ghosts.” Verlaine finally shook his head. “Not because it’s unscientific. If you were a ghost and not an illusion, you would not be saving me like this. You would definitely curse me to death.”

“Why?”

“I betrayed you, and tried to kill you.” His cold voice echoed through the night.

Rimbaud didn’t say anything, he looked back at the collapsed Verlaine with calm eyes.

“What’s with those eyes? Be mad at me more, resent me more, punch me, kick me, strangle me, Rimbaud!”, Verlaine screamed, still lying on the ground. “I shot you from the back. That’s why that explosion happened. You were caught up in it and lost your memories, then died in this foreign country not even knowing who you were. If you are a ghost, then there is only one reason that you became one. That’s your grudge towards me, isn’t that right, Rimbaud!”

“It’s the opposite.”, Rimbaud shook his head. “I waited for you because... I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?” Verlaine frowned, not getting what he just heard.

“I wanted to help you. And I thought that I was helping.” Rimbaud leaned forward, holding his hand over Verlaine’s chest. “But what I actually gave you, was nothing more than the one-sided sympathy of a man who pretended that he understood. I can’t allow myself to just apologize. I have always been thinking about what I could give. And I finally got the answer on the verge of death. This is it.”

Under Rimbaud’s palm, the space cube grew bigger.

The thing that was at Verlaine’s chest earlier started to expand as if it wanted to shallow his whole body. Then it became huge enough to shallow both Verlaine and Rimbaud inside. That was the subspace created by Rimbaud’s skill. Inside it, Rimbaud is capable of doing anything. Except for bringing the dead back to life.

That exception seemed to be happening.

Verlaine noticed his own fingers twitching. They bent. It wasn’t an illusion. His eyes were also moving. His muddy vision gradually became clear.

“This is...”

Verlaine moved his arm. He twisted and raised his upper body up. He looked at his palm, at the back of his hand, squeezed it, then released it again. He felt his fingers being warmed up by the blood flowing in.

He tried to ask what was happening so he looked at Rimbaud who was there.

Rimbaud was not there.

He collapsed.

By Verlaine’s side.

“What is this?”, Verlaine asked in shock. “I see, you... you used your skill on yourself?”

“A method that I could use only once in life.” Rimbaud said with a faint smile on his face. “But it worked well.”

That was Arthur Rimbaud’s skill.

Transforming dead humans into a skilled lifeform, and using them freely inside the crimson subspace. The person who is turned will have the memories and physical capabilities of their past lives, they can even use skills. It is a skill worthy of a spy that is considered the most elite in Europe, the heresy of the heresies.

Rimbaud used that skill on himself.

“It’s nothing to worry about. I am already dead.” Rimbaud said weakly. “What is left here is just information. But even if it is like that, I feel good. Because I could leave this to you.”

Rimbaud’s body started to glow in red. The way it glowed was familiar to Verlaine.

A redshift. (*TN: A term referring to an increase in the wavelength, and corresponding decrease in the frequency and photon energy. In astronomy, it happened when an object is moving away from us. Good luck Googling.)

“Wait!” Verlaine who realized what was going on, reached out to the collapsed Rimbaud.

“Wait, Rimbaud. Don’t disappear!”

“Because you didn’t like my birthday present.” Rimbaud laughed apologetically.

“Just take this as a birthday present instead. Happy Birthday. I am happy you were born into this life.”

After that, the subspace contracted sharply, sucked into Verlaine’s heart and disappeared.

All that remained was the debris, and Verlaine, and the cool breeze of the night.

Verlaine walked two, three steps with the stunned look on his face. He looked around then sat down on the debris.

“Ha...hahaha.” He looked down and let out a dry laugh.

“Hey Rimbaud, you waited one year for me just to do this? For something like this?”

Verlaine knew, what Rimbaud had done.

To save him, Rimbaud had turned himself into a self-contradictory typed singularity.

Rimbaud, who had turned himself into a skill, used that skill again on his own self who was born as a result of that. Then he continued to apply that skill on his new self that was born. And by repeating this progress, he created a self-contradictory typed singularity. Then he gave that singularity to Verlaine, in place of the Demonic Beast Guivre.

Verlaine tried to stand up but he didn’t have enough strength and dropped his knees on the debris. He was weak. Perhaps, the singularity that Rimbaud created did not have an infinity output like the unlimited energy that the usual self-contradictory typed singularity emits. He could no longer use his inexhaustible gravitational skill like he did before.

But Verlaine didn’t find it particularly regrettable.

Because he was regretting the thing that he just lost that very moment more.

“Why, Rimbaud?” Verlaine looked up to the sky. “Why did you smile at the end? I betrayed you, and you died because of that, you know?”

He knew the answer. He just didn’t want to understand.

Rimbaud, the man who freed him from Faunus and gave him the freedom to live.

Rimbaud, the man who trained him and raised him into a spy, the person who got through all the dangerous missions with him.

Rimbaud, the man who shyly handed him his birthday present.

“Why did you smile?” Verlaine spoke with a trembling voice. “If you turn yourself into a skill, you are no longer human. You will be nothing more than a piece of surface information with a human’s memories and personalities. You knew that for sure. Still why did you wait for me? Why did you have to go that far for someone like me, when you didn’t even know if I would come or not?”

Verlaine finally came to his senses.

The reason why he let Chuuya know how to defeat the Demonic Beast Guivre at that time.

He hated humans. He thought that it would be okay if everyone died. Yet, he gave out the hint to destroy Guivre. That was because he didn’t think that everyone should die, equally.

There was only one exception.

One person worthy of affirming human beings.

“Sorry, Rimbaud.” Verlaine whispered behind his clenched teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to your friendship. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you when I received the birthday present. I am finally grieving the fact that you are not here anymore now...”

Verlaine said so with his trembling voice, as he sat still and looked up to the sky with his eyes closed.

He remained there for a long, long time, looking at the night sky.

...

--------------------------------------------------------------

...

Time pours on everything equally.

Verlaine didn’t die. After surviving with the life he got from Rimbaud, he was confined in Port Mafia’s underground shelter. That was what Verlaine wished for. There was already no place for Verlaine in the outside world. He had lost most of his gravitational skill and the only place he could escape the long and big hands of Europe was the hideout deep underground.

Also, he had no interests in the outside world. There wasn’t anyone he wanted to kill, nor anyone he wanted to meet. Apart from Rimbaud.

And Rimbaud was no longer there.

At first, he just sat in the basement and spent all his time reading and writing poems. When he became bored with that, he started doing what Rimbaud used to do. Training the younger generation.

He hammered his assassination skills and knowledge into the Mafia’s elites in an underground training space. Gin, Izumi Kyouka, and many more.

Those mafias under his discipline all became top-class assassins in a short period of time.

Verlaine didn’t reveal his feelings to anyone. He never told his apprentices nor the Boss the reason why he kept desiring that crippling life underground.

When he was not training his apprentices, he just sat on his wicker chair, waiting for something. He never told anyone what he was waiting for. If he was asked persistently, he would just say “for the storm”. No-one knew what that storm was supposed to mean.

Six years later, Verlaine now has become an indispensable central figure in the Mafia, and risen to the position of one of Mafia’s five executives.

He is still sitting on his wicker chair, waiting for his storm even today.

...

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #storm bringer #spoilers #arthur rimbaud #paul verlaine #bsd spoilers

317 notes · View notes

astaroth1357 · 4 years ago

Text

Leviathan's Odyssey 5:

God

*Mammon is happily about to break into Lucifer's study yet again when he hears the sound of banging metal and high-pitched shrieking coming from the kitchen... Knowing what the likely source, he swallows his reluctance in order to go check on what's happening*

*Beel is in the kitchen when he runs in, having narrowly dodged the flying butcher knife that lodges into the wall next to his ear… Little Satan is strapped into a high chair, wailing at the top of his lungs and banging his fists against a nearby countertop*

Mammon: BEEL!! What the hell is goin’ on in here!? Weren’t ya in charge of feedin’ him??

Satan: DIE!!!! DIE!! Diedie!!!

*a frying pan appears to float off of its hook and goes flying towards Mammon’s face but Beel manages to grab its handle before it knocks him out*

Beel: I was! But I think I made him mad…!!

Mammon: *gulps when he sees the metal pan just an inch from his nose, but has to push it aside quickly* He’s ALWAYS mad, Beel! What'cha do this time??

Beel: Nothing! *ducks a riocheting butter knife* I just…! Well…

Mammon: Spit it out already!!

Beel: I was trying to teach him how to eat, okay?? But he poked himself with a fork and lost it!

Satan: DIIIEEEE!!!!!

*previously thrown kitchen supplies lift off of the floor and start flying at them for a round two. Beel rips a cabinet door from its hinges to shield them while Mammon takes the frying pan to bat away the murderous forks and spoons*

Mammon: Beel!! We agreed that we weren’t givin’ him that stuff yet! He’ll kill us all!!

Beel: Yeah, yeah I know but it’s not fair! He should learn how to feed himself like the rest of us!

Mammon: Now’s not the time for “fair,” Beel!!

*apparently hearing the commotion himself, Asmo storms into the kitchen wearing nothing but a bathrobe and a beauty mask - but even covered in cleanser, he look PISSED*

Asmo: WHY IS IT SO LOUD IN HERE!?!

*Mammon grabs Asmo by the arm and pulls him out of the way of an iron cauldron careening his way. Asmo shrieks at the sudden pull and clutches onto Mammon for dear life following the close save*

Asmo: What is the little monster doing now?!? Why are things flying??

Mammon: Quit callin’ him a monster and hell if I know! It’s not like he knows any spells!!

Beel: *whacks away a meat tenderizer aimed at Asmo’s cheek* I think he’s just really mad!

Asmo: *throws his hands up in despair* Of course of all the babies in all the world, we managed to get one that radiates homicide!!

Mammon: Shut your trap and go wake up Belphie! Lucifer’s still with Diavolo so he’s gotta be the one to put him to sleep this time!

Asmo: Me?? Why me??? Belphie won’t get up for me, make Beel do it!

Mammon: Are ya blind AND stupid?? I need Beel here with me! Just scream or something ‘till Belphie wakes up! It’s all you’re good for anyway!

Asmo: Shut up, you money-grubbing dirtbag!!

Beel: NOT THE TIME!! GO NOW!!!

*Asmo yelps a bit at the volume, but he manages to run out of the kitchen without much injury*

Satan: DIE!! Die! Die! DIE!!

Mammon: *pops his head out from behind their cover* Yeah we get it little buddy, ya don’t like us! But would it kill ya to cut it out??

Satan: DIIIIEEEE!!!!!!

*Mammon quickly jerks back behind the "shield" as a set of five knives all lodge themselves into it*

Mammon: Fuck, okay nevermind!!

*it only takes a couple minutes of fighting off the cutlery for Asmo to come back with a drowsy, but upright, Belphie in tow*

Belphie: What’s happening here…??

Mammon: No time for explainin’!

*Mammon swiftly grabs Belphie and sticks him behind Beel before taking the cabinet door from him*

Mammon: Grab another, Beel!

*while Beel rips off the other door, Mammon keeps shouting over the chaos*

Mammon: Belph, ya gotta knock out the kid! Beel and I will protect ya, just stay behind us then get’em outta the chair! Do what ya gotta do after that!

Belphie: *stays right behind Beel but groans* What did you do this time…??

Mammon: Shuddup and move!!

*the three of them start approaching the baby in the high chair, still wailing at the top of his lungs. Between the two cabinet doors and their combined reflexes, Beel and Mammon are able to keep Belphie more or less shielded from the flying utensils until they finally get close enough from him to make a move*

*Belphie jumps forward enough to grab the buckle to Satan’s seat, ignoring his little fists as they try to rip his hair out, and he gets the baby out of the chair as quick as he can manage*

Belphie: Ow!! Okay, lights out, kid!!

*Belphie sticks his hand over Satan’s eyes and, gradually, his struggling loses its gusto until the little baby falls asleep in his arms. All the kitchen supplies fall to the ground and it seems like his tantrum is finally over…*

Mammon: *drops the “shield” he was holding* Oh thank fuck that worked!! No more forks for him, Beel!

Beel: *also sets down his “shield” and looks down guiltily* But how is he ever going to eat right…?

Mammon: We’ll just have to teach him when he gets better.

Belphie: “If” he gets better…

*there’s a silence between the brothers as the gravity of that thought sinks in… What if he never gets any better…?*

*But then the little boy yawns*

Satan: *yaaaawn* Pa…

*all heads in the room snap towards the baby demon and everyone holds their breath. That was a new sound… right?*

Satan: Pa… Per… wish…

Beel: “Per… wish?”

Belphie: I think he meant, “Perish…”

Asmo: *groans* Of course his second word also means, “Die!”

Mammon: But he’s learnin’! That’s what Lucifer said, right?

*Mammon comes over and carefully takes the sleeping Satan from Belphie, holding him not unlike how he used to do all of them when they were young*

Mammon: He’ll get better, alright? Believe your big brothers for once! Ya guys weren’t all that different than this...

Asmo: *rolls his eyes* That’s such a lie...

Mammon: Shuddup Asmo, I’m serious! We just gotta be patient…

Beel: Do you think Lilith could have calmed him down…?

*again, there’s another silence in the room… aside from Satan’s soft snoring. For once, it seems like his little brothers are looking at Mammon for something… comfort maybe?*

Mammon: Lilith… *he fights the urge to bite his lip by holding Satan a little tighter* Lilith woulda been patient with’em… Levi too. They’d have helped us out…

Belphie: If they were still here…

Mammon: *sighs* Yeah Belphie. If they were still here… but we don’t gotta focus on that part, ya know?

*Mammon starts walking towards the exit, patting little Satan on his sleepy head*

Mammon: I’m puttin’ the little shit to bed. Ya got feedin’ duty again tomorrow, Beel. No forks this time.

Beel: *nods quietly* Alright…

Mammon: *stops at the doorway and looks back* Oh. And “not it” explainin’ this mess to Lucifer. Ya gotta figure that out yourselves!

*as his brothers start to shout out in protest, Mammon just laughs triumphantly while he starts down the hallway. Looks like something isn’t his fault for once*

~Meanwhile in the Deepest Depths of the Ocean~

*for the first time since his conquest began, Levi is completely alone in the darkness. Having conquered every part of the seas above, all he has left is the deepest trenches to explore… home to the nightmares even his army refuses to face*

*perhaps being a stranger to this world has helped him. Whatever force commanded his troops to stay above has no sway on his mind. Even Lotan, his most trusted general, wouldn't follow him into these shadows...*

*he's told only one thing lives here. A creature beyond all comprehension... A being without form, without thought, and without convention, and yet festers into consciousness like a blight on all existence... A creature for which all other monsters fear to the point of insanity yet, strangely, Levi remains undaunted...*

*his mantra of loathing shields him as much as it consumes him. He’ll bow to no beast who believes they're better than him, no matter their size or strength. No one can think they’re better than he is... He’ll prove their lives are worthless in the end*

*finding the creature proved easy. He only had to follow the strings of insanity attempting to strangle his mind, growing ever thicker the closer he’d come. A lesser being may have felt helpless approaching it… a shattering insignificance compared to One that Defies All: a primordial essence from which those below the depths are connected and yet through denial believe to be their own... A Greater Power. A God*

*... but he’s fought a God before. All he saw before him now was an Abomination*

*and what he eventually saw skewered on the end of his trident was just another step on his journey of conquest - even as blood the color of madness plumed in the water around him, boiling his skin and contorting his bones... When the ranting clutter in his mind finally quieted, Levi was something new entirely…*

*he didn’t need to return to his army to feel their presence now. His metamorphosis completed when a ghastly wail that escaped his throat, carried telepathically through the waters around him. A clear signal to all who felt it... Above the sea, you’d hear nothing. But below...*

*a cacophony of shrieks. A chorus of howls. The roar of a new Master and the response of an entire ocean now at his disposal...*

*An army of unspeakable terror flourishing just out of sight…*

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

#am i saying levi killed an elder god?#that is exactly what i'm saying #i will die on this hill #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me scenarios #obey me fic #obey me headcanons

253 notes · View notes

greenygreenland · 4 years ago

Text

Home: Lloyd Garmadon x Reader

-I LOVE ASKS. plz keep them coming, they make my day -i’m sorry i write slowly, I’m a perfectionist. -it’s also better to have quality over quantity, am I right? -takes place after Tournament of Elements but before Possessed

[REQUESTED BY ANON] Summary/ask: Maybe a reader with a "dark" power (like, not evil, but considered dark), and they were outcasted by it, everyone thinks they are bad and shit but they are just shy and insecure?

WARNING: MENTIONS OF VERBAL ABUSE (VERY BRIEF), BLOOD (BRIEF), INJURIES (ALSO BREIF), ETC.

Isolation. That was all you had ever known for the better half of your life. Most details were things you preferred to keep hidden away, locked up for good in that deep mind of yours.

You never had a whole family, but that was fine by you. Why should that matter when you had a father who loved and cared for you? Growing up, he always told you this: ‘Ninjago is so much more than our tiny home, my dear. Why should we worry about what we don’t have when there’s so much to discover?’

Even now, you held onto his words with your life. Even now when you forgot what his face looked like. Even now when you couldn’t remember his voice, or how warm his hugs were. Everything eventually faded, but not the emotions he made you feel.

Love, warmth, generosity.

Those were the only pieces of baggage you carried. Although heavy, they kept you from the evil strings of bitterness. You kept your chin up, high in the air so you could look to the sky. It was the limit after all, the portion of which you had to reach and reach until you couldn’t anymore. The only problem was getting there.

The alley was rather quiet today, a far cry from the usual bustling citizens looking for a shortcut or a food stand. You loved days like this, where no one would care to stare at you and whisper your name like it were a ball in a game. With your hood up, no one could see your face, and no one could cast you aside like the loner you were.

“What are you doing here?”

You wish you hadn’t heard his voice. As subtle as he tried to be, his snarky tone caused passing stragglers to glance at you. A sigh escapes your lips. What was he doing here? Didn’t he have anything better to do than follow you around and nag? You were cast aside as it was by your mother, forgotten by your so-called friends, and left behind by your ascended father.

He told you to stay away from that speedy idiot, the one your mother took away from you. The one who took after her with the same eyes, nose, and mouth. They had the same grin, too, the one where it looked like they thought they were better than you.

“If it isn’t Griffin Turner,” you grumble out. “What a pleasure.”

His stare isn’t friendly. You know under those red sunglasses that he’s glaring at you. He’s probably thinking about how much of a monster you are too, just like every other Elemental Master you ever faced in your life.

Griffin runs a hand over his oh-so-perfectly cut hairdo. “Oh don’t be a prick.” he spits out. “Have some respect for your older brother.” That grin doesn’t slide off his face no matter how dark your expression gets. He’s always been oblivious. First to your powers, then to your father’s death, and finally, to how terribly he’s been treating you.

It doesn’t matter that he’s your older brother. Bullying does not discriminate, and neither do you, blood ties or not. “Just leave me alone, I’m not in the mood Griffin.” He raises a brow. “Not in the mood? Since when did someone like you have feelings? You’re cold-hearted, just like your dad.”

You frown. “’Your dad’?” you echo. “What, so we’re only related when you choose?” Griffin shrugs absentmindedly. You know he’s trying to provoke you, get a reaction, but you just can’t help it. He was patronising you and your father.

“I’m just glad I lived with mum instead of dad.” he adds. “At least I don’t have to run after the garbage truck with a shopping list.” He snickers to himself and you go rigid. “Take that back.”

“What? Your last braincell?”

“Well--you--you’re a...” You pause. “At least I had someone who loved me and actually payed attention to me! Sure, I inherited dad’s elemental powers, but he taught me something you’ll never get: kindness. You think I don’t know? Look again you pathetic waste of space!” That wasn’t supposed to hit hard and you both knew it. Griffin could have said a million other insults that burned like the sun itself, yet somehow, with your puny words, you hit a nerve. A nerve that wasn’t supposed to be punched in the first place.

Griffin’s grin finally slides off his face. He stuffs a hand in his pocket and uses the other to adjust his bright sunglasses. He doesn’t say anything, but you can practically feel the air thicken between the empty distance. Griffin didn’t have lo self-esteem, but sometimes, his mum called him a waste of space. When you walked by the luxurious apartment, on days the kitchen window was left wide open, you heard what she’d say to Griffin--what she did to him.

Suddenly, you’re taken back to the age of six, when your parents were together and Griffin was more than your only brother. You were best friends. You did everything together. But then your father passed down his elemental powers to you, and it was then that everything changed.

Your father taught you that your powers were a gift passed down all the way from the days the First Spinjitzu Master lived among the people of Ninjago. It was a gift used to protect him when he was in need, a gift that possessed great power and majesty. Your elemental abilities had a double edge to it. Although beautiful, it possessed a great danger.

One slip-up was all it took. One mistake you never meant.

That day, you were practicing control and discipline over your powers. You never meant for it to happen, and if you could go back, you would a million times over. That day, all the control, all the mastery you had over your abilities disappeared in an instant. You swore it was only for a second, but it could have lasted a millennia.

Your element was more than a power. It was a living part of you with its own consciousness you couldn’t quite understand. When you slept, you saw him, the intangible person you never cared to learn the name of. He always sat in a plain of pure darkness, where you couldn’t touch or see him clearly.

You knew he never meant to frighten you, but that day, you only saw a monster. Perhaps it was you, perhaps it was him. You never knew because the moment you lost control, your world went black. From then on, your parents split. Your mother took Griffin away from you, and as time grew, so did the distance between you.

You wish you could change things starting from that day till now. Those forsaken words shouldn’t have left either of your mouths, but the damage had already been done. It cut too deep that not even magic could mend the wounds.

“Griffin I--”

“So that’s how it is.” A bitter laugh escapes his lips and you flinch like you’ve been struck. Griffin walks toward you at a painfully slow pace. The alleyway isn’t part of the city anymore. It’s a battlefield of honour, of pride, of two siblings who have been torn apart. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he pulls something out of his pocket. “Here.”

The wad of cash presented to you between his fingers looks more like an insult than a gift. Was he trying to rub in your face how rich his mum was compared to your dead dad? Surely this wasn’t an olive branch to apologise for being a jerk for the past eleven years.

He stares at your incredulous expression and yanks your wrist forward, slapping the bills into your hand and forcing it into your sweater pocket. “Look, I’m not patronising you, okay? Just...go to your friend or whatever and don’t spend that on drugs. Your financial situation sucks, I get it.”

His tone is rather aggressive, but you know that speech pattern. The one where it’s soft and bashful because he’s embarrassed to be talking out loud like that--like an older brother. You run your fingers over the cash in your pocket and stare at Griffin. He looks the other way and begins marching past you, making sure to bump shoulders.

“Griffin, wait.” You make a grab for his arm but he’s already gone at the speed of light. “Thanks,” you whisper to yourself. “I guess.” You aren’t sure how long you stay in the dead alleyway, frozen in your own thoughts. But as soon as you’re ready to make your way to the park, the alleyway fades, the honking of the cars disappear, and you’re completely alone in a surge of darkness.

“That has got to be a least three hundred.”

You heave out a long sigh as the darkness parts. Robes drag across the floor like liquid gold, sparkling and shimmering like the sun. “Such a coward, your brother. He shouldn’t have run away like that.” The man is a living contradiction, much like you. Although he lived in a world of darkness, that never stopped light from blooming in his cold heart. He cared for you as much as he cared for your father and those before him.

The man adjusted the collar of his red robes, yanking the thick fabric into all the right shapes and places. His pale face was like a sheet of paper, but the calm smile made up for that and tinted his cheeks rose. “Here,” he said, waving his arm. The wad of cash drifted out of your pocket, mixing with the mist until it was all but a speck of light. It drifted into one of the man’s pockets, which he patted.

“Honestly,” he says, “could you be more inconspicuous? Someone down the street looked like he wanted to mug you.” You frown and the man huffs. “When you need the money, come back. I’ll keep it here.”

“Thank you.”

“Raijin.” he says. “Call me Raijin.”

The mist began swirling like a whirlpool, twisting and turning until your hood whacked you in the face. The alleyway materialised as soon as your feet hit the pavement. The honking of cars sliced through the air, bombarding your ears in the cityscape sounds. “First Spinjitzu Master...” you grumble, rubbing your ears.

“LOOK OUT!”

You whip around in bewilderment and flatten yourself against the brick wall. A group of four or five fruit-coloured boys fly from the fire escape above. If you hadn’t reacted quickly enough, then you’d be as much of a pancake as the blue one (he was under all of them).

“I’m--gonna--die! Get off me Cole!”

“I...I can’t when Zane’s heavier than a rock!”

“Kai, move your stupid leg!”

“Everyone stop arguing! Lloyd is unconscious!”

The last bit sent the group in a rush of shouting, scrambling, and shoving. You wanted to do something to help, but these boys were the ninja, students of Sensei Wu and partly, Garmadon. In the world of elemental masters, they were known as the OG, the ones who defeated the Great Devourer, Garmadon, and so many more.

The last time you saw them (together, that was) had to be half a year ago on Chen’s forsaken island. You almost died, but Lloyd saved you. He and his friends risked their lives to help everyone off that island. If thy hadn’t been there...

You glance at Lloyd. He lay on the pavement, faintly breathing and coughing as Zane wrapped gauze around his wrist. The blood smeared on his face sent your heart tumbling. Just what had they done this time?

“Hey!” you exclaim. The boys remove their hoods and turn to you. Kai knits his brows together. “Aren’t you--?”

“Do you want help or no?” you gruffly retort. Zane’s bright eyes don’t leave your cold expression as you look between all the ninja. Cole and Jay look uneasy about the offer, but to even the blind, it was clear they had no choice.

“Yes.” Zane says. “We would be grateful for your assistance, (Y/n).” You nod and motion for them to follow you out of the alleyway. Kai carefully lifts Lloyd off the ground and onto his back. “Thank you for your generous offer.”

“Don’t thank me until he’s well.” you quietly reply. As scary as it was inviting people to your tiny apartment, this was the ninja. You owed them this much for being Ninjago’s protectors for so long. “We’re taking the back route because I don’t want to attract unwanted attention. It’s clear you had a run-in, let’s not repeat that.”

Halfway down one of the quieter streets, you heard Jay whisper this, “I heard she’s evil. Are you sure we should trust her?”

You want to be offended, but getting upset would only make everything worse. You re-called your conversation with Griffin, and that look on his face when you called him a waste of space.

He deserved the insult, you told yourself. Why should you feel guilty?

You spot a beat-up door worn with age. The blue paint peeled off the wood, scattering along the doorstep in little piles. As much as you wanted to renovate, you couldn’t afford it. You had to save up for college and rent.

You dig your hand inside your trousers’ pocket and produce a key. The scratches rub against your calloused hands as you stick it in the keyhole and yank open the door. “Bring him in.” No one says a word as you watch the ninja file into your home one by one. Like good guests, they remove their shoes and leave them in a little corner of the hall.

You close the door behind you and lock it, tossing the key in its respective place. “Set him down on the couch. I’ll get a med kit.” When you come back with the med kit and freshly washed hands, you weave past Cole and sit on the floor by Kai’s side. “He’ll be alright.” you calmly state.

Kai sharply meets your gaze. “His wrist is broken.”

“Yes, but bones can be mended. He will be alright.” You ignore the stares, they were background noise, and place your hands around the wound. “Raijin,” you whisper, “I need assistance.”

The last time you had to fix a broken wrist had to be about three months ago. It was a rather draining action, but for Lloyd, you would do anything. He needed you.

Suddenly, your body goes completely rigid. Your hands are cold and you shut your eyes, allowing the icy sensations to wash over your being. A breeze passes over your face and settles around your hands. You imagine Lloyd’s bones mending back into place, connecting painlessly like a puzzle piece would.

“What’s she doing?” you hear Jay whisper.

“I think she’s concentrating.” Cole answers. “Kind of...creepy if I do say so myself.”

You feel the bones clicking together, and once you are sure Lloyd is alright, you open your eyes and heave out a long sigh. “He...he will be...” You can’t finish that sentence. The world spins with dots and mingles in a flurry of colours and blurs. Someone was saying something, but you can’t make out what’s wrong with you.

The world fades to black.

“Here again?”

You frown uncomfortably as Raijin struts out from behind a curtain of shadow. It’s hard to disregard him, so you avert your gaze to the side. “I don’t choose when I come here, you know that.” He chuckles and it’s a low rumble. “You like him.”

“Who?”

“Lloyd. It’s not everyday you let people into your home. When you saw Griffin walk by with a broken leg, you didn’t heal him.” You sigh loudly. “Well, that’s different Raijin.”

“Is it?” There’s a suggestive tone to his voice you don’t like, as if he’s looking inside your head and hearing all your thoughts bouncing around. Raijin probably did hear some of it. He was, after all, a part of you, both soul and body. Silence falls over your shoulders and it sits there like an old pillow: uncomfortable, flat, and irritating.

The silence stretched and you felt small in the presence of Raijin. He had a way with his height and energy that somehow made him appear all the more regal. You can’t meet his eyes as you blurt out the dumbest question you could muster. “Will Lloyd be okay?”

The answer is obvious, but Raijin doesn’t comment on it. He folds his hands together and softly nods, as if he’s afraid of making you shrink further into yourself. “Thanks to your efforts his wrist is healed. Why don’t you see for yourself?” You perk up. “What--?”

The darkness curls under your shoes, stretching like gum and absorbing you in nothing. It’s cold, it’s dark, and it’s filling you with adrenaline.

You jolt upright.

“I see you and Raijin had quite the conversation.” a crinkly voice states. You rub your pounding head, accepting the steaming cup of tea from Sensei Wu’s hands. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the monastery, much less your old room. Wait, Wu? Your old room from when you were eleven? “Sensei?” He smiles kindly, giving your shoulder a good pat. “If you were wondering, Lloyd has been healed. Actually, he wishes to see you.”

“Me?” you inquire. “Really?” Wu chuckles to himself good-naturedly. He turns his back to you and slides open the door, revealing a red-faced Lloyd. He goes stiff like a board. “Uh--I--sorry--just passing--”

Wu gently guides Lloyd into the room, paying no mind to the stuttering mess his nephew had become. It’s an odd sight to see Lloyd, the Green Ninja, tripping over his own feet, adjusting his sleeves, and picking at loose threads instead of meeting your eyes like he did that day.

Lloyd had been like a gust of wind. He came to your rescue strong and fast, scooping your bloodied body in his arms with a gentle hold. When the time came and you all had to leave the island, you were still too weak to use your elemental powers, so Lloyd let you ride with him. Those crazy few weeks on Chen’s island had been traumatising.

The fact that you weren’t trusted by anyone due to your powers made it worse, until you met Lloyd and his father.

Wu quietly exists the room, gently closing the door behind. You silently thank him for his consideration. “It’s been a while.” you quietly say. Lloyd shuffles toward you with a bright smile, cheeks still tinted red. “I used to see you around Ninjago City a lot, but after a while, it was...I don’t know, like you disappeared.”

It’s your turn to avert your gaze. The truth was, you weren’t sure Lloyd still wanted to be your friend after the Tournament. You saw him less and less with each passing day, only ever giving a small wave here and there whenever he went to Borg Tower. After half a month, Griffin caught you talking with Lloyd. He bullied you about it and told you Lloyd was only acting like your friend.

Stupidly enough, you believed him. Your insecurities about being judged wore down your courage like a bath bomb in water. You couldn’t speak with Lloyd any longer, or give a simple wave that made him smile like the sun. One day, you decided to avoid him completely by taking a different route home. You never saw him again. Not until today.

“I-I’m sorry Lloyd.” you murmur. He blinks, knitting his brows together in confusion. “What do you mean you’re sorry? You didn’t do anything--”

“Yes I d-did.” You curse your wobbly voice. “I started a-avoiding you because I was scared we weren’t...you know...anymore. And a lot happened...and then...” Your eyes are burning with tears you know are filled with ages of stress and worry and anger.

You wanted to blame Griffin for making fun of you that day. You wanted to blame yourself for being so stupid. You wanted to blame Raijin for not talking to you when you needed him most. But you couldn’t. How would any of them know this would happen? That you’d eventually cut Lloyd off altogether until you were in isolation in that tiny apartment by yourself? How could you have known?

The side of your bed dips and gentle arms bring you in tight. It’s warm and reminds you of meadows with flowers, butterflies, and better days. When was the last time you actually hugged someone? Much less allowed them this close in your proximity? You didn’t have friends at school, so you always settled for books as your comfort. Books could not hug like people.

“I should be thanking you.” Lloyd said. “You healed me even though it made you pass out.” You sniffle, hesitantly wrapping your arms around Lloyd’s middle. As soon as you allow your shoulders to relax, warmth spreads through your chest. You recognised the sensation as a mix of comfort and relief.

To know someone else was here with you who cared and would sit with you as you cried your eyes out was new--but it felt good. When your dad died, you promised to never shed another tear. You couldn’t say you were good a keeping promises.

“If you want to tell me more, it’s okay.” Lloyd softly said. You rested your head on his shoulder, savouring the way he smelled like life itself. If you were to describe it, you’d call it grassy, flowery, and fruity all rolled into one.

“Well... You remember my brother Griffin?” you slowly begin. “He isn’t who you think he is. He always tells me things like I’m a monster because of my elemental powers, or that...”

You aren’t sure how long you talk for, but Lloyd’s there, listening to every word and drinking it in like gold. Sometimes he pitched in, other times he sat still in a silent horror you couldn’t fully comprehend. It never occurred to you just how broken your family relationships had been when it was your norm.

When your tears finally dried and you could breathe again, Lloyd took your hands and motioned for you to follow him out of the room. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” You smiled at him, enjoying the company his hand provided.

Wu rounded around the corner and said, “Would you like to stay forever?”

There was no question in that. You still had your old room and memories of when you used to call the monastery home. Why wouldn’t you want to make new ones? “Yes.” you reply. “I’d love that--if it’s fine with you.” Lloyd glanced at Wu, who simply nodded in confirmation.

Lloyd turns to you with a bright grin that you can only shyly match in response.

TIP JAR

Please don’t forget to reblog!

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago lloyd #lloyd garmadon #lloyd x reader #ninjago x reader #x reader #reader insert #xreader #lego #ninjago wu #Sensei Wu

268 notes · View notes

daydreamed-snippets · 4 years ago

Note

hello! i absolutely adored your addition to gingerly’s prompt ask :) i was wondering if you could continue it, and no worries if you can’t! thanks <3

I realize the more I write this the longer it’s getting. I probably have imagined six parts or more???? I have other WIPs that need attention, but I am so, so, so, so thankful that you like the first part of my prompt response to @gingerly-writing I’m going to post this and then part 3 hopefully tomorrow 👀 👀 👀 👀Maybe??? then take a small break to post some other stuff. Lol this is a continuation I didn’t really plan for, but am definitely excited about!!

@chibicelloking @lolafaiy

Part One Here

A dull thrum of voices stirred sidekick out of surly drowsiness. The articulation of words was muddied, coming across as garble before snapping into clarity the more they roused. There was “monitor vitals”, “recommended range”, “even by a fraction” that registered in the back of their mind. Teammates must be running some tests again.

But they couldn’t move. Not a muscle. They weren’t paralyzed, they were just restrained. Which was odd because that wasn’t—

They felt the string back around their neck again. That feeling of dread rustled, usually abating when they returned to headquarters and the familiarity of their bunk. Memories came no longer concealed by lethargy. Of the teammates being pinned down by supervillain. Of their oh-so-brave self-sacrifice. Of teammates using The Machine to pry open a portal. Of sidekick losing consciousness in supervillain’s arms.

Sidekick held their breath, letting out a quiet moan. It didn’t work, did it? Teammates didn’t make it to that sewer way after supervillain choked them into unconsciousness. And if they did, they were unable to save sidekick. They were captured.

So what now?

Policy would have them stay mute. To be uncooperative. To trumpet bravado and bare their teeth.

Policy would have their self-sacrifice complete its course to martyrdom.

Feeling their sinew stretch to uncomfortable lengths, the sidekick’s mind fortified itself, resolved to do their due diligence. They could die for the cause. They were trained to do so. Engrained by doctrine, encouraged parables of valor, and promises of glory. They weren’t a hero, yes, but they’d surely get a hero’s burial. A hero’s honor, and admittance to the halls of the nobly fallen. After all, it was promised to those slain for the cause.

Noting how their wrists were held high above their head and were bound together, sidekick tensed their muscles against the wire to test how well it held their arms, chest, hips, and legs still. They were hanging in midair, everything was drawn taut, everything perfectly balanced so that the threads bowed them back like a rag doll on display; fraying and terribly exposed.

At least it didn’t cut their skin this time.

The easy solution: they could mount a daring escape by making a portal around themselves. No on second thought due to calculation risks, they could make approximately 47 mini portals, severing the strings. Then once they got a better gauge of the room, they could make one large enough for them to drop through. They doubted they would be able to go far, maybe outside this room after they opened their eyes and calculated the circumference of it. Their weakness lies in the fact that not knowing where they were meant they were limited in where they could go. Power hinging on all of the maps in their head. If they could just see it on the map then they could calculate the needed trajectory and portal to it.

But they had neither the time nor the luxury for that now.

Taking all 47 at a time, sidekick opened dime-size portals an inch above where the wires met their skin. Calculations playing in the background of their psyche. They had to be precise—they must have caution or risk searing flesh from bone. Wire fractured and cracked in midair, and sidekick dropped a small length, feet hitting the floor, knees buckling.

They barely had a second to get up.

A shrill alarm, jarring, and ear-splitting sounded.

Fire followed, blazing across their skin, only somehow from the inside radiating out, originating from their neck, and spiraling down. They writhed under the voltaic ministrations, convulsing until it ceased, finally falling limp.

Someone came to stand before them, and sidekick considered the familiar boots warily before flicking their gaze up, proximity kick-starting their heartbeat. And it ran wild. Supervillain settled before them, appearing polished, normal costume hidden under a button-up shirt loosely tucked into a pair of trousers. A light pea coat pulled the ensemble together. Their expression, however, looked like they were ready to pounce, eyes veiled behind a tight expression.

“Perfect. You’re awake.”

Should sidekick go for bravado, or would a more fearful submissive approach best serve them, now that their escape attempt has failed? Unsure, sidekick opted for a mix of both, figuring, at any rate, the body count associated with supervillain alone would suggest that they tread carefully. “Wh-what did you do to me? My teammates—”

“Your teammates don’t know where you are, and it’s going to stay that way for a while." They crouched agilely, a panther before a frightened yearling, tucking a finger under their chin to hold their complete attention. "I would advise against doing anything that would jeopardize your standing with me, puppy. Like trying to use your power to escape. I am not what one would call longsuffering. I may have shown you a smidgen of my mercy but don’t expect it to be par for the course." Supervillain motioned to the room with a nod. "If you’re wondering where you are, may I present to you my humble garrison. This is the medical wing, with medic and assistant behind me. We’ve removed the association’s tracking device, and replaced it with something far more fetching.”

Trailing a thumb down their neck, supervillain fiddled with the band around their throat, a neatly fitted collar. How did sidekick not notice that? It felt not much different from supervillain’s wires—something foreign and constricting. Ears burning, their face paled, sweat lining their brow. If this could get worse or more humiliating, they weren’t sure how.

Threading a finger through the ring, supervillain wrenched sidekick off the ground, onto their hands and knees like a true dog.

A strangled mewl tore from the sidekick’s throat.

“You do get the gist of this, don’t you, darling? You’re a clever one. Make a portal without my direct order, and this device will give you an electric shock that will render you immobile at best, unconscious at worst.” Their shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “And it hurts like hell, or so I’m told so that should be incentive enough.”

Oh no.

This was worse.

So much worse than anything sidekick had endured at the Hero’s Association. Ignoring their basic human needs, ok. They can handle that. Belittling them, playing passive-aggressive games? Cool, cool, cool, cool. The occasional punishment? Everyone endures the intermittent blow or two. Suck it up, sidekick. But humiliation like this? They wanted to crawl under a rock and never be seen again.

“Y-you,” they stammered, dread churning, turning into something they hadn’t felt in a while. Rage. “You, you, you jerk!”

“You jerk?” supervillain echoed a deep chuckle. “Dear lord, you know you should be thanking me, my very young and inventive labradoodle. One, for not taking your life as I had wanted. Two, for not ringing out your delicate neck despite that little stunt just now. And, three for rescuing you from such neglectful owners—”

“I will never thank you for that!”

Silence filled the room, allowing the mechanical hum of lab equipment to permeate. Medic and assistant tossed glances at each other over supervillain's shoulder, as a shadow passed over supervillain’s face. That thumb returned to sidekick’s lips, the latter’s breath catching at their misstep. “You said they.”

“W-what?”

“When you spoke about your teammates, and how they’ve been fighting me all of these years. You said they. Not we’ve been fighting, but they. You haven’t used a single possessive pronoun when speaking about the six of you—or anyone in the association for that matter.”

No. No, sidekick didn’t mean it like that. They belonged. They were a team. They are a team.

“You keep them separate from yourself,” the supervillain continued, stoking their cheek absently. “Whether consciously or unconsciously, you do. From the short time I discovered that it was a person and not a machine behind the Hero’s Association’s success, I’ve learned this: your ideals are of self-immolation. You offer yourself up as a lamb for your teammate’s success; for the association’s success. You foolishly stare down your enemy in hopes for what? Recognition? Adoration? That’s clearly not working, is it? I simply called you a dazzling diamond in the ruff, and you flushed like someone newly in love.” That tone was back. A wanton timbre for power, and sidekick face colored on command. They brought their hand up to hide it. “Your actions are like a puppy: young and misguided. Training will fix it.”

Throwing them a salacious grin, supervillain called another thread to their hand and knotted it around sidekick's collar ring. Easing off of their haunches, they stood, the wire going slack. “I will delve into these mysteries soon enough. Just as you will come to discover, in due time, that you are much better off with me than against me.”

Sidekick blood boiled, finally at the tipping point.

They saw red.

Supervillain thought they knew them? Thought that they were such an open book? Palms fisting, sidekick wanted very much to strike out at the supervillain. To wipe that knowing looking off their face. A feat, they realized, that could accomplish with words. And something this time with more punch than ‘jerk’. Screaming, they let out an uncharacteristic string of curses; ones they’d heard in passing, ones that had even been directed at them. Being a human gateway didn’t afford them many friends their own age or otherwise, and the other heroes were quick to ruffle their hair, and blame them for mishaps than befriend them.

Supervillain didn’t move. Even to tighten the leash.

But medic spoke out.

“Eh, yo, villy, your puppy be barking at you. Want me to shut them up?” Their crisp white coat stood in neat contract to their rich skin; voice speaking of hardship and closely won battles. Finger hovering over their datapad.

“Give it a minute,” supervillain said, as sidekick let out one last cry, fists hitting the cold tile, utterly spent. They bent over, muscles quivering in release. “See, it wasn’t necessary, medic. This particular breed responds to a more patient touch.”

“All that patient touch and you gon’ be wondering why you got missing fingers. Look, I don’t know about pets, but, this seems real sus.”

“Good thing you’re not in charge of them.”

“I guess, tho, I just be saying,” they let out a sigh, shaking their head, returning their attention to a beeping screen. “You know how much I love them pathetic animals.” Medic shot a look at sidekick, as their eyes bounced between the two, mouthing I don’t, and slid their thumb across their neck when supervillain wasn’t looking.

Sidekick almost whimpered.

Supervillain flexed their hands, fingers gracefully dancing as wires loosened from the ceiling, fell in a heap on the ground then receded altogether, sheltering in the supervillain’s pea coat. Only the one wire connected to their collar remained visible, wrapping itself around the supervillain’s wrist that. Like a bracelet, they tucked it away in their sleeve, then opted to move rather than command sidekick to heel.

Lurching forward, sidekick had no choice but to follow.

#others prompts #continuation #sidekick #supervillain #part 3 soon

149 notes · View notes

whatifxwereyou · 4 years ago

Text

The Oncoming Storm Part 2: Fire

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Liu Kang x Reader or Kung Lao x Reader

Summary: You wake up somewhere strange *again*. This time your underground and greeted by Liu Kang. For some reason you trust him, but why?

A/N: Have I mentioned I’m a huge fan of the slow burn? Whoops. I’ll let you guys know when the paths are branching between Lao/Liu. Thanks for reading and hope you keep enjoying! Also, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

<< Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

Warm flames flickered off brown-gray stone walls. Other than the burning flame to your right, the room was small and dark. There was no door and you could hear movement somewhere beyond its opening. I’m underground, you thought. The air smelled musty and it was so dry that your nose burned. Underground and maybe in the desert. You closed your eyes again quickly.

In your mind’s eye you pictured the small purple flower Kung Lao had given you in your youth. Frail and rare. Many flowers had grown in your hometown but purple had been a new and exotic color. You’d always been fond of it afterward. You’d never gotten the chance to tell Kung Lao that. For a time you had kept it pressed between the pages of your favorite book as a memorial to the boy who had been your best friend. You hadn’t thought about the flower in years. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him.

The details of what happened were fuzzy. You remembered the fight in your shop and remembered waking up to the face of Kung Lao. It was still insane to think that the boy you’d thought dead was, in fact, alive and in good health. It was even crazier to think that he’d been the one to save you from the fire in your shop.

You shook away the memory lest it return you to the darkness of unconsciousness.

You were, again, in an unfamiliar bed but things were vastly different. You’d been cared for and changed into a modest dressing gown, judging by the soft but coarse material. This had likely been done by a health professional. You were certain that Kung Lao must have brought you somewhere to be helped. Then again, most hospitals you knew of weren’t underground and they certainly didn’t use these types of gowns. It wasn’t a hospital gown, more like the type of gown that would have been worn for bed in ages past. Long and thin, but warm. You pictured it off-white. The one you wore had no sleeves, most likely for ease of access since you’d been injured.

You had to decide if you should panic or not. If you looked around and saw a medical professional or Kung Lao then you would remain calm. If you didn’t then panic seemed the way to go. Opening your eyes again, you were relieved that the world didn’t spin and you weren’t nauseous. But there was no doctor and definitely no Kung Lao.

There was a different man in his place, unfamiliar, shorter in stature, his gaze focused on something other than you. He was dressed mostly in black, no sleeves (which seemed the fashion of this underground wherever), and a red sash tied around his middle. His demeanor was calm and quiet and in his left hand he clutched a string of prayer beads. His skin was dusted with soot or grease, you couldn’t tell. He looked as though he had been handling charcoal for hours. He was also surprisingly muscular.

And handsome. You wouldn’t deny that you’d admired him. His brow was knit with concern and as you shifted, he turned toward you. Brown eyes met yours with genuine concern and he held a hand up defensively. “Take it slow.” His voice was soothing but this was all too familiar.

A strange bed and a stranger next to it after having fallen unconscious. He was telling you how what to do and how to feel. Again. Not a chance! On the small table next to the head of the bed there was a bowl half-filled with water and some medical tools. The tool closest to you was a hook used for stitching up wounds. It wasn’t the best weapon but it was all you could reach. You sat upright quickly, snatched the hook, and moved far enough away from the stranger that you had room to breathe and could better gauge his intent and reactions.

But you had moved too quickly and suddenly there were ten of him as the room spun. You thought you might puke if he got any closer. That would get him away from you, probably better than the needle would. Much to your surprise, he laughed with the subtlest of smiles. The smile radiated more from his eyes amidst his worry than it did outwardly. “You’re surprisingly fast for someone who has been in and out of consciousness for over a week.”

“A… a week?” You stuttered and forced your vision to focus on the blurry version of him smiling in the middle. Thankfully, your brain obeyed and the room stopped spinning. He didn’t seem to pose you any threat. You could tell just by his smile. A smile that made him all the more handsome. The time that had passed was not important so you didn’t wait for an answer to your initial question. “Who are you? Where am I? And where is Kung Lao?” Those three things were at the top of your list now that you were thinking clearly. There were a hundred other questions you had about Mortal Kombat, the dragon mark on your back, and other realms but you figured those could come later. Dealing with the here and now; that was the right way to do it.

“I am Liu Kang.” He bowed his head, holding up his prayer beads as he did. “You are in Raiden’s Temple where the Order of Light gathers to protect Earthrealm. Kung Lao is off on an errand at Lord Raiden’s behest. I assure you that he did not wish to leave you but had little other choice.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you leaned against the cool stone behind you. Answers, finally. “I’m Y/N. Thank you for answering my questions.”

“Kung Lao mentioned you would likely be defensive.” Liu Kang gestured to the bowl on the nightstand. “I have been caring for your wounds. I do not usually tend to the sick but I promised my cousin that I would see you were cared for.”

“Cousin?”

“Kung Lao. He is my brother. Not by blood but by bond.”

That was a relief. At least this complete stranger had a connection to the other near complete stranger that you’d met the last time you’d woken up in a strange place. Wait… hadn’t you gone blind? Setting the hook back down on the side table, you patted your face in search of a mark or wound that would have caused that. There was none. Liu Kang’s eyes were sparkling in amusement.

“The last thing I remember is losing my vision.” You explained.

“Yes, about that.” Liu Kang moved the hook back to its original place. “The men who attacked your shop were vicious and cruel warriors. They were gifted but squandered their gifts to satiate their greed, a thing that can never be sated. You did the world a favor by stopping them. However, the blades that wounded you were coated in a rare poison. It is lucky that Kung Lao found you and could bring you to us for treatment. The blindness was a temporary side effect of the poison.”

“Poison?” This was wild. That morning you’d been stocking your shop and had taught a class of ten-year-olds. Now you’d been attacked, killed a few men, and had been poisoned. Wild. You supposed, in reality, it had been over a week ago and not that morning. Whatever. You decided to take the blows as they came. Deal with the problems and insanity as it happened. It was the only way to keep a clear head.

“It took many days and much prayer but we bled the poison from your wounds. Now they should begin to heal.”

“I’m still stuck on the poison part of this story. Really? Who does that?”

“You must be very resilient, Miss Y/N. Even the mightiest of warriors poisoned so terribly would submit to death. You are a fighter.”

“Thanks… I think.”

Liu Kang bowed his head again respectfully. He was easy to talk to, you weren’t sure why. You’d been careful around Kung Lao but you found yourself immediately not careful around Liu Kang. There was an instant connection to him.

“I was ill as a child. It made me more resilient to sickness, perhaps.” You had been ill but it had been the kind of illness that parents sent their children away for, the kind where they couldn’t explain how their child saw or did things beyond their understanding. It had made you terribly sick and weak. Why were you telling him this? It’d slipped out of your mouth without permission from your lips.

“I have not met many who would credit childhood illness for their resilience.”

“Perhaps I’m more stubborn than most. I’ve been told I have thick skin. The kids would tease me for being different. I was told that I would never be strong. I would never catch up. Never be normal. I didn’t like that word, not even as a kid.”

“Which one?”

“Never.”

That subtle smile again. Damn, it was attractive.

“I’m sorry.” You laughed with an apologetic bow of your own. Your head spun and you mentally cursed your politeness. “I didn’t mean to say all that. It just slipped out.”

“It’s no problem. I would like you to continue your story if you would.”

“Only if you’re certain.”

“I assure you that I’m not merely being polite.” There was something genuine about his words, as if he considered them carefully before he spoke. Perhaps Kung Lao had warned him about you. Or perhaps he was just careful. Your first instinct had been to jump at them both. It was their every right to be defensive but you couldn’t be blamed either. “How did you overcome your illness?”

“I fought. I worked harder than most did just to be on the same level as everyone else. I grew out of my sickness with age and thanks to my hard work I became stronger than most. After that I dedicated my life to teaching others to become strong, to be more than the ‘never’ we’re told we’ll be.”

“Admirable.” Liu Kang seemed as relieved as you had been upon discovering he was not there to hurt you. Maybe he’d been worried about your intent too. “It is nice to have another worthy of their marking.”

“The dragon mark?”

“Yes.”

“About that…”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“Kung Lao said something about being chosen because of the mark but I’m guessing that the mark only came to me because I killed those men. Am I right? It had to belong to one of them. It’s less like I was chosen and more like… I stole it.”

“Yes. Did Kung Lao tell you? He said you wouldn’t understand.”

“I assume that he would have told me but then I went blind. As you can imagine, I no longer cared much about the mark after that.” You laughed and so did Liu Kang. His laugh was quiet and genuine. It made you smile far more than should have been allowed. His joy was as comforting as the flickering light of the candle on the side table. “I didn’t have the mark that morning. I can only assume that was when I got it. Weirder things have happened so it was as good a guess as any.”

“Your intuition is remarkable.”

“What happens next?”

“For now you heal.” Liu Kang gestured to your arms. The gauze wrapped around your forearms was stained with blood even though the dressings looked fresh. You didn’t feel any pain. Either you’d been given good drugs to deal or adrenaline was protecting you. “You are in no condition to begin training. Lord Raiden has been told about you. I am keeping him informed on your condition.”

“So, you’re my babysitter.”

“I prefer caretaker. But yes.”

“If it’s been a week and I’m still bleeding like this then I have a feeling it could take awhile to heal. Can I learn more in the meantime? About any of this? I don’t want to just sleep and sit around doing nothing. I don’t know anything about this place and I know very little about the Order of Light. And I definitely don’t know anything about this mark or Mortal Kombat.” Liu Kang seemed surprised, but pleasantly so, as if this were something he’d greatly desired to hear.

“You really want to learn more?” He smiled brightly. You nodded. “The masters have trained me for years in matters of Mortal Kombat and the protection of Earthrealm. I would be happy to teach you if you would allow me.”

“I would be delighted to have the company, Liu Kang.” You very much meant that.

“I have some work to do around the temple but we can start this evening.”

“Perfect.”

Next Chapter >>

132 notes · View notes