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aennasan · 5 months ago

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World Burn (Sylus x Witch!Reader)

Synopsis: The hero sacrificed you for his dreams.

divider: @/rookthornesartistry

a/n: I was listening to Let the World Burn and I thought Sylus was hot.

“Her. I want her.” Sylus declared as he stood in front of the barely alive hero. His voice booming, intensifying the already scorching fire surrounding them. The orange and red embers flickering and dancing, as if mocking. He could have sworn he could hear their spirits laughing, evil, and insulting.

The hero’s once divine visage, full of its glory, is now weakened, bleeding and in pain, kneeling, having no more strength to stand. His right arm was tilted in an awkward angle, broken and unusable. He couldn't even lift his prestigious sword, which he swore he would use to protect the world and slay the villain.

The hero's party failed to kill the villain. They were ambushed, and killed. Most of them died. Except the hero himself and the blood witch.

“If you give her to me I will stop this madness, as you called it.” He paused, contemplating. “You will get back to your king, and claim your title as hero. I will even promise to pretend to be slain and you can get your glory back.”

Sylus stared down at the hero. He cannot help but grin, on the way he saw a glimpse and glimmer of hope in those dark orbs of whom they claimed as righteous.

How pathetic and simple.

“No! Don't listen to him. The villain plays games in people’s minds. You already are a hero!” The blood witch disputed, pale as a ghost she yelled, drained of magic and power.

He chuckled, stomach fluttering on how adorable she looks. She never changed. Still the weakest on discerning the character of allies she puts her trust into. Spectacles broken and cracked. He worries that the glass shards will get to her beautiful brown eyes.

The blood witch and hero are childhood friends. She was scorned and isolated by the town since they do not understand the power she yields. She takes lives to heal. She derives her power from life, and so she was always surrounded by death.

Yet, in the hero’s eyes, he saw potential. A friend, a tool, to whom he can take a journey together and help him achieve his dream as a hero.

She is loyal to him. He is loyal to his dream.

The hero wasn't looking at the blood witch. In fact, Sylus already knew that the hero decided on what path he would walk through.

Sylus understood why.

Although, he knew that the hero is a pathetic and weak minded fool. What the blood witch had done is terrifying, even for his clan.

The hero died. But using her power and the bodies of their party members, she revived him back. It was black magic. Taboo and frightening.

The hero who was revived, had heard the voices and screams of their party members who were used to giving him life. They scream justice, and he watches with a smile how the hero’s mind breaks down and lets go of his strongest ally.

“You…You promise to do that?” The hero opened his mouth to speak. His voice croaked and sickly.

“I do not lie.” Sylus assured.

“How can I trust you to follow on your promise?” The hero asked again.

“The promise using blood cannot be broken.” The villain grinned.

“Wha- What are you doing?” The blood witch was taken aback. Finally realizing that the hero would sacrifice everything for his plans and glory.

Before the witch could stand and stop them, Sylus cut his palm open, and did the same to the hero. The hero hissed in pain. Before he can protest, he clutches their hand to his, and uses his power to seal his promise to the hero.

There was a light, dark, red and murky, surrounding the hero and the villain, until it exploded. The witch was shocked and fell to the ground. She closed her eyes, frightened.

When she finally decided to open her eyes. There was only the villain named Sylus in front of her. The hero, her friend, is nowhere in sight.

“What have you done to him?” She accused him. Her breathing was ragged. Her face devoid of color, contorted in anger.

“I fulfilled our promise. You can feel it, right? He is still alive…. and safe.” He stated as a matter of fact. Dragging the word “safe” before offering a Cheshire grin.

Slowly he walked towards her.

“He…No…No..No, he will not abandon me. The hero is my friend.” Her eyes were wild, as she nodded profusely, trying to convince herself that she wasn't abandoned and left as a sacrifice.

He could smell the fear and pain of betrayal coming off her. Her fears are delicious but the smell of betrayal he despises.

Sylus knew about her. In truth, they were more than acquaintances. He met her when he was just born and knew nothing of his ultimate purpose. He was sickly. And she didn't hesitate to take care of him.

The truth is he was the reason why they found out about her power. She healed him despite knowing the consequences. Her naivety, warmth, kindness, and beauty is her unbecoming.

He always thought her resolve that fateful day was magnificent and beautiful.

He had devoid himself of feeling. But he cannot stop the swell of pride in his chest. Finally, she is with him.

It took a lot. Even of him becoming the villain, just so he could have her.

He crouched down in front of her, excited to see her face up close. By now, she stopped mumbling and blaming herself.

Sylus thought he would see her the same. It was a simple breaking. Nothing to the extreme like he usually does. So he was surprised, then angered, when he saw the look on your face.

Your eyes were devoid of life. Cheeks stained with tears. Mouth trembling. You felt betrayed and miserable.

He is trembling with an unknown feeling of rage.

“My dear dove, you must dry those tears.” He consoles, using his thumbs to remove the fat tears running down her cheeks. She feels cold, like a corpse. She must have exhausted everything just to save an ungrateful dear friend.

“Do not cry for I will make him pay the price of betraying you.” Titling his head to the side, he used his right hand to cup her face and gently help her face him. He gave her a gentle smile.

“What? But he did what you asked him to do. He surrendered me to you.” Her frown was weak. Her will is still not back, but he was glad that she was curious enough to ask him a question. It means, he did not break her fully.

“Yes. But I never promised not to turn his beloved town to ashes, noh? What kind of villain am I if I would just let your traitor, along with the people who scorned you, and called you names scotch free? They say for heroes to be great, they need to be orphaned.” He spoke and beamed at her. Like an innocent little boy, who did not just promise to kill hundreds of people for her. To sully their hands to revenge for her.

It was by then, she finally looked at him. She watches as the flames reflect on his eyes. It swallows everything on its path with no mercy or thought.

She shivered, realizing the inevitable.

#aennasan drabbles #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #sylus drabbles

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twi-liight · 1 year ago

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Hi! I suffer from Baldur's Gate brainrot. I just stumbled upon your blog and love your writing! Could you do some Astarion, Gale and Karlach headcanons for taking care of Tav after they're badly injured in battle?

Reckless Attack ❣

Grieve, weep, and agonize over a corpse - but know that death is never final in Faerun. The burden of injuries will instead always be present: pain is eternal, no matter how numb. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Karlach/Tav. ❥ TW: Descriptive mentions of injuries and gore. ❥ Act 2 spoilers. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you!

An Absolutist cult has gathered deep in the bowels of the forests of Rivington. Nothing out of the ordinary... Other than the sheer numbers they possess, creating a dense population of Absolute extremists gathered in stone ruins.

Adventuring parties that dare to end their machinations perished slowly and painfully. Their corpses - what is left of them - are displayed pierced from the gnarled branches of the trees, where they bleed out on the forest ground.

Tav, Astarion, Gale, and Karlach had a plan: throw a barrel full of smoke bombs into the middle of the ruins, firebolt, and profit. Except things didn’t go according to plan (they never do). That barrel was supposed to be at their rendezvous point, but the cultists found it before they did and thought it a gift from their Goddess.

Trapped in hiding, Tav decided to do what they do best: attack.

A potent necromancy curse was successfully cast on Tav, negating any healing spells thrown their way.

Well.

Fuck.

ASTARION

"As always, you refuse to listen to me. And now look at you: a mess. What did I say about running afool to the vanguard?" Astarion does not wait for their response. “Don't do it. It is smarter to be in the shadows in this instance. And what did you do? Ran alone into a quarry of cultists with no sense of self-preservation!”

Anger, pure anger, is present in his voice, sharpening his typical melodic lilt into daggers. If he cared about the present company - Shadowheart, Halsin, and Gale crowded into a tent, surrounding Tav upon their cot - it is nonexistent in his wine-red eyes. They could get lost in those bloody depths for hours. But not now. Not when seething rage roils off of his body like a cloud of darkness.

They look away.

"Nothing to say for yourself, darling?” he mocks. Astarion’s visage twists into a sneer, sharply turning his face away from them. He finds an unused rag, wets it, wrings it of excess water, and then moves past Shadowheart. “Allow me,” he murmurs to her, gentler.

Shadowheart’s inquisitive green eyes understand the depth of the situation immediately. She sighs, clearly annoyed he has taken over her job, but is dissuaded by Astarion’s next string of words: “I’ll clean them up. Magic and healing and all that wonderful nonsense are not necessarily my area of expertise. A firebolt here and there, surely, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with a curse that... Negates healing magic.”

“Sure,” Shadowheart replies, eyes flicking to Tav. Worry is evident over her features. Worry hangs heavy around everyone. Emerging out of battles victorious and grievously injured is commonplace; nothing a mass healing word couldn't fix along with a good night’s rest. Open wounds would be closed scars, ailments would be cured, and broken bones would be unbroken. Rinse and repeat.

This time, it is different.

They, and they alone, were cursed with a necromancy spell that makes all healing magic useless to their wounds.

Their wounds are appalling: Broken ribs evident with the pain swelling in their chest and labored breathing, purple and black blotchy bruises from the hammer blows they took to the shoulder, an open laceration across their chest, their ankle snapped in two, burns on their left leg crawling up their thigh. Blood all over their face from their own and from the enemies they felled.

“Hey, it’s fine,” they wheeze out. "Nothing I can't handle. The cultists are down and dead and buried - everything else can come after."

Hesitantly, Gale opens his mouth to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Astarion snapping out: "No."

"No," they echo. Their brows furrow.

"What a saint you are," Astarion snarls. His lips are down-turned, fangs bared as he speaks, but his ministrations upon their face are soothing. Gently, he rubs off the blood with a cool washcloth, eyes focusing on the task at hand as he cannot bear to look at them.

"Throwing yourself into the heat of battle like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy watching rational fly past you when you make your impulsive decisions?"

They flush with humiliation and hurt. Broken and battered, they dig their elbow into the cot to prop themselves up and face Astarion head-on, but Halsin presses a hand into their shoulder and pushes them down.

Fuck. Their head spins in circles.

"You're one to talk. Impulsivity is your middle name; you said yourself that planning is not your forte." Even raising their voice hurts but they do it anyway. Their eyes, threatening to slip into oblivion, flood with frustrated tears. "What the fuck is your problem, Astarion?"

"Must I really spell it out for you, sweetheart? You go around, telling everyone exactly what they need to hear. You tell them they aren't alone. That you will help them, that you will ensure they see the future that they want." The words are venom: petty and spiteful and yearning to be understood. "You," Astarion hisses out, "are so blind."

Tempers rising to fever pitch, Halsin tenses from his spot at the foot of the cot. From the corner of Tav's eye, they see Gale murmur something to him, something like, Let this play out. Astarion would never hurt them.

"I am the only one who will take the first step!" Tav cries. The words explode out of their broken chest faster than they realize, flying like an arrow straight toward Astarion's unbeating heart. "I risk my life - every day - for all of YOU! For all the people that need me! For all that I am because-"

"Because what?" He taunts. "Because it is the right thing to do? Look at yourself, Tav! You are on death's door if not for everyone in this room!"

"Because no one else will do it! Not anyone in this damn camp cares enough to- to help the people we could-" They cough violently, but they slam their elbows into the cot to prop themselves up. No one stops them this time as they meet Astarion's burning eyes. "No one cares but ME-"

"WE care about you!" Louder. Vicious. Astarion's voice splits in the air in two in one fell swoop, striking them down like lightning into silence.

He's breathing heavily, panting, as if exhausted. The adrenaline pumping in his veins is begging him to swoop Tav up and run away with them. Away from all of this bullshit and into hiding within the shadows. Maybe the Underdark. Maybe the Shadowcursed Lands. They can descend into madness together.

At least there, they will be safe.

"I care about you," Astarion chokes out before he can stop himself. "More than anything. Do you know that? I hope you know that."

Their mouth forms the words to reply, Of course I do, but it doesn't leave their throat. Instead, it stays stuck there like a fluttering butterfly, forced into silence. It hurts to speak. It hurts to talk. It hurts to see him like this.

He calls out their name so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

"Astarion," they plead.

He shakes his head, stubborn and unconvinced. "You don't owe these people anything. You certainly do not owe them your life for their burdens. I," he breathes out, voice as shaky as a leaf in the wind. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his fist around the rag, where their blood stains his palm.

"I almost lost the sun of my life today."

When Astarion opens his eyes, they are steeled with resilience and fury as they gaze into theirs. It is hypnotic. It is lonely. They yearn to comfort him.

"It will not happen again."

GALE

"Easy," Gale murmurs, a strong arm laying them down in his tent. Soft blankets and pillows meet their back, and the cushy grass beneath makes for a cool and comforting sleep. Their breath stutters, but Gale gazes at them so fondly as he pushes their hair from their face that the pain eases.

He does not miss their labored breathing. "Shhh shh shh. I've got you. Just focus on me."

His thumb lingers on the swell of their cheek. His eyes flutter close. A gentle glow of purple surrounds him, and eventually, that gentleness extends to Tav. The agonizing, piercing sensation in their chest numbs into a cool, muted nothingness. They gasp - then exhale in relief, slower than their panicky, short breaths from before.

"That's it," he encourages. "Well done, my love. How are you feeling?"

"So-so," they reply. Their voice aches and croaks, but for some reason, it makes Gale smile.

Oh no. He knows that look.

They study his handsome, tired face, looking for any signs of alarm. Is he hungry? Does he need to feed on another artefact? Was there an envoy telling them they missed another Absolutist hideout? Did they miss something? Did they do something wrong?

No. Nope. "Enough of that." He takes their hand, kisses their knuckles, then sighs. "You're the last person who should be worrying about someone. Such a pest, hm? Always buzzing around me like I'm seconds away from disappearing in front of your eyes..."

"You are," they say. Their brows furrow, and they pant out, "The-- your burden to carry, the--"

"The orb, I know. I know." His heart twists. It aches. He failed Mystra before and that was painful. But this is another subject entirely; it couldn't come close. Watching sheer heartbreak in their expression because of him? Oh, Goddess forgive him, he has failed them.

Gale can scarcely celebrate his victory, too. He undid the damned curse that affected Tav's ability to receive magic. The necromancy spell was so potent that Tav rejected any healing spells thrown at them. Late into the hours of experimentation, he, Halsin, and Shadowheart considered allowing the effects to wither and die rather than exterminating it outright. It was Jaheira who told them it would be inefficient, because how long would they have to wait in camp while Tav rode out the effects of the curse? Ideally? Hours. But days? Weeks? Months?

He spent the long night following and feeling out the curse with the Weave. It was a complicated hex - a tangled knot of magic that had to be unwoven carefully, thread by thread. Every connotation, every intent was traced back to the heart of the curse, and he followed it with abandon.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, then," they whisper.

"You should be," he jests. "Nearly made my heart collapse, seeing you like that."

The image is still burned into his mind. He can't stop thinking about it. His mortality has always been a dreadful afterthought pushed into the further recesses of his tadpole-addled brain, but was he so taken with Tav that he never realized how mortal they were, too?

No. No. Gale tightens his grip on their hand, giving them a comforting squeeze as they breathe in and out, in and out. It's not that he never realized how susceptible they are to death and danger. He just never wanted to confront it.

"You are changing the very premise of my life," he says softly. An exasperated chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, adding, "as always. I don't know what I would have done if I actually lost you, back there." What wouldn't I do? "No scrolls of revivifies, no Withers to bring you back. I wouldn't be able to accept it."

He understands Ketheric Thorm all too well, now.

"Come here," they whisper. Gale lets their hands press into the back of his head. He thinks, absently, that he would let them do much of anything. In their care, he is no grand wizard with a plethora of achievements under his belt. No. He is as humble as the Weave itself, and their hands compose music and art for him to simply bear witness to.

They rest his head upon their chest, where his ear can listen to the comforting sound of their beating heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud thud.

"Good night, my love," Gale says, when their breathing evens and they have finally fallen into peaceful slumber. He does not sleep at all.

KARLACH

"Oh gods. Oh gods!" Karlach clasps Tav's left hand between hers, holding tightly and vowing to never let go. Their blood stains her hand and chest and clothes. It's everywhere. Sickly sweet and sticky, drawing all of her attention from the room to the sensation of it dripping down her skin.

They've lost so much blood. It's nauseating, like an unsettling reality has just settled in her stomach.

"Tav!" She exclaims, helpless and pathetic. "Why did you do that, you big idiot? You seriously could have gotten killed out there, why-- why aren't you..."

Responding? Where are their quips, their sass, their brightness she fell so fast and hard for? Tav lays there upon the cot, broken and battered. Karlach has seen the remains of her enemies after she has slaughtered them and has barely flinched. She can barely stomach the sight of them bloodied, bones twisted in the wrong way, bruises so purple they're as black as a chasm.

All they can do is breathe. Their eyes focus distantly above them to the roof of the tent, but nothing else.

Panic seizes her faster than she can control it. "Are they breathing?! Are they going to survive this?! Fuck," she growls, running a frustrated hand through her dark hair, matted with blood. "I should have made those sons of bitches suffer."

"Karlach," Shadowheart says, firm but gentle, her hands bloody too as she applied pressure down on Tav's wounds, "it was important that you returned them to camp as fast as you did. Sometimes, we do not have the luxuries to let our enemies die in pain."

Right. Right. Karlach watched an Absolutist barbarian slam his warhammer into Tav's back. Once to knock them down. Twice to keep them plastered on the ground. Once more to keep them unconscious. She saw red, then: the rage she slipped into boiled her veins so hot, the howl she let out sent her surroundings enemies into a frightened frenzy. She hacked her great axe into the barbarian over and over and over until he was nothing but a bloodied pulp of a man, more gore than flesh.

She scooped Tav up from the ground. Karlach never let anyone else touch them. She snarled and snapped at the others who tried to come too close and dead sprinted as fast as she could back to camp.

She heard their choked sobs of pain in her arms. They choked out her name, and Karlach couldn't offer them much of anything other than an, "We're going home, bubs, just hang on. 'Kay? You just focus on me."

"Can I stay here?" She begs Shadowheart. "I won't get in the way. Just let me hold their hand, please."

Shadowheart exchanges a conflicted glance at Halsin. He nods, and she sighs. "Fine," she says. "But - I need you to stand to the side for now. You can hold their hand after we're done figuring out how to undo this curse."

"A fine specimen of a curse, really," Gale adds, his hand curled under his chin. "I'm almost impressed."

"I would be too," huffs Shadowheart, "if our reckless leader wasn't caught up in this mess. Really, what were you thinking?"

"Right?" Karlach shoves off into the corner of the tent, doing her best to keep herself as small and as out-of-the-way as possible. Tears flood her eyes, and she chokes out, "Of all the things to do, why did it have to be that? I thought you said you trusted me! To have your back! I have your back, don't I? Don't I?"

"Of course you do," Halsin croons. He hooks his finger into a bottle of salve, and spreads it on Tav's burns. Tav visibly winces and tenses, whimpering in pain.

"Stop whatever you're doing right now!" Karlach wails. "You're hurting them! I'll kill you, Halsin, I swear it!"

Gale exchanges a look with Shadowheart. He ponders deeply for a moment as Karlach sobs devastatingly behind them. He opens his mouth, then shuts it promptly.

"Just say it," Shadowheart urges impatiently.

"We should play a game," he suggests. "The quiet game."

"No way," Karlach hiccups. "I'm dogshit at that game. Anyway, focus on Tav or I'll gut you, seriously."

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x you #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #astarion x tav #gale x reader #gale x you #gale x tav #karlach x reader #karlach x you #karlach x tav #shadowheart #halsin #halsin is always just there. like. yeah ok guys. whatever

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ensuists · 2 years ago

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tag dump 2.

#❛ there ain’t room for weakness in a rough world — musings (kai). ❜#❛ he found peace in the burning but no relief in the fall — visage (kai). ❜#❛ between the silence and the sound — playlist (kai). ❜#❛ strike a match and i’ll burn you to the ground — desires (kai). ❜#❛ see him for the natural disaster he is — physique (kai). ❜#❛ the devil who’s searching for redemption — character study (kai). ❜#❛ secrets splashed on the news front page — interactions (kai). ❜#❛ i’m covered in the colors — interests (kai). ❜#❛ art is not what i create ; what i create is chaos — aesthetics (kai). ❜#❛ turned all the mirrors around — apparel (kai). ❜#❛ on the run — verse (kai). ❜#❛ the world’s unfair ; keep it locked out there — main verse (kai). ❜#❛ if they knew how misery loved me — college verse (kai). ❜#❛ tried to fill the space ; forgive for my mistakes — future verse (kai). ❜

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5oulz · 2 years ago

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Zachariah Tag Dump

#bang bang and we do it again ; zachariah ; visage #the voice of reason is the silent type ; zachariah ; interaction #neutrality is vitality or so they say ; zachariah ; musing #the doors to the cathedral stay burning to the ground ; zachariah ; open starter #honesty is the best policy but i'll keep it to myself ; zachariah ; answer

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natalievoncatte · 5 months ago

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It wasn’t Kara that destroyed her.

In her secret heart, Lena craved that. She wanted Kara to give back everything Lena had thrown at her. Defeat her. Crush her. Cast her down and treat her like a villain. After all, why had Kara lied? Conspired? Tricked her and manipulated her? Why do all that if she wasn’t a villain?

In her quietest moments with Myriad in her hands or staring at the twisted visage of an alien murderer, a quiet voice from deep within her whispered the truth she could never let herself feel:

This is what you are. It’s in the blood.

If Kara would just treat her like a villain, it would all make sense. There would be no more nagging doubts, no more questions, no more hateful longing. Lena has done everything she could to carve it out of her chest, but it gave her no relief, only the raw throbbing pain of a ragged wound that wouldn’t close.

Then she had been at L-Corp when Jess ran into her office in a blind panic, shouting that she had to turn the television on now, that something terrible had happened.

Lena stared at her dumbly because she already knew. She could feel it somehow, a wash of graveyard chill that enveloped her from nowhere and froze the rotten lump where her heart had been. Her hand shook as she lifted the remote and turned on the screen.

The news chyron stuck her like a hammer blow to the chest and her pathetic excuse for a last meal -a cold half of a Big Belly burger she’d eaten the night before- leapt into her throat, trying to escape.

Supergirl Dead?

They hadn’t called her, and why would they? Why seek her help after all she’d done?

Lena pushed to her feet, almost tumbling to the floor in the process. The news was repeating a ten-second clip, showing a red-white beam slicing through the midday air, so bright that it distorted the image as it struck a tiny blue and red blur and knocked her out of the sky as if a giant hand had swatted her to the ground.

She was moving before she realized she’d taken a step.

“Cancel all my meetings,” Lena snapped.

“But the Japanese investors,” Jess said, lamely.

“Fuck the Japanese investors, cancel all my meetings!”

She pushed past Jess and stormed to her private elevator, twisting the key so hard it nearly snapped. She paced the full two minutes it took to to descend to the garage. There would be no summoning a driver. She ran barefoot across the parking garage floor to the Bugatti and threw herself inside.

When she arrived at the DEO, there was chaos. It took a moment before anyone noticed a barefoot, red-eyed Lena Luthor running into the lobby in a blind panic. When they did notice, she was immediately tackled by two of their goons and handcuffs slammed on her wrists.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. “I’m here to help!”

“Shut up,” the agent growled.

They sent jolts of pain up her arms as they took her in. She thought they were going to take the handcuffs off, but instead they cuffed one hand to a chain locked to a ring in the middle of a concrete table in an interrogation room.

“What the hell?” Lena screamed. “I’m here to help her!”

The door slammed heavily shit and Lena raged, yanking at the handcuffs in a futile gesture that only left her wrist raw. She thought about trying to pick them, but at this rate they might shoot her if she looked to escape. Her stomach sank and she began to spiral.

She’s dead. She’s dead and they’re going to blame me.

Hot tears burned in her eyes and she willed them not to fall, holding them back with all her might, but it was inevitable.

Finally, after what felt like half a day, Alex walked in. Lena knew at once that something terrible had happened. Kara’s sister looked like hell, with dark circles under her eyes and a pained look. She regarded Lena as if she were some ugly thing that crawled out of a crack in the foundations.

“What are you doing here?” said Alex.

“I told your thugs, I’m here to help. You’re wasting time, I need to see her now.”

“Why,” Alex said, “why on God’s green earth would I let you anywhere near her?”

Lena blinked. “At least tell me what’s wrong. I might be able to…”

“You locked her in a kryptonite cage. You talked her into breaching her morals to carry out your sick schemes. You aimed a kryptonite cannon at her face.”

“I…”

“You what? You didn’t mean it?”

“Alex,” Lena began.

“Shut up. You had me fooled, Luthor. Kara always believed in you. I didn’t. I tried to convince her to be as afraid of her as I was. I just want to know, why now? She left you alone like you wanted. You’ve been quiet. Kara insisted we give you a chance and let you be, a choice I now deeply regret. So why now? What did she do to deserve this?”

The cold fury radiating from Alex choked Lena up for a moment. Her mouth worked silently.

“You think I did this?”

“Why not? You’ve hurt her twice already.”

“I didn’t. I would never. I didn’t want her to die. I just wanted to…”

“To what?”

Lena swallowed hard, speaking before thinking.

“I wanted her to feel what I was feeling.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed and her expression went dark and hard, something vicious twisting her lips. Her hand twitched towards the bulky alien gun on her hip.

With her other hand, she pulled out a phone and turned it to Lena.

Lena’s stomach flipped when she saw Lex’s grinning face.

“I hope you enjoy your new present,” he said into the camera. “A Kryptonite particle beam enhanced with a high-powered laser tuned to a wavelength that will instantly negate her powers.”

Lex’s grin widened.

“Lena sends her regards.”

Lena blinked a few times. She wanted to thrash, yank her chain, accuse, scream.

“That’s impossible.”

“Why, because you wouldn’t?”

“I killed him,” Lena breathed.

“What?”

“Lex. Lex is dead. I killed him. I killed him!” she was almost hysterical. “I put two shots in his chest and one in his head like he taught me himself. After he escaped last time I killed him.”

Alex’s expression faltered.

“You think I’ll believe that?” she said, but sounded unsure.

“When I was twelve and Lex was away at school, Lillian got drunk and threatened me. I was scared to death she meant it. Lex gave me our father’s gun and taught me to shoot.” A brief, weak smile cursed her lips. “I didn’t realize until a lot later how fucked up that is, but it’s one of my favorite memories of him.”

“You’re telling me you killed him,” said Alex. “After you went behind our backs and used the Hardin-El to heal his ‘cancer.’”

“He was my brother.”

“And you say you killed him.”

Lena looked down, away from her. Tears fell on the table with a soft patter and she choked back a hitching sob.

“She became his new fixation. He was never going to stop. I did what I had to do.”

Alex went silent. Her hand hung by her hip and part of Lena hoped she’d make it fast, the same part that flinched when Alex moved.

The key twisted in the lock and the cuffs ratcheted open. Alex gave her arm a sharp tug. “Get up.”

Lena wobbled to her feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up and walk.”

Alex led her to the elevator, and down a corridor. Kara’s frail form lay behind a layer of plastic curtains, bathed in brilliant light from sunlamps.

“If she comes around,” Alex said, her voice flat. “You can never tell her. She’ll blame herself.”

Alex parted the curtains and led Lena inside. Kara lay n a stretcher with a layer of bandages wound around her bare torso, looking pale and drawn. Her skin shone with a cold sweat and there were dark circles around her eyes. She lay in a nest of wires and was on oxygen.

“My God,” Lena whispered.

“It was like he said. Some kind of particle beam combined with the laser. It’s like she was impaled through the chest with superheated Kryptonite. If Jon hadn’t caught her, the impact would have been fatal.”

Alex rattled it all off with a cold, medical detachment, except for the tension creaking in around the edges of her voice and the way her shoulder hitched.

“You’ve hurt her so much,” Alex whispered. “I don’t think I’m ever going to fully trust you again. But for the love of God, if you can fix her then fix her.”

“I will,” Lena said, the CEO creeping back into her voice. “I’ll need materials from my lab. I’ll give a Brainy a list. I’m not leaving her.”

Lena did not sleep for another thirty-six hours. She worked tirelessly alongside Brainy, who regarded her curiously as she hunched over lab benches and uploaded instructions to nanites.

Finally she said, “what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He turned back to his own task without answering her.

An hour later, Alex stormed in.

“She’s getting worse. Whatever you’re doing, you have to hurry.”

Brainy turned from his lab bench and took Alex’s arm. He led her into the hall and they had a clipped, quiet conversation that Lena could not hear, except for Alex’s startled cry of “WHAT?”

It didn’t matter, she was finished. She took the devil in her hands and rushed through the door.

“Let’s go, we can’t waste anymore time.”

Alex openly gaped at her, then looked at Brainy. The expression of utter shock on her face arrested Lena in her tracks.

“What?”

“I,” Alex began, but Brainy grabbed her arm and squeezed hard.

“Let’s go,” said Alex.

Lena swept into the lab carrying the module in her hands as if it were made of precious gold.

“Turn off the sunlamps,” Lena ordered the technicians. “If the poisoning progresses, they’ll kill her faster than they heal her.”

Once they were off, Lena placed the device on Kara’s chest and stepped back.

Its sensors detected the Kryptonite and the system deployed. The pod unfolded like a delicate composite flower, and a wave of nanobots poured over Kara’s skin, instantly devouring and reprogramming the nanites in the wreckage of her suit while consuming the linens and bandages to grant the system more mass.

The entire process unfolded in seconds. It ensconced her in a protective layer and expanded, rapidly building an entire protective pod around her body. Dozens of tiny needles inserted dozens of cannulas into her arms and legs and began pumping her full of nanites, sending them storming through her bloodstream.

Lena bit her lip: there was nothing to do now except watch as the system’s AI administered rapid pulses of red and yellow light to balance the speed of her healing as the nanites in her bloodstream identified irradiated particles and consumed them, using them to make more of themselves.

She sat down. She knew this would take hours.

It ended up taking three days.

Lena slept in the side chair by the bed until someone brought her an uncomfortable recliner. Alex came in and out, as did Brainy and Nia, all of them looking at her oddly.

Finally the pod made a pleasant tone and unfolded. Kara lay on her side within, the nanites having formed a new suit top around her to preserve her modesty. She still wasn’t awake, but she was breathing normally and looked for all the world like her usual beautiful self. Lena was alone with her when it happened, and was glad of it. No one saw her brush the loose strands of gold from her face, and no one saw her rest her palm on Kara’s warm cheek.

They all piled on eventually.

Kara did not wake up.

“Why isn’t she coming around?” Alex demanded. “Why doesn’t she wake up?”

“She’s in a Kryptonian healing trance,” said Brainy. “It’s part of the healing process. She will wake when she is ready.”

“When the hell will that be?”

“We should give Lena the room.”

“What? Why?”

“Trust me,” Brainy said firmly.

Lean was as bewildered as Alex. What was she supposed to do?

When they were gone, she caught herself reflected in the monitors around the bed. She looked like shit, with barely one day’s sleep in four. As haggard as she looked, she didn’t care.

What the hell? It couldn’t hurt.

Lena bent over the bed, leaning on one hand, and took Kara’s in the other.

“I don’t know if you’re in there, but if you can hear me, it’s safe now. You can wake up. We’re all here for you. I’m here.”

It might have been the exhaustion, or the desperation, or the sorrow that filled her to bursting like a molten pain, but something happened and Lena let slip something that she’d held so tight she was sure her heart had long since crushed it.

“I love you, Kara. You don’t have to love me back. You don’t even have to like me. But I need you in the world. I need you. I need you, not Supergirl. I need Kara. I need my Kara. Please, if you’re in there at all,”

Kara’s eyes fluttered open. “Lena?”

“I’m here.”

Kara blinked a few times, and her hand closed gently around Lena’s.

“I had a bad dream,” she said. “It hurt so much, it felt like my heart was ripped out and I was in a dark place, and then I heard your voice leading me home.”

Lena grinned in spite of herself, tears stinging her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Kara. For everything.”

“Hush,” Kara whispered, her angelic voice full of quiet wisdom. “We can do that later. You’re tired. Lay down.”

Lena hesitated for a bare moment and then kicked off her shoes before climbing on next to her. Once she was lying down, sleep came crashing down on her like an avalanche as Kara threw an arm over her and tucked in close.

As she drifted off, Lena heard Alex, somewhere in the hall, snap, “Brainy, you knew this entire time?!”

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soldiersareyourprotectors · 5 months ago

Text

Jake had been lifting weights alone in the gym late at night, savoring the quiet and solitude. The clang of metal and the rhythmic grunts of his exertion filled the space.

Each rep pushed his muscles to their limits, his veins bulging under his skin. The sweat dripped from his brow, soaking his tank top.

The gym was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the rhythmic clink of weights and Jake's steady breathing. The fluorescent lights flickered occasionally, casting shadows that danced across the room. As Jake finished his last set, he exhaled deeply, feeling a satisfying burn in his muscles. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and made his way to the locker room.

Inside, the locker room was dimly lit, and the silence was almost oppressive. Jake opened his locker, pulled out a fresh towel, and began to strip off his drenched workout clothes. Just as he reached for his clean shirt, a voice pierced the quiet.

"Incredible physique you've got there."

Jake jumped, his heart pounding as he turned to see the lanky figure of the gym's janitor standing uncomfortably close. The janitor was a wiry, pallid man with sunken eyes that seemed to bore into Jake. He wore a faded uniform and clutched a mop in his skeletal hands.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," the janitor said, a creepy smile spreading across his face. "I've been observing you for months now. Your dedication is... admirable."

Jake's skin prickled with unease. He forced a smile and nodded. "Thanks, man. Just trying to stay in shape."

The janitor took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Jake's. "You do more than that.

You become perfection."

Before Jake could respond, he felt a sudden, sharp prick in his neck. His vision blurred, and he staggered, his body betraying him as he collapsed to the cold tile floor. The world around him faded to black.

When Jake awoke, he couldn't move. He could only watch in horror as the janitor loomed over him, stripping off his uniform to reveal a sickly, frail frame. The janitor's grin widened as he lifted Jake's skin, now hollow and limp like a discarded costume.

"You see," the janitor whispered, "I've always wanted to be perfect."

With a sense of grim determination, the janitor lifted Jake's skin from the ground.

It hung limply, like a grotesque costume. The janitor's eyes gleamed with a sick excitement as he stepped into Jake's legs, one at a time, pulling the skin up over his own.

As the janitor slipped his bony feet into Jake's muscular legs, the transformation began. The janitor's scrawny calves and thighs filled out, muscles rippling and expanding to match Jake's powerful build. The janitor adjusted the skin, pulling it up over his own narrow hips and emaciated torso. With each tug, the janitor's frail body reshaped itself, bones cracking and shifting to fit the new form.

Next, the janitor slid his arms into Jake's muscular ones, feeling the strength and power coursing through them. He flexed his new fingers, marveling at the size and definition of the biceps and triceps. The janitor then pulled the skin up over his chest and shoulders, his once narrow frame now broad and imposing.

Finally, the janitor reached for Jake's head, lifting it like a hood. He slipped his own head inside, feeling the skin stretch and mold to his features. As the janitor adjusted the face, his own gaunt visage disappeared, replaced by Jake's chiseled jawline and handsome features.

Standing before the mirror, the janitor-now-Jake marveled at his reflection. The transformation was complete. He was no longer the creepy janitor. He was Jake, the epitome of physical perfection. He flexed, watching the muscles ripple beneath the skin, and a dark, satisfied chuckle escaped his lips.

The janitor inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of Jake's sweat that clung to the discarded clothes on the floor. He dressed himself in Jake's sweaty tank top and shorts, feeling the fabric cling to his new body. He laced up Jake's sneakers, relishing the fit and the power he now felt.

With one last look in the mirror, the janitor-now-Jake smiled, confident in his new identity.

#body swap #male body swap #male transformation #muscular men #stolen body #stolen clothes #stolen life #stolen face #bodysuit

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b1rds3ye · 1 year ago

Note

hi!! this is my first time doing a request so idk if I'm doing this right haha but uh, I was wondering if you could do like. yknow the masked one you made for the 141 (I can't remember the name rn💔)? I thought of like, a sequel idea. like, what if during combat an enemy manages to take reader's mask, and so reader panics and like, rips the enemies throat out with their teeth (or if that's too violent, just goes basically rabid on them lmao) and how they would react?? if this is too violent or specific dw you don't have to!! anyways, I love your content it's totally awesome ur writing is amazing! have a good day!!

YES I LOVE THE BADASSERY AND THE UNHINGEDNESS!! If I'm your first request I'm so flattered anon pls do feel free to drop by again <333 Also just going to do general rabidness because ngl the throat thing sounds like an infection speedrun and we want our masked reader to stay nice and healthy <333

Word Count: 1.2 (it got a little long WHOOPS)

Warning: Canon typical violence, reader does get a lil sadistic and unhinged <333

Beyond Task Force 141 and Laswell, many - if not all - allied soldiers wondered about what lay under your mask. Obscuring even the eyes, your visage was more unreadable than Ghost's. Larger than life, a soldier among men.

There was a running joke that there was just nothing under your mask, perhaps an eldritch horror of sorts. You let the new recruits entertain the thought, it kept morale up as they conjured more myths of you. They said that no one has seen you without your mask. They were partially right.

It simply was that no one lived to tell the tale.

You were never one for close combat, but fighting terrorists was never smooth sailing. The chaos of battle had all of the 141 separated against the tight streets of Las Almas. How uncanny that you could not see your allies but hear their gunfire. Running out of ammo, you couldn't lament at your misfortune as a shoulder pummeling into your chest, sending you to the ground and the air out of your lungs. Head bashing against the floor you groaned as you furiously clawed up to whatever heavy weight was crushing your body. You were starting to make up the figure of a man hovering over you through the blurry haze of a concussion that filled your sight. The distant static of Price's voice through the radio, probably asking where the hell were you but you had more pressing issues at hand.

Through your struggle and flailing limbs you managed to wring the enemy's pistol off of them with a painful twist of their wrist. And they retaliated tenfold, a large sweaty hand reaching down and pressing your head back against the ground. Your adrenaline makes you writhe further, he was going to suffocate you, or worse, poison you with how fucking awful his hand smelt as the stink of burning gunpowder replaced any of your oxygen. But no, he committed a far worse crime.

A singular pull and the grating tear of fabric as your mask is pulled off of your face.

A heavy moment where your enemy looks down at you and his gaze is not like before. It's clear, it's deep. It is not looking at your facade but at you and you are no longer a soldier. You are merely a human, so fragile, so weak. One that is on the verge of death in a foreign land surrounded by bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike. One whose mythos is all but lost at the victorious and leering smirk of an enemy as they take in your face.

That simply won't do.

Pulling your knee up to create space between you and the man, you pull out your tactical knife from your waist and drive it into his torso. His smile falls only to land at settle on yours below him, just like his blood that trickles as forbidden crimson down your hands and seeps into your uniform. It's disgustingly warm. He grows heavier as he loses all control over his body and you heave to throw his figure off to the side. You stab him once again for good measure. And then again. And again. Quick, short jabs down with a sharpened blade that cuts through uniform, flesh and bone alike. You did not count how many times you drove your blade down, numbers were too complex when your mind was running faster than any comprehensible speed. There was only one goal. To make sure no one knows what happened.

A harsh grip on the shoulder yanks you back up and you swipe with your armed limb to cut your new assailant's neck but they were onto you. Catching your arm, they pull it up as they hold onto your shoulder once again with a tightening grip that digs into your uniform. But they do nothing more, no matter how much you thrash and kick.

"Wake up, Sergeant," your opponent seethes and that voice makes you still, a buoy that floats across through your rage. Deep and grounding and your captain's.

You nearly stumble back but Price catches you before you crumple to the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline was escaping your body leaving you with barely the energy to stay upright. Your head lolls back for a second before you bring it to the side to look at your direct superior, the remnants of a concussion making your vision blurry.

"You broken?" he asks.

"Negative, sir,” you respond immediately but he looks a little doubtful, a singular eyebrow raised as he inspects you. Not your body, but your face. The dilated pupils and the taut muscles told more than any wound.

"Can't say the same about your wee friend over there," Soap whistles as he tilts his head to behind you. “Christ, you did a number on him.”

You dare turn to look over your shoulder but Ghost already situated himself in front of the body. But between his feet you could already make out the indistinguishable mass of tattered fabric and discoloured flesh. Fresh blood filled the rivets between the cobblestones, the remnants of the body inching its way closer to you-

"Was it the mask?" Simon brings your attention back to him. You nod dumbly. He only dips his head in what you can only describe as understanding as he folds his arms, fortifying his stance in front of the mess you made. You weren’t going to see your handiwork, he was too kind to ever let you.

John drops his hands down to his sides as Gaz approaches you with your mask.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Kyle offers you a sympathetic smile.

"Learnt that the first day I saw 'em on duty," Johnny retorts and you instinctively smile as you take your mask from Kyle. The hardened plaster of your mask had cracked, the fabric that hugged your neck had become torn but it'll do for the remainder of the mission. Slipping the mask back on, Simon offers a nod of approval while Johnny tugged at the fabric for a few finishing touches.

Ultimately the mission was successful. The task force returns to base and although none of the boys mentioned the carnage you left, there are still whispers of it on base. You had hurried to debrief and get your mask fixed but it seemed some privates caught sight of you and that was enough to spark rumours. Your mask had gotten so fractured that a shard was left back in the streets of Las Almas and revealed one of your eyes to the rest of the world. Such a small organ but so vivid. The privates saw, and more was added to the myth that was you. There was now no question about what was under the mask. No lovecraftian horror or empty space, no monster beyond comprehension. No, what was under your mask was terrifyingly human.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x you #task force 141 x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #anon mail ❤️#/*avery checks the mailbox*/#/*avery actually writes*/#/*cod x masked reader*/

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crystalflygeo · 2 years ago

Text

Heat haze ft Morax + fem!bunny adeptus!reader

cw/tags: heat/mating cycles, marathon sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, sex toy, improper use of geo (lmao), Morax has a dragon penis, pet names, fucked stupid, reader calls Morax "My Lord" and Morax calls her "my child", power play??

notes: Pure self-indulgent filth <3 I love the concept of heats in general and though on applying that to adepti, then I remembered it's bunny year so why not... apparently there is a bunny in chinese mythology called the "Jade Rabbit" who serves the Moon Goddess soooo. Anyway. Breeding kink goes brrrrrr.

“M-my lord... I’m sorry I’m ah-” You gulp and try to breathe through your mouth, fingers clenching and unclenching trying to regain some semblance of stability. “I’m not feeling very… well”

Shameful. Lord Morax came to see you, probably talk about important matters regarding this year’s crops and yet-

“Is this your first heat alone?”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn, on instinct you look up panicked as your long ears stiffen in shock but just as quickly you avert your gaze, unable to look at him in the face at the revelation, and to avoid staring at his regal visage, fearful of your own reactions if you were to do so.

Oh he knows. He knows. Of course he knows. As much as you tried to suppress it your scent is probably dripping with want, especially when your thoughts were spiraling out of control mere minutes ago. Being an adeptus in heat is hard enough, but as a Jade Rabbit… it was especially hard on you.

You blink heavily, dumbly, your brain can’t keep up with all the emotions right now. You feel lightheaded but still manage to force out an answer. “N-No… no, I’m… used to it.”

Morax tilts his head and the light catches on his majestic antlers making them glow, and you find it impossible not to look “Of course.” He nods, still keeping immaculate composure. “But haven’t you found a mate yet?”

A mate. Your rabbit ears droop. Ever since you vowed to serve Lord Morax you never had time for such things, with the on-going war and protecting the humans, even as a non-combatant adeptus your duties were many. Agricultural care and development, medical support, logistics… you never had it in you to find a mate. You were devoted to your contract, and, to Lord Morax himself.

“I’m… I haven’t found the r-right one yet…” You mumble, hugging yourself and rubbing at your arm nervously in an attempt to mimic something.

“Oh my child, I’m sorry.” Morax approaches you and tentatively cups your cheek, fingers barely caressing your jaw, the touch is fleeting yet electric.

His hand is warm.

You unconsciously lean into the touch.

And he smells so good, so good.

“I could assist you, if you would allow it.”

You immediately flinch back at the words.

“W-what?!”

Morax simply blinks at you and crosses his arms, putting some distance between you two again. “I apologize if my advances are unwelcome.”

“No my lord it’s n-not that.” You can’t help but stare at his strong biceps, blackened skin accented by fine gold linings…

You try to control your breathing and think! Rationally!!

But still, you’re curious. What would it be like? To feel your God’s scent, your God’s touch, your God’s co-

You quickly shake your head. No, no! That’s indecent, scandalous! You’re not worthy, that’s…

“It’s okay, my child.”

The warm touch is back, hands placed at your shoulders, grounding you, stabilizing you. A shiver runs down your spine yet it doesn’t freeze you on the spot, rather it feels…

Tender.

You stare up at him and this time hold your gaze. He’s handsome and his eyes are the purest brightest molten gold you've ever seen, the bright diamond pupils mesmerizing.

You whine and rub your thighs together on instinct.

“My Lord… p-please…”

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

“Ha-aahh… f-faster, please my Lord please- Ah-! Faster!”

You’re reduced to a babbling, moaning, drooling mess as you lay on golden silk sheets. Head down ass up, your arms have long since given up supporting you and your thighs tremble as Morax rams into your dripping wet pussy over and over and over again.

He lets out a low chuckle “So tight…” He whispers, voice deep and raspy with sex haze, the scent of your heat spurring him on and causing his own illuminated beast features to manifest, such as his powerful tail undulating behind him. “You’re practically dripping all over the place, and yet you take me so well…” his breath stutters with another snap of his hips and all you can do is moan loudly, mind foggy with need.

“Oh…” You gasp. “Oh.”

Without pause, he’s slamming into you repeatedly, pulling you down on his perfect thick cock and fucking fast methodical thrusts into you wet hole, aiming for a certain spot that has you seeing stars once he finds it.

“Ah! Ah… Ah!” Your voice barely registers through your own lust-hazed mind. Tears prickling at the corner of your eyes from the rapid buildup in your lower abdomen. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve already came, your juices coating your inner thighs and soiling the precious silken sheets. Not that he seems to mind. “O-Oh… Ohhhh. My Lord… M-Morax…”

You’re pretty sure your God has ruined you for anyone else. No mortal or immortal would ever be able to compare to his divine cock, deliciously thick and filling, the dragon shaft lined with small ridges that rub just right against your insides and so utterly big you swear you can feel a slight bump on your navel every time he bottoms out.

You keen and whine when his strong clawed hands pull at your hips. Seems like your legs are also giving up on you so he holds you in place instead. And you love it. His musky scent. His smooth deep voice. His unfaltering stamina.

The Prime of the Adepti. A strong and virile dragon.

And he chose to mate you.

Suddenly you feel him drape over your back, his larger frame practically caging you, pressing against you until his chest meets your sweaty back and you feel his ragged breath against your neck, scenting you and your heat pheromones before sharp fangs graze your tender skin.

You moan and your pussy clamps down on him. You are so close….

“You feel amazing.” He growls. “So good... s-so good for me.”

You buck your hips up to him, clumsily meeting his thrusts as your small fluffy tail twitches. “Nnngh!”

You feel him bite at your shoulder and the sharp jolt of pain is enough to send you spiraling into another climax, moaning high-pitched and gripping him tighter inside you even as he fucked into your slick warmth. Despite the orgasm he shows no signs of slowing down, so neither do you, as the unbearable heat continues to burn inside you, an itch you can’t quite scratch. His hands reach out for your skin, caressing your soft breasts and marveling at how beautifully they fit into his hands. He rubs circles into one of your nipples before pinching it lightly and is rewarded with another high keen and a spasm around his cock.

“P-Please… please… I need it. Please-” You pant, voice laced with desperation, your nails digging into the bedsheets.

“What do you want?” Morax asks, nosing at your neck and lapping at the reddened bite mark he branded into your skin. “Tell me what you need, little one.”

“Breed me!” You choke out “F-Fill me up Lord Morax, I need you to… fuck m-me full, pleasepleaseplease-”

And how could he deny such a sweet plea? Morax redoubles his efforts, panting with exertion and pushing harder, faster, deeper. Shrill little gasps escaping you as your mind goes blank from the pleasure.

“Hah- I’ll breed you properly… mhh… fill you up.” He pants, his pace getting sloppier, his tail trashing wildly, you feel him twitch inside you. “You’re all mine. Mine to take… to fuck, to own, to breed-”

Morax’s breath hitches and he lets out a choked groan, spilling his load inside you in thick creamy spurts as you keen and squirm under him, too fucked stupid for words. You coo happily as the heat under your skin finally abates and you feel full, so full of his seed.

His grip loosens as his hips gradually slow down, head hung low as he catches his breath, his cock occasionally twitching inside you until it eventually softens. He gently pulls out admiring the way your pussy clenches on him, the way your legs shake, weakly trying to lock him there, keep him inside you. The drag and pull of his thick cockhead over your sensitive insides making you keen and whimper from its abuse until your pliant body falls onto the sheets, whining pitifully when you feel his slick seed dribble out of your swollen pussy. You try to close your legs and weakly paw at your core.

No, no, no… it’s supposed to stay inside. Lord Morax’s precious cum-

You squeak as you feel something smooth and solid press against your pussy lips.

“Shhh my dear, shhh.” He coos at you, deep voice soothing your frazzled nerves. “This is just a little something to keep it in, to keep you full.” He pushes gently, working what you now realize was a cor lapis plug into your body. You made another whimpering noise as your lips parted for the toy he’d created for you. Red, puffy pussy folds spread open as they did for his cock, taking the tip before he worked the rest until it finally sunk in, lewdly resting against your opening, a glittering orange gemstone keeping you full. “There, nice and snug, do you like it?”

Your only answer is a little chirp, your eyes half-lidded as your body relaxes.

“Such a good little bunny. You were so good to me my child, so good.” You smile drowsily at the praise, cooing at him as his hand pets your hair and scratches your fuzzy ear. He kisses at your shoulder and starts softly massaging your aching limbs “You were beautiful. You did so well, you took me so perfectly…”

You lean into his touch, curling up to his body, both of you still damp with sweat and other fluids. Resting for now until another wave of neediness hits you.

You both knew your heat would last at least other 4 days…

You idly wonder if by the end of the week you would be honored with carrying his offspring.

#genshin impact smut #zhongli smut #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #crys writes #fem reader #adeptus reader #fun fact I was going to give reader an adeptus name “Spring Bringer” but then I kinda just went meh #tell me if you'd like more of this though #<3

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junowritings · 8 months ago

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Could I request pre-romanced but interested Astarion (spawn), Gale, Halsin, and Rolan each reacting to Tav, in a moment of desperation, transforming into a silver dragon to save him from death. The kicker? Tav did not remember that they were a true dragon due to the tadpole wrecking their memory and is just as caught off guard by this revelation as he is.

Oh now this was too much fun to write! I ended up trying to generate a different scenario for each of them bc it was fun to imagine the context for each of them! :D

Astarion

♡ What a foolish thing; to let your guard down. Astarion knows better than most that nothing good would come of doing something so utterly stupid, no matter how safe. And yet he makes that very same pitfall after a battle with gnolls goes awry. Most of the beasts had been knocked off the nearby cliff-face, an underhanded tactic but he knew well to make use of the terrain even at the cost of any worthwhile loot. The rest had been picked off easily, and when Astarion buries his dagger into the gnoll prone beneath him the tension in the air finally seems to ease - the battle is over, for now.

♡ He’s still picking bits of viscera from his clothes, bemoaning the effort it’s going to take to pluck the gore from the decals when he spots you across the battlefield. You’re helping Karlach pry her axe free from getting a bit too gung-ho on an enemy’s skull, and he watches your face scrunch up from the effort with a snort. You catch his gaze when you look up, returning his fanged grin with an unamused huff of your own. It’s a sweet sight, even marred by blood and dirt, and Astarion makes a move to rise to his feet intending to amble over and watch you either succeed or count the axe as a loss. That was the plan-

♡ Until the carcass beneath him lurches, a screaming mass that in its death rattle bowls them both straight over the edge. And in the blink of an eye he’s in freefall, barely catching the look of horror on your face before he slips from sight.

♡ It’s nowhere near as graceful as the tales make believe. The wind bites at Astarion’s face and whips around him hard enough that his ears ring as hands try to grapple for purchase against the wall of the cliff. Nothing catches, only grabbing fistfuls of dirt and catching on rocks that crumble away beneath his fingers. No, no, no this was not how he was going to die; but there’s nothing to hold, nothing to see but the vast expanse of sky above his head as though taunting his very fate-

♡ And something else. Something large and scaled and burning silver as wings fan out enough to block out the sun as it appears practically out of thin air.

♡ A dragon. As if things couldn’t get worse?! Astarion’s cursing just about every force in the universe that he can think of as the beast plummets to close the distance. It’s there in seconds, a rippling wave of silver that swelters the very air as a taloned hand shoots out and catches him around the midsection. He expects to be eaten, maybe plucked to pieces right there and then; instead the dragon’s body rolls mid flight, curling close around the vampire spawn like a protective shield as the ground rushes to meet them.

♡ The landing isn’t gentle, having been too close to the ground to take flight. Both hit the earth but it isn’t the fatal fall it could have been. At one point he slips from the dragon’s talons, and by the time he’s wormed his way free he’s marred by dirt and spitting leaves alongside the plethora of curses in his vocabulary. But he’s alive.

♡ He certainly wasn’t complaining about that, but his head is still spinning with the ‘why’ of it all - where had that beast come from? Why hadn’t it killed him when it had the chance? He’s already looking for his dagger that had been lost in the fall as he scrambles to his feet, whipping around to face the dragon as he hears it stir. But he doesn’t find it. No, instead he finds-

♡ You. The last of the draconic visage crumbles like burned parchment, and you slump to your knees in the gouge your previous form had carved into the earth. Your hands tremble as you bring them up to your face, inspecting them like you’re checking that they’re truly there before your head shoots up to look at the vampire spawn you’d just saved. There’s a wild look in your eyes, confusion evident as you mirror his own slack jawed expression and trip over yourself to get back onto your feet with a scream of “What was that?!”

♡ At first he doesn’t believe your pleas of ignorance, and doesn’t get why you’re trying to protest so hard that you didn’t know. It’s not as though he hasn’t kept secrets from the group before - it’s not as though he willingly shared he was a spawn holding hands around the campfire like a jolly old fellow, did he? He’s not going to fault you for keeping your secrets so long as it’s not getting him killed.

♡ But then he catches you pacing later that night back at camp, muttering to yourself of how you could forget and mulling over what else you’d lost with the tadpole. That kind of panic isn’t easy to fake, and you aren’t even aware of the audience to fake it. Has that tadpole altered your memories that thoroughly? A disturbing thought.

♡ Of course he’ll be the first person to encourage you to use this ‘new’ form of yours to your advantage - why wouldn’t you? It’s not everyday that someone finds out that they can turn into a hulking magical creature at the drop of a hat, so why not make the most of it? Not to mention it will be excellent for both combat and persuading anyone who makes the mistake of thinking that you’re easy prey.

♡ Of course that brings the whole other question of - why the hells did you jump after him?! Did you think your little friend in the artifact would somehow save the two of you again?! You hadn't even hesitated to reach for him; to protect him…Astarion doesn’t know whether to throttle you over your own self sacrificing logic, or kiss your damned face until any thought of risking your life like that again goes out of the window.

♡ Perhaps he’ll do both - he hasn’t decided yet.

♡ Plus, he’ll never admit it, but the camp feels a little safer knowing that it’s got a fire breathing, flying scaled powerhouse for a leader - might move his tent just a little closer to your own after that realization.

Gale

♡ Wizards and close combat rarely mix well together. It has been somewhat of a running gag between the pair of you since the first tussle back at the grove when he nearly went sailing off the rocks he’d been casting from when a sword got far too close to his flank for his liking. You’d been there to save him, of course, biting back a teasing comment on his ‘graceful trip’ and trying not to chuckle as you’d helped the man back to his feet when it was all over. Gale naturally had been just as quick to remind you that even with his lack of tact for fisticuffs he was just as capable at keeping you as safe as you kept him. As he’d proved with a well timed magic missile not even one fight later,.

♡ The understanding was mutual - he’d protect you with all of the magic at his disposal, and you would do what you can to shield him on the battlefront. As you got closer, and the wizard got the opportunity to know you better, that protection evolved to something deeper. Something more than just having one another’s back out of necessity; the thought of any harm coming to you in the first place had been a sour notion, but now it was downright unthinkable. You took every blow meant for him without hesitation; pushed back any blade or arrow meant for him even if it led to adding a few more scars to your repertoire. And gods if you didn’t look absolutely stunning doing it.

♡ This time is no different. The sounds of battle ring in his ears, the clashing of weapons striking drowned out only by the roars of a group thrust into combat. Considering just how many unique faces make up their party (with a githyanki warrior, a renowned hero of the coast, and an excitable yet combustible tiefling - to name a few) Gale is surprised that bandits would even try their luck against this gaggle of adventurers. But where your group has skill, theirs has numbers, and this fight has been going on long enough that everyone is exhausted, frayed and running out of steam.

♡ He watches you on the other side of the battlefield, weapon clutched tightly in clenched fists and eyes burning with the fire of combat as you call out to your companions. You’re trying to pinpoint everyone's locations, caught up in the fighting as your weapon comes down on a bandit’s head. Multiple voices call out to you and Gale opens his mouth to join them, the air around crackling as he rears back to cast another spell. But the words barely get past his lips before he feels a solid blow to the back of the head and for just a second his world goes white. There’s a kick to his back and the world topples before he hands on him.

♡There is a fist wrapped up in his hair and a blade so close to his gut to breathe is a risk. One of the bandits - how had they gotten so close without him noticing? Had he gotten complacent thinking he was safe from his vantage point? A knee digs into him and the wheeze he lets out is pained as he attempts to throw the bandit off. But Gale’s not a fighter, and it’s getting harder to think straight when another hard yank knocks his head against the ground with a harsh crack. Magic pulses at his fingertips as they rake up dirt, the words forming in his mouth hoping to get them out before that blade decides to get familiar with his insides. If only he could just-

♡ What comes next happens suddenly. A rush of air, an unrelenting wave of heat and the weight suffocating him is gone. The bandit’s body is hoisted up in a cushing jaw, only able to get out little more than a scream before they’re essentially ragdolled across the field. The threat of an imminent gutting is gone, but Gale finds himself unable to breathe once again as he realizes what exactly has descended upon him.

♡ Multiple times his size with several layers of thick silver hide, and adorned with thick leathery wings, a dragon prowls overhead. Slitted eyes scan across the battlefield, taking in the carnage and what remains of the stragglers that Gale’s companions haven’t taken down with a surprisingly clarity. It’s…looking for something? No, someone - your companions. He watches the creatures head tilt, letting out something akin to a billowing rumble before setting its sights back on the wizard still very much pinned beneath it.

♡ The dragon’s head leans down, a huff of air feeling sweltering against his face as he comes face to snout with the creature that could easily turn him into wizard-chow with but a bite of that wall of teeth in its maw. But it doesn’t; instead it lets out another huff and there’s a ripple that seems to shake every single scale on its body before it’s shifting. It shrinks, morphs, changes into someone all too familiar as you drop down to your knees. Poor Gale almost gets a limb to the gut again as you slump down beside him, shaking off some sort of daze as you come back to your senses. It’s you - that dragon was you?

♡Gale doesn’t realize he’s shouting till he hears your own voice shouting along with him just as confused and panicked. Surely the pair of you must look like fools, unable to get out any kind of coherent word as your brains catch up to. You end up having to cover his mouth with your hand so that there’s enough quiet to actually process what has just happened, but Gale doesn’t miss how utterly lost you look about the whole ordeal - clearly this is as much news to you as it is to him.

♡ Once things have calmed down (and he’s checked to make sure he didn’t infact get punctured by a stray talon on the way down) Gale is absolutely fascinated. Nothing short of a kid in a candy store, this man is enthralled by the implications of your transformation. He knows you’re shaken of course, and he gives you time to do whatever you need to to ground yourself before he thinks to act upon any of his burning questions. He hopes to shed some light on things by working through these questions with you, hoping that they’ll spark some recollection you couldn’t remember before.

♡ He’s tactful, tries to be subtle but you can tell that he’s clearly excited to learn about the origins of this ability. Is it related to your bloodline? Or were you perhaps cursed? Could this be some kind of advanced wildshape unbefore discovered? It doesn’t hurt you, does it? The last question gives the wizard pause, and he can’t quite relax till you assure him that the process doesn’t cause you pain.

♡ Depending on if your memories came back after your first transformation, you’ll only be able to give him so many answers. Feel free to practice your abilities around him though. At first he keeps a safe, out of the line of fire-distance, but it doesn’t take long before he inches closer until he’s close enough to run a hand along your flank if you allow him. There is an almost reverent touch alongside his curiosity as he marvels at the sight of you - breathtaking, is the only word he can find to describe it as you extend a wing for him to examine.

Halsin

♡ Halsin has lived long enough to see many beings, experience many things. But he’s not fool enough to simply assume that he’s seen all that this world has to offer. There are still plenty of things to discover, many days and events he has yet to live amongst these new companions that have stumbled their way into the druid’s life.

♡Every moment with you has been a shining example of that fact - from the tadpole in your skull that you somehow manage to resist with each passing day, to the very way you approach the world around you. You somehow always managed to leave Halsin guessing, trying to wrap his head around the impossibility of you - regardless of you background, regardless of your creed or the life you lived before the tadpole, you remained a walking anomaly. Once which kept him on his toes, wondering what facet of you that you would reveal to him next.

♡ Of course he had done the same for you - you’d just about knocked your whole team over when he’d transformed after you’d first rescued the druid; recalled to you events and moments in his life that had anyone else told you, you would have called bullshit. It was a mutual exchange - you were open to him, and so he would do the same for you. He trusted you after all, and hoped you felt the same for him.

♡ That trust extended to the battlefield as well. Halsin’s desire to protect extended to the entirety of your party, naturally, but you were under a watchful eye with this man. Your penchant for the disregard of your own safety left much to be desired in the ways of keeping you safe; the needs of others or obtaining what you want often put above your own safety in the throes of a fight. Your habits of getting into trouble were something he grows far used to by now, so Halsin willingly takes the mantle of your protector, if only to save you from all of the scratches and scars that you’ll no doubt earn yourself down the road with your current mindset.

♡ Such as now. Within a wildshape, Halsin acts as a defensive shield for the other companions in a fight against a stray goblin raiding party. The leftover dregs of the ones from back at the temple that were set on hunting the party down long after the fall of the cultist once housed there. Teeth and claws rip and tear into goblin flesh and bone with ease, the bear acting as an utter powerhouse shrugging off each and every hit as though he was being poked with sticks and not swords. Things look to be over swiftly, as alongside the attacks of yourself and your other companions the goblin’s ranks are quickly dwindling - having either been felled by your defense or fled once they realize it was not a fight so easily won. With luck, you’ll all be back at camp before sundown.

♡ It is you who warns him that that’s not the case. He hears your voice, hears your scream of his name and Halsin cranes his head in an attempt to seek you out worried that something had happened to you when he wasn’t looking.

♡ But then a blinding light bursts against his side and he roars, loud and anguished at the sudden pain that washes over - some kind of explosive, brutal and all too effective against the druid. It’s enough for him to drop, barely still clinging to his wildshaped form as he braces against the earth in a bid to get back to his feet. What’s left of the goblins swarm, threatening to overwhelm him in his vulnerability and Halsin prepares himself for the approaching onslaught that closes in on him.

♡ Then something slams overhead, the squeals and cries of the goblins drowned out by a blinding roar that rings in the air like a toll as something impossibly large lands above Halsin and the goblins barricading them from their assault behind the wall of its body. A thick sweltering heat takes over, emanating from scales that glint like fine silver as the large body of a dragon settles overhead, and the area around them becomes alive with noise and chaos in its wake.

♡ The very ground trembles under thick clawed footfalls - the trees groaning barely avoiding the wrath of this dragon as it rises to its full height and lunges for the attackers. The goblins never stand a chance - whichever ones weren’t smart enough to scarper before are taken out with little more than a snap of jaws and the swipe of a tail. Large claws break into the earth below, digging deep as though to ensure the dragon doesn’t move an inch from the druid’s side even as the last of the goblins are reduced to shreds.

♡ When it is all over the creature visibly loses its hostility as it rounds once again upon Halsin. A firm nudge to his side, as gentle as a beast of this size can be and Halsin manages to push himself back to his feet, shedding the form of his barely clinging wildshape as exhaustion settles heavily upon his shoulders. By this point he knows that it means no harm, head pressed to his side until he’s firm in his stance before slinking away and circling around the druid as though appraising, checking for more damage. When none is found there’s a twitch, a shift in its tail that works its way up to its skull as though its very being is unraveling before Halsin’s eyes - and that’s exactly what happens.

♡ Scales and talons shift and rend, giving way to familiar flesh and a face the druid has all but committed to memory. This time he is the one to offer support, large hands coming up to brace upon your shoulders as you stumble over yourself looking about with a bewildered expression. “That was…what did I…?” Your words are met with a gentle assurance that that can be tackled in due time - it’s better to tackle those questions with a clearer head after nursing your injuries. And he’ll be right there will you, even guiding you back to camp till you practically insist that you’ll be fine on your own.

♡ Halsin has heard of many species and many abilities, but nothing that’s quite like a dragon shifter. At least, not one like you seem to be. You seem just as distraught by that knowledge, alongside the fact that this appears. Yet another thing that the tadpole has taken from you, if your belief to have had this ability before is true. It isn’t much different than using wildshape, as you learn once you talk through the experience with Halsin - what you were feeling before, what you were thinking. You admit that the only thing on your mind had been protecting him when you’d turned, horrified at the sight of him hurt and just out of your reach to save. The look of momentary surprise on Halsin’s face melts into something far softer at the revelation, a gentle praise at your own thoughtfulness to protect others that may leave you feeling bashful.

♡ Halsin actively encourages you to shift whenever you feel the desire to do so. Learn more about this form and what it means to you; refamiliarize yourself with a part of you that you’ve been separated from for such a time. He’ll talk you through it should you express any need for support, but he knows that you’re more than capable of controlling this aspect of yourself just as you have before. Of course he’ll also be admiring you the whole time, nothing but honest praise about the power of your form and the beauty of this other part of you.

Rolan

♡ It was a mistake to have ever come to the shadowlands - now Rolan is losing everything. Cal, Lia, his very own life; all of it is going to be snuffed out by the oppressive darkness which has defiled every inch of this place, and he’s powerless to do anything to stop it. All he had wanted to do was to make a life for his family, to make Rolan a name that they and others could be proud of. But every good deed seemed to only make things worse in the end - hells had even that one act of kindness saving those damned kids been rewarded like this? Not even his attempt to save his siblings had worked and now he was facing perishing in a land where death was never kind, as though the world was giving him one final kick when he was down to remind him of his own shortcomings.

♡ Shadows circle in, lured in by the dwindling embers of his torch which is the only thing barely keeping him alive in this forsaken wasteland. But that is not enough; they claw at the edges of his light, ripping and tearing at the hem of his robes and grasping for his ankles, hoping to get a foothold on the tiefling long enough to drag him off into the darkness to never be seen again. Panic unfurls in his gut, burning brighter than the useless glorified stick clenched between sharp nails as he wrenches himself free of their grasp and stumbles over himself trying in vain to make some distance.

♡ He’s got minutes at the most, moments at the least; and those creatures writhing in shadow and dark have the luxury of biding their time waiting out his final seconds. He’s going to die here - without ever seeing his siblings again. What had he ever done to deserve such a cruel ending?

♡ But it doesn’t end - at least, not here.

♡ A roar breaks through the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears, and every hair on the back of his neck stands up as a chill shoots down his spine like a shot of ice. What, had some worse creature come to finish him off? As if being torn to shreds within the shadowlands wasn’t bad enough, now he’s got to contend with something bigger. And gods, is it bigger. Even through the thick smog of the shadowlands it stands out like a beacon of silver, its very scales giving off a faint glow within the darkness as though the shadows themselves are reviled by its presence alone. A feeling sinks within the pit of his chest the moment that he realizes what manner of creature is stalking towards him. A dragon - gods, why did it have to be a dragon?!

♡ The beast is huge, a rippling wall of impenetrable flesh that cuts through the space between them in little more than a few bounds. Wings stretch wide, an impressively intimidating display as taloned hands slam down on where the shadows persist. The shadows dissipate easily beneath its claws but their shriek in indignation warbles uselessly, clearly not expecting the sudden attack in their bid for new prey. What the shadows have in number the dragon compensates for in size, easily swiping down a handful before attempting to latch onto another with its sizable maw.

♡ Rolan can’t tell if it’s doing any damage, but whatever perceived slight this dragon has on the shadows Rolan isn’t going to question. The shadows have their attention turned to the beast; if he has any intention of making it out alive he reasons he needs to get out of here now. But that’s easier said than done when one wrong move could have him meeting the business end of a stray swipe or the lingering shadow taking the opportunity to pounce. He’s going nowhere - not while the fight persists.

♡ Eventually the shadows must decide that facing a dragon isn’t worth the trouble just for making the meal out of the tiefling, and no sooner had Rolan been surrounded, the shadowy figures slink back into the deepest recesses of the darkness. A wave of relief warms his bones at the realization that they’ve slithered back to whatever domain formed them - he’s alive.

♡ But then those slitted eyes land back on him, and Rolan decides his chances may have been better dealing with those shadows. His attempts to escape are thwarted, the dragon rounding on him in a manner far slower than the frantic thrashing of before. No, it’s watching him, and the tiefling is rendered frozen at the curious way it tilts its head as though it recognizes something familiar..

♡ Almost jumps out of his own skin when it nudges him, a quick bump of its head that almost knocks him flat. Rolan barks out a curse, but the winged creature insists on pushing him till he finally takes the hint and moves to where it’s clearly wanting him to go. Gods, this is unnerving and he doesn’t know what it wants until the nudging finally stops and he finds himself staring down at the lump of belongings haphazardly discarded at his feet. And he tenses.

♡ This pack - that lantern - he knows who they belong to at a glance. And no sooner has he put the pieces together that there’s a ripple of energy, a shift in the very air as the dragon before him begins to change. It molds into something else, taking on a form far more familiar - the last face he’d thought to see, but perhaps the one he should have expected.

♡ You just about keel over, clutching your knees and shaking bad enough to match his own as you let out a wheeze. You’re not worse for wear aside from the general health risks of being out in a land so tainted by dark magic, but even as you dust yourself off and look over at Rolan, you once again leave him speechless with a quick quip of “So…that was new.”

♡New? NEW?! You mean you just suddenly discovered your shifting abilities, like some twisted epiphany?! The pair of you must be a right sight, huddled around the moon lantern with him slack jawed and you looking more confused than you have any right to be after that stunt. It’s too much to process, and he’s still reeling from the near death experience and everything that has happened in such a short amount of time. Doesn’t put up nearly as much of a fight as he would have in his right mind when you urge him to go back to the inn - you’re grateful for that, or he might have insisted on coming with you even more.

♡ He doesn’t get to grill you on your abilities until everyone is finally safe. Many are enjoying what little respite they can get before they move on to the next place away from here, and he catches you finishing up your own business at the inn hoping for answers before you leave. Like Astarion, he has doubts that you didn’t know. Really? Not even an inkling to the draconic blood in your veins or where it had come from. Tries not to be frustrated at the shrug you offer in response, having to remind himself that this is a new development for you - he’s not going to pry you with questions when you’re likely still struggling to wrap your head around the prospect yourself.

♡ Once Rolan realizes what had triggered your transformation he goes uncharacteristically quiet, staring hard at your face as though trying to gauge your bluff. When he finds none his voice breaks with his gratitude, hiding the shake behind a cleared throat as he breaks eye contact suddenly struggling to meet the sincerity in your gaze. That was…perhaps he needed to rethink what exactly that - he - meant to you another time; in a place where there’s not always life or death on the line.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 halsin #bg3 rolan #gale dekarios #astarion x reader #tav x astarion #gale x reader #gale x tav #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #rolan x reader #rolan x tav #request #anon

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leth-writes · 4 months ago

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Marcus, Aro, and Caius quick headcanons

Aro

“Oh, how wonderful!”

Aro’s ecstatic. Thousands of years have all boiled down to this moment. The two of you meet out on the town, most likely in a museum in Volterra. He’s in a private, cordoned off section, wealth has its benefits, when he spots you staring at one of his favorite paintings.

Everything clicks, and he knows he just has to have you

Aro is honestly quite creepy, and does tend to be a bit overbearing. Before even introducing himself he probably brushes his hand against you, seeing your entire life in a flash. He falls even deeper in love just seeing that.

Takes you back to the castle with promises of rare art, but ends up turning you right away. Keeps you locked in the tower. Sometimes treats you like a possession, but once you develop your newborn strength, just threaten to leave and never see him again and he’ll calm down

Marcus

“Finally…”

Marcus never thought he’d be able to love again, but spotting you within the crowd right before the feeding breathes a new life into him. He moves quicker and with more passion than anyone has seen him exhibit since Sulpicia died, picking you up bridal style and moving you to his private suite.

Tells you immediately, and under Aro’s goading, turns you quite soon after, though he does try to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

With Aro whispering in his ear, and the fear of you dying and leaving him completely shattered, he’s incredibly protective. The same energy that led to the creation of St. Marcus’ day is the same energy he uses to keep you safe.

Caius

“Don’t get too comfortable, you won’t remain human for long.”

Also meets you when he spots you in the feeding crowd, but this time it’s right as he’s about to bite you. Probably goes through with it and bites you in the moment, turning you immediately. This is because he hates the idea of you being so vulnerable. He has a tough exterior, but he would burn the world to the ground to keep you safe.

Loves painting you, and his walls are littered with your visage. Spends every day with you, and is quite possessive. Loves play fighting and training you to use your strength to its true potential.

#twilight x reader #volturi x reader #caius volturi x reader #marcus volturi x reader #aro volturi x reader #lethwrites

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randomwriteronline · 13 days ago

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"Sweet little one, standing upright, to me you appear dressed in white. But your red nose, what wonders it does: shortens your life the longer it glows."

"A candle," Velika smiled.

"Correct." Mata Nui replied. Then, he offered another riddle: "Which part of the bird has never soared the skies but slithers instead upon the ground, and swims on the surface of the water without ever getting wet?"

"The shadow."

"Correct. Two parents have five daughters; each daughter has a brother, and each brother has five siblings. How many members compose this family?"

"Eight."

"Correct. A beast of long legs, of strength filled to the brim - yet no eyes adorn its head, its intelligence quite dim."

"Pinchers."

"Correct. Today is the third of seven days. In seven years, which of seven will today be?"

"The fourth."

"Correct. I am that which cannot be touched, but inhabits all living things; I am what kills them, burning quietly, and through their mouths the plume of my combustion shows in the cold."

"Oxygen."

"Correct. Through my long black neck breathes my red heart, hacking out smoke as warmth from me departs."

"A stove."

"Correct. She who fights the winds and waves from the bowels of the seas to maintain her treasure so far away, thin yet heavy, weak yet invincible: who is she?"

"The anchor."

"Correct. A ship rotted upon the shore: each plank that fell away was slowly replaced, until it was remade completely new. Yet from the rotten planks, preserved adeguately, a second ship was constructed in the image of the original. Which one then is the true ship?"

"Both and neither," Velika smiled. He tilted his head in his hand, amused. "You're really not good at this."

"An 'and' is not an answer." Mata Nui replied: "Please choose."

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"A rethorical question is not an answer. Please choose."

"The one from preserved wood."

"I see. A crow, dying of thirst, struggled to get water from a deep vase lodged in a pebbled shore. In its desperation, it began piling rocks upon one another; and so it saved itself. How?"

"By piling them in the vase, forcing the water upward."

"Correct. Swells all around you, like a glove fitting; never shall it hold you, cold embrace fleeting."

"Fog."

"Correct. An unusual farmer plows through a barren snowy field, sowing black seeds in quick succession; what he reaps is just one fruit which feeds many over the years, and never wilts, but only lasts as long as it is not burnt or faded."

"The written word."

"Correct. It is one of the visages by which we can be recognized, odorless, colorless, impalpable - and yet it can reach us far away."

"The voice."

"Correct. It is what the rich lack and poor have plenty of, what the strong fear and the weak have power over, what the happy desire and the dead need."

"Nothing."

"Correct. What am I doing?"

"Stalling me."

Mata Nui smiled: "Correct."

Velika did not move.

"It's useless, you know," he said, grin frozen upon his fake Matoran face as it struggled to hide his true one: "You can't stop me from my goal with these little guessing games of yours."

"I was under the impression you quite enjoyed making riddles."

"I made you."

"You helped. It was admirable, indeed; but it was not your labor alone. You are not one for the practical sciences, after all."

"I made you. You are a soul, a thinking brain. I allowed you to be that."

"You, and others."

"Does the fine print matter?"

"Of course it does. You would wrongfully claim full ownership over the universe entrusted to me otherwise."

"I made them. They are sapient because I allowed them as much."

"And you wish to destroy them now, as they are past their use, and for them to comply and go quietly to you, without making a mess, as otherwise it would be quite the inconvenience."

"Of course."

"Fathers owe their children as much as their children owe them."

"They're not my children," Velika laughed loudly as if that was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard: "They are a successfully completed experiment! Archived and finished! I can't leave the mess of my previous project all over my desk if I want to start a new one, don't you think?"

Mata Nui did not move.

"You are awfully cruel in your insatiable curiosity." he noted simply. "Indeed, you are Teridax's father."

"I told you I don't have children."

"But we were your successors, were we not? A lonely god on a mindnumbingly long journey, one scientist in a team with delusions of grandeur."

"You are things I made. Things I gave awareness to. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"Is this also your opinion of the universe within me?"

"Of course."

"Then you have no claim on us."

Velika raised his head from his palm and laughed. He laughed again, spitting out phonemes without a rhythm. He forced himself to laugh, because otherwise the confused wrath within him would have needed to explode in some other way.

"Pardon?"

"It brings a riddle to mind."

"I don't want a riddle. What did you just say?"

"Again, I was under the impression that you enjoyed posing riddles. At inopportune times most of all."

"Cut it. What did you say?"

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"I said I don't want a riddle!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Quit that! What did you say to me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"You insulted me, is that it? You insulted me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Shut up!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Fine! Fine, you broken piece of junk, fine. Repeat it, I didn't listen."

"No, she denied custody and has no say over her nor her belongings."

"Correct."

"So? What did you say?"

"I said the exact thing you repeated with your answer." Mata Nui replied. "You have shirked your responsability towards us, and you have no right to decide of our fate."

"You are things," Velika hissed: "Things are made!"

"We are people. People are made, too."

"People are born! They are thinking creatures!"

"Are we not, then?"

"No! You are things that I have given sapience to! You owe me life! Obedience! You owe me everything you are!"

"Are we then yours?"

"Yes!"

"By what virtue?"

"By virtue of creation!"

"By virtue of birth." Mata Nui repeated. "A virtue that we have agreed holds no water when a parent abandons their children."

Velika's eyes burned: "You are made," he insisted. "Not born."

"People are made, too. They are engineered by chance, put together by two others. The creation progress requires time and resources; afterwards, the new being needs to be programmed and taught what to do, what not to do, through trial and error."

"It's different. It's completely different. I gave you that intelligence. In people it's innate."

"From when? From the moment your cells are assembled? From the second you develop eyes? From the instant you are brought into the world, kicking and screaming? There is indeed an ability, innate, for understanding tasks and languages; but it all has to be instructed. Neither of us were born capable of speech, yet we could understand a language of our own, for that is how we were both built."

"Do not equate yourself to me. You are code, bits and pieces of electricity, the vague hint of a self."

"On that same electricity is based the neural system that is your 'I'."

"But I am your maker. I created you. Not the other way around."

"And so? You have denied custody of us. You refuse to recognize our personhood. Are you not our parent who abandons us, our creator who destroys us?"

"I have no children!"

"Then we do not owe you anything."

Velika raised his hand and grabbed the air, right where a neck should have been.

"I will kill you," he threatened: "I will annihilate you."

Mata Nui held his gaze without flinching: "That you can."

They remained still.

The room was empty.

"I had such knowledge to share... But it would have been too long to tell, I am afraid." he only lamented. "I have lived a long life, all in all - sometimes it has even been pleasant. A lousy god such as myself will not make much difference by now, alive or otherwise: my people have moved on from any whims that may have moved my requests once. Go on then, if it pleases you."

The hand twitched, but did not close.

It spasmed, clutching, hardening, but did not close.

Velika clenched his jaw, tightening his fist, but it did not close.

He tried, and tried, and tried, and tried, and tried; but it did not close.

"I will kill you," he hissed. But suddenly he wasn't sure he could.

Mata Nui waited.

Nothing happened.

His hand of thought - invisible, impalpable, barely real - grazed his creator's chin and lifted it slightly with his fingertips.

"What is it that the brilliant man standing before the machine he has made to do his bidding - to labor away endlessly in his stead, to travel where he would not, to learn what he could not, to sing and write and draw what he cannot - fears most of all?"

The Great Being did not answer.

Silence stretched over the small endless space the word should have been spoken into through his voice.

Mata Nui smiled.

"Leave." he ordered. "There is no place in this world for a god that treats its people like toys."

Velika lunged forward and grasped the Ignika in his hands.

By the time other beings arrived drawn in by the horrid noises, the body writhing and raving had lost its limbs, its bones, maybe even its skin. It clung to the golden artifact still somehow, trying desperately to claw at it, break it, unleash its wrath upon it as it continued to mutate the creature into something less and less able to function the longer it remained latched upon its surface by its own stubborn volition; it howled wordlessly, voice cawing through what was supposed to be its mouth in a garbled attempt at speaking, but there was no mind behind the gruesome wailing - just a violent, infinite, senseless anger.

It shrieked at them when they rushed to put it down, partly frightened to death by it, partly trying to spare it from the anguished existence it was bound to go on to live - screamed something, something that could have been 'obedience', or close enough.

Mata Nui did not stir from sleep.

#bionicle #velika #mata nui #random writing #body horror tw #anyways i think velikas ultimate comeuppance should be reverting into a state of automata-like mindlessness no matter what

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