#(as much as those last two want to be freed anyway) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silverzoomies · 2 years ago

Text

Polaroid

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: solo masturbation. that's pretty much it, sorry

word count: 2,625

a/n: i wrote about him jerking off again. whoops. i've been absent for a week. but i'll be home tomorrow !! and hopefully i can get back into the flow of writing. until then, here's this rushed, unpolished thing i wrote on a whim !! it's super clunky and i'm so sorry lol !!

edit: made some minor changes to this. fixed some things that felt off, but overall it's still the same idea.

taglist: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz (as usual, ask to be added !!)

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Home alone, at long last. Helllllllz to the yeah. Down in the heart of his (mom’s) basement, Peter lies lazily on his back in bed. Today, it's one of those slow, hot afternoons midway through summer. Sunny, with a slight overcast. Peter hasn’t been outside to see it for himself. But he heard some guy on the radio call it “totally tubular” weather for a day at the beach.

He almost wishes he’d take a two second run to the Bahamas, or somewhere else. Peter could kick it back on a towel and watch babes in bikinis walk by. Maybe he could even stir up some trouble in the sand. Like he used to do, way back in his childhood. Just for some extra mayhem.

Alas. Today, Peter feels lazier than lazy. He’s found a new name for himself in Lazyville. As the leading candidate in the office of laziness. Speeding all around the globe for the umpteenth time this week sounds like too much work. Even a super powered mutant, living life in the fast lane, has his off days sometimes. What’s one break, eh? Breathing a sigh, he stares up at the ceiling. Earphones rest over his ears. Peter listens to a melodious tune by Jefferson Starship. Over his belly, he twirls his thumbs, bobbing his head along with his jams. Chillaxin’ and relaxin’ as one should on his day off. Hm.

Except, Peter’s kind of antsy. No one’s home at the moment. He has all this free time to do whatever he wants, in the privacy of said home. With not a soul around to judge him, or even bug him. And listen. It’s been centuries since he got off. Which may or may not be a slight exaggeration.

But wouldn’t you believe it? Despite his uniquely handsome features and outrageously fit bod; Peter has absolutely no game whatsoever. Crazy, right? Who woulda thought it? The dude who locked himself away in his (mom’s) basement for a good ten years. He’s awkward as hell? Say it ain’t so! Whoa!! Insane in the membrane!!!

Not to mention, it might as well have been a geological age since he got laid. Whatever. Who needs the companionship of someone else to have a totally righteous time, huh? Haha…

Ahem.

Today, Peter dubs himself the crowned king of slacking off and jacking off.

Pulling his earphones down to rest around his neck, his fingers move to find his jeans. He teases himself for a beat or two, his palm rubbing over the denim. Another beat, and his cock is freed from the tight, restrictive material. Peter makes a mental note: He might need to invest in looser pants. This pair is rough and uncomfortable around his legs, so he shoves them all the way down to his ankles with virtually no shame.

What does it matter anyway? For the time being, he’s free. At least until his mom gets back, that is. He should really stop thinkin’ about that. Every time Peter remembers - oh, yeah - he’s a grown ass man still living at his mom’s place; it kinda wrecks the vibe. Makes the mood crash and burn. Total boner killer. And he’s not even hard yet.

His half-hard cock rests limply over a curly patch of silver hairs. Peter would never admit it to anyone, but he’s always been self conscious of his hair situation. Some chick back in high school - he can’t even remember her name - said his silvery bush “looked really weird.” Like the pubes of some geriatric.

Peter can barely picture her face at this point. But the sound of her giggling at his expense is, unfortunately, locked away in his brain forever. Another embarrassing memory to withstand the test of time. Probably until he dies, or becomes a geriatric himself.

What was he doing again? Oh. Right.

Peter gives his dick a firm squeeze, like he’s checking to make sure it’s still there. Before taking the semi-hard length into his hand. Slowly, he strokes himself to hardness. Breathing a relieved sigh, Peter settles into the groovy-patterned sheets of his bed. The smooth tip of his cock inches through his closed fist with every stroke. As his frustration blossoms, his length throbs with an intense longing for something more.

Thick veins pulsate under his hand. Sparkling beads of precum leak from his tip. He coats the head in a generous glaze of slickness, eliciting a hushed noise from the depths of his throat. Keeping himself as quiet as humanly possible is basically a instinctive response. But he doesn’t have to hold himself back right now, does he?

Sweet. Peter’s gonna be as loud and obnoxious as he wants.

Pumping his cock a bit faster, he momentarily stops to fondle his balls. They rest heavy in his palm, smooth to the touch and loose between his fingers. After teasing himself impatiently, Peter redirects his attention to his twitching length. Aching for more stimulation. He jerks off with a pleasurable rhythm. Subconsciously following the beat that resonates from his earphones, his strokes fall into a more consistent pace. He leans further back in bed, letting his lips part. His nerves tingle. And as he revels in the sensation, he loudly moans. Letting the noise rip through the silence of his ( mom’s ) basement.

Said basement has now become more stifling. Kudos to the summertime heat for that one. Peter’s Conan the Barbarian T-Shirt - now damp with his sweat - feels like too much of a hindrance. He pulls the fabric up, letting his upper half breath. With his shirt clamped between his teeth, Peter leaves his body exposed. A sheen of sweat coats his abs, and his pecs raise with each labored breath he takes.

He takes a half second to admire his own physique. Honestly? No bullshit? His body looks pretty damn amazing. If only there were someone around to appreciate how naturally jacked he is. It’s a hell of a tragedy, really. All this smokin’ hot, speedster bod goin’ to waste. Tsk tsk tsk.

Who was he even kidding? Why would anyone wanna waste their time messin’ around with a total shut-in like him?

Dammit. Now's not the time for some hateful, self-ribbing. He should distract himself with something. Something like-

Using the gift of his mutation, Peter increases his speed by a few notches. His fist squeezes tightly around his length, stroking his cock even faster. He groans into his shirt, knitting his brows as arousal washes through his groin in waves. It feels good. Really fucking good.

But it’s not enough. He wants to utilize this free time as much as he can. It’s the perfect opportunity to get even more frisky than he usually would. Peter bolts around the basement, searching for a few hidden…uh…treasures, we’ll call them. In a blink, he reappears on his bed, leaving his overly tight jeans and boxers discarded on the floor.

Lying next to Peter over the wrinkled blankets, rest a bottle of lube - the tingly kind, a stroker toy - clear, with literal, silver lining, and a polaroid photo. The toy hasn’t been used in eons, but its quality is still up to par. Peter made sure to clean it the instant he found it again. And the photo, well…

It’s his own, filthy secret.

A low-res, high flash picture taken of you at last year’s, X-mansion, Halloween party. Whoa, mama. You were scantily clad in the most outrageously suggestive Indiana Jones costume Peter ever saw. Back at the party, you even tipped your hat and cracked the whip a couple of times. Which may or may not have awakened something in him. But that’s beside the point.

You were so tipsy that night. Way more flirtatious than you naturally would be any other day. Peter remembers you pressing your body against his, hanging over him all night like a sexy sack of potatoes. He sat next to you on the couch. With a cheesy grin on his face, he watched your every move. The tiny shorts you were wearing kept riding up your thighs. It was obvious you were braless under a tight, cropped, button-up shirt. Leaving so little to the imagination.

Point blank, it was fucking awesome.

You crossed your smooth legs. One over the other. And you leaned in to whisper something hot in Peter’s ear.

“Take a picture with meeeee, Quickie, I wanna remember this moment forrrever and everrrr.” You pleaded, your breath tickling the skin of his neck.

What followed, he hadn’t seen coming. As someone - it’s all a blur, Peter can’t remember who - snapped the photo, you pressed your glossy lips to his cheek. Your giggles were so coquettish and teasing, he felt shivers race through his body at mach speed.

“I’m, like, sooooooooo scared of snakes. Geddit? ‘Cuz I’m Indiana? But your snake doesn’t scare me. Can I pet it, pllllleeeassse?” You giggled again with a little whine.

Making an abrupt move, you reached for Peter’s crotch in front of everybody. After zipping away to grab you a solo cup full of water and some bread, Peter snatched the photo from whoever. And he bolted home in a fit of shameful embarrassment.

In retrospect, you weren’t just tipsy. You were majorly smashed. You didn’t remember a single minute of it. Figures. He’s not too surprised you wouldn’t remember flirting with him.

Peter sighs, blinking himself out of the memory. Eager to continue his once-in-a-silver-moon, jerkin’ session. He squeezes a fair amount of lube into his palm, wrapping his large hand tightly around his cock. Over every inch of his aching length, he spreads the slick substance. Tingles sparkle like stars across the hot, velvet skin of his cock. Wet noises echo lewdly through the basement, as Peter pumps his leaking dick fast and hard.

Clenching his shirt between his teeth, Peter tilts his head back. A loud, seething moan slips from his lips, slightly muffled. He pauses again, grabbing the stroker and guiding its smooth slit over the swollen head of his cock.

“MMmmmnnn~!” Peter hums a steady moan, exhaling through his nose.

The inside of the toy feels nothing even remotely close to the real thing. Kind of a bummer. But the tunnel’s soft, bumpy ridges are still a double A plus. A little too good sometimes, actually. The toy slides down Peter’s cock as he pushes his entire length through. It’s a tight fit around him. Tighter than it should be. Which is doing wonders for his confidence. Maybe he should be more proud of his size.

He’s above average enough, the small toy can’t contain the length of him entirely. His weeping tip peeks out the other side of the stroker, prodding through with every pump. Peter breathes another, shuddering moan. His brows crease in pleasure. Pumping his cock with the squishy toy, he whines in desperation. Forcing his thick length through the toy’s tight grip, slick with lube and smooth as silk. The ridges inside tickle and massage his cock, stimulating his buzzing nerves.

The muscles in his groin tighten, stiffening his legs. Shoving his cock rapidly through the ribbed tunnel of the toy, he groans louder. Letting his needy noises slip as they please. Fuck it. No restraint. Indulging himself further in his degeneracies, Peter keeps your photo close by. He shoots a glance at it, admiring your soft thighs and amazing cleavage.

He daydreams about you. Imagining the way you’d feel around him, squeezing him so much tighter than any toy. You’d be needy and wet for him too, making it so easy for Peter to bury himself balls deep inside you.

Peter thinks about the way your titties would look, bouncing with each thrust of his hips against you. Would your nipples peak, stiffening under his fingers? How would you react if he had a little fun, and teased you with a superspeed buzz? Would you even like that? Would you think that kinda thing was weird?

He really does want you sooooo bad. But you have absolutely zero idea. Peter knows he’d treat you right if you let him. If you ever gave him the time of day outside of missions, he’d take you on the wildest ride you ever strapped yourself into.

Clenching his teeth hard into his shirt, he wraps both hands tightly around the stroker. Peter leans as far back as he can, bracing his feet flat on the bed. The blankets curl under his toes, as he lifts his hips. Driving his cock through the slick, textured toy and fucking it hard.

“Nnghh…fuuuuck. Fuck.” He groans, voice catching under fabric.

His breaths quicken, and his moans morph into desperate whimpers. Peter aches for your heat, and the closeness of your body. Your gentle touch. Your sweet voice and little whines. He knows, without a doubt, you’d feel beyond amazing. And you’d probably taste so sublime.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Peter whimpers into his shirt. Saliva seeps through the fabric, melting off his tongue and dribbling down his chin. His cheeks burn hotter, turning a brighter shade of crimson.

“Mmmmmfuckyeah-” Peter moans, followed by a muffled mumble of your name.

He fucks his cock through the toy at rapid, superspeed. Lifting his hips off the bed as if roughly drilling into your tight heat. Peter’s cock throbs as powerful surges of electricity erupt in the pit of his belly. Glossy, white streaks of cum spill from his tip, flooding over the toy. Dripping down the squishy sides of it. His cum stuffs the inside full, coating his dick in its stickiness. Peter thrusts his cock fast enough to appear a blur, until he’s completely spent.

Lying in a sweaty heap over his blankets, Peter pants easy breaths. Tousled, silver hair rests messily over his head. He pulls the stroker from his cock, and slick cum trails after it. Wet and thick against his softening dick. He throws his head back into the bed, taking a moment to compose himself.

It’s really crazy that he’s thinkin’ about you like this, isn’t it? He’s honestly really embarrassed by it. Peter grabs the polaroid and stares at it longingly, unable to suppress the grin pressing into his dimple. Damn. He just can’t help himself. No matter what, he’s kinda ride or die for you.

If only he had the balls to tell you up front.

Peter gazes at the photo for a few seconds too long. Lost in the sight of your sexy body again. You’re such a goddamn knockout. He guides his attention to his dick to find…he’s rock hard again? Seriously? Dropping his head onto the bed, Peter groans with agonizing frustration. He just can’t catch a break, can he? Why’s he always gotta be so antsy, so on edge, or so horny all the time??

A faint sound, like creaking wood, graces his ears. Peter tilts his head up instantly.

Only to be greeted by none other than the unexpected sight of you.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck-

You’re standing in his ( mom’s ) basement with your mouth agape. A faint indication of blush paints your cheeks, though he can barely see it. Peter should be moving. He should do what a speedster naturally would do in this kinda situation: Clean up and dress himself in less than a blink’s time. Just to play innocent afterwards. Maybe he could gaslight you into thinking you didn’t watch him get his rocks off.

But he’s stunned to the point of being frozen. Neither of you make a single move. Except for Peter’s dick. It twitches subconsciously in his lap, catching your attention. And your eyes widen further.

He really should’ve gone to the Bahamas. Peter’s betting those beaches are seriously bangin’ at this time of year.

#peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x y/n #smut

288 notes · View notes

fryingpan1234567 · 2 years ago

Text

so I know… most if not all of the ships in the HTP au (@aquaquadrant and @lunarcrown) are inherently toxic and Bad™️. unhealthy.

they’re rooted in players that are literally coded to be Like That, so the best it gets is kind of like… never wanting to kill each other. that’s the bar I feel like

but I can’t stop THINKING about them because I always pictured it like— a Hels’ partner is the one person they’re sane for. the one person they’re not absolutely feral for (or maybe they are but in a good way). the one person they’re better for.

FOR EXAMPLE.

Pathbubs is arguably one of the worst ones. they’re very sweet and fluffy with each other, but Patho is constantly aware that he’s going to have to leave fairly soon, and Dbubs is either blissfully unaware or refuses to admit that he’s thinking about it. Patho will return after Dbubs’ broken heart heals, when there will be no anger, no grief, just happiness to see him again.

which is… hella toxic.

but like, picture— Patho, on his many adventures out in the world, discovers a cupcake. it’s like a normal cake, but small and travel-sized. what.

so he brings one back for Dbubs next time he visits, who is ECSTATIC and demands to know how to craft one. he declares that he hates it and then devours half of it in one bite, which Patho finds highly amusing.

or like, Dbubs wakes Patho up at the ASS CRACK OF DAWN to drag him out the front door, explaining at a mile a minute that they’re going to go vANQUISH a GREAT BEAST and— and Patho BETTER be PREPARED because this is a BIG HUGE EPIC FIGHT—

and then the vines pull them through the trees so they can see over the top of them, and there’s the sunrise. Dbubs goes quiet as Patho blinks in surprise, pink and gold light turning his hair a pleasant orange color. the red vines growing from Dbubs reach towards the sun, waving cheerfully. Patho doesn’t quite know what to say, but Dbubs snuggles into his side with a contented sigh, and he figures maybe he can stay an extra day this time around. maybe. if the itch to leave isn’t too bad.

example two: Bravo and Timmy.

(technically Bravo isn’t a Hels but bear with me here) they seem like they have the most potential to be normalish— an Overworld player and a sweet but anxious bird boy. and I think they have their normal moments, but most of the time they’re just not like that. again: it’s in their code.

but you get moments like… Timmy forgets to eat for a while, which was just a habit from living near spawn for so many years, but now that they’ve moved away, Bravo’s been pushing him to eat a healthy amount. not because he’s concerned, or anything. just. constant death messages cluttering his screen are irritating. yeah. so Timmy forgets to eat, and Bravo notices how bad his hands are shaking when he hands him the thing he asked for. Bravo sighs in (totally real and not affectionate) annoyance and tosses him some of the food out of his own inventory. they take their lunch break together.

alternatively, Bravo’s been working for hours and hours! and Timmy actually had to remind HIM to eat once or twice! and that’s not good, right? so Timmy drags him away from his work for a much-needed walk, and they have a real conversation that didn’t involve insults or excessive swearing. strange.

last one last one okay

bX and Alisker?? ship name help TvT

anyways. we don’t know a whole lot about the two of them individually or like, their backstories, but bX used to fight in the arena until Alisker freed him (some way or another). maybe he was like “hey that guy can fight maybe I should get him on my side so people are more scared of me.” but some part of me is hoping, because HelsKnight is the champion and therefore the best fighter in there (OVER bX), he still chose bX because there was something special about him. some kind of connection. it wasn’t just business. it wasn’t NOT personal!!

now there are those little canon details that are so. just. Alisker trusts bX the most out of literally anybody who works for him, enough to have him run all the errands including the high-risk ones. he keeps water nearby at all times because bX is a guardian hybrid and he wants to keep him healthy/ happy.

and then… there’s another part of me that is very concerned. the unbridled pda— Atlas literally said that was showing off a very prominent weak spot. but what if. it wasn’t. like what if Alisker isn’t worried about that, because it’s not a weak spot? if someone (probably Bravo or smth let’s be honest) had bX pinned, threatening to kill him if Alisker didn’t do whatever whatever, Alisker would be like. “eh. I don’t care. go ahead.” BECAUSE HE’S SO POWER-HUNGRY HE CAN’T COMPUTE THAT SOMETHING, SOMEONE, COULD POSSIBLY BE MORE IMPORTANT.

and maybe bX knows this. and maybe they’re cool with it. maybe it’s just the way they roll.

I just… I love the way Aqua writes characters. it’s so nice to read and conveys both personality and like goal/ ambition so flawlessly, even if they don’t get much read time. IT’S AMAZING

#anyways.#hermitcraft #htp #hels to pay #htp au #hels to pay au #pathoslair #dboubleI011 #bXminer #Alisker0 #animositygaming #bravobiz #Pathbubs #SOMEONE HELP ME OUT WITH THE OTHER SHIP NAMES

191 notes · View notes

affectionatecorpse · 14 days ago

Text

It's now about 17 minutes until 3am and insomnia is playing up so instead of, y'know, ACTUALLY trying to sleep, I'm just gonna tiredly ramble again. Hooray!

So anyway I really really wish we'd gotten to see more of Moriarty's personality OUTSIDE of giant evil plans. I understand why they couldn't really do that because- run time- but at the same time, we actually barely know anything about Moriarty as a character. There's two outlets that show us more of his non master plan related personality, and that's the museum scene, and the credits.

You can tell from general reactions that the big bridge plan was NOT a normal thing for Moriarty to do. It was completely new. He left no clues, he gave no time limit, and it really felt more like a grand finale to his game with Sherlock, rather than another day. Like he truly was planning to end their entire streak right there that night. You can even see it in his attitude towards the game in the beginning and end. In the beginning, he's clearly enjoying it, just playing around and having fun with his mass murder attempts. He literally says "you enjoy our little game as much as I do", so he obviously finds it fun. But in the end, the way he says "it's just OVER. And you lose" doesn't sound like fun. It doesn't sound like he's hesitant to put a stop to it whatsoever. He sounds almost impatient to finish it quickly.

But if he really enjoyed it, what changed his attitude so suddenly?

You know what I think the reason for his sudden decision to stop playing completely out of the blue was?

He got scared by his brush with death.

In the recording of him nearly getting crushed by the skeleton, he looked absolutely TERRIFIED. Heavy breathing, eyes darting around, and blatantly unsure how to feel until he saw his phone and got snapped out of his little trance. This wasn't just another day, another loss. He actually could've DIED. He actually got INJURED. And it clearly scared him to know he could've been killed by a GNOME of all things, just on a random day.

Going off my previous post about how desperate he is for attention, possibly due to his naturally lonely design of just being a truck decoration, I wouldn't be surprised if that made him afraid of people forgetting him. Those things usually go together. What if he actually lost? And Sherlock just moved on with his life? What if Sherlock forgot about him and got a new rival? What if no one ever thought about him ever again?

And after such an experience, he did something BIG. Something absolutely no one could forget. A grand finale to his game with Sherlock, ensuring Sherlock wouldn't kill him in the end, and doing an act of mass genocide and destruction so horrific, absolutely no one could possibly forget it. It's the perfect plan, after all.

He's also SO much more angry than normal upon losing this time. When he got found out by Sherlock and Watson in the museum, he really didn't care. He was just happy to see them, and happy that they'd get to fight. He didn't care that they freed the gnomes, he just wanted to play. But when they freed the gnomes from the bridge, he is OUTRAGED. He actually shrieks in reaction, and it's clearly not an act, because you can hear the absolute rage and impatience in his voice, that definitely was not there earlier.

I went on a tangent- but also! In the credits, you really can see what his feelings about the game were before the big plan. It shows him having fun messing with Sherlock, running him about rampant, tricking him at every corner, messing with both him and the cats, just for the fun of it. It shows his more silly and goofy side, and how much he actually did enjoy playing the game while it lasted. I love Credits Moriarty, he's such a little mischievous goober and it's so entertaining to watch asgjkdghd--

If you wanna get extra autistic (which I'm gonna do somehow), you could even see his attitude shift in the post credits scene! It starts with him having a great time, running up and making a mockery of Sherlock, and laughing. Then the magnifying glass falls on him, crushes him, and his tone goes incredibly quiet and serious as he just says "I hate you, Sherlock". Like- isn't that EXACTLY what happened in the film? It was all fun and games until he got crushed by something, then he suddenly turned serious and petty?

I'm sorry I know I'm looking WAYYYYY too much into this silly little kid's film but I'm autistic as fudge and there's literally no content, what do you want me to do here?? STARVE??? Please! Also it's now 2 minutes past 3am--

#“how much lore can I make up about Moriarty without excusing his actions” challenge #I'm not TRYING to invent a tragic backstory for him to justify his actions and like #I'm actually scared people will think I am??#he is a completely horrible person #but I wanna know MORE #I really should sleep soon #sherlock gnomes #sherlock gnomes moriarty #moriarty #shitpost #long post #analysis #kinda #it counts leave me alone

12 notes · View notes

atsadi-shenanigans · 5 months ago

Text

What Shall We Become 27 - Close

The rogue rolls a stealth check.

On AO3.

Astarion ends up giving the drow’s knife to his most intrepid leader. He took it, obviously. Spends the half hour she takes to drink water and eat her dried fish to polish off any lingering contaminants (and check his arm three times, feeling for ridges or fleshy knobs beneath his skin). Once they’re both done, he presents it to her.

“Um,” she says.

He was hoping for something a little better.

She doesn’t know how to use it, save for gutting fish and skinning woodland creatures under the Blade and the wizard’s tutelage. But while her staff will do an adequate job with enemies at longer range, her close-range skills are utterly abysmal. The worst he’s ever seen, and he’s including Leon in that (the man relies far too heavily on his magic; ugh, wizards).

She takes it reluctantly. And he realizes he’s going to have to teach her how to use it. Takes another half hour to show her two basic holds (she’ll be best at overhead strikes and slashing, he thinks; at least until the gith can build up some arm strength in her). Remembers she’s human and living, and belatedly shows her how to hold it without potentially cutting her own fingers off.

Then she announces she’s fit to travel again by way of grunting and grumbling and her left knee cracking as she rises—her pulse goes fluttery and she stands very still a moment. Hmm. She really shouldn’t have let him feed. For her own sake, anyway.

Baffling creature.

And then they set about walking. Again.

They walk. And walk. And walk some more. She takes up a musical chant that ends with her muttering and a soft snort. Must be one of her people’s jokes. She tries to explain it, but he has no idea what a “taumcardee” is.

They stop frequently. It’s her fault. She wouldn’t be so dizzy if she had more blood sloshing about inside her own veins. But she gave half of it to him, to slosh about in his own veins, and now she’s unable to walk more than fifteen minutes without needing a break.

Rather like those beastly little dogs patriars of the upper city used to keep a century and a half ago. Dreadful things. Always knew when he or one of his siblings were about. Until the city finally got tired of the nightly cacophony (partially funded by that bastard, no doubt) and declared them all contraband.

She’s rather bitey like those tiny terrors, too. And, well, loyal.

He feels his face twitch and has to smooth his expression down.

She’s nice to him. Not because she’s trying to gain anything (no more than usual, anyway), but because she just…is. He’s useful to her, yes. Undoubtedly. But not in the way he’s accustomed to. Not in the way his instincts can fall into line with. Not in a way that makes sense.

She does. Genuinely. Want to just…help him. Just because.

He should be congratulating himself. This is what he wanted, the prize he’s been playing for. He’d even tasted something in her blood, this last time. Something new. Small. Like a freshly struck ember nestled in a fluffy ball of tinder. Neglect it, and it suffocates. Feed it too much, and it dies.

It’s almost like…

No. Best not dwell on that. Especially not at the spider silk connection between this foreign oddity and him.

Astarion is a vampire spawn, a rogue, a recently freed slave, and arguably one of the most experienced whores in all of Faerun. His goal is to stay that way (and keep the fourth in the past tense). Whatever his leader’s blood tastes like doesn’t matter, so long as she remains his leader and his key to the others. That’s how he stays safe. How he stays free. All he needs do is maintain his altered plan. Easy. He barely needs to do anything at this point.

Which is why there’s no reason for him to reach for her when he picks up distant sounds. A word of warning would do just fine. (It’s just practicality, since she’s his meal and his protection, and that’s why his innards lurch all sickly in trepidation.) (Simple practicality.) (Nothing more than that.)

“What?” she says in Chondathan.

He holds. Listens.

It’s quiet, even to his ears, and distant. He stops breathing and stills himself utterly. Has to strain to hear over the whoosh of her heart and the rush of her lungs inflating. But the longer he stands there, the more certain he is.

Footsteps. Distant pulses. Something—three, perhaps four—living things at a distance. And getting closer.

“Far over there,” he says. “People.”

The word he uses is an inclusive one, as Chondathan is rather lenient with it comes to whomst one is speaking about and their relation to the speaker. Elvish is far more discerning in what it considers a person. But he’s not teaching her Elvish, and she seems the inclusive sort (inviting him to feed on her even after discovering what he is).

He sends that thought (definitely not the second part of it, though) to her. It’s more an impression: careful steps padded to silence, heartbeats strong but slow, the lack of muttering or humming. Not just people.

People on the hunt.

“Fuck.”

He needs no translation.

She wonders if they can fight.

No.

He’s killed three so far?

By surprise, and he’s wondering if the first two weren’t slaves. In a fair fight (they both snort) he’d lose.

“Fuck.”

And they shouldn’t engage anyway. Part of fetching victims for that bastard was knowing who to lure and when and where. A pattern of missing patriars tends to draw attention. A few disappearances here and there amongst the lower city, and the flaming fist can barely be bothered to file the paperwork about it.

Then he realizes how much he thought so very openly just then, and he starts to cringe away. But the only thing he gets from her is a sort of grim acknowledgment.

Apparently human villains hunt the same way in her world.

He’s a little disquieted at the comparison (even though he shouldn’t be, he’s a vampire) (still).

“They’re coming this way,” he says, careful to use the simplest verb forms. Rather like talking to a dull child.

They can’t move fast enough to escape. Not with her in that condition. They’re near a shallow stream, the ground low and flat. But it rises up ahead. Becomes a narrow sort of low canyon. And she spots something in there. What she thinks might be a cave.

(What she actually thinks is an image of a wolf pup emerging from a hole on a steep embankment.)

It’s not so much a cave as a shallow alcove. They splash (quietly) through the stream to get to it, whereupon she realizes they’ll have to lie partially submerged and crammed right against each other to fit under the shallow overhang.

“You, in,” he says.

She makes an unhappy noise. So he crowds closer and makes a nudging motion with his hands. It’s not as if he’s trying to do anything disgustingly noble. It’s just that, should they be discovered, he has knives he knows how to use, and she doesn’t. Plus, they’re less likely to see him.

Water splashes. She sucks in a gasp through her teeth as she shuffles in and lies down.

He’s far less squeamish. Kneels down and stretches out, her front to his back. Pushes right up against her. Her body goes rigid against him.

He initially thought all that came from a virginly shyness. He nearly opens his mouth to tease her. But then he remembers what she admitted, what else that awkwardness might be, and a nastiness churns up his throat.

“Apologies,” he says.

To have children. She’d compared her future to a breeding sow. To be impregnated over and over. Not even just the sex of it, but to have her body taken away from her like that. Not as a person, but as livestock. As cattle. As a thing to be used up.

He lies there still and quiet.

Until her thoughts nudge him. She can’t see past him to tell if they’ve been discovered. And there’s no room for her to shuffle enough to peer past him. Perhaps she ought to be on the outside?

No. He’s got excellent hearing. He’ll know if they come close. And besides, drow have excellent nightvision, but in the depths, they tend to rely on seeing heat. They’ve become suited to the deep darkness. Able to see creatures with no light at all.

“Infrared?” she whispers, meaningless syllables.

So she shows him something. Another of her “movies.” A ridiculously muscled man with no shirt, slathered in mud, shouting into some overgrown forest.

“What?” he says, barely breathing.

And then the image changes to fuzzy shapes and colors. A gray and black landscape, and the shape of the same man, but now all red and white for some reason. Back to normal vision and some creature walking past the man, now covered in mud and no longer red, but the same gray and black as his surroundings.

Predator rules.

He blinks uselessly in the actual—and his own personal—darkness. Whispers, “What?”

Hiding body heat. He has no heat, so they can’t see him?

Yes, he knows. It’s how he got close enough to that half dead drow that hurt her—

Oh. He’s still angry about that, isn’t he? And she’s startled because that leaps between them at the same time she realizes he placed himself in front to camouflage her very living, very warm flesh with his own corpse.

That’s…she’s impressed. It tickles feather light across his senses, but it makes his lungs shudder in a gasp and he has to shove her out of his mind before he can reveal anything else. Show any more weakness.

They wait in that cold a long while. The hunters patrol overhead. Still making no sound. Likely using a gesture language. They come near the stream, and both Astarion and his leader hold their breath. He feels her tilt her head against his shoulder blade as her mortal lungs finally have to exhale.

But the patrol does pass. The two of them emerge dripping and streaked in mud.

The cave air feels cold in her absence.

#what shall we become #these two shitheads #astarion #astarion fic #tavstarion #into the burn part of slow burn #still more of a smolder than a burn #we're getting there #Astarion has issues #Eleanor also has issues #egregious cultural references #lost in a cave #spooning for survival

19 notes · View notes

cookiesupplier · 11 months ago

Text

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Thirty-Five (nsfw)

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, online bullying, panic attacks, stalking, mental health issues.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd, readers beware as always lol.

To read from the beginning, check out the Masterlist Here!

tags: @tearfallpixie @cncohshit @jordynyingling0219 @faceless-mirror @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747 @witchyweeb34 @black-damask1999 @jilliemiw86 @ilovesamkiszka @lyschko666 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses @laurpartyprogram @sunsshinesunny @malerieee @talialovesmiw @shilohrosechicken @thatchickwiththecamera @tamtam-elizabeth

Tag List is Open, please let me know if you would like to be added to it or in general.

Once dinner was over, Talia went back to Vinny’s, staying with Chris and Ricky was not going to happen. Being around the two of them was entirely far too tempting for her, and it wasn’t just physical. Being around them, she was drawn to them, both of them. Sitting there in her bed thinking back to the last couple of weeks, when she was around Chris, she always felt so vibrant, so alive. He made her feel joy in living again, when she realised now that for so many years, she’d just been going day by day, just putting one foot in front of the other. She’d been living her life, as if she were, an echo of herself, ever since she managed to leave the institute.

What did that say about her life, everything she’d done? Her friends, her family? Oh, no, she knew what it said about her family. Her blood family anyway, they hadn’t mattered to her since before they’d forced her into that institute. Looking back, she felt like she was a better person for that. Her family had always put too much stock in money, and where people stood in the social classes, it was one of the reasons that they weren’t allowed to bring friends on their snow trips. Saying family only might have seemed a bonding experience, but from her memories, it always felt like a way to push down those that they felt were ‘lesser’ than they were. Talia would have preferred to stay home for her holidays with her friends, any time, but she never got that choice, always dragged along, every year. Sure, there were plenty of trips that she actually enjoyed, but that didn’t mean she didn’t wish she didn’t wish for things to be different.

Her life before the institute, her life before everything had been turned on its head, before her family questioned her sanity, had always been privileged. Sometimes admitting that made her feel, disgusting. It made her feel, repulsive, like she didn’t deserve anything that she had in her life, anything that she’d had before.

For Talia, while her tattoo had destroyed her life in so many ways, it had also freed her from her family too. Freed her from them, from their expectations, from the way they would bind her and trap her to their ways, without any escape from the way they wanted her to live their lives. The problem was, looking back now, she hadn’t really, had she? She’d been living for so many years, under that shadow, the shadow of what they had done to her, hiding in herself, and withdrawn from how she really felt about it all. Not telling a soul? How was that free at all. She might have gone out, looked like she was living freely with her friends, her found family, her new life, her new home, her new freedom, but she’d still been trapped.

She’d blamed the tattoo and how other people reacted to it for so long, first there had been the jealousy at school, high school, college. Whether they believed her or not didn’t matter, people that once called her friends suddenly treated her like she was a freak, like she was mental. Oh, Talia thinks always thought she’d better than us, she has to have a famous soulmate, and went out of their way to crush her down, each and every day. It went from person to person, and she had felt so alone if it went for Ava, Jordan and Kyle, why they’d stuck by her, she’d never really understand, but they had. She asked them once, and all Ava had done was shrug and say that when she’d needed her, Talia hadn't blinked, nope, she hadn’t blinked about helping her. Sure it hadn’t been about soulmates, it had been about losing her parents, but Talia had always been there for her, supported her, so why wouldn't she be right by her side when she needed her too, no matter whatever the reason, ever.

Yet she’d been hiding, hiding in the shadows of her life, hadn’t she? Telling herself it was because everyone treated her differently because of her tattoo had been far too easy. When she tried to meet new people or date, most of them were just looking for their soulmates, and she could never be that, so it was, always, wrong. There was always an excuse not to put herself out there, not to take risks, and yet, now here she was. She was terrified, not sure if she was ready to take such a risk on Ricky, and Chris.

While Ricky didn’t want her, her soulmate tattoo was just as it had always had been, nothing but a nuisance to her. Now with the change that Chris might be involved, she wasn’t sure what that was going to do to the situation. Ricky seemed to think Chris would want her, but Ricky had kissed Chris himself before even considering they’d be connected, right? Chris certainly didn’t seem to have had a problem with that either, what if she didn’t need to be a part of the equation at all? The very thought sent a searing feeling she could only consider contributing to pain to her tattoo, breathing through it, it hurt more than it ever had before. Talia didn’t want to lose… she didn’t want to lose either of them. Yes, she knew Ricky didn’t want her, and what Chris wanted, she didn’t know that yet. Yes he'd kissed her so eagerly, but that was a kiss. A kiss was easy, a soulmate? A soulmate was so much more than a kiss. They didn’t even know what was truly happening with his soulmate tattoo. Maybe it would have no connection to their, but considering the sensations involved, it seemed unlikely.

Just thinking about this afternoon with them, the joy, laughing over cooking dinner, teasing Ricky over his dessert, it calmed her down enough for the scorching pain in her tattoo to ease. Considering how painful it had been, she was sure that it had happened faster than ever before. She shivered, however, just thinking about the dinner, and everything that had happened during it, most noticeably, the end… dessert. Ricky bringing out his dessert.

Thanking about that moment, that moment that they’d sat there eating his dessert, those messily decorated strawberries, the chocolate smearing her lips. Remembering the way she had spied, the way Chris watched as she licked over them, his eyes following the movement of her tongue over her lip as she swiped at the chocolate. Talia felt her face flush with a tingle of warmth flush through her all over again. Only this time it felt like so much more than her just her face when she’d blushed seeing Ricky watching her lick her lips as well. Both men had had their eyes trained on her last night, and laying there in her bed, all she could think about, was imagining them watching her now.

The need that rushed through her now was like a thrum of heat, and the tingle in her tattoo was no match for it this time. Before, Talia had been struggling to handle the feelings in her tattoo when this happened, the intensity. This time, she swore that thinking about the way both Ricky and Chris looked at her last night, closing her eyes with a soft groan, her fingers slipping down into her slip shorts, it was no match. A whimper escaped her at the aching throb she felt burning between her thighs, her fingertips slipping under the flimsy material to find herself already wet just thinking about them. Gasping, why was she so surprised, these men had been consuming her thoughts for, for far longer than she wanted to admit.

Stroking her thumb over her clit, her thighs confined in her shorts but far too wrapped up in this feeling to give thought to taking them off right then, so just gave in to how far she could move. Her fingers rubbing along her slit, on sliding into her with a groan as she rubbed over nerves as thought about the feeling of Chris lips on hers. How would it feel to have him be the one touching her like this? Thinking about his finger pressing inside of her, his tongue circling her clit instead of her thumb.

“Chris.”

His name escaped her with a moan as she pressed a second finger inside herself. Feeling the way her inner walls fluttered just at the thought of Chris fingers inside of her. Of course, as the sensation washed over her completely, the fingers of her other hand twisting in the sheets of the bed, a shudder running down her spine. Talia’s hips arched slightly into her touched as she pumped her fingers inside herself, rubbing against her sensitive skin, moaning, chasing her pleasure. Her eyes fluttering closed as she just gave herself over to the thought of it being Chris there with her, Chris fingers inside of her. Ricky kneeling on the bed beside her, her other hand moving from the bed and massaging her breast over her top in his place, his voice low, and rough whispering against her ear,

“You like that Sweetheart, look at you, such a good girl, going to come for us, aren’t you?”

Keening at the sound of his voice, oh god, it was so different hearing it now, so different when she wasn’t fuelled by the panic of the tattoo. The tingle in her neck was still there, reminding her, but it wasn’t ruling over her body, it didn’t feel like it was controlling pushing her this time. Not when her fingers curled inside of her and she heard Chris this time.

“Going to come for us, aren’t you, Baby?”

The moan that ripped from her throat at his question, hearing that, would Chris even call her that, oh god, please, please,

“Daddy, please!”

Rubbing at her clit furiously, imagining Chris mouth on her, his fingers inside of her, pressing at that spongy spot against her inner walls as she cried out when she almost wailed as she came undone on her own fingers.

Panting for breath, blinking her eyes open as she came crashing back down to earth. While consciously Talia knew she’d been alone this entire time, all the same, the effect was jarring as she glanced to where she had imagined them for those barest of moments, wishing they were there, and her bed was empty. Her hand slid from her breast, the other slipping out of her shorts with a whimper. She to god, if that was the tattoo making her hallucinate, that was a whole new layer of freaky, and she was going to scream. No, no, she wasn’t going to consider that, it was just her over active imagination and two irresistibly sexy men staring at her over chocolate covered strawberries, that was what had done it.

Oh god, she needed to cool off.

After a few deep breaths, she climbed out of bed, took a moment to change her underwear for comforts sake and made her way to the bathroom. Washing her hands in some cool soothing water, she then continued to splash some against her face, looking at her flushed warm features in the mirror.. What had she gotten herself into?

It was as she's walking back to her room, that was Talia runs into Ava, who seemed to making her way towards the kitchen.

“Can’t sleep either? Just getting a glass of water.”

Shrugging her shoulders a little,

“Bit of a strange dream actually, needed to splash some water on my face.”

Smiling softly to Ava then, but at the same time, her stomach twisted at yet another little white lie. She was always doing that, twisting the truth just enough to be tell the truth, but not tell her the entire truth..

“Actually, no.”

Sighing, no she couldn’t keep doing this, she needed to tell her the truth, she needed to tell her everything, finally. Maybe even Kyle and Jordan, but she could have those conversations later, this one she needed to have first.

“Not quite anyway, Ava, can we talk?”

Dividers: @saradika-graphics (roses) @cafekitsune (MDNI)

#motionless in white #miw #ricky olson #ricky olson fanfiction #original female character #soulmates #fanfiction #miw band #soulmate au #ricky olson fanfic #chris motionless #chris cerulli #chris cerulli fanfic #smut #fanfic smut #fic: every rose has its thorns

41 notes · View notes

acourtofthought · 2 years ago

Text

M-A-T-E-S

There are such common themes that exist for SJMs mates, especially when it comes to the Archeron sisters. From fighting fate (fighting their mates) to romantic undertones, while they have their own unique differences, all the pairings have strong similarities. There's quite a bit of tension and suffering but nothing is better when the mating bond is finally accepting and I don't doubt Elucien will be just as rewarding.

Feysand - Nessian - Elucien

“I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.”

“I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

I hadn’t heard from Rhys in the three months I’d been here. Not a whisper

Since Winter Solstice, they’d exchanged only a handful of words. Most had been at the barge party last month. They’d consisted of: Move. Hello, Nes. Move. Gladly. After months and months of nothing, of barely seeing her at all, that had been it.

She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left.

“Eat breakfast with me,” he said. There was a note in those words that made me pause. A note of what I could have sworn was desperation. Worry. I twisted, my loose clothes sliding over my shoulders, my waist. I hadn’t realized how much weight I’d lost.

Cassian said at last, “You look like you could use a few big meals, a bath, and some real clothes.”

Too thin. She must not be eating at all. How can she even stand? / “There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?”

“I think we can agree that I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing.”

She’d made it clear enough in those initial days after that last battle that she wanted nothing to do with him.

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

I heard you were going to marry him, and I told myself you were happy. I should let you be happy, even if it killed me. Even if you were my mate, you’d earned that happiness.

He knew about the drinking, about the males. He told himself he didn’t care.

He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here.

Nesta had made it clear enough she had no interest in Cassian—not even in being in the same room as him.

"She has no interest in him anyway"

“Is it Nesta?” “Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”

“Where’s Elain?” “I am not always in this city to see my mate.”

And whatever was on my face—I think it might have been mirrored on his: the hunger and longing and surprise.

I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister. The sorrow. And the longing.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside. / But there was a thread between us, and I followed it

The golden threads shimmered and sang,

“Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” / “There’s a bond—it’s a real thread,” he said, more to himself than us..

Rhys’s arms buckled as he fought to rise, and blood dripped from his nose, splattering on the marble. His eyes met mine. / Rhysand bellowed my name as I lost my grip on the room.

Cassian again stirred, slumping on the floor—but his hand twitched. Toward Nesta. / Cassian stirred again, his shredded wings twitching and spraying blood, his muscles quivering. At Nesta’s shouts, her raging, his eyes fluttered open, glazed and unseeing, an answer to some call in his blood, a promise he’d made her. But pain knocked him under again.

Lucien staggered a step forward as Elain was gripped between two guards and hoisted up. / “That is enough.” Lucien surged for Elain, for the Cauldron. / Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints.

I knew that you were my mate, and you were in love with another male.

“My mate is engaged to a human male.”

“You are my mate! Why are you still fighting it?” She let the truth, voiced at last, wash over her. “You promised me forever on Solstice,” he said, voice breaking. “Why is one word somehow throwing you off that?” “Because with that one word, the last scrap of my humanity goes away!” She didn’t care who saw them, who heard. “With that one stupid word, I am no longer human in any way. I’m one of you!”

“I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.”

“What is that.” Another grin as he lifted the small, wrapped parcel. “Your Solstice present.” “I don’t want one.”

one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings.

“Give her time. Give her space. Give her the opportunity to sort through this on her own.”

“Stay out of it. She’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.”. “Let him live with his Band of Exiles. Let him deal with Tamlin in his own way. Let him figure out where he wants to be. Who he wants to be. The same goes with her.”

“So many questions tonight.” I stared at him until he sighed. “I’ve had lovers, but I never felt tempted to invite one of them to share a life with me. And I honestly think that if I’d asked, they all would have said no.”. “Marrying me means a life with a target on your back—and if there were offspring, then a life of knowing they’d be hunted from the moment they were conceived. / “I know what that look means, you bastard,” Cassian said roughly, “and it’s bullshit. She loves you—in a way I’ve never seen anybody love anyone.”

“I am not with you,” she snapped. “I am fucking you.” “The only thing fit for a bastard-born brute, right?” / “Because I was fucking jealous!” he roared, wings splaying. “You looked like a queen, and it was painfully obvious that you should be with a princeling like Eris and not a low-born nothing like me!

“I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” And a whole lot of nothing.

My beautiful, strong, fierce mate, shackled to me—

“Well, I didn’t have a choice in being shackled to you, either.”

“To accept a life shackled to me?”

“I will never be him, act like him. He locked you up and let you wither, and die.”

“She’ll destroy herself if she stays cooped up in there.”

“She needs fresh air.” “We’ll judge what she needs.” I could have sworn his ruby hair gleamed like molten metal as his temper rose. But it faded, his russet eye fixing on me. “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.”

Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he’d fnd himself on his knees, begging her for a touch, for anything.

Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

Rhysand was my mate.

“I am your mate, for fuck’s sake!” Cassian shouted, loud enough for people across the river to hear. “You are my mate!

His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

In the moonlight, before the silvered lake, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #elain and lucien #elucien week #mating bond #acotar mates #elucienweek2023

93 notes · View notes

chvoswxtch · 2 years ago

Note

Congrats on 2k!

Could I please have a margarita with Billy Russo, based on this quote:

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”

-TWENTY LOVE POEMS AND A SONG OF DESPAIR

By Pable Neruda

hi nonnie!

so I read this poem and it was not only absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, but it also reminded me so much of billy. especially this line:

how you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.

like tell me that's not billy russo?? anyway, thank you so much for showing me that beautiful poem, & for stopping by the bar! 🥂

for those of you interested in reading the poem, you can find it here!

blurb below the cut

everyday you play

i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees

Sometimes Billy just liked to sit and watch you. His laptop was open in front of him, and there was a mess of papers strewn across the expansive dining room table, but his attention was solely on you.

He couldn’t remember what his life was like before he met you. Even though his penthouse was completely quiet, it was comfortable. He could faintly remember the ringing of silence in his ears from before, when it was just him in his glass palace. He remembers it being colder without the basket of blankets beside the couch and the fuzzy slippers constantly adorning your feet. You were always cold, and you liked that he was always warm. How did he sleep without the icy touch of your fingers seeking out his body’s heat in the middle of the night?

He couldn’t remember what the place smelled like without the lingering aroma of your favorite treats escaping the kitchen to filter throughout the rest of the space. You were the first one to even use the expensive kitchen appliances he had insisted on having when moving in. The walls were covered in candid photos of the two of you instead of meaningless art that had a high price tag. The carefully crafted castle he bought became a home, a real home with you in it.

The first one he ever had.

Billy stared at you in wonder as you sat curled up on the couch with your favorite blanket, occasionally sipping at the coffee you’d made in the mug he’d gotten you last Christmas, eyes never wandering past the pages you devoured in front of you. Billy was a solitary creature by nature, but you craved physical touch and affection. You had entered a silent compromise with him, allowing him space as you chose a spot to nestle in a comfortable distance away. You never voiced how much you needed to be close to him, but your presence was consistently in whatever room he was in, and he found himself going through withdrawals if he ever had to leave you for an extended period of time.

What he did to deserve you, he wasn’t sure. How he managed to keep you around was certainly a goddamn mystery to him. He wasn’t always so kind to you. Sometimes his savage temper got the best of him. He could be cold and selfish. Sometimes he cared more about his name and the reputation he carefully stitched to it than anything else; a reputation that had no doubt been whispered about to you. You never asked him much about his past, and he never voluntarily confessed his sins. He wondered how much of it you believed, and what you would think of him if you knew that the real truth was so much worse.

Maybe all of the planets and stars aligned at just the right time. Maybe the universe was finally working in his favor after dealing him suit after suit of a losing hand that he had no choice but to manipulate. Maybe you were an angel sent by a God he didn’t believe in to teach him about redemption and faith.

Billy still doesn’t know how you did it. You appeared in his sky one night like a supernova, entrancing him with your kaleidoscope of luminous colors, and he couldn’t escape the gravity that pulled him to you. Somewhere along the way, you slipped past the steel walls he braced himself behind, melted the solid ice cage that encapsulated his heart, and freed the real Billy he kept hidden safely inside.

You made him softer, warmer, gentler. You made him fall in love with you despite the fight he initially put up, waiting patiently for him to wear himself out until he gave into the sanctuary of your arms. Every delicate touch, sweet nothing dripped into his ear, promise of loyalty, and glimpse of heaven you showed him within your body only made him fall even harder.

Billy was enamored with you. He worshiped you. He showered you in the only affection he knew how to show with the finest treasures he could find. Billy was confused initially when you refused the luxurious gifts, and he had trouble comprehending that the only gifts you wanted from him were his love and time. But he had since learned exactly what kind of offerings you preferred, and he was nothing if not eager to lay himself at your altar.

Closing his laptop shut quietly, Billy rose from his seat and carefully stalked over towards you silently, his fingers twitching at his sides in anticipation of feeling the softness of your skin. Coming to a stop right behind the couch, he wrapped his hand gently around your throat to pull your head backwards, staring down into your surprised eyes with the ghost of a smirk on his mouth before he bent down to capture your lips.

“Think you should take a break from readin’, doll. I got somethin’ better in mind we can do together.”

#billy russo #billy russo x you #billy russo x y/n #billy russo x reader #billy russo request #billy russo blurb #court's 2k follower celebration #court's 2k friends celebration

104 notes · View notes

storiesbyjes2g · 1 year ago

Text

3.58 Still scared

I appreciated her asking, but the question blindsided me and I hesitated to answer. The issues that still haunted me were mine to work through, and I didn't want to burden her with them. The last thing I wanted to do was make her feel even the slightest bit of regret. But I couldn't lie to her and say everything was fine. No matter what I wanted or how I presented it, this burden would always inevitably end up at her feet. She had always handled me and my hesitations with grace, but I wished she didn't have to handle them at all.

"I'm going to be honest with you," I said, "but I don't want you to take it personally and think you did something wrong, okay?"

"Of course. Okay."

I inhaled deeply and bared my soul.

"Being here with you gives me so much joy. I am where I want to be. These feelings I have for you...I've been trapped inside myself with them for a while. You forced me to reckon with them in a way that both scared me and freed me. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't have concerns."

She nodded slowly, and I feared she still took offense despite my warning.

"You think this is a mistake?" she asked.

"No! Being with you is one of the best decisions I ever made, however scary and unexpected it was. But..."

I had shared many things about my life with Sophia, but I glossed over the painful parts in favor of keeping the mood light and not wanting her to feel sorry for me or whatever women did with men's drama. But I couldn't keep her in the dark forever.

"The thing is," I continued, "My parents are divorced. You know that. What you don't know is how it affected me. I didn't find out why they broke until I was well into my teenage days. I lived nearly my entire childhood wondering what happened and confused about why we couldn't be a family anymore, especially when my parents seemed to get along."

"My mom cheated on my dad for literally no reason. She was in love with another man their entire relationship, even though she said she didn't realize she had feelings for him until right before she cheated. But anyway...I was so devastated by that. Like, I just couldn't picture it. My mom? She was so perfect and magical to me. I just couldn't imagine her hurting my dad like that...hurting me like that..."

"And to be so flippant about it? Who decides to destroy their family like that??"

My face started getting hot, and I couldn't lose my cool, so I took a moment to calm down before continuing my sordid tale.

"Ever since then, bits of information about their relationship and past lives keep coming out here and there, and every time I think it can't get worse, it does. I feel like if this can happen to two people who were very happy and in love, what hope is there for me? I have zero reassurance that I can be happy with someone for the rest of my life."

I took another moment to breathe and reflect on everything I blurted out. If I didn't have Sophia and hadn't committed to being brave, I think my words could have hardened my heart. But I continued.

"My parents started dating, moved in together, and got married within a matter of days. One thing my dad said he would do differently was date longer. We've known each other way longer than my parents did, and even though it feels like we rushed into living together, I know that's not really the case. But I can't deny how familiar this feels. On one hand, I feel like we have a solid foundation and are well on our way to a long, fulfilling life together. But on the other hand, I feel like we're following in my parents' footsteps and are perfectly primed for repeating their mistakes."

"Wow," she said. "You never really told me about their situation. I figured it was just one of those things you didn't like talking about. I had no idea it was that bad."

"Now you understand why it took me so long to ask you out. I wanted to call you so badly immediately after getting home from Mt. Komorebi, but...I just couldn't. This fear paralyzed me. I only recently decided to work toward fighting against it."

"I understand, Luca. Trust me," she said with a little extra something in her voice.

I turned back toward her with my eyebrow raised, but she turned away from me.

"I am all too familiar with what you're going through," she said.

"Yeah?"

She nodded.

"Let's just say...I've been where your dad is..."

The anger that attempted to arise in me earlier returned, and I wanted to know names and addresses. What kind of idiot cheats on a sweet angel like Sophia??

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"Yeah, thanks. I've had a lot of time to get over that, but like you, there are certain things I haven't been able to shake. And also like you, I'm working to grow past them. I asked you to live here because I know you're the man for me, and I am the woman for you. I love you, and I want you around. But...there is a tiny voice inside that tells me I need to keep you close so I can watch out for threats. I ignore it because I trust you, but it doesn't go away completely. So...yeah. I know what you're going through."

I completely missed the last part of what she said because my hearted pounded in my chest so loud I couldn't hear a thing when she admitted she loved me. SHE LOVED ME?!! The weight of her admission pressed down on me, filling me with a mix of exhilaration and terror. I wanted to reach out and hold her, to tell her how I felt and say it back, but the fear held me captive. I could share many things with Sophia with ease, but when it came down to exposing the deepest depths of my heart, I freaked out. The words got stuck in a huge knot in my throat. I swallowed a few times, trying to stuff down the fear that tried to choke me, but it prevailed.

"I...I want to say it back. I'm trying to... In my heart, I know that's what I feel, but..."

I longed for the words she deserved to hear to flow effortlessly from my lips, and it pained me to admit I wasn't ready. It hurt so bad I could feel the pressure of tears building up behind my eyes. But I couldn't cry in front of her. Not over this, especially after everything I'd just confessed to her. But she grabbed my hands and caressed them, giving me hope that one day I'd be okay enough to tell her exactly how valued she was.

"Hey...it's okay, Luca. Don't beat yourself up. I said it because I was ready, not because I wanted to hear you say it back. We don't have to be ready at the same time. I agreed with what you said about us rushing. It was a long time coming, but it was sudden no matter how you look at it. You need time to adjust, which was why I asked the question in the first place. Don't rush the process on account of me. When you're ready, you'll say it."

I don't know what I did to make the Watcher deem me worthy of such a woman, but I was eternally grateful.

"I'm glad you understand. You're a real gem and I..."

I tried to ignore her and force myself to say it, but it still wouldn't come out. Instead, I said, "I care about you deeper than I've ever cared about anyone."

She smiled.

"I will take that and cherish it."

Need to catch up? See what you missed or start reading here!

When I moved in Luca, I checked her relationships, whims, etc. to see what I'd be working with. She had the fear of being cheated on! We're still getting to know her, but what do you think?

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar

26 notes · View notes

soldjermon · 1 year ago

Text

Diagram#2 complete… Took too long. Part of Luigi's Mansion: Darkness Arises story- chapter 33 and beyond.

Alternate versions, full-size and parts of these pics are in the links below. Link to Google Drive Folder is here!

Full details without downloading onto computer-more detailed version Full details without downloading onto computer-less detailed version 3D model Poses help from NDY's 3D models This round for diagram took just as long compared to the last one… x-x thanks to work, exhaustion, distractions, and lack of motivations that are hit or miss some days- mostly miss though.

These pics of Luigi/Mr. L, Dark Illusion and Dark Super Dimentio are from the Luigi's Mansion: Darkness Arises story, chapter 33 and later; but the chapters after 33 were never released… So, these images are from the unreleased chapters that wasn't posted onto Ao3 currently, but are on google docs(that's not technically public). Dark Super Dimentio was going to be part of the final battle with Maya and King Boo, but that part of the story was never written currently- because the story had halted long before it even got there.

However, if I do get any incentives to post the later chapters(just letting me know if anyone wants to read the chapters), I'll start posting those chapters onto Ao3. Though eventually, I'll release them onto the site. Not sure when, however. Even then, the whole story was never completed unfortunately- even after the unreleased chapters ever do go up.

Anyway, here's some juicy information to why these pics were created. The Dark Illusion was created from the demon king Maya from the fabric on Luigi's overalls- since that part had the plumber's DNA on it and was able to pick up the memories and emotions of both the plumber/mechanic. The Dark Illusion targets Luigi/Mr. L to try to gain control of them when both halves were at their most weak and vulnerable; successfully taking control of them to create Dark Luigi- a force to reckon with and disrupt the progress of freeing everyone on the S.S. Friendship from the paintings and from their controlled ghostly form- as well as the life-death balance.. Luckily, the void missile attack from the modified poltergust G-00 - thanks to Hatty having the poltergust at the time - forced the Dark Illusion out of Luigi's body and freed him from the dark control. Void missiles can instantly slain a person into non-existance once launched and targeted to an evil being, but Luigi was fortunate- barely surviving that kind of attack twice and fully recovered with the help of the two docs on the S.S. Friendship and the silver hearts.

However, his soul was gravely damaged from the second void missile attack, and had-to recover somehow; in which his soul absorbed so much of King Boo's raw and tainted ectoplasm, it changed the green clad into a semi-specter once his own tainted soul reunites with his recovered physical body. This also caused both halves to fuse together for some time, though the ectoplasm won't last forever and will separate after some time has passed. It does, help with some ways- like being confident and cautious at the same time when needed for example.

During the final battle, a new and more demonic Dark Illusion shows up again, this time gaining so much power from the demon king Maya- transforms into the much more menacing Dark Super Dimentio; after knowing about Mr. L's fear of not wanting to become that kind of monster again from the paper-themed adventure(Super Paper Mario).

Enjoy the pics~ :3

Soldjermon

#Nintendo #Super Mario Brothers #Luigi's Mansion #Super Paper Mario #Luigi #Luigi nintendo #Mr. L #Dark Illusion #Super Dimentio #Dark Super Dimentio #Dark Luigi #Fusion Luigi #Boocille #Demonic Possession #Soul separating #Soul corruption #Soul fusion #The sinister and evil power of Dark Illusion #Soldjer's art

36 notes · View notes

mandosaur · 2 years ago

Text

Loth Rat (Thrawn / Reader / Kallus)

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Pairing: Thrawn / Reader / Kallus

Summary: “Your life has changed again. The floor has fallen from under you. You are a traitor. An imperial collaborator in a planet recently freed from imperial control. The very people you were allied against now hold your life in their hands. The people of Lothal may call you a Loth cat, but you’d sooner call yourself a Loth rat.”

After having spent the last few years as a political prisoner, you are finally given a choice as to what will happen to you now that Lothal is freed.

Warnings: Dead dove; do not eat. Implied / referenced SA, Implied / referenced domestic violence, implied / referenced torture, implied / referenced imprisonment. There is nothing explicit in this work or graphic, it has all happened in the past, but be mindful.

Word Count: 7,277 Words

Estimated Reading Time: 26:28

Part one of the Loth Rat, Loth Cat, Loth Wolf series.

“Please let me in,” the plea leaves Hera’s lips quietly as she stands on your doorstep, “I need to speak to you.”

A huff leaves your lips despite yourself and you have an urge to slam the door on her face. Seeing her nose break would certainly make things better. Being able to give her just a shred of the pain she caused you would go a long way to healing the terrible injuries she and the others have inflicted on you.

However, you decide not to risk it. Hera is a rebellion general and the rebellion has won. Lothal has changed hands and the fate of you and your child are at stake. You can’t afford to anger those who wield the power.

“What are you doing here? Have you come to arrest me?” You cross your arms protectively in front of yourself and offer her your best glare. The way she looks away breaking eye contact is some solace. A small reassurance that you have some power still when the last two years have made you feel so weak.

Hera crosses inside your home and looks around. Her steps are hesitant and her eyes scan the area from place to place. You can see her cataloguing everything mentally. Running a tally of what she sees and archiving it all to memory.

You are sure a part of her is resentful at the splendor of your home. Your house is the biggest on Lothal. A wedding gift from your husband. Art from around the entire galaxy adorns the walls and a large imperial banner hangs at the entrance. It’s a far cry from the tiny little apartment you had in Alderaan when Hera met you for the first time.

“I didn’t come here to arrest you,” Hera softly calls your name, “I would never. You aren’t one of them.”

Them. An imperial.

You grit your teeth at the way she looks at you. There is pity in her eyes and a deep sinking regret. She feels bad for you. You have-had the world at your feet, yet she’s the one who feels pity.

A quiet rage forms and you scoff.

“But I am, General Syndulla,” you wave to the splendor and riches around you, “I switched sides. Don’t you remember?”

You wish you could see yourself from her eyes. Idly, you wonder what she sees when she compares who you were back then to who you are now.

When you first met Hera 4 years ago, you were a young girl from Alderaan. Your parents were friends with the Organas and you had been raised a noble. The life of nobility was stifling and your only escape came from art. Eventually Hera’s travels led her to your home planet and the two of you had struck a friendship. When she had offered to take you with her, you had agreed and joined her crew.

Eventually, when Hera had allied herself with the rebellion, you had too. Alderaan had never been too involved with the rebels openly and held some freedom in the empire-as much freedom as a tyrannical government could offer anyway, so the cause wasn’t something you had been dying to join when you signed up for her crew. Yet the suffering of the galaxy was something you wanted to change. You joined the rebellion anyway because it was the right thing to do.

You had joined her and the Ghost crew and had been a rebel. You weren’t a fighter like Zeb or Sabine, a Jedi like Kanan, or a pilot like Hera, but you had experience with politics and could negotiate. When the crew bartered for supplies or needed to make a deal, you were there to step in.

You had been a rebel back then. Had believed in the cause once upon a time. When a young Ezra Bridger had joined the crew a month or two before you were captured, it was you who had made him feel like he could make a difference. The young, compassionate girl from back then would not recognize you now.

You had changed a lot in 2 years. You were now dressed in imperial finery. The dress you wore was especially commissioned and was in a striking shade of red. The jewels at your neck were from imperial conquests and denoted your status. Everything about you was imperial.

You were no longer that little rebel from Alderaan. That girl had died during the several rounds of torture you had endured after the people you had once called friends had gotten you captured. In her place now stood an imperial collaborator, a mother, and a wife.

You wonder if Hera recognizes you now. If she could remember the girl you had once been. What did she see before her now? A friend? A regret? A traitor?

Her eyes lower to the ground and she says your name again. This time, her voice is soft.

“You aren’t one of them. I know you. I know what happened-“

“Shut up,” you hiss out. Her words have struck a deep ache in you. You don’t want her to try and apologize. Not now. Not ever.

You spin away from her and rub at your neck. Somewhere beneath all the jewels in your necklace is a thin ring of charred flesh from where the metal bars had held you steady as the empire tortured you. The one request you had always made to your husband when he bought you a gift was that he please buy you something that would cover up the memory. You always told yourself that if you couldn’t see the scar, it was like everything never happened. Yet now it burns and aches beneath the glittering gems. An ugly thing in the gilded life you have now.

Hera’s words are infuriating. They strike a spot that has never truly healed. A betrayal and an abandonment that runs so deep that you could faint if you spend too long dwelling on.

Your finger points at her face, “Don’t tell me you know what happened. No one knows.”

It’s the truth.

Everyone on Lothal has heard the story of what happened to you. You’re the conquest of the Admiral. The rebel captured and turned into the spoils of war. You’re a story mothers tell their daughters as a warning. There are even rumors of parents scarring their children to keep their beauty from leading them to your fate. You wish your mother had done that to you too. Maybe then you would have avoided this happening.

“I am-“

Hera cuts herself off. No doubt she is remembering all the terrible rumors she’s heard. Lothal has plenty.

“We tried to rescue you. I tried. I broke protocol to try and get you back, but it was impossible. They had you secured in a facility. By the time we had finally made a plan to move in, you had been moved because-“

You squeeze your eyes shut. Her words are painful reminders of those first few months in captivity.

You had been captured about 2 years ago. What should have been a routine supply drop had turned disastrous. You, Sabine, and Ezra had been left unable to flee as soldiers surrounded you. There had been no other option but for you to sacrifice yourself for them.

They were just kids. You had a few years on them. You thought you could endure a few rounds of torture and that your crew would eventually return for you and save you. You had been wrong.

What had followed for months was severe. Governor Pryce had overseen your torture herself. She had used every tool at her disposal to get you to crack. While she had succeeded in breaking you, she had failed in obtaining information. You had nothing to offer her in terms of plans or rebel troop information. In the end, she had labeled you a lost cause and suggested you be executed. Your death, she claimed, could be a deterrent to any other rebel faction on Lothal.

But you hadn’t died. Someone else had advocated in your behalf. Someone had decided you were worth sparing.

Another shiver runs down your spine.

At your silence, Hera continues.

“I know what he did,” her hand is gentle when she touches your shoulder, “We all know.”

You flinch away from her touch and bite your cheek. It is a nervous habit. The skin there is already raw from your time spent in the bunker awaiting news as to what was happening on the planet. It bleeds freely when you bite down again.

Hera thinks she knows what you went through, but she has no idea. No one does. After Pryce had been done with you, you had been broken. A month of repeated torture had left you destroyed. When she had told you about your execution, a part of you had been so relieved. Death would mean everything stopped and you could rest.

But then someone else had stepped in.

When you had been in Alderaan, you had studied arts and culture. Your parents had wanted you to be a good noble lady. They had spent money to have you learn everything they could about painting, music, dancing, and politics.

Those aspects of yourself had captured someone’s attention.

When you had been brought before the empire to be executed, Grand Admiral Thrawn himself had interceded. He had suggested that your background would prove useful in his studies of Lothal and Ryloth. Ever the art enthusiast, he had asked for you to be gifted to him.

Gifted.

Like you were a prize to be won or a thing to be given away.

He had gotten his way, of course. Pryce had handed you over to him. From then on, your true captivity had started.

Under Thrawn, you were made an imperial collaborator. He kept you at his side when he traveled and sought your council when he needed information. Broken and vulnerable as you were from the torture and imprisonment, his offer seemed like a small relief.

He didn’t lock you up in a tiny cell or beat you bloody. He didn’t starve you or drug you with a truth serum. Instead, he treated you like one of his crew. You weren’t trustworthy, had a guard nearby to keep you from fleeing, but he was civil. Polite. It was a change from Pryce and the other imperials.

You used your education to help him. Your background aided him in understanding the planet he was in. Over time, the two of you had grown rather close.

Having lost your crew and been left alone for so long in a tiny cell, his attention was a lifeline. He offered you the opportunity to feel like you had a purpose again-

Even if it came at a price.

Bile gathers in your throat but you push it down. A cruel laugh snakes its way past your lips. You shove her hand aside and perch yourself on the sofa. Your movements are refined, graceful, just the way he liked them.

“And what did he do to me? Hm?”

You want her to say it. Want to hear it from her mouth. You don’t think you can be the one to do it. If you say it, the words will get lodged in your throat.

Hera winces.

“I am so sorry,” she whispers. It’s all she can offer after a long silence. You look away.

Thrawn’s salvation came at a price. The Chiss soldier wasn’t altruistic. He sought the value of every person he met and didn’t like to waste his time. It wasn’t pity or selflessness that had made him speak on your behalf back then.

No. Not at all.

You had always been told you were beautiful. Your mother and father had often remarked that you could put a Twi’lek to shame with your beauty. It was something that had once made you blush and preen. Yet that feature had become a cage.

You supposed it made sense. Thrawn was an alien. He was not respected in imperial spaces. The empire freely took his successes but looked its nose down at him. For every compliment he received over his strategy, there were two more slurs thrown his way behind his back.

It made sense that a man like him would look for a status symbol. He would need something to show off. A way to elevate himself and attain more respect.

And who better than the beautiful noble turned rebel from Alderaan? A human girl he could use for his advancement. His marriage to a human would legitimize his status among human soldiers. It would make him seem like he truly belonged.

You were the perfect candidate. You were educated in the arts which so fascinated him and were versed in politics which puzzled him. You were also high born and could have made a good match for himself back on Csilla had you been a member of the Ascendancy. Plus, you were young and beautiful. A little doll he could dress in finery and show off to when needed.

You ticked every box and fit all his needs. When he had saved you all those years ago, his help had come at a price.

And you had paid it.

Maker, you had paid it.

Recently freed, you had given up on the Rebellion. Your friends had left you for dead in the empire’s clutches, so what loyalty did you owe them? You had shed away your guilt and joined Thrawn willingly.

At first he had frightened you. Those glowing red eyes found their way into your nightmares. You dreaded the day he decided you were useless and discarded you. You did everything you could to help his efforts with the empire.

Eventually you had liked it. Some time with him had been a relief. He was not violent or cruel. He didn’t laugh like Pryce when you were hurt or taunt you about what had happened to you.

No, he was amicable. You quickly learned that he would be polite if you were respectful. That he would treat you right if you obeyed and that he saw you as an equal when you worked together.

When a soldier had insulted you under his breath, Thrawn had defended you. When you had cut yourself on a relic and hissed in pain, he had gently taken your hand to examine the wound. When you had woken up screaming from a nightmare of a droid shocking you over and over again, he had stayed up speaking with you gently over a cup of tea.

His treatment compared to the empire’s had soothed the trauma of your earlier captivity. Eventually, you had willingly accepted your place at his side. You knew you were his prisoner, that he would kill you if you tried to escape, but you didn’t mind it. As long as you were obedient, he was kind and respectful. So you became obedient.

And when the time came that he began to pursue you, you offered yourself willingly. When he invited you to his personal quarters one night with a pretext for tea, you went with him knowing what he truly had in mind. It was the price you had to pay for his kindness.

Your hands shake in your lap and you press them against your legs. Hera notices, of course. Her voice turns gentle, soothing.

“I know what he did. It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers, “None of it.”

“No,” you agree slowly, “It was yours.”

It was her fault. Had she rescued you then, she could have spared you everything.

You take a little delight in her flinch and the guilt that clouds her features. It’s a small comfort against all of the pain she put you through.

With time, you had given yourself completely to Thrawn. Eventually, the rumors had spread that you were his conquest. He always displayed the relics he stole from the empire’s colonization on his walls. You were just another one of the treasures he could boast about.

He married you and kept you locked in a manor. You were the pretty little human who boosted his status. Lothal called you the little Loth Cat caught in the jaws of a Loth wolf.

It wasn’t so bad. Being married to him had its perks. You had riches, status, and respect. His men were loyal to him. They saw you as an extension of his will and respected you. Under his name, you were no longer a rebel traitor. Now, you were an imperial bride.

And eventually you fell for him too. He was kinder than the others and respectful. He valued your input and praised your art. He treated you well and never struck you if you didn’t disobey.

You came to love him, or that’s what you told yourself. And while he wasn’t very expressive emotionally, you thought he loved you too.

You twirl the wedding band around your finger as you think.

“I was happy, you know, before you came. Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” You close your eyes wishing she’d disappear.

If she were gone, maybe Thrawn would return. You aren’t too sure what happened to him, but you know he’s gone. The men he left stationed with you evacuated during Order 13 and Rukh left you and your son behind. That would have never happened if Thrawn were here to stop them.

The citizens of Lothal have also been celebrating for days now. Their shouts and cheers are pinpricks against your heart. You aren’t sure the specifics, but you’re sure your husband is gone.

“That’s not what Kallus said,” Hera sits at your side, “He said you looked like a ghost.”

Kallus.

The name invokes some small emotion in you. You haven’t thought of him in a while. Not since your husband had told you he was a traitor.

Alexsandr Kallus had been a friend to you. During your time with Thrawn, he had been one of the few imperial soldiers that had spoken to you with some respect. At first, you suspected it was merely because your presence was unavoidable with how close Thrawn demanded you stay with him. However, eventually, you thought you truly found a friend.

You weren’t quite sure what had happened to Alex after he had returned with a broken leg, but he had treated you better since. He made it a point to ask you about how you were doing or how you were feeling. If he saw a mark on you from when you had displeased Thrawn and he had given you a bruise, he would bring you ice or something to help.

He was kind. A true friend. It had hurt when he had left. You didn’t blame him for betraying the empire. You just wished he hadn’t left you alone.

“And what did Alex say?” You keep your voice steady but you are genuinely curious. If Hera notices how gently you say his nickname, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead she stares down at her hands.

“He’s worried. The entire time we were working to free Lothal, he kept bringing you up. He made Mon Mothma promise you would receive immunity if we could free the planet. He said you needed our help the most.”

You taste blood from how tightly you are biting your cheek.

“He feels guilty,” Hera admits, “The night we picked him up on that escape pod, he practically wanted to take a ship to Lothal to rescue you. We all did. There was just no way we could get through the blockade.”

You hum quietly and look towards the stairs where Theon is sleeping.

“I wouldn’t have left if you had,” you calmly state, “I had Theon.”

Theon.

Mitth’eo’nuruodo.

Your first born son. A little Chiss-human hybrid with pale blue skin and your facial features. His pupils are your eye color while the sclera the same glowing red as his father.

He is perhaps the greatest gift you have ever received. Amidst the loneliness and torment of your time with the empire, your son is the one joy you have. You would have never have left him if Alex had arrived for you that day. Thrawn would have never have let you escape with him either.

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Hera touch her own womb. You aren’t quite sure what to make of that.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, “For everything that happened to you.”

You want to tell her off for her apology, mock her guilt, and throw everything back in her face because her inaction is what doomed you to this, but you don’t. Instead, you rub at your arms in anxiety. You’re too tired to be angry.

“If you’re here, then Lothal is lost. Has the empire evacuated? Has Thrawn left?”

It pains you to ask that. You aren’t sure you are prepared for the answer. More than that, you aren’t sure which one you want.

You think you love Thrawn. You’ve been an obedient wife all this time and you share a son. He treats you well if you behave. Isn’t that what love is? Isn’t that all you can hope for as someone captured by the empire?

Hera nods once.

Your world shatters.

You close your eyes.

You knew he was gone. Thrawn would have returned for you and Theon right away if he hadn’t disappeared, but it still hurts. He’s been a constant in your life these past few years and now he’s gone. There’s an ache somewhere in your chest that pulses with grief.

“He and Ezra were on board a ship when it jumped into hyperspace. The windows were broken and Purrgil were leading it away. I don’t think the airlock was intact. I doubt anyone on board survived.”

She clenches her jaw. Ezra’s loss weighs on her. For the first time, you see how exhausted she is. There are dark circles under her eyes, her skin is a shade paler than normal, and her clothes are disheveled. She is grieving. Grieving Ezra and Kanan and the rebel fleet that died in a failed assault.

You feel the same way. The loss of Thrawn is painful. If he hadn’t taught you to maintain your composure and exhibit elegance, you think you’d scream and wail. Anything to release the emotions that swirl within you now.

Your chest feels heavy and you twirl the wedding ring around your finger. It is now the only memory you have of him besides Theon. You aren’t sure whether you want to keep it close or throw it away.

You let your head sag against the sofa instead. Staring up at the ceiling, you mull on your options.

If Lothal is gone, what remains? The empire has fled the planet. Perhaps they’ll return to reclaim it eventually, but does it matter? Their victory means nothing now that Thrawn is gone. Your one bargaining chip was your marriage. Married to a high ranking soldier, you and Theon could have been protected. Now, the empire has no incentive to keep you alive. Why waste the money sheltering you if there’s no one around to hold them accountable?

What then is left? You’re a traitor to the rebellion. A rebel turned imperial wife. You don’t think Lothal will welcome you with open arms. And Theon? Theon has the mark of Thrawn. One glance at his little body will give away that he’s a hybrid. On the entire planet, there’s only one alien with his particular species. It won’t be hard for the people of Lothal to guess his parentage. He wouldn’t be safe.

Plus, in your current condition, you don’t have a lot of options either.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

You hate how frightened you sound. You don’t like being afraid. Fear is paralyzing. Thrawn never liked you showing weakness.

Hera takes your hand. The touch is foreign but familiar. You haven’t been touched by someone who wasn’t capable of hurting you in years.

Your mind goes to all those years ago when she had offered you her hand in Alderaan. You had eagerly taken it then excited for the prospect of joining her crew. Now you aren’t sure if you would still make that choice. If you could go back in time to that moment knowing what you know now, maybe you wouldn’t have accepted her proposition.

“You have immunity. Mon Mothma agreed with Kallus. You are a victim. They don’t want to see you punished. Bail Organa also remembers you. You were friends with his daughter. He argued on your behalf. I did too. You have options,” she squeezes your hand in reassurance, “Organa has offered you asylum in Alderaan. Alderaan is an imperial ally and you were a noble there. It’s not unusual for them to offer you shelter as an imperial wife. You and your son would be safe. You could go back to Princess Leia and live there.”

Leia. You haven’t heard that name in a while. You aren’t sure you’d like her to see you now. Your old friend was a firebrand never giving up and never surrendering. If she could see you now, you’re not sure she’d forgive you for giving in.

“You could also stay in Lothal. The people of Lothal know you aren’t to blame. They feel terrible for what you endured. Your story convinced a lot of people to join the rebellion and fight against the empire. You and your son would be safe here,” Hera continues after a brief pause.

You remain quiet.

“Sabine offered Mandalore. Her family can offer you asylum. Your surrender saved her life. She can find you a safe place in Mandalore away from the civil war. Bo-Katan Kryse herself would grant you shelter if Sabine asked,” Hera suggests.

You dismiss the notion immediately. The last thing you want is to go to another planet torn by war. Theon deserves to grow somewhere safe.

Finally, Hera finishes.

“Kallus offered to take you with him. He and Zeb are going to Lira San. It’s the home planet of Lasats. What’s left of their species has returned home and is prospering there. It’s safe and away from the empire. Kallus can take you there to help you with Theon. He said you’re a friend.”

Lira San. You think you’ve heard of it briefly in your studies in Alderaan. Wasn’t it supposed to be a myth? The notion that it was found is intriguing, and Alex would keep you safe.

But you can’t go. Not in your condition. You pull your hand free from Hera and close your eyes.

“I can’t.”

It’s a quiet admission that confuses her. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t realize how your world is slowly falling apart. How you’ve been a ghost flickering through life these past 2 years and how nothing really makes sense.

You’ve forgotten who you used to be. You aren’t sure who you are now. You don’t even know if you can be someone again. You’ve forgotten how to be human.

Your life has changed again. The floor has fallen from under you. You are a traitor. An imperial collaborator in a planet recently freed from imperial control. The very people you were allied against now hold your life in their hands. The people of Lothal may call you a Loth cat, but you’d sooner call yourself a Loth rat.

And your family? Little Theon is all you have left. You need to protect him. His father isn’t here to protect you both anymore. That means you are on your own now for the first time in 2 years.

You feel trapped. You aren’t sure you can stomach any of this anymore. Abruptly, you spring to your feet. Your hands are shaking.

“Please leave,” you beg, “Let me think.”

You don’t wait for an answer. Even as she calls your name in concern, you ignore her and climb up the stairs towards Theon’s room.

He’s all you have left.

———————————————

To your surprise, it isn’t Hera who sits in the living room when you emerge back downstairs hours later. Hera has long since left agreeing to give you space. In her place is now the one person you’ve missed more than your husband.

Alexsandr Kallus stands up to greet you. A look of immense relief spreads through his face when you appear. He meets you half way and throws his arms around you.

You bury yourself in his embrace. He looks different now. His hair is different and there’s less conflict within him. He looks at peace for the first time in months. You like it. Freedom suits him.

He breathes out your name quietly in your hair. You close your eyes as tears threaten to escape. It’s tempting to suppress them, but you decide to let go anyway. Thrawn hated you expressing emotion, but you don’t think Alex would mind.

He doesn’t seem to. He lets you cry and you think you feel him tremble too. You swear you hear his own stuttered breaths as he holds you tightly.

Alex was a constant in your life. The only one who treated you kindly without expecting anything in return. He often defended you from everyone else and was there for you when you felt you would break.

Even now it seems he is holding you up. You aren’t sure how long you stay in his embrace, but eventually you find the strength to withdraw. His fingers gently wipe the tears still left on your face. You note that his own eyes are red.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, “I should have done more. I should have stopped it. Stopped him.”

You shake your head.

You can still remember the day the rumors began that Thrawn was keeping you as a conquest. You were sure you had seen Alex flinch the day after you had emerged from Thrawn’s chambers covered in bruises and bites. You reckoned he felt guilty that he hadn’t done more to stop it.

But you don’t want him to feel guilty, and you tell him as much.

The two of you sit by the window where the moons of Lothal are shining brightly. The moons have always made you smile. They remind you of Alex. Isn’t that what his code phrase had been? ”By the light of Lothal’s moons.”

It’s fitting for Alex. He always seemed to be a light in the darkness for you. The only friend you had who never mistreated you in your time on Lothal.

“Hera said you don’t know what to do,” Alex murmurs briefly. He’s holding your hand above the table the way he always did when you needed comfort. It’s a touch you missed.

You sigh quietly to yourself. Your head feels a mess and the road ahead seems so confusing. That’s another thing you’d miss about Thrawn. Thrawn gave orders and expected you to follow. You were obedient and that was easier than being free. You aren’t quite sure now what to do. The ability to decide for yourself is a dizzying feeling you haven’t experienced in a long, long time.

You shake your head quietly.

You wonder briefly what the others think of you. Do they pity you and see you as broken? They’d be partly right. Do they hate you and see you as a traitor? They’d also be partly right. Or do they see you with frustration? Someone freed who should know what to do the moment the chains fall away yet can’t seem to enjoy the feeling of the leash releasing. You reckon those people would also be partly right.

Any other prisoner of war would have ran the moment the cell door clanged open. You haven’t. You don’t think you remember how to be anything other than a prisoner. Somewhere along the way, you’ve lost yourself. The empire took a lot of things from you, yet perhaps that loss was the greatest of all.

You wish you could verbalize it. Put it into words in a way that would make sense to Hera and Mon Mothma and Bail Organa. A way for them to realize why it is that you stand at the precipice of freedom but can’t quite seem to let go. Maybe words could help them understand you-

But you don’t think you need to with Alex.

He’s always known just what you mean with a glance. You’ve always suspected it was because he was like you. Once loyal to the empire when his heart lied with the rebellion. Thrawn said he had the heart of a rebel and he was right. He had meant it as an insult then, but you think it was perhaps the greatest compliment he could have given Alex. His rebel heart is a steady, strong pulse. You envy it.

“What do you want to do?” Alex asks.

That’s a question you haven’t heard in years. It takes your breath away momentarily.

The empire hadn’t asked it when you were captured. Thrawn hadn’t asked it when he claimed you. Hera hadn’t even asked it when she presented you your options. No one had asked it in a very long time.

You take your time puzzling the answer. It’s an important choice that will set the course of your life. It merits plenty of thinking and strategy. It’s a long time before you speak.

“I want to get away.”

It’s such a simple answer when you finally verbalize it. You’re almost embarrassed it took you so long to realize.

You hate this manor. It’s a cold empty shell with nothing but the beauty of its relics to make it seem important. It feels so cold and uninhabitable. You’ve hated it since the moment Thrawn brought you here. Every inch of it is a memory of what you’ve endured. If you had a match and some fuel, you think you’d love to set it ablaze and watch it all burn.

Alex doesn’t hesitate.

“Then let’s go. Anywhere.”

He means to go with you, you realize. It’s a relief to hear him say it. You’ll have him at your side wherever you choose. You don’t think you deserve him.

It’s so tempting to take his hand and run away, but then the rest of your worries rear their heads. You remember the condition you find yourself in and feel some panic. It crawls along your skin and chokes you worse than the damned collar Pryce tied you to in that cell ever did.

“I can’t.”

You close your eyes to avoid seeing Alex’s disappointed face. He hesitates.

“Why?” He asks it so gently that you break.

You take his hand and move it to your womb. His touch is soft. It takes him moments to register what you are saying.

You found out a few days after Thrawn had left to go see the emperor. It wasn’t planned. The prospect of it now is terrifying.

Whatever child you will have, you are not sure you are ready to raise it on your own. Maker, your children will be hybrids of a species you don’t understand. You know nothing about how to raise them. Thrawn named Theon. He gave him a Chiss name and had plans for his upbringing to preserve his culture. You have no clue how to name another child. You don’t speak Thrawn’s language. You are ill prepared to go at it alone. The fear of it all keeps you rooted to your spot unable to seek freedom.

“It’s going to be okay,” Alex reassures, “You’ll be okay.”

He keeps his hand over yours gently. His touch is what keeps you from spiraling further. You close your eyes.

“I don’t even know what to name it,” you breathe out, “Thrawn picked out the names.”

Thrawn picked out everything. He chose what you wore and what you ate. He managed everything down to the last detail. You don’t know if you’re still capable of all those things. Freedom feels like a noose.

Alex doesn’t give up. He’s always been the one to talk you down from the edge. You’ve always wondered how it is that he knows exactly what to do to calm you down.

“Well what do you want?”

There is that question again. You ponder on it.

You want to get away from Lothal. Perhaps one day you’ll return and work on its efforts to readjust after empire rule, but that won’t be today. You want to go see Lira San and experience the mythical planet for yourself. You want to stay with Alex as one of the few people in the world you can genuinely trust. You also want Theon and your future child to live free and safe. You want all those things and more.

“I want to keep them,” you murmur. He nods. “Then name them yourself. You don’t need him to do it for you. What name do you like?”

You ponder on that again.

You like Mikhal for a boy. It was your father’s name. He went by Miki sometimes. You think you could name them that. You also like Vanness for a girl. Your mother and father passed already honoring them seems like a fitting tribute. You could also use Alex as a gender neutral name. It’s a name with a lot of significance to you too although you’re too embarrassed to tell Alex that.

Thrawn would hate the names. They’re too core and not Chiss. He’d never let you use them, but he isn’t here now to stop you. The control he has on you is gone. For the first time in a long time, you’re finally allowed to decide on something for yourself.

So you tell him the names minus the last one. Explain their significance. He squeezes your hand and says he likes them too. It’s a relief to find someone who actually views you as an equal. You’ve been so used to being beneath someone that you forgot you were also a living being. You think you’ll like coming back to life after years of existing as a specter.

Finally Alex stands.

“You get to pick what happens now,” he looks serious, “Hera won’t force you into anything. I will support whatever you choose.”

You think of Theon and the child you’ll have now. They need a safe place to grow. That isn’t Lothal or Mandalore. Lothal is under threat of empire invasion to reclaim what was lost and Mandalore is under civil war. It’s not safe.

You think of Alderaan. Your parents are both gone, so there’s not much tying you down to it. You’ll also think it’ll hurt too much to live there with the memories of a girl you used to be who no longer exists. The little noble who left Alderaan to see the world never imagined the world could be so cruel. She forgot the most important lesson of all. She forgot that they hurt little girls everywhere-on every planet. Perhaps if she had remembered, she wouldn’t have ended up in someone’s cage. So you cross that name off your list with a feeling of loss, mourning the naive child that died so you could take her place.

That leaves one option. Lira San. Alex wants to go there. He’s told you about the guilt of what he did to the Lasats. If there truly is a world where the species is still thriving, he needs to see it for himself to assuage his guilt. You also want to see it too. It’ll be a fascinating study of culture and art. Despite everything that happened, Thrawn wasn’t able to rob you of that interest. That was the one thing he couldn’t take from you. It’ll also be a safe place for your children. The empire can’t reach it and the people are prospering.

There’s only one true option. It feels dizzying to be able to decide, but you think you can learn to like the feeling. It makes you feel alive.

So you stand with Alex and look out the window. You’ll miss the moons of Lothal. It’s perhaps the only thing you’ll miss on this planet.

“Lira San. It’s safer. Let’s go there,” you offer.

There isn’t an indication that you’ve made the right choice, you know. There seldom is in life. A lot of decisions aren’t followed by the sound of a buzzer or the sound of a bell, but you think you made the right one anyway. If for nothing else, it’s the right one for you. The first choice in a long time that you’ve been able to make for yourself. No one can rob you of that freedom now.

Alex smiles at you. It’s an innocent smile with no pain, malice, or manipulation behind it. You hope one day you can relearn to smile like that again.

“Then let’s go.”

The two of you pack quietly. You leave behind everything that has an imperial stamp or symbol. The suitcase isn’t very full by the time you close it, but that’s alright. You’d rather have few belongings than anything that reminds you of the empire.

Theon is with his nanny droid when you take him. Alex is the one to pick him up and it’s a surprise how easily Theon takes to him. Thrawn never held him, so he’s not used to a man picking him. Yet he leans into Alex like he can sense he’s someone safe to be around.

The nanny droid stares silently as you leave. Alex tells you the rebellion will check it to remove the tracker and the personality chip the empire no doubt implanted. That means that you’ll have to take Theon without it and wait some time to replace the droid. You don’t mind not having a nanny droid. You never really liked the old thing anyway. Thrawn had been the one to pick it out.

Finally the three of you abscond into the night. The manor door clangs shut behind you and you freeze. You half expect Rukh to fall out of the shadows and capture you, or perhaps some type of alarm to sound out. When nothing happens, you learn to breathe again.

It was all fear, you realize. All this time you were kept prisoner by the fear that had been planted in you by someone else. You make a vow then and there to never feel that way again.

The future is an uncertain haze. You should be nervous as Alex leads you to the speeder outside. It should be terrifying to face a world of possibilities where the path hasn’t been marked for you by someone else.

But it isn’t.

A strange feeling is slowly growing amidst the panic and pain. That little emotion marks the end of your captivity. It’s a tiny little bud now, but you think it could grow into something great some day.

It takes you a moment to place what that emotion is, but when you do, you feel a small sense of relief. That feeling is proof you haven’t been completely destroyed by what happened to you. That there’s still some humanity left in the empty shell you thought you had been reduced to.

Hope.

It’s hope, you realize, a powerful thing. It’s so strong that you understand now why the rebellion fought so hard to preserve it. That tiny little feeling is enough to restart your life again.

For the first time in a very long time, you finally feel hopeful, and that is enough to make you keep going.

#thrawn x reader #alexsandr kallus x reader #kallus x reader #grand admiral thrawn #alexsandr kallus #the cute gif is my attempt to make up for the contents

60 notes · View notes

sednonamoris · 1 year ago

Text

last time i say sorry

Pairings: John Marston x Abigail Roberts, John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: John and Abigail break up.

Warnings: Toxic relationships, breakup, negative self talk, canon-typical references to violence, strong language

Word count: 904

A/N: see ch. 17 of ghost story for context - this is the conversation abigail pulls john away to have!

Series masterlist • AO3

—

John blames the wolves for ruining your hunting trip, but deep down he knows that all they did was finish the job. He was the one who ruined things the moment he opened his big fat mouth about the very thing he was trying to run from: Abigail and Arthur.

Stupid, he thinks bitterly. Ignorant fucking son-of-a-bitch.

Whether he’s talking about himself or Arthur, even he doesn’t know. You might. You seem to know just about everything, which maybe is why he started the argument in the first place. He’s just sick of everyone else sticking their nose in his and Abigail’s business. So what if things are a mess? Haven’t they always been? What do they really expect him to do? Father that kid? Raise him? He doesn’t know the first thing about fathering, and even less about nice childhoods. And Arthur—

The less he thinks about him, the better.

So really it’s no surprise that Abigail ambushes him the second the two of you arrive back at camp. She wants to talk. Probably about Arthur. If he can get his head out of his ass long enough for a serious conversation. John raises his lip in a sneer but follows her to the edge of camp anyway, where they can play at privacy. Everyone’s eyes are on them as they go, but he feels yours.

“What?” he demands, arms folded, voice monotone, when she stops. The cruel satisfaction he gets from the flicker of hate in her eyes doesn’t last as long as he’d like.

Then Abigail Roberts, the quickest woman he knows with a sharp word, thinks for a long moment about what she’d like to say. He feels the ground shift beneath him, the usual rhythm of their fights thrown off beat.

“I can’t keep doin’ this, John,” she finally settles on. “We can’t keep doin’ this.”

Even her voice is different than usual, soft and resigned instead of fighting mad.

“Doin’ what?” he scoffs. He knows exactly what.

“This,” she gestures emphatically between the two of them. “You and me. I love you, and a part of me always will, but I’ve got to think about Jack.”

“So this is about me bein’ a father.”

“Not just that.” The way she looks up at him with those blue, blue eyes stops the defensive snarl caught in his throat. They’re the same color of the flowers he used to go out and pick for her, back when they were younger and dumber and happy. It’s so easy to forget they used to be happy. “I got to think about myself, too. I’ve begged and begged for you to change, John, but maybe it’s time I saw that you can’t, or you won’t. I’ve got to let you go.”

You’ve got to let me go, she leaves unsaid.

He’s never been good at much, but especially not that.

By the time he lets anything go it’s ruined and marred and scarred - rent with claw marks and no good to anyone. Broken. At seven his father beat him for breaking things just to see how hard he had to push before they cracked. He killed his first man at eleven for much the same reason, though he still claims self defense when asked. Now, at twenty-six, he’s gone and done the same to Abigail. Pushed her ‘til her pretty porcelain skin cracked and then dug his fingers in so it wouldn’t heal. He can’t live with her but he doesn’t know what to do without her, and the mean, grasping thing in his chest refuses to let Arthur have her even if his heart knows, deep down, they’ll both be happier for it.

It’s an ugly thing, knowing that.

Even uglier that he can’t stop. Won’t, maybe. The realization makes his scars itch.

He covers his face and sighs long and deep. When he looks back she’s still standing there. Patient. Waiting. Caught up in a snare he should’ve freed her from years ago now.

“Abigail…” he starts, then stops. What else can he say?

“I’m sorry,” she whispers past tears that don’t know how to fall.

He shakes his head and pulls her into a too-tight hug.

“Sorry ain’t enough for what I am,” he rasps into the crook of her neck. And it isn’t. He’s sorry, he’s sorry, he’s sorry, but not enough to change. Not enough to love her the way a man should. Not enough to be a father, and certainly not enough to give up the powerful, nameless thing between you and him that’s always been a shadow over their relationship.

“I know,” she says. “I know, John.”

She must.

He can’t quite look her in the eye as they part, and maybe it’s for the best, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less like he hoped it might.

“I’ll get my things from your tent,” he says.

“That’s probably best,” she agrees.

There’s a million stabbing pieces in his chest as he walks away. Usually spying you across camp is enough to turn his blackest moods, but not this time. Now that same inexplicable, happy feeling makes him sick with guilt. Maybe if he understood what it was, he and Abigail might’ve worked out. But a whisper at the base of his skull and the back of his teeth says that maybe if he knew, he never would’ve been with her in the first place.

#john marston x reader #ghost story #ghost story: hauntings #fran writes

22 notes · View notes

siriannatan · 3 months ago

Text

Earth's New Emperor

Seeing as my writing is expanding outside Minecraft I should probably be good about posting about those fics here too.

I have no clue what possessed me to write this, I don't know if I'll even finish it, but I wanted to share. I do have a couple more chapters done, but I will probably stick to a chapter per month like with my other longer DCU fic

Jon was slowly going insane. How could he not? He was in this cell for… he had no clue how long but it was long enough for the kryptonite to start whispering to him. Tempting him to do something stupid.

He hadn't seen them but he knew Dad and Conner were somewhere in here too.

“If only you weren't so weak,” Jon shuddered hearing his voice. The hallucinations were getting creative, he thought dryly. “Damian was right, wasn't he? He always is. We’re weak and that's why mom's locked away who knows where, why dad’s locked up, why Conner’s locked up? Why Aunt Kara's on the run. It's all our fault.”

Some part of Jon agreed with the kryptonite ghost of himself crouching in front of him. Mocking smile, not much unlike Damian's from before his father went mad. Jon didn't have his father's resistance to kryptonite. Neither did Conner. They were kept away from the stuff as much as possible.

“If only Dad wasn't so soft. We. The world. Wouldn't be in this situation,” the ghost sighed, shaking his head. “We could have protected Damian…”

Jon cringed. The last time he saw his friend his arm was in a sling. Big bruise on his face. Lip cut. Rage built up in him. Heat vision along with it just to be dampened into nothing by the kryptonite layer in the walls surrounding him. He pulled uselessly at the chains holding him.

As things were, he was just a normal human. Even more useless than with his powers, his mind supplied.

Maybe it all was just his brain. No kryptonite ghost. Just his regrets. Jon pulled stronger on the chain.

Stupid kryptonite. Stupid weakness. Stupid batman. Stupid… Stupid… Stupid…

Stupid… Stupid…

Stupid…

It was all so stupid. Jon thought and laughed. And pulled on the chain.

Stupid. Laugh. Pull.

Pull. Laugh. Pull.

No one was coming to save him. To save the world. To the Lantern Corp, this was just a stupid human conflict. They didn't care that a few Kryptonians got locked up. They never liked them.

Pull. Stupid chain. Stupid kryptonite. Stupid Batman. Stupid weakness.

He could swear he heard something break. But nothing hurt….

His left arm was hanging down. With the chain ripped in half. He broke it. He laughed. And pulled again. The chain restraining his right arm. Bam. Gone. How? He didn't care. Just freed his legs and stretched. Time to find Dad and Kon, he decided before breaking the door. He just had to find kryptonite. Who else would they have there?

Guards instantly realised Jon was free. But he didn't care. Their weapons were useless. Even if Batman didn't put all of Earth's kryptonite in their cell walls. And it was now useless against Jon anyway. He laughed as he knocked the guards out. Killing them was a waste of time. And too much like what Batman would expect of him.

He was not proving him right.

With his X-ray vision, he found two clusters of kryptonite similar to one surrounding his cell. One was significantly bigger. And that one was closer. So Jon went there. Knocking out guards. He didn't pass by any other cells. Batman kept them separated from his other enemies Jon slowly made his way to his father's cell while listening to the guards' panic about what to do. They were so scared of Barman, that Jon almost felt bad for them. Almost. Maybe if they didn't punch his door whenever they passed he would feel more guilty. Oh well.

“Dad?” Jon asked tentatively after ripping the door off of his father's cell.

“Jon?! What are…. Is this commotion your doing? You shouldn't…” Clark instantly jumped to worrying about Jon. As if he were still ten and not almost twenty-one…

“I'm getting us out, Dad. Someone's got to stop Bruce,” he huffed as he entered. He felt nothing from the kryptonite. That was good. He had no clue how that happened.

“Lanterns will deal with him soon enough, you shouldn't… You should stop and surrender…”

Jon almost jumped back as if burned. Was Dad going to let them rot while waiting for Lantern Corp? To let Bruce torment earth? “What if they never come? What if they come too late? You'd just let Bruce torment everyone? The last time I saw anyone other than a guard they had a broken arm and half their face was purple, Dad! I can't let this go on…”

“I'm sorry son,” Clark whispered, kryptonite was effective at keeping him contained. Was it because he was a full-blooded Kryptonian? Because he didn't struggle against it like Jon did?

“Fine. I'll grab Conner and we'll stop him. We’ll save Mom and everyone else. You can rot here if you'd like,” Jon scoffed as he stepped back and ran off. Holding back tears. He was never this disappointed in anyone.

Finding Conner was easy. His door was already off its hinges with Jon's half-brother barely standing. Leaning against a wall with unconscious guards surrounding him. He looked drained but was certainly holding it together better than Dad.

“Jon?! You got out too? Have you found…” Conner jumped to ask. Wincing a bit as he put his weight on the wrong foot. Twisted, Jon guessed.

“I did, he'd rather rot here than stop Batman. It's us and Aunt Kara if we can find her,” Jon shook his head solemnly.

Conner nodded but his disappointment was clear. “Okay. So what's the plan? My brain’s too jumbled to think at the moment.” And Conner's brain was quite brilliant against what almost everyone thought.

“Fortress, I think we might be able to get it to fly. Then either we play nice with Europe. I overheard guards talking about expanding outside Americas being difficult. Or if they don't want to play nice we take over China and work from there,” Jon has done some thinking as he walked away from his father's cell. “Then save Mom, Lex, whomever we want, it doesn't matter. If we can get Damian and Tim on our side then even better,” he added and floated up. No more playing human. Time to lean fully on their Kryptonian side.

Conner nodded. “We should check who they have here in case mom's here,” he offered and Jon nodded.

After ‘nicely’ asking some guards. Pushing them against a wall by their throat. They found the central control room and checked the list of ye prisoners. All criminals from around the Americas. Meaning no one they'd be interested in saving. And Lex wasn't included. Was it due to his connection to Conner?

“To the Fortress we go,” Jon sighed. Finding mom was going to be a challenge.

The sun was at first blinding. Yes. But it felt so nice to finally feel it on his skin. Making him feel slightly rejuvenated.

“Get back to your cells,” Jon's heart broke as he heard Damian's cold voice.

“But I just got out,” Jon crossed his arms as he and his brother floated outside Damian and Tim's range. Mental warfare, huh? How cold of you Batman, Jon thought as he just smiled at them. “And I think someone should stop your father, he went a bit mental, you know,” he hummed.

“Get. Back. Both of you,” Damian choked out.

“How's your arm? I see it's no longer in a sling,” Jon carried on the banter. “How about you two join us?”

“In your dreams,” Tim huffed but Jon sensed some hesitation. He glanced at Kon. He was just staring sadly at Tim.

The third son of Batman didn't look too good. Dark circles under his eyes were the most obvious. But Jon noticed he didn't put his weight on his left leg. No wonder Conner looked ready to kill.

“I could get you your grandfather's head if you'd like?” He offered with a wide grin. Shocking everyone around him. “His throne,” he smiled as innocently as he could with a desire to murder Batman building up in him. He just noticed the bruise was still somewhat visible on Damian's face.

“Get. Back. To. Your. Cells.” Damian repeated. And Jon just chuckled.

“Nah, I like being free, and if dad wants to stay there… well,” he looked at Conner who just shrugged. Catching up that some of Superman's rules were out the window. “I guess we'll have to help,” he shrugged and laughed borderline maniacally. “Humanity proved it can't take care of itself,” he said quietly enough for just Conner to catch.

“Yeah, took us a bit long,” Conner sighed, rolling his shoulders. And Jon nodded.

“Well, we have a plan to start working on, hopefully, next time we'll have Ra’s head and Tim's spleen back,” Jon nodded and they flew off. Unfortunately leaving their beloveds to deal with the consequences of their escape.

Well. Eventually, they'd save them so it didn't sting so bad. And Batman wouldn't be too harsh on his favoured sons.

#my stuff #my stories #fanfiction #dcu #dc universe #Earth's New Emperor

2 notes · View notes