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ohheyitsokay · 3 years ago

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earn

pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x reader

wordcount: 2k

warnings: implications of an abusive household/family

summary: this started out as a fic about the fact that the Razor Crest was destroyed, and ended up being a fic about the reminder that your value to a person should not have to be earned

You needed to sell your cousin’s ship.

Well, you didn’t really need to – he had given it to you when he settled down. A gift, he said, for the only other adventurer in our family. Your mother hadn’t heard, or she would’ve glared even more.

Since you could remember, she had not liked that you yearned to search and explore the stars. She did not like your desire to help people, to be your own, to change.

She hadn’t liked that you’d chosen smaller adventures on your planet, either, but you had finally learned that she could not stop you, even if you still avoided extra conflict. You helped and narrowly escaped the local authorities depending on the day, and tried not to resent the mediocrity of both.

The ship should’ve just been yours. It could’ve been, would’ve been, had your grandfather not held your hand with his frail fingers asking you to stay a little while longer. It was a big ship too, flown better with another person, and you had no one who understood your desire to leave your little planet. And you couldn’t stand the beautiful thing nestled under tarps, mocking you. If you sold it, you could at least buy a more modest one for yourself later.

That’s what you told yourself, as you spread the word all around that you needed a buyer. Selling it bought good favor it bought with your family, which you used to take your time as you looked for a suitable sale, searching for stories as to warm your heart.

When the two Mandalorians created a stir a town over, and you were there immediately, drinking in the interesting shapes and veiled voices hungrily, wishing the excitement of their lives could rub off of them onto you.

They had a woman with them, tall and lithe and wary and you saw your future in them, and ached. Tucked in a corner of the gathering area, you watched for awhile before averting your eyes, knowing they were like your ship all those miles away. Just salt in the wounds left by your invisible shackles.

The night was lovely, too beautiful to be fair, as you walked towards your home town, and you kept your eyes off the sky.

As your crossed into the outskirts of town one of the Mandalorians was standing at in the shadow of a tall plant, as if he was waiting for you.

“Why were you watching us?” He moved into the light and his armor gleamed and it was distracting, how unmarked it was.

“It does not matter,” you said stupidly, carelessly. He wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t matter, and his straightened shoulders snapped you back into reality. It should have been muscle memory by now, to watch yourself around a dangerous person.

“I have a ship to sell,” you corrected yourself quickly. A half truth.

“So I hear,” his voice rumbled, but it was amused. “You’re lucky I was the one who noticed you, little one.” You flushed, out of embarrassment and just a little bit of pride.

“It just so happens that I need a ship,” he stepped closer to you and you stood frozen as he drew up his full height, forcing you to bend back to meet his visor as he added, “and the whole truth.”

You told him a little too quickly for your pride. About needing to get out, wanting to make a difference, do something with your life, and seeing that in his little party. His posture changed again, when you spoke of your family’s control over you, and again when you spoke of staying, for your grandfather. The reputation of cold, stern, self-interested warriors did not match the understanding and instinctive protectiveness he was demonstrating. It was fascinating, baffling, almost too good to be true.

And he made you an offer before he even saw the ship.

At your grandfather’s house, you whispered it to him, as you smoothed the blanket over his stomach.

One boney, loving finger traced from the apex of your forehead down, over your nose and lips, to your chin. He was letting you go, and you swallowed, willing yourself not to ask twice. You kissed his cheek, and took the deal.

The other Mandalorian and his companion had looked you over and shrugged as you defended your usefulness, and left the planet before you and your new… boss? Comrade?

You did not know. You were still afraid of him, just … less than you were of staying, and it was your single chance. To take the ship and the adventure and not look back.

The agreement was that he would take you with him, and he would pay you for it over time. You’d get your shot at adventures, at freedom, and he got a near free ship for his use, a strangely perfect fit.

Despite such a dubious beginning, it didn’t take long for you to adjust to the life.

It was amazing, to see the bits and pieces of his work, to help him set up carbonite for his bounties and rearrange to make the ship more effective. He didn’t speak much at first, but you craved knowledge of the galaxy and he quickly realized you learned from the stories, soaking in information and connecting context like a sponge in water. Slowly he shared more and more, and realized beyond making you more useful, he enjoyed it.

Feeding you information paid itself back, as you always gave him eager, bright smiles in return, or helped him process information that even his sharp mind hadn’t thought of.

Sitting side by side as you shot through hyperspace felt more like home than either of you had bargained for.

Your first job on your own coincided with a longer hunt of his, when a mechanic offered you a quite high amount of credits to be an extra set of hands. In the morning you would roll out of your cot, set up the protocols for the ship, and trudge over to carry boxes and bins and hold tools and wires and panels of sheet metal. Part of the deal was that you would smile and make nice with the more advanced workers, as well as his clients, and you provided as best you could. At first, it was enjoyable, your learning curve was steep, and you liked to see creatures with lives from all over the galaxy. But you quickly began to understand you had little time for that, and were forced to duck your head down and, as always, do what you were told.

It was worth it, you told yourself, to be doing something productive while he was away. Already it felt like the ship was almost his, and you were grasping at your new freedom like an eel in the water. If you were useful, and brought in your own income, it would help you and least find your footing in the mud.

When he returned, you told him proudly of your work, showing him the credits like they were your first piece of beskar. His voice had a smile in it, as he watched you, and his gloved hand had touched you cheek gently. It was good, he told you.

Din liked the feeling he got in his chest when you were around him, when you looked at him, and especially when you smiled his way. He went out of his way, from then on, to create similar opportunities for you, to try new things and use your skills. For once in his life, he wasn’t hurting for credits, but it was lovely, to see you be proud of yourself. The missions were shorter than that first one, though, because he preferred being with you to almost anything else.

It made him feel lighter, after the chaos of the last few months, to work, and come back to a ship where you were waiting for him. He had never met anyone like you – selflessness disguised as ambition, as smart and careful and kind as you were strong and capable. After the child had been taken from him, he didn’t know if he would ever open himself up again, but he couldn’t resist.

After you came into his life, ship aside, there was no going back. You found ways to make rations more interesting, took the time he never had to scour the markets for tiny improvements, always kept a hand free when he needed something to hold on to. It made him feel like man, not simply a bounty hunter or even a Mandalorian.

There was no other feeling in all his travels, that compared to that of your weight against his side. It startled him, even though he had been the one to pull you there as the two of you stood, staring at the cargo bay, but it became as necessary to him as his armor. Din would reach for you, hand finding your opposite hip, and tug you against his ribs and you would melt into it. Your warmth seeped through the cloth, and the tension would ebb out of his muscles so much he could almost sleep standing up.

He tried to tell you sometimes, but words rarely felt necessary or like they actually communicated what he wanted to. And the way you touched his arm or hugged his clunky armor made his heart full, so he could only hope his touches and actions did the same, for you.

Still, you asked for words sometimes, so he told you stories of the Mandalorians, his childhood, and his adventures with Cara and Boba, and even the child. Once, he pulled your forehead against his helmet and told you his real name. Those were the words that sunk in like the roots of your relationship. The grounded you both, the foundation for understanding between two healing souls.

When he returned from a shorter mission to find you glossy eyed and frustrated in the kitchen, and you dropped his hand after a single squeeze, he was lost. Moving through the area, he grabbed food, trying to put it together the way you did, clumsily trying to show you he cared, how you did, to him.

It coaxed out of you the story of your day – the problem and the fall out. On the surface, he didn’t understand.

You had tried to get work and it fell through, everyone was feeling grumpy and you didn’t have the skill set they were looking for. Din wanted to shrug – it happened, and ask you if you enjoyed your day off.

But there was something more, of course there was, or else you wouldn’t be here with storms in your eyes, flinching from his touch.

“I’m sorry,” you concluded and he reeled. You were sorry?

“It’s fine,” he didn’t know what it was, but he was sure of it wasn’t already, it would be. You flinched, like he had confirmed something was wrong, and Din was even more confused.

Then it dawned on him.

All this time, he thought you knew. Not really one to say things so plainly, he thought for long moments over the exact right words he wanted.

“You… don’t have to earn your right to belong here,” his voice was sincere as it filled the dry air.

The tears slid down your face, and he rushed over to you, cautious but concerned. You were sitting in a chair and he knelt by your side, not touching you yet, but watching and listening closely.

“Really?”

If you could see his face, then you would see his unruly dark eyebrows draw together.

“Of course,” his hands reached for you then, brushing off your tears, and willing his honestly to sleep into your skin through his gloves until you believed it. “You do not have to earn your right to belong here, in my life. My family.”

There was a quiet crack in his voice, and it broke something in you, but the break was good. Like a tree you’d seen once, split open to let the poisoned sap ooze out a litter quicker. Din moved his hands to hold yours and you let him and the air was quiet, and for the first time fully peaceful, content.

Someone once told you “unhappiness cannot stick to a person’s soul if fit’s slick with tears” and you knew it was true when you rolled out of your cot the next morning. It would be a long process, to unlearn lessons you’d been taught grow, but as you walked into the cockpit, you felt for the first time you didn’t need the strength for it. He would help, and you would help him.

“Good morning, Din,” you murmured, and he looked up at you, warming you all the way through. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer you for a moment, just checked that everything was in place, and you waited. Then he stood his full height, and you almost had to bend to meet his visor - but you weren’t afraid. Pulling you into him, you could almost hear his smile when he spoke.

“Somewhere where there’s nothing to do, mesh’la.”

His forehead found yours, and it helped you not to ask are you sure?

After all, he wouldn’t have said so if he wasn’t.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179

#resisting the urge to apologize for this #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #maybe i don't know people

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autumnslance · 3 years ago

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FFXIV Write 2021 #5: Freebie - Passion (Aberrant pt 2) NSFW

((Since some of y’all are thirsty and let’s face it I am deep in this backstory))

Corran fumbled with the door to their room, managing to get it open without dropping Emelia. “Don’t slam it!” She admonished as he kicked it closed behind them.

It was only a few steps to their bed, to drop her on the mattress and follow her down, kissing her once more. Gods, the shape of her mouth fit perfectly against his, and her taste was more delectable than his favorite meal.

She broke the kiss, preventing him from chasing her with a hand against his chest. “Lock the door,” she panted.

Corran grunted in frustration, but got up to do as she bid. As much as he hated pausing now, it was better than possibly being walked in on by their small son; the lock would keep him at bay for a brief time.

Corran yanked his shirt off as he crossed the room, the night air doing little to cool the fever in his skin. He threw the lock and turned back to the bed, eyes already adjusted to the dim light, his breath caught by the sight of her.

“Stop,” he ordered as she finished removing her dress, leaving her in her flimsy petticoat and chemise. Emelia blinked at him, head tilted in her usual quizzical expression while letting the dress fall to the ground. Corran stalked forward, unlacing his breeches. “I want to undress you myself,” he told her, his voice pitched low. He was gratified to see her shiver in response, waiting while he removed his boots so he could drop his pants, left only in his smalls. He saw the tip of her tongue flick over her lips as her gaze took in his arousal through the thin fabric.

Corran fell on her again, mouth finding hers once more, tongue plunging between her lips. He made his way down her neck as he untied and unhooked her remaining clothes, freeing her shoulders to kiss along them. Emelia’s cool hands smoothed over his back and sides, and she made sweet little sounds of pleasure as his lips and teeth raked over familiar sensitive places. “You feel hot as an oven,” she murmured. “Are you all right, love?”

“More than,” Corran replied, freeing her breasts. He cupped and squeezed one, her head falling back as he nipped the stiffened nipple of the other. They weren’t large breasts, but perfect for being held, or taken into his mouth. The shape and feel of them had changed after being used to feed their child, but Corran couldn’t recall anymore how they used to be and he liked them just fine now.

He pushed her clothes down her slender torso and over her hips, which she lifted for him. He pressed kisses to her ribs, her stomach, her sides. His tongue traced along her stretch marks, teasing the sensitive places they led to. She had been so worried about the effects carrying and bearing a child had on her form, but Corran thought the lines and altered shape of her abdomen lovely--further reminders of the love and life they had created together.

Her fingers raked through his hair as he found the waist of her smalls and pulled them down along with her petticoat. He had not quite freed her legs but his impatience won out, helping her kick off the tangle of fabric as he nipped at her inner thighs and over her hips. A needy whine came from her and destroyed what was left of his resolve, his mouth covering her sex.

Emelia arced beneath him, a small cry passing her lips. He grinned against her softness, relishing the scent and taste of her desire as he laved his tongue along her wet folds. He thrust his tongue into her as deep as he could, knowing it wasn’t enough for her but gods he loved how she tasted, how she spread her legs further, inviting him closer and deeper. He made his way up to the sensitive nub at the crown and covered it entirely, sucking and licking at it. She practically wailed, one hand gripping the sheets, the other his scalp. He knew exactly how much pressure to use, how to use his tongue in long strokes to push her swiftly to the brink.

“Gods, Corran, I—” she was writhing in his grasp, breath catching. He hummed an affirmation against her, unrelenting. Usually he liked to draw this out, taking his time while slowly ratcheting up her tension, ensuring she was ready to take him in, but tonight he needed to drink from her and hear her scream for him.

She did, calling his name while her hips bucked as much as he would allow, the heady scent of her release filling his nose, her taste filling his mouth, finally overpowering the aftertaste of Avengret’s blood as he pressed his tongue into Emelia again. He looked up, breathing heavily, watching her. Her midnight hair pooled around her head on the skewed pillows, chest heaving, golden-brown skin slick and shining with sweat as her sparkling dark eyes returned his gaze.

“Perfect,” he growled, rising up to kiss her again, her arms and a leg eagerly wrapping around him as she responded with equal fervor, working his smalls down his legs to free and stroke his throbbing cock.

“Gods, Em,” he moaned, her touch making him dizzy. “Soon as you’re ready—”

“Take me, Cor,” she urged, guiding him. “I need you inside.”

He needed no further encouragement, shifting position and thrusting into her, hilting himself in one swift motion. She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. Corran groaned against the curve of her neck; she felt so damned good, wet heat tight around him, soft muscles fluttering and clenching along his length.

“Oh, gods,” she exclaimed as he drew back and thrust again, setting a quick, hard pace. He lifted himself, arms straight with elbows locked, watching her, knowing just the right angles to keep pressure on her clit while also dragging himself over that sweet spot inside her. Emelia’s head tossed, face scrunching, breath coming in gulps and gasps with each rough stroke and her body’s own responses, rocking to meet his every motion. Her nails left scratches down his arms as their bodies slapped wetly against each other, the bed frame creaking and squealing and slamming against the wall.

Her hips stuttered, internal muscles clenching and fluttering wildly as her breath came shorter, her tension building. Corran grinned, sweat dripping from him to splash on the pillows and her. “Th-that’s it,” he managed. “Come, Em; lemme hear you.”

“Cor—!” She lost coherence as she cried out, lifting toward him, her release pulsing around him as he continued his hard pace, falling to his elbows as he did not, could not, let up, his own tension building until the rush of blood in his head nearly drowned out all other sound. She gripped the nape of his neck and his back now, her nails digging into his skin and cutting through the haze of sensation. He reached down and hooked his arm under her leg, opening her further, taking him deeper as he needed more of her, more, more…

There!

He shouted her name, vaguely aware he had pushed her from the previous orgasm to yet another peak as he spilled inside her, Emelia crying out again and clinging to him for dear life as she shook like a leaf, body still jumping against his as they both slowly came down.

Corran rolled and fell to the side, pulling her tight to him, stroking her hair and back, burying his face in the crook of her neck again, idly licking the bruising bite mark he had left there, claiming his mate. He was heaving for air and sweating like the sinner he was, but the raging firestorm in his veins had abated, the Song merely a faint echo in his head and drowned out by the little sounds his wife made as they recovered.

“L-let me up,” she finally said, still shaky.

He growled and held her closer.

“I need to clean up,” she insisted, finally extricating herself while Corran pouted. She could barely stand, wobbling as she snagged her robe and unlocked the door to make her way to the wash.

Corran lay on his back, arms splayed, staring at nothing, head blessedly free from the earlier buzzing, empty of thought beyond the growing awareness of the aftermath of their lovemaking. He eventually forced himself up to pull the soaked coverlet off the bed--they hadn’t even gotten underneath it to the sheets--leaving it in a ball in the corner to be dealt with in the morning. He filled a glass from the pitcher she kept on the nightstand, drinking it swiftly and pouring another to drink at a more normal pace.

By the time Emelia returned, their discarded clothing had been picked up and hung on the correct pegs along the wall to also be dealt with on the morrow while Corran lay among the turned down sheets.

She slid into bed next to him, hands remaining a cooling balm as they ran over his chest. “Zaine’s still sleeping, somehow,” she said. “Though we were loud enough to rouse the dead.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” he teased, pulling her close once more.

“Certainly not,” she answered, looking down at him. “Though I am curious what brought that on.”

For a wild second he thought of telling her, but dismissed the notion before it even finished forming. He brushed strands of damp hair away from her face and smiled. He would continue to keep her as far from his people’s war as possible; he had decided that from the beginning. “Can’t a man want to swive his beautiful wife he adores with all his heart now and again?”

She laughed, that easy blush blooming on her cheeks once more. “I suppose he can; I know I enjoyed it. Although,” she yawned and settled against him, using his chest as a pillow.

“Although?”

“We were reckless; I’ll have to track myself for the next moon.”

His heart paused for a moment as he realized what she meant. While she often took a medicine to regulate her cycles, he usually wore a skin, or finished outside of her to be on the safe side. That...had not happened tonight, and he wondered how much of that was the dragon’s influence versus his simple, instinctual need for his beloved after the day’s events.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing,” he said, not realizing immediately he had said it out loud, but then she tilted her head up.

“You want another baby?” She asked, tentative.

Could he maintain his responsibility to the cause, reaffirmed just this day? Probably, though it would be difficult. He had waited long enough, while life itself, he was finding, did not. “Do you?”

She hummed a little, snuggling in again. “It could be nice,” she replied. “I think Zaine would like a brother or sister.”

“Well,” Corran said, licking his suddenly dry lips. “If tonight doesn’t do it, I suppose we’ll just have to try again.” He tilted her chin up to kiss her one more time--gods, he really did love kissing her--and smiled. “Assuming you’re agreeable.”

“I’m sure you’ll convince me,” she replied, lips brushing his as they spoke. They laughed together, and he continued to stroke her back as she settled back down to using him as a pillow.

It took time for Corran to fall asleep, aware of Emelia’s steady breathing and her soft form alongside him, cooling the remaining heat in his blood. When he finally did close his eyes, he dreamed of her laughter while dragon wings beat through the sky.

---

(Direct sequel to Aberrant, Day 2 prompt for the FFXIVWrite2021)

#FFXIVWrite2021 #Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Backstory #Corran Striker #Emelia Striker #sometimes I write smut #Lemons

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happyandticklish · 4 years ago

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Not So Easy

Notes: For the ask by @tickles-tea, who requested a follow-up on Endurance Training, only this time with feathers. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: When Shinra discovers a new tool to implement in their sessions, Izaya is faced with a challenge that he can’t refuse.

“A feather?”

The unimpressed drawl came from the mouth of none other than Izaya Orihara, perched on the edge of Shinra’s bed. Currently, the scientist was twirling the fluffy tool expectantly between his fingers after pulling it from a box on his bedside table. Inside the box, Izaya could see a variety of other feathers, all of them different shapes, sizes, and colors.

When Shinra had first grabbed him that day after school, excited to show him something that would take their “training” to a new level, Izaya had been apprehensive. Despite his protests otherwise, he was finding these tests to be much more difficult than he had anticipated, and the addition of some new element was harrowing. He had been expecting torture machines, brushes, maybe some new form of bondage to test out. Instead, Shinra had presented him with a simple goose feather, the edges soft but ultimately non-threatening.

“It’s a lot more difficult to withstand than you might think,” Shinra promised, taking a seat besides him. Izaya had previously been stretched out on the bed, supported by his elbows, but at the scientist’s sudden proximity he straightened up into a more protective position. He frowned at the involuntary action, wondering if maybe Shinra was getting to him after all.

“There’s just no way that I’m going to give in to something as stupid as a feather,” Izaya scoffed, making up for his earlier unease with a bluster he didn’t feel. “It’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” Shinra repeated, a strange glint entering his eyes.

“That’s what I said—”

“So you wouldn’t mind a challenge, would you?”

Izaya stiffened at the word, competitive spirit ignited. “A challenge? Of what sort?”

“You allow me to tickle you for ten minutes with this—” he gestured to the feather—“without giving up, saying the safe word, or moving to block me.”

“And what do I get if I win?” Izaya asked, crossing his arms skeptically.

Shinra thought about it for a moment. “You get to tickle me back wherever and however you want for five minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” Izaya amended immediately. “It’s only fair, right?”

“No,” Shinra corrected firmly. “Five minutes—you said it was an easy win, after all; it wouldn’t make sense to give you so much retribution for something that should come easily to you. Five minutes, final offer.”

Though technically he could launch revenge anytime he wanted, Shinra usually got him back tenfold afterwards, something Izaya found vastly unfair as he knew for a fact that the future scientist enjoyed it. This would give him a chance to finally get him back without fear of retribution. “Alright. Fine. And what happens if I lose?”

“You get tickled for five minutes on your worst spot and you’re not allowed to block me.”

“What?” Izaya exclaimed, shudders shooting down his spine at the idea. “No way. Not fair.”

“Hey, if you don’t think you can do it…” Shinra shrugged, leaning back and waiting for the other boy’s answer.

Izaya tugged at his lip, considering. On one hand, there was no way he could stand his thighs being tickled for that long without anyway to stop it. On the other hand, the idea of finally wrecking Shinra was incredibly appealing.

Not to mention, it was just a feather. What was the worst that could happen?

“Alright,” Izaya said, holding out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Currently, Izaya lay stripped down to his shorts on Shinra’s bed, his arms held above his head and anticipation wreaking havoc on his nerves. At first he had protested the exposed state, but Shinra pointed out that the feather would only be effective if it could get to bare skin. Izaya squeezed his hands together, taking in a shuddering breath. “You got the timer?”

“Yes. Get ready to have your mind blown, Orihara.”

Shinra started the timer just as Izaya was rolling his eyes at him, and that was when he felt the first brush of the feather against his side.

Izaya stifled an involuntary squeak, blaming the embarrassing action on shock. The feather was soft and as it brushed up and down his side it created an almost pleasant sensation that sent goosebumps prickling along his skin. It was strange; Izaya found himself torn between laughing and sighing in pleasure. It was impossible to sit through, but at the same time he almost didn’t want it to stop. He shifted on the bed, wishing Shinra would at least move on from that one spot which only seemed to get more sensitive with the continued caresses of the feather.

“T-This is easy,” Izaya bluffed, cursing the slight stammer in his voice. “I could do this all d-day.”

“Good to know.” Shinra grinned, sweeping the feather up so that it was swirling around his stomach. Izaya jumped, a hand shooting down to cover his face and a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh? Good spot?”

Izaya shook his head, afraid to speak. His stomach trembled under the light touch of the feather and a blush crept unwanted along his features. Despite his tough exterior, Izaya himself was not all that strong and this was evidenced in the softness of his skin, smooth and vulnerable with no muscle to protect itself. This gave the feather direct access to his nerves, and as its attack continued unhindered Izaya felt the first, lone giggle slip out of his mouth, followed by several more broken-up ones.

“Not as easy as you thought, huh?” Shinra asked, arching an eyebrow.

Izaya shakily raised his hand to flip him off, a gesture contrary to the sweet giggles spilling from his lips. “F-Fuhuck you.”

“Oh, ho, ho, is that how you want to play it?” Shinra smirked, sweeping the feather up towards his underarms suddenly. Izaya shrieked, arms flailing a bit as he tried to figure out how to react, finally settling on gripping the headboard with white knuckles. “I knew this would get you. Willing to give up yet.”

It shouldn’t have tickled that much. There was no way that one, singular feather could be having the effect it was having on Izaya. Yet it seemed that he had made a large miscalculation in underestimating the sensitivity of his underarms. He writhed under the gentle touch, face scrunched up in a determined grin as he fought back squeaks and giggles.

“T-Thihihis ihihis s-stuhuhupid!” he protested, shrinking under the soft plumage. “Ihihi—ahaha, nohohohoho!”

Shinra’s heart stuttered in his chest. It took a lot to break Izaya Orihara, and even when he did it was never in this gentle way where the torment was soft, unending touches that wrung such sweet noises from his mouth. He found himself enraptured by the sight. The trembling of his skin, twitching and arching on his bedsheets, the flushed pallor to his cheeks, laughter, pleasant and uncontrolled to his ears. He decided then and there that he needed to see more of this side of him in as many different ways as possible.

He lifted the feather, giving his friend a momentary reprieve, before tracing the tip delicately along his collarbone and under his chin. Izaya honest-to-god snorted, ducking his head into his shoulders. Amused by the reaction, Shinra kept it up and swept the feather along any available skin of his neck. Izaya was helpless to protect it, unable to cover all of his neck at once, and he twisted his head from side to side in an attempt to catch the damned thing.

“I didn’t realize your neck was so ticklish!” Shinra exclaimed in delight, managing to somehow slip the feather under his head and across the nape of his neck. Izaya shrieked, praying to any deity out there that might be listening that the feather would evaporate before it could do anymore damage.

“Neheheither d-did Ihihi!” Izaya’s laughter was becoming more bubbly by the minute, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation taking over. He had let go of the headboard by now, and his hands hovered around his neck and shoulders, close enough that he felt like he had some sort of control over the situation, but not actually stopping the torment and allowing himself to lose the challenge. “J-Juhuhust g-go sohomewhere ehelse!”

“Why?” Shinra teased, unable to help himself. Anytime he had Izaya in a position like this he had to exploit it for all it was worth. “Does it tickle too much?”

“Yehehes—nohohohoho—Ihihi dohohon’t—” It was clear that Izaya’s sense of coherency was quickly fading and Shinra decided to give him a break if only because he didn’t want the challenge to be over so quickly; he wasn’t done with him just yet.

“Alright, I suppose I’ll be nice for now.” Shinra backed off and Izaya slumped back onto the bed, taking a hand and not-so-subtly rubbing away the remaining sensations on his neck.

Shinra pursed his lips, trying to figure out where to go next. He could go for his thighs, but he knew the second he touched him there with that feather Izaya would cave and he wanted this to be interesting. That didn’t mean he was going to leave his lower half entirely alone, of course. He would just have to be strategic about it.

He scooched down on the bed, picking up Izaya’s leg and hooking it around one shoulder. Izaya frowned indignantly, opening his mouth to question the strange action, but before he could Shinra teased the feather along the backs of his knees, tracing the sensitive skin contained there.

Izaya’s eyes widened and he shot up on the bed, slamming his hands down on either side of him. “No! Wait--E-ehehe, whahahait, nohoho!”

Izaya’s leg trembled violently as Shinra dragged the feather up and around in tiny circles, pulling the cutest noises from his mouth as he did so. Izaya fell back on the bed, hiccupping around squeaky giggles as he fisted his hands in the bedsheets, occasionally slamming his fists down whenever it got too much.

This was only the beginning of Shinra’s plan, however. He continued to torment that spot for another minute before dragging it along his calf, a spot that made Izaya momentarily screw up his face in ticklish agony, before landing finally on the sole of his foot.

Though his reactions were less desperate now, Izaya burst into cackling laughter, covering his face once more in his hands. It was possible that Shinra had simply broken down his resistance, but there was definitely something more defeated in his friend’s countenance now, an undiluted joy that expressed itself in the form of helpless laughter. Shinra found himself laughing too, drawn in by the infectious nature of it all.

Eventually it was twisting the feather between his toes that finally broke him. Shinra had only been tickling him there for about twenty seconds before Izaya reached forward and batted his hands away.

“Stohohohop!” he choked out, kicking his leg out in an attempt to free himself. “N-No mohore.”

As soon as Shinra let go of him he snatched the feather out of his hand, crumpling it and throwing it on the ground.

“Ah,” Shinra pouted. “I liked that feather.”

“I didn’t,” Izaya grumbled, curling up on the bed in an exhausted heap. “That feather was evil.”

Despite his protests, Izaya felt an involuntary smile curl at his lips, not just from the tickling, either. It was nice to be able to just smile and laugh uninhibited without worrying about what others would think. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to do so, though Shinra, he was quickly finding, was an exception to a lot of things in his life.

The tickling itself wasn’t so bad either, not that he would ever admit it.

As he lay there, panting and trying to regain his breath, he felt a shadow looming over him and turned over to find Shinra hovering behind him. “What are you—?”

“Don’t you remember what your punishment was?”

Izaya’s eyes widened. “Shinra no.”

“Where was your worst spot again?” Shinra asked, tapping a finger against his chin in a mock impression of confusion. “Was it possibly right... here!”

“No, no, nohohohohoho!”

The moment Shinra latched onto his thighs, Izaya was lost once more to helpless laughter. Through his cackling and squirming, Izaya found himself thanking the world that he had found a friend like Shinra.

Truly, he couldn’t have asked for anyone better.

#tickling #durarara #shinzaya #tickle fic #izaya orihara #shinra kishitani #izaya x shinra #izashin #fic request #durarara!!#tickle challenges #tickle games

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philthepegacornfics · 4 years ago

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Come On Get Higher

Kaminari Denki x Reader

Work count: 4k

Warnings: THIS IS AN 18+ FIC, Drug use, Smut (Fingering, cunnalingus, creampie, slight degradation, slight cock warming), Swearing, Female!Reader

A/N: This is my second ever smut, and it’s written in Kaminari’s POV! Also, this is an aged up fic! Please let me know what you think!

“Denki!” She cheered as I opened the door. Her arms instantly wrapped around my neck to pull me into a hug. I laughed as I wrapped my arms around her waist, effectively picking her up in the process. She let out a small shriek before laughing.

“Denki! Put me down!” she squealed as I spun her around.

“Nope!” I laughed, kicking the door shut.

She lightly started hitting my back and let out a whine, “Denkiii!”

Despite her protests, I continued carrying her as I made my way to the living room couch. I sat down while still holding her, her legs straddling my lap.

“You’re a jerk,” she said with sparkles in her eyes. She lightly shoved my chest to emphasize her point.

I tapped my chin, pretending to be in deep thought, before shaking my head. “No I’m not.”

“Says you.”

“Yeah, says me,” I tickled her side.

She let out a small squeak before flopping onto the couch in order to get me to stop. She kept her legs across my lap as she laid there pouting. More laughter bubbled out of my chest.

“What movie do you want to watch?” I finally managed to get out.

“Anastasia!” She beamed.

“You always want to watch Anastasia,” I rolled my eyes at her, getting up to put the movie in.

“Because it’s the best movie ever made. And don’t complain when you’re the one who bought it so I can watch it over here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I waved her off though she was correct. When I found out that it was her favourite movie and no streaming sites had it available, I drove out to a store that night to get it for her.

(Y/n) was my best friend in the whole world. We met at UA high school and our friendship had only bloomed from there. We were so close, that if a person didn’t know better, they’d think we’re together because we do everything short of kissing. From piggyback rides to holding hands, we were always in contact with one another. We act as if we’re head over heels for each other. At least she acts. I, myself, am actually smitten with her.

“Are you going to put the movie in or not?” she asked with a small giggle, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I quickly shook my head to get me out of my daze. “Yeah, sorry.”

She let out a small gasp, “Did you smoke without me?”

“Of course not,” I shook my head. “It wouldn’t be any fun without you.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked in my direction. When I didn’t crack under her gaze, she smiled. “Good. I’d be pissed if you did.”

“And another reason why I wouldn’t. Don’t want to upset my princess.”

She looked away from me and towards the ceiling, indicating that I made her blush. My little nicknames for her usually make her do so. All the more reason for me to use them. I felt the corner of my mouth pull up into a smirk.

I made my way over to the couch and tapped her legs to get her to move them. Throwing her legs off the side, she sat up. When I sat down, she laid down again, but this time with her head in my lap. I ran my fingers through her hair absentmindedly as the movie began to play. She let out a small coo as she readjusted herself on the couch, getting comfortable.

Once the opening scene was complete and the title popped up on the screen, I paused the movie. (Y/n) turned her face to look up to me. A pout playing on her facial features.

“Why’d you stop it?” she asked.

I leaned down, my face hovering just above hers. “Because I know what would make this even better.”

“What?”

“Being high.”

“Of course you would say that,” she snorted with laughter before getting up and heading to the bathroom.

I quickly ran to my bedroom and grabbed the joint I had stowed away before heading to the bathroom. When I got there, (Y/n) was sitting on the toilet lid. She had already turned the fan on.

I closed the door behind me and stepped up to her, standing between her legs. “Here you are, Milady,” I handed the joint to her.

She delicately placed it between her lips. I fished a lighter out of my pocket. She reached out and tried to grab it from me. I pulled the lighter away and tutted at her.

“Pretty girls don’t light up themselves,” I said, shaking my finger at her.

She rolled her eyes at me, but I could tell that she was blushing. Leaning down, I held the lighter up and flicked it to life, lighting the join.

Taking a few puffs, she then held it out. I easily took it from between her fingers before taking a puff from it myself. She let out a small whine.

“That one’s mine”

“You mean, ours,” I corrected. “I only have the one.”

“What the hell, Denki?” she frowned.

“I haven’t had time to run to the dispensary to get more,” I shrugged before teasing her, “You can always buy your own.”

“But why would I do that when I have you,” she smiled sweetly.

I let out a laugh before taking another hit and handing it back to her. We continued like that, passing it back and forth until it was almost done. At that point, (Y/n) tried keeping it to herself.

“It’s almost gone, just let me finish it,” she whined.

“I don’t think so, you’re not going to hog it all to yourself,” I grabbed her wrist before using my other hand to take the joint away from her.

She crossed her arms and pouted while I took a few puffs. Holding her hand out, she expected me to give it back to her.

“No way,” I shook my head, “I won’t get it back if I hand it to you.”

“So you’re just going to hog it yourself?”

I shook my head again before squatting in front of her, so we were eye level. Placing the joint between my index and middle finger, I held the butt to her lips. “Here,” I whispered.

Her eyes closed as she took it between her lips. Lips that grazed my fingers. Fire lit under my skin as my heart swelled. My jaw went slack as I stared at her as she took a long hit. She looked ethereal.

Taking her mouth away, she took in a deep breath to allow the effects to hit her more. Her eyes fluttered back open. She saw me staring and another blush crept onto her face. Making a small “o” shape with her lips, she blew the smoke into my face.

Due to the haze fogging my brain, I didn’t think much as I leaned forward and placed my lips on hers. My hand, not holding the smoked joint, reached up and cradled her face. A small squeak escaped her throat. I started to pull away, thinking she wasn’t into it, but her hands wrapped around my neck, pulling me back against her.

My eyes closed, savoring the feel of her lips. They were soft and smooth as they locked with mine. I could feel her hands playing with the tresses of hair at the base of my neck. Reaching over, I placed the butt of the joint on the bathroom counter. With my other hand now free, I placed it on her thigh to help myself keep balanced. I rubbed circles with my thumb on the inside as my tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip.

A small moan came from her as she opened her mouth to let me in. The sound of her angelic voice caused the front of my pants to tighten. I let out a small groan in return when she lightly took my bottom lip between her teeth. I could feel her shudder at the noise.

Slowly, I began to stand up. She followed with me, keeping our lips attached for as long as she could. Once we were both fully standing, I pulled away from her mouth and trailed kisses to her ear. After I kissed the lobe of her ear, I whispered, “Jump.”

Following my command, she jumped up, her legs wrapping around my waist. My hands landed on her ass. While groping her, I kissed a trail down the right side of her neck. As soon as she moaned when I hit a certain spot, I focused all my attention there. Kissing, biting, licking that spot while I carried her to my bedroom. Whines and moans escaped her lips that sounded like music to my ears.

In the bedroom, I placed her down on the mattress. She laid back and pulled me on top of her, keeping her legs around my waist. Her mouth quickly found mine again. Her hands running through and playing with my hair. Her hips bucked up against mine. Low groans escaped both of our mouths.

Taking the hint, I started grinding my clothed erection against hers. My hands wandered up and down her sides. When my hands moved up again, they caught the seam of her shirt, lifting it up to reveal her warm skin.

She let out a gasp as I slid my hands underneath the fabric, massaging her breasts over the fabric of her bra. I then trailed kisses up and down the left side of her neck. When she moaned when I hit a certain spot, I bit down on it.

“Denki!” she cried bucking up her hips, causing me to moan.

“What is it, Princess?” I murmured against her skin.

She covered her face with her hands, stuttering, “Hur… hurry up.”

I moved my hands out from under her shirt to move her hands away from her face. “Don’t you hide for me.”

“Sorry,” she looked to the side to hide her blush.

I leaned down and nipped at her earlobe. “What did I just say?”

Another moan escaped her lips, “Denki, please!”

“Please what?” I teased, halting my movements.

She whined and bucked up her hips again, trying to get friction. I nibbled my way down to her sweet spot again.

“Touch me,” she gasped, “Please touch me.”

“But where?” I hummed. Moving my hands to ghost over different parts of her body. “Your hair?” I tugged lightly at her tresses. “Your mouth?” My fingertips barely touched her lips. Her mouth opened and sucked two of my fingers into her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks as she sucked, using her tongue to swirl around them.

An animal-like growl came from my chest as I watched her, imagining that it was my cock between her lips instead. My dick twitched inside my pants at the thought.

I smirked at her, continuing with my list. “Your neck?” I used my free hand to grip around her neck. A low groan came from deep in her throat. “Your perfect boobs?” I groped one side of her chest. “Your waist?” I massaged low circles into it. “Your thighs?” I rubbed my hand from her knees upward, pausing before I got to where I knew she wanted me the most. “Or is it your pussy?” I finally palmed her core.

She gasped, releasing my fingers. “There! Touch me there!”

“Where?” I chuckled. “I just listed a whole bunch of places.”

“You know where,” she whined, bucking her hips.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“My pussy! I want you to pleasure me. Please!”

“As you wish,” I smirked, tugging down her pants. When I got them fully off, I was welcomed with the sight of black lace panties. They had been soaked through. I felt my dick twitch again inside my pants. It was borderline becoming painful. I took off my own pants to relieve some of the strain.

I looked back over to (Y/n), who was watching me undress as she played with herself, panties pushed to the side.

“You like what you see?” I smirked, taking off my shirt.

She moaned, nodding her head.

Reaching over, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from her cunt. I put her fingers in my mouth, tasting her sweet juices. Her (e/c) eyes stared deeply into my golden ones as I licked every drop.

“Take your shirt off,” I ordered her, dropping her hand.

She sat up real quick and removed the fabric.

I reached out and snapped her bra strap. “This needs to go too.”

As her arms snuck behind her back to undo the clasp, I dropped my hand down to rub small circles over her clothed clitoris. Her back arched with a loud moan. She tossed her bra to the side, leaving me to see her bare breasts in all of their glory.

She laid back down on the bed as I used my other hand to stroke my cock through my underwear. I let out a small moan of my own.

Pushing her panties to the side, I trailed my finger from her hole to her clit, spreading her juices as I went. Sliding my finger back down to her entrance, I pushed it inside. Her velvety walls squeezed around my digit as her hip bucked. I started a slow pace of thrusting it in and out of her. Curling my finger as I went.

After a moment, between curses and moans, she cried, “Please, Denki, I need more.”

“In a moment, Princess,” I slid my finger out of her, much to her dismay, “I want to taste every part of you.” I put my finger in my mouth, tasting her juices again. Using my other hand, I pulled the lace panties down and off of her legs.

I watched as her glistening cunt squoze the air, trying to find something solid to squeeze around. Groaning as I ducked my head down, I threw her legs over my shoulders. Keeping my eyes on her face, I started off with a small lick on her clitoris. She threw her head back, wanton moans leaving her lips. Her heels dug into my back, pulling me closer.

I groaned against her mound and her hip bucked in anticipation. Kitten licking her clit, gasps and moans came from her pretty mouth. I reached my hands up to play with her breast. Taking the soft flesh, I kneaded them before focusing my attention on her hard nipples. Rolling them between my fingers.

Her back arched off of the bed, causing her pussy to be pulled away from me slightly. Using this moment, I made a broad stroke with my tongue from her hold to her clit.

“Oh, fuck!” she cursed under her breath.

My lips formed into a smirk before I continued my ministrations. I circled my tongue around her entrance before pushing into her. My nose bumped her clit. Again, she swore under her breath. She started grinding her hips against my face as I drank in her essence. Tongue thrusting in and out of her.

“Oh, Denki,” she moaned.

At the sound of my name, my cock twitched again, begging for attention. But, I decided to push away my needs in favour of trying to get my name to spill from her lips again. Shifting my tongue's attention back to her clit, I brought one on my hands down to slowly put a finger inside of her.

Pumping my finger in and out of her, I curled it, looking for her g-spot. I knew I had found it when her whole body shuddered. Her hands tangling in my hair instead of the comforter on the bed. She let out a loud whine as I inserted another finger. Both of them pumping and curling around that special spot of her’s. My tongue continued to sign my name in to her clit. Claiming her as mine. The walls of her pussy started to flutter around my fingers.

“Denki, I’m gonna-”

“Cum, Princess. Cum for me,” I moaned into her mound.

My name ripped from her throat as her back arched. Her tight walls squoze around my fingers as I continued to eat her out through her orgasm. My dick hurt as it twitched inside of my boxers. I could feel a wet spot forming on the fabric from my pre-cum. I pulled away from her as her body slammed back onto the bed. She was panting and her face looked blissed out.

While she was recovering, I pulled down my underwear. I couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped my lips. My cock was so hard that it hit my stomach, smearing my pre-cum. I looked over to (Y/n) whose eyes were trained on me. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips.

I repositioned myself between her legs. She continued to stare at me hungrily. As she opened her mouth to say something, I shoved my fingers that were inside of her into her mouth. She let out a soft moan as she sucked on my digits.

Using my other hand I started pumping my cock. With my thumb, I spread around the pre-cum. I studied the sight in front of me, trying to commit it all to memory before realizing, I don’t have enough lube to enjoy this properly.

I spat into my hand before returning it back to my aching dick. Giving it a few pumps, I let out a low groan. (Y/n)’s hand started making its way to her delicate folds. Pulling my fingers from her mouth, I smacked her hand away.

“That’s my job, Princess.”

“Then fuck me already,” she whined.

Not having to be told twice, I slid my cock between her folds. Rubbing it up and down, I collected her juices before pushing into her slowly. A high pitched moan came from her lips as I bit back my own. I wanted to hear more of her noises. Not my own.

Inch by inch I inserted myself into her, until I bottomed out. I paused for a moment to allow her to adjust to my size. Slowly, I began to pull out of her. The tug on my dick was heavenly as walls squoze around me, trying to keep me in. After pulling half way out, I slammed back into her. A string of curses left her lips like a prayer as I set the pace.

“You’re so tight, Princess,” I panted. “Not going to… last long…”

“Me neither,” she moaned, squeezing around me for emphasis.

I leaned down and captured her lips with mine as I continued to thrust in and out of her. She made soft mewling noises as her hands wandered my back. With a particularly sharp snap of my hips, her nails clawed into my back. The pain quickly turned into pleasure causing my cock to twitch inside of her.

She broke away from the kiss, gasping for air. I trailed kisses down her neck to the spot I know she likes before sucking on it. I bit into her skin before licking it to sooth the bite.

“Denki,” she moaned. One of her hands flew up to the back of my head, holding me against her.

With every thrust, I could feel my abs and balls tightening. I pushed myself back up, ignoring her whines. I grabbed her legs and threw them over my shoulders, so I could get a deeper angle. In the new position, her moans became louder. Needing to hear more, I moved my hand to her mound and pushed my thumb against her clitoris, drawing little circles. Her walls started fluttering around me.

“I’m close,” she cried.

“Me too,” I grunted, picking up speed. “Where do you want me to cum?”

“In me! Please!”

My hips faltered, as the weight of her words hit me. “Princess, are you sure?”

“Yes!” she begged. “Please fill me up, make me all yours! I’m yours Denki!”

A loud groan came from my chest as I continued to slam into her. My balls were hitting her ass, making a slapping sound that just egged me on further.

“Gonna cum in that pretty little pussy of yours,” I moaned. “Make you all mine, you fucking cum slut.”

Her walls tightened at the name I called her. I pressed my thumb down harder before continuing, “My princess is a little slut, aren’t you?”

She moaned in response.

“You love the way my cock fills you up, that you just can’t get enough? Need me to cum in you?” I started thrusting hard to emphasize my next words, “Well, you’re going to get. Every. Last. Drop.”

“Shit!” she cried. Her velvety walls squoze tight before fluttering around my cock as she came.

The pleasure from her orgasm triggered mine. Painting the inside of her walls with my hot semen. Both of us moaned together as I rode out our highs.

I flopped down on top of her, leaving my softening cock inside of her as I peppered her face with kisses.

“Denki!” she giggled.

“Yes, Princess?” I continued my onslaught.

She just continued to laugh as I laid on top of her. Deciding that she had enough, I buried my face into her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. Her finger gently ran through my hair.

Suddenly the doorbell rang followed by a knock on the door. My head snapped up and (Y/n) and I looked each other in the eyes with confusion. Slowly the dots connected in my brain of who it could be.

“Aw shit, the pizza!” I got up, pulling myself out of her. She moaned as I did so.

“Pizza?”

“Yeah, I ordered it earlier today for this time. When I knew that you’d be here,” I explained, kicking my pants on.

I ran to the door and hurriedly opened it. On the other side was a startled delivery driver. His eyes widened from looking at my state.

“Uh… here you go…” he said awkwardly, handing me the boxes.

“Thank you,” I said as I closed the door with him walking away.

I placed the two pizzas on the counter in the kitchen before heading back to my bedroom. When I got there, (Y/n) was gone. As if I had imagined the whole thing.

“(Y/n)?” I called out.

“In the bathroom,” she called back.

I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding. “I got both of our favourite pizzas!”

I could hear her cheer from the bathroom. I laughed and headed back to the kitchen. Grabbing two plates I filled each one with the different pizzas before heading into the living room with them.

I placed her pizza on the coffee table and mine on my lap as I sat down on the couch. Once I started to dig in, (Y/n) appeared and made her way over to sit next to me. I swallowed hard seeing her wear my baggy shirt and nothing else.

She leaned over and kissed my cheek before sitting down. “You’re the best, Denki.”

“Only for you!” I said, leaning over to her and giving her a proper kiss.

She giggled when I pulled away. Suddenly her face fell. She reached forward and grabbed her pizza saying, “So…”

“So?”

“What does this make us?” Her eyes were wide as she searched my face, looking hopeful.

“Well, Princess,” I took another bite of my pizza. “I think this would make you my girlfriend.”

“Really?” she beamed.

“I mean, if you’ll have me,” I swallowed.

“Yes!” she cheered, leaning forward, covering my face with kisses.

I laughed at her antics. “Good thing. Because with what you’re wearing, you have a long night ahead of you,” I winked at her.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @calpalirwin @aneclecticwriter

#kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #Female reader

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ramblinganthropologist · 3 years ago

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MER Week Day 3 - Missed Opportunities

Summary: Nothing like dark biotic lunch to let you reflect on how shitty your love life is. Alistair’s got plenty to reflect on as he broods away with his jar of sour sugar - correction, homemade pixie sticks. Unfortunately for him, he’s about to add another one to his lack-of-body count. Man just can’t catch a break...

(Setting: Pre ME1)

---

02:00 Space time. It was the perfect time for stuffing your face with much needed carbs to keep the biotic system functioning.

“Don’t even think of turning that light on, my eyes are killing me.”

Alistair’s hand moved away from the switch and back to his favorite form of shoving carbs into his system – a mix of sugar, citric acid, and green food coloring that made up his version of pixie sticks. It was all the flavor, without having to deal with the stupid paper wrapper that got everywhere. Next to him, his sister was punching the buttons on the microwave. Inside, the family sized bag of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets was waiting to get spun around and nuked to edible temperatures.

“I wasn’t going to; my head hurts too.” He massaged the back of his neck, fingers brushing against his still-warm amp. He had used it a bit too much the day before, but at least it had cooled some. Hours earlier, it had been burning hot. Maybe the headache was the result of that, or maybe it was the ship’s pressurization. Either way, no lights were fine by him.

Besides, lights might have made someone else on the Normandy realize they were there. The last thing he needed was to talk to someone other than Bo right then.

“Good. If I have to deal with Jenkins asking me to test my biotics on him again, I’m going to scream. He should just go bother Alenko for that…” Bo trailed off, one red eye meeting him across the kitchen. “Unless you’re interested in giving it a shot.”

The thought caused him to snort as he dug in the drawer for a suitable spoon. Most people liked tablespoons, but they usually had bigger mouths than him. It would take a little longer, but a teaspoon fit his smaller hands perfectly. Maybe someone in the crew would joke about that, but they were smart enough not to do it to his face. What they did behind his back, he didn’t care. He didn’t have to hear it, and that was good enough for him.

“Already tried that, actually. He doesn’t like how I do it.” A spoonful of sugar soon found its way into his mouth and the sour taste did wonders for his headache. “You should’ve heard him complain when I didn’t toss him full force. I swear, Jenkins has a death wish or something.”

Bo snorted as she watched her nuggets go for a ride in the radiation machine. “He’d get it with me, there are no safety stops on the murder machine. Maybe it’s for the best if he gets his ride from Alenko. After he breaks something, he can go to you or Chakwas to get it fixed. Maybe you should just standby, it’ll give you plenty of chances to talk to him.”

The thought made Alistair cringe as he looked down at his jar of sugar. “Yeah… about that… maybe it’s for the best if I don’t go around Kaidan for a while.”

Memories from the prior week still played in his mind whenever he got the chance to close his eyes – it was like the universe wanted to remind him how stupid it had been. He could still see the look on his fellow biotic’s face and see the change in his eyes. It had just been a simple request – to hang out on their next shore leave, maybe grab dinner.

The dinner idea had made the man ask if he was asking him out. Naturally, Alistair was shit at lying, so he’d had to come out with the truth. Yes, it had been a soft way of asking Kaidan out on a date. And… well, it hadn’t ended well. Kaidan had been nice about it, and he appreciated that, but in the end, it was a politely given no. The offer was still up to hang out as friends, but… honestly, he wasn’t sure if he could do it right then. Just looking at the man made him embarrassed now, even if he respected that no.

He should’ve been used to being turned down, but it still hurt a little. He’d probably be over it in a few weeks, maybe less if they got busy with the next location they were heading towards. Alistair just had to hang in until then.

“Oh, so I don’t have to be nice to him anymore. Great. He’s been annoying the hell out of me.” The microwave dinged and the sound of plastic tearing signified the beginning of the carnage of all breaded dinosaur kind. “Fuck him.”

Alistair chuckled softly as he went for another mouthful of sugar. “He has a right to say no, Bo.”

“And I have the right to judge his shitty taste.” A tyrannosaurus lost its head to Bo’s incisors as she took her bag to the table. At least she was sitting down this time. Since she was, he joined her with his jar of what was basically sour sugar, spoon still in hand.

Well, he couldn’t talk her out of that. He knew better. Hopefully, it would be a quick couple of weeks.

For a few moments, they ate in silence. With every spoonful of sugar, Alistair felt his headache ache a little less. It was probably just a placebo effect to bootleg pixie sticks, but he was going to take anything he could get right then. Another spoonful it was – at least his CGM would be happy for once.

Thanks to that, he could hear the sounds of the Normandy around him. They were still settling into the new ship, so he was getting used to all the noises it made. Right now, they were shooting through FTL, so the engines hummed along as they kept everything steady. It was a low rhythm he found himself sinking into as he took another spoon of his snack. He might not have been on the ship for long, but he got the feeling he’d like it.

How could he not? The Normandy was kind of sexy…

“I can hear you sexualizing the ship from here, Al.”

Bo snickered as he turned away, cheeks growing warm in the dark. Instead of saying anything, he just took another mouthful of sugar. That was a point lost to him in the endless game they played. He was behind, and probably always would be. She was just too good at getting to him. Really, she was the best example of a little sister anyone could think of. It was honestly scary sometimes.

You think being a former younger sister he’d have the same power, but apparently not. Fuck that.

“You and your ship fetish. Better get in line, I think Joker’s in first place.” The next victim was a triceratops, missing its tail due to the company’s processing blades. Oh well, it was missing other things soon enough. “Well, either him or that weird turian who’s been skulking around. What’s his name again? He’s been all over the lower decks lately, I think it’s pissing engineering off.”

Nilhus. Nilhus Kryik.

Just thinking about him made Alistair’s face feel hot. He sought comfort in his sugar, trying not to think too hard about the man. They hadn’t really talked much, but from what he saw… well, would it be too much to say he liked what he was seeing?

Probably… shit. He was no good at this crush thing.

“I think he’s just… checking things out. I don’t know, it’s weird having a Spectre onboard. I’m not even sure where he’s sleeping…” He licked his spoon thoughtfully. “I mean, the Normandy was also designed by turians, so there has to be a spot somewhere comfortable for them. I would need to check the specs…”

Bo was giving him that look again as she dug for more dinosaurs. “Trying to find a good makeout spot, huh? You’re not subtle, Al.”

No… no he wasn’t. And that’s what got him in trouble.

What also got him in trouble was sitting in the dark apparently. All too suddenly, the lights flicked on, temporarily blinding him as pain rushed to the front of his head. Alistair hissed and dropped his spoon, hearing it clatter to the floor below. Next to him, he could hear Bo doing the same thing, only she didn’t drop her nuggets. Only a direct enemy attack could cause that to happen.

“Damn it, turn the fucking light off!”

“I didn’t know anyone was in here.” The light flicked off, returning them to darkness. “I thought humans ate with the lights on.”

The smooth, translated voice made Alistair sit up a little straighter. A dull panic wormed its way into his stomach as he managed to open his eyes and look over his shoulder. There was a turian standing in the entrance to the kitchen, talons still on the light switch.

Wasn’t it just his luck that Nihlus was a night person?

“Dark biotic lunch runs by different rules.” Bo’s tone was just asking for a fight as she reached down to grab his spoon. “Doubt there’s anything in here you can eat anyway.”

Nilhus moved towards the fridge, the very picture of a man on a mission. “I stored some energy rations in here when I arrived on ship.”

He met Alistair’s gaze, then those eyes moved towards the jar on the table. “Is… that a jar of sugar?”

Well… if you wanted to get technical…

Alistair got up from the table in order to wash his spoon, avoiding Nihlus’ gaze. “It’s my recipe for pixie sticks… there’s not enough in the little tubes for me and it saves on packaging.”

“Pixie… sticks.”

Yep, that was a tone that told him to forget any sort of crush he’d had on the man – he was officially in the fucking weird category for life. All he could hope for was that it didn’t affect their working relationship, whatever the turian was doing on their ship.

What was he doing there anyway? Nobody was exactly clear about that…

“I’d say don’t knock it until you try it, but I don’t think there’s a dextro safe version.” Clean spoon in hand, Alistair returned to the table. “Er… enjoy your energy rations? Don’t exactly think that’s possible though…”

His voice trailed off as Nihlus left with his snack without another word. As soon as he was gone, his forehead found the table with a light thump. That was not going to do wonders for his headache to say the least, but he didn’t care then.

Strike three, you’re out.

“Don’t sweat it, you’re too good for him. What kind of asshole looks down his… shit, he doesn’t have a nose does he…” Bo was lost in thought for a moment as she munched on her nuggets. “Anyway, fuck him.”

Well, he wasn’t going to be doing that…

“The correct term would probably be face plates, but it doesn’t sound as good.”

“Damn aliens and their lack of anatomy we can use for insults.” His sister nudged his jar closer. “Best way to get over a shitty crush is food, so you might as well eat up.”

That it was. Alistair sighed as he sat up, taking advantage of his clean spoon in order to get another mouthful. At this rate, he was just going to be single until he died. Maybe that was for the best – it helped keep him focused on missions.

But damn, did the universe have to keep teasing him with hot guys he had no chance with?

Oh well, at least he had his jar of homemade pixie stick formula for those long nights when he was up brooding over his lack of a love life. At least that would never let him down. So, another mouthful it was, there in the dark of the kitchen with his sister.

On the bright side, at least Eden Prime should be a nice place to go… it sounded decent enough. Maybe it would take his mind off things.

#merweek2021 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #Bo Peep Shepard #Al has zero luck with men #His lack of body count is astounding

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kettlequills · 3 years ago

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prisoner of the skein 3

A03. TW: Morning After, post rough non-explicit sex. Consensual kink, biting, injury, some suicidal ideation, spiders, force-feeding, possessiveness and control, and unhealthy relationships, minors dni. FDB! Laat/LDB! Miraak: a morning in Whiterun.

Miraak woke with a groan. His body was a giant bruise. Sharp pain had him pressing his back flat into the furs before he got too adventurous about moving. Breezehome was dark and still, though Miraak could hear distantly the sounds of another busy spring day in Whiterun through the wooden walls. His silencing spells must have expired and jolted him from his rest, short though his gritty eyes told him it had been.

“Laataaz?” Miraak called weakly. He could not see the First Dragonborn lurking nearby, but that did not mean they weren’t there. It was unlike them to leave him if he was injured, even – especially – when they were the one who had done it.

His voice was raspy and his throat felt shredded. He remembered fragments of their activities, mostly overshadowed by the intensity of the sensations and how close he’d been to repeatedly passing out, but he didn’t remember screaming that much. Or whatever Laataaz had done to him was the sort of thing that felt like an excellent idea at the time, and when morning came, the consequences on his mortal body swiftly corrected the illusion. Well, until Laataaz looked at him that certain way again, all power and command and strength, and Miraak’s better judgement folded like a house of cards to kneel worshipfully at their feet.

With a crumpling sigh, the darkness stepped forward until it resolved into Laataaz, dim, dusty, robed thickly in cobwebs and expression hidden beneath their mournful mask. Miraak’s flicker at relief at the proof they had not left him alone in his vulnerability made his smile when he saw them bright, and Laataaz’s blurry shape wavered towards him like a moth craving the sun.

The bed dimpled under their heavy frame when they sat beside him, and his face turned towards the warmth of their thigh like a comet in orbit. He already knew to breathe through his mouth; no matter how much they washed, Laataaz’s perfume was one of dust, decay, and the strange, foul scent of poison. No matter how much he … felt for them, it was not a pleasant one.

He heard the soft clink of them working off their ancient gauntlets, then their bare hand placed in his hair. Too many fingers smoothed through it, untangling the knots that gritted there with the utmost delicacy. The strands almost seemed to pull loose without their touching them at all, and he shivered as he felt soft brushes against his ear that could have been hair dampened by sweat, or close clinging cobwebs feathered free of Laataaz’s sleeves.

“Can you walk?” Laataaz asked him, and though they spoke in no louder than a whisper Miraak heard the reverberations of their power in their Voice.

"I don't think so," he said. “I certainly don’t want to.”

"Poor dragon-fly," they sighed. They were very careful with how they touched him, using only the pads of their fingers in the lightest of caresses. It was a little ticklish, like the tiny feet of insects on his skin. It made the bruises they had left ache sweetly, and Miraak closed his eyes in longing. "You will have to travel today."

Miraak thought about it and then swore. Yes, he had promised to make another pilgrimage up to High Hrothgar. They’d been waiting for the weather to turn, but Balgruuf had begun to get a little impatient as Miraak’s craving for books read him out of house and hall, and his gentle reminders had become increasingly frequent. So Miraak had told Lydia to get ready, and they were set to leave that afternoon.

“What time is it?”

Laataaz ran their fingertips over the lit nerves of his neck, fascinated, as always, by the way the apple of his throat bobbed in a swallow. It was red and ripe from a sucked kiss and stung with the faint itchiness of venom that had escaped their cleaning efforts.

“Do I have time?” he pressed, and they nodded a slow assurance.

Miraak cursed himself for his indulgence in agreeing to have sex last night. Laataaz was never gentle (and when they were, it was worse) and had been loudly clear about their desire to push him far. It had been thrilling, at the time, as Miraak wondered with the vague excitement of sub-drop whether they were actually planning to kill him, or whether it might simply be a side-effect of whatever torturous pleasure brewing behind their onyx-chip eyes. He’d known they’d needed to leave the next day. And yet.

"Could you bring me some potions?" he asked, feeling very sorry for himself indeed and certainly not in a hurry to face Lydia’s judgemental gaze. Oh, she’d never said a word about this bad habit of Miraak’s, but a simple stern look was enough to redden his cheeks.

"Why not?" Laataaz murmured, and rose slowly, so the movement did not jostle him. They left their gauntlet by his side. Putting his hand under the blanket, Miraak edged it away from himself until the empty fingerholes punching through the gauntlet, where Laataaz’s knuckles should have been, stopped staring at him soullessly like dilapidated windows.

While they were gone, Miraak cast healing spells on himself. Even his magicka felt tired, and Miraak felt the tips of his ears warming as he recalled Laataaz commanding him to exert his magic to keep himself conscious through increasing overwhelm until he was so full, so flooded with it, that every nerve in his body thrummed gold and sharp. When they sunk their teeth into him then, it felt like their poison burned his very soul and he’d howled until he’d tasted iron. How they’d smiled with his blood running down their lips, and bit down harder.

Miraak wanted more than anything to feel it again.

Laataaz was worth any amount of Lydia’s stern looks. Who else could surprise him so consistently, teach him the things his body was capable of, time after time? It was like Laataaz had a secret map to the limits a Dragonborn’s body could reach.

Some souls do not take to the eating lightly, they told him when he dared to ask once, and he hadn’t known enough of what to do with that to bring it up afterwards.

Miraak bundled the blankets around his hips and sat up, cautiously. He flexed his magic and his wrists and hoped he’d remembered to pay the cart-driver in advance. He heard Laataaz’s heavy step before he saw them, and he was smiling again as they came in the door.

Pausing there, hands full of bottles and more dangling from threads of web, Laataaz looked at him for a long moment. They had to squint to make him out, he could tell from the way their body bent forward, the searching sadness of the mask’s face hiding their narrowed, light-stung eyes. They still hadn’t really recovered their vision, struggling to see in any-place brighter than candlelit caves, and Miraak suspected that whatever distance vision they once might have had was gone.

“Over here, and take that mask off,” he said, “Why are you in all that anyway? I thought you liked the other clothes I got you. You have worn them before.”

It came out a little more insecure than Miraak wanted it to, and Laataaz only tilted their head in response.

They approached the end of the bed and let their arms fall open so the bottles rolled free there, tussling with Miraak’s feet among the blankets. The slits of their mask never leaving his eyes, they lifted one hand and slowly, deliberately, unmasked themselves.

Miraak felt himself hold his breath, like he did every time, when the fabric of the hood slipped away down the slope of the horns and bared them to him.

Uncovered, Laataaz blinked rapidly, their eyes stinging with tears even with no candles lit. He ignored the scurrying speck of a spider hiding itself hurriedly under their collar and drank in the sight of them. Their face was taut with scars, their skin was ashen, and their eyes glittered with a cold violet darkness that reminded him of the frigid gaps between the stars. They had one brown eye left among the six on their face, their middle left. It was solemn in the dimness. The other four, two below, two above, normally kept closed as simply shadows, delicate bumps Miraak would feel if he traced over their scarred face. There were still clumps of hair nestled around the spearing wattle of the horns that ridged from their skull, but it was all so thickly matted with cobwebs that it seemed even unmasked they wore a grey veil between them and the world.

He leant forward to grab one of the bottles, but Laataaz stopped him with a small gesture. Instead, they moved to his side and with one hand cupped the back of his head, the other taking a bottle of healing potion from the bed, all without looking away from him. They popped the cork with their teeth and Miraak felt himself bite his tongue at the look of their enigmatic gaze.

“I can drink it myself,” he said in something even smaller than a whisper. A whimper, possibly, though Miraak would rather die than admit it.

Laataaz’s eyes narrowed, and their hold on the nape of his neck brushed to encircle his jaw instead. Firmly in place, Miraak hissed a breath that Laataaz leant forward to draw into their own lungs.

With that stolen breath, they agreed, “It would be a shame to lose this.” Their thumb dug into the knot of his jaw muscle and Miraak gulped around a moan.

Meaning clear, Laataaz held the cool glass of the bottle against his lips and encouraged his head to fall limply against their other hand. Miraak’s eyelids fluttered halfway shut as he yielded to it. His hands clenched and then smoothed in the blanket, rhythmically, like they belonged to someone else.

Staring up at them through his eyelashes as Laataaz fed him the potions, tipping them so he had to swallow quickly or choke, he lost himself in the searing galaxies of red, violet, black and brown of their eyes. He could see a droplet of welling venom at the corner of their parted lips, knew there must be more pooled in their mouth, for Miraak, from the picture he made as he obeyed them, and felt his own dry out. He wanted the burn of their kiss so badly he wanted to weep.

When the potion was gone, the last of it warming through his body, they tilted their head back to the potion bottles covering the bed as if to ask if he wanted more. He shook his head, then pressed the back of his hand against his eyes, struggling not to cry.

It was such a quintessentially Laataaz way to fulfil his request that it made him feel strange and dizzy, distant, like the soft cotton of their power had come over him and peeled him back to the creature Laataaz could always find in him, desperate, sensitive, longing. But it was not that which overwhelmed him, no, it was the way they knew exactly how far to tip the bottle so he could keep up, how patiently they watched him, the caution in how their hand left his hair without pulling out a single feather-fine strand on their ancient edges. It was odd look on their face, vaguely pained in a stunted echo of something he could only call care.

Miraak did not know why it brought tears to his eyes to see the ancient Dragon Priest attempt it, but he swallowed them manfully, and cleared his throat when Laataaz exhaled a sharp breath.

Pride forbade him to show them his face when they settled down on the bed next to him, soft and solid and warm where he was small and shaky. They reached out, and when Miraak’s stiff body only twisted away from them with unbearable embarrassment, Laataaz’s spine softened and they chased him with their own. Nuzzling their forehead into the crook of his neck, they surely parted their mouth, because Miraak felt venom drip sparks against the edge of his collarbone.

He gasped, and pinpointed the moment they absorbed the sound by the strange rumble of their chest. Their lips dragged in long, ragged, open-mouthed kisses that smeared searing fresh venom over his reddening skin. It burned like tingling fire-ants under the flesh, and he writhed, eyes screwed shut in the discomfort-near-pain that he prayed would never become easier to bear.

“No, Laataaz,” Miraak managed to get out, “No – we have to leave today, and neither of us will want to stop.”

Laataaz withdrew, but not far, an unreadable look in their eyes. Their arms curled round him and their veils kissed his cheek as they rested the side of their head against his own, pressing into him part of their weight. He closed his eyes and tentatively placed his hands over their shoulders. Laataaz tensed, and he held his breath. They exhaled in a silent puff of air. Very slightly, they leant into his touch, in tacit permission.

Feeling like he was petting a wild creature, Miraak stroked curiously, but carefully, along the lines of their neck, the tangle of the webs, the horns. After a moment, Laataaz pushed into him like an affectionate cat, and he squeezed the bony tips of the crest of horns. They were smoother than they looked, and felt neither cold, nor warm, like the tusks of mammoths. The leathery webbing between them was tough but flexible. He felt small spiders dance around his hands and kept his movements slow, not wanting to hurt any of them or provoke them to bite him.

Miraak still wasn’t sure to what extent Laataaz was connected to the spiders that lived on, and sometimes, he thought, in, their body. It was better, he felt, to err on the side of caution. Just in case, there was antivenom in the dresser table. He had learnt that lesson very quickly.

He had just begun to relax, thinking pleasantly of how nice it felt to have their warmth against him, the soothing burn of the venom on his neck, when they spoke. Still cheek-to-cheek, their voice made his tongue vibrate distractingly in his mouth.

“You should leave me here.”

“Leave you?” Miraak pulled back to look at them. They went unwillingly, shoulders stiff under his hands, and did not meet his gaze. “Why would I do that?”

“Your allies will not hearten to see me,” Laataaz said, quiet as web in the wind, “You will lose their loyalty if they know you resist consuming my soul.”

“The Greybeards won’t say anything, and I certainly don’t care if they do,” Miraak told them firmly.

He grasped their chin, thinking to redirect their eyes to meet his to reinforce his point, but their grip leapt to his wrist. They squeezed his wrist, too tight to be playful – painful enough to warn. All six of their eyes opened and stared at him, dared him. The intensity of the sight too much, Miraak let them go. Their face glittered like it was set with jewels with all six eyes open, chasms to the void where the spidersnare waited, and Miraak found himself focusing on the brown eye he secretly thought of as their human eye to avoid looking away entirely. He was not foolish – but he would not be weak either.

“Paarthurnax and his monks yet believe me dead, and none will be pleased to be corrected. My bloody hands are traitor to all they stand for. Friend he was once, but I do not believe Paarthurnax, of all Dov, mourned my fate.”

“You don’t know that,” Miraak insisted. Laataaz’s glimmering eyes drew him in, in, until he almost forgot to watch their mouth, curving in a bitter smile lips wet with poison.

“I would also kill them for their disrespect of you,” Laataaz added.

“They do listen to me,” Miraak pointed out, feeling compelled to defend, if nothing else, himself. “Most of the time. They called me Ysmir.”

Laataaz’s smile grew more secretive, more genuine. Four of their eyes closed, and Miraak’s lungs unclenched. “Yet,” they murmured, “I have tasted your Voice.”

“Are you calling me weak?!”

“No,” punitively, they squeezed his wrist, as if to forbid the very notion, “inexperienced. They chain you with rules that were never made for your dovahsil. You will be strong in spite of them, hunter of Al-Du-In. But if I hear them chastise you for your might when by right they should be at your knee, not even blood will remain to mark their fate.”

Miraak’s lips pursed into an unhappy line. “Will… you be safe while I am gone?”

“I will not kill the ones you love,” Laataaz promised, and now they were definitely amused, “unless their death wins great reward. My Prince lingers here, I would see her work.”

Miraak scowled at the rumpled blankets. “Why are you still loyal to her after this? You’re free now. You don’t have a Prince anymore.”

“For now,” Laataaz agreed. They tilted their head, catching his attention, and asked him then in a voice that could have been, if it was anyone else, tender. “Could you kill me, little fly?”

“No,” said Miraak at once, aghast, then rethought and added, defensively, “I could. But I wouldn’t!”

Laataaz breathed out a laugh at his pride. “Then if you will not, one day I will belong to my Prince again.”

Their grip loosened enough for Miraak to pull his wrist free, but he left his hand on theirs. He wanted to hold, to grab on, to reach into Laataaz and shake the part of them that did not believe, for all their words, that Miraak could protect them from the Princes that wished to use them. But he forced himself to leave his hand lax. Laataaz observed the movement, then sighed, silently. Their humour drained, left them with a sudden great weariness, as if they felt, all at once, every hour of their tremendous age.

“I have lived for a long time, against my will,” Laataaz told him as heavy as they were sincere, “All paths lead back to the Webspinner.”

“Not this one,” Miraak insisted, and he couldn’t resist grabbing their hand then, feeling the bones beneath it, the muscle, the surprise that nearly jerked it free, their wide eyes. “This one stays with me.”

Surging towards him, Laataaz kissed him. It was more a bite than a kiss, more punch than bite, and barely had he choked on the venom that flooded his mouth then they had withdrawn, forehead pressed fiercely to his.

Like a love confession, Laataaz whispered, “I pray my soul dies in yours, I pray you kill me.” Their touch roved over his body, digging in nails, had Miraak fighting not to hiss. “I would like to think of nourishing you. How close we would be, in the same chest, trapped no longer by these… mortal forms.”

Impossibly, Laataaz pushed even closer into him, their veils falling around his face, their bodies, and Miraak bit down on a groan, a plea. His skin was awakened by their touch, their closeness, their desire. The venom he had inadvertently swallowed was working on his empty stomach, nausea clenching in the pit of embers there.

“Must we fight?” he said, thinking of the look on their face as they tried to care for him, “Is it truly so inevitable that we kill each other? Why do you always talk of death?”

“Why does the spider snare the fly?” Laataaz answered his question with another. “Hunger, of course.”

“There are other ways to learn the shape of a person,” he said, meaning to quote them, but the double-meaning of it with their marks bold on his body wrecked with the aftermath of Laataaz exercising exactly that hunger hit him, and he blushed.

“It is what I am,” Laataaz said, and soothed the red marks they’d scratched with cool lines of silk. “I am Laataaz, executioner, soul eater. We did not have a word for Dragonborn when I walked Nirn. I understood only that I hungered, and when I struck something, it stayed down. I learnt the lust of inevitability. Is it the end, that gives us our meaning, I wondered, but I did not know. All I knew was no food would sate me. My hunger is as much a part of me as your questioning mind.”

Laataaz tilted their lips against his, and all six eyes opened to watch his face. Greedy for Miraak, and he could not pretend their attention did not make him preen, warm, thirst for the pain of their kiss. With how sweetly they called him to endure the agony of their poisonous touch, their sadism, how could he pretend that anything else ever mattered?

“We are dragons, sweet little fly. We desire, or we die.”

---

And so it was Miraak turned up at the stables, very late, pink-cheeked, and limping. Lydia was already waiting, arms crossed over her sturdy chest, perpetually-foul expression not relenting in the least when a guilty Miraak skid to a stop next to her with a spray of pebbles. There it was, the look.

Miraak wilted.

“Where is he?” Lydia said, “That creepy fellow. We need to leave, my Thane.”

“Oh,” said Miraak. His shaking arms gave out and he dropped his bag with a thunderous thud. Lydia eyed it suspiciously and he fought the urge to rub the back of his neck. “Laat’s not coming.”

Lydia reflected on this, hefting Miraak’s heavy bag one-handed and threw it up on the back of the cart. There was no sign of the driver, but the horse was already hitched, grazing calmly at the tuft of weeds lining the cobblestones.

Miraak skirted the horse with a shudder. These burly-shouldered beasts always looked at him with malice in their eyes. Lydia had tried to get him to learn to ride, but Miraak wasn’t that stupid. Give him a good chaurus any day.

“It will be good to not have to fight everything from here to Ivarstead,” said Lydia, “we will make better time. I did tell Farkas we were leaving this morning. …All of us.”

She extended a hand to help him into the back of the cart, and yanked him up bodily when he took it. Miraak rubbed his burning shoulder and tugged his hood down further over his face. The sun was fierce. He glanced back at Whiterun, a little regretful, imagining Laataaz alone in Breezehome. There was going to be so many spiders in his house when he got back.

“Well,” said Miraak, weakly, “… He’s a Companion, he’ll be fine.”

#inkwrites #laataazin #my fic prisoner of the skein #miraak #skyrim #spiders #dead dove do not eat

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wilwywaylan · 4 years ago

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Tangled Up in Blue - part 1

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras & Bahorel & Grantaire & Feuilly oh my !! - 3300 words

Written for the @lesmissamepromptficchallenge, "Person A gently tilts Person B's head up". Of course I Couldn't finish it in one go so have the first part right now.

Béta-ed by the amazing @paon-de-jour

For @mu-mumie and @citron-au-miel, my eager readers !

Also on AO3 !

Left, right, left again. The fists struck the leather with dry, satisfying thuds. Bahorel was humming under his breath, following the rhythm of his hands as they hit the punching bag. That was the part of his training he liked the most, when his gestures became automatic, on autopilot, a metronome lulling his thoughts in an almost hypnotic way. During those few precious minutes, he was as close to peace of mind as one like him could be.

A noise came to disrupt the rhythm, pulling him out of his trance, steps coming from the open door. Of course, it couldn't last. Most of the time, he could only get a few minutes a day of this glorious state of being, before being cruelly called back to the mortal world. A glance at the clock told him that it was already a few minutes past six. All lessons were done with since four, and he hadn't any appointement he could remember. Then again, he tended to forget those, as they were only for the added paycheck and usually consisted of too-eager people who had watched one action flick too many. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't remember having any lessons today. So either someone had gotten lost in the hallways, or that someone was looking for him. Which one was better, he didn't know. Maybe if he stayed completly still and silent, the person would just go their merry way and not bother him.

A knock at the door. Ah. So much for not being seen. He vaguely thought about scaring them away, playing the role of the big bad asshole. But no. That would probably hurt at least his job, if not his reputation. And as much as he wanted to be on his own, he wasn't an asshole on purpose. So he composed himself a friendly smile and turned to the door.

For now four years that he'd been teaching boxing and kickboxing here, Bahorel had seen many different people cross that door, from children, impatient to start learning, to women looking for self-defense classes (they were often wary of him, but quickly warmed up to him), to people trying to stay in shape. Tall, small, large, thin, burly, willowy, he'd seen all.

But that one... Bahorel had never seen anyone like them. Not because they were tiny, even if they totally were. Almost pocket-sized, Bahorel inwardly snickered, but he'd never say it because he was not a totall ass. That one was tiny enough to get into heated conversations with Bahorel's collarbone, but there was something about them. What exactly, Bahorel couldn't put his finger on, but you couldn't just brush them off. Not just because they were cute. No, scratch that. Cute was for the tiny girls in the ballet room at the other end of the hallway. Or for the puppies he liked to pet in the park. Or... but not that one. As a lover of fine persons and pretty faces, Bahorel had seen his share. But that one could blow every one out of the water without even trying. Because they were not even trying. They were wearing a very baggy, faded red sweater that fell around their thighs, black leggings, and red converse that had certainly seen way too many things. Their long, blond hair fell in soft curls to the small of their back, but it was hastily gathered together without care, and from there, looked quite tangled. The few strands that had escaped framed a very delicate face, a soft oval with high cheekbones and a slightly upturned nose. But the skin was pale and a little red around the eyes. Nice eyes, even from there. Blue and large, with long eyelashes. And a black bruise around one eye. Another one marked their cheek, a dark purple almost shocking on the pale skin. Looking closer, the pretty mouth was split in two spots, and there was a cut across their forehead. Bahorel could recognize a severe beating from across the room, and that one was quite an impressive one.

He suddenly noticed that neither the intruder nor himself had moved from their respective spots. He stepped forwards, offering his hand. The tiny blond one shook it, firmly. Their knuckles were scrapped raw. At least they gave back as much as they got. Good. From up close, they were even prettier. Or they would have been, had they not been scowling that much. Granted, they still looked angelic, but in a ferocious kind of way. Really, Bahorel was starting to like this one. Several badges were pinned on the red hoodie : a purple, grey and black one, a red one with a white slogan, and a large, very obvious rainbow one. No need to be a genius to understand that one.

- Hello, kid, he said with a welcoming smile. I'm Bahorel, pleased to meet you. Pronouns are he / him. What can I do for you ?

The newcomer's expression briefly crumpled a little at "kid", but it smoothed as quickly when they heard the rest.

- I'm Enjolras. He / him too.

So the tiny one was a boy. Good. Not that Bahorel had anything against girls who wanted to learn boxing. Or non-binary people.

- And what can I do for you, Enjolras ?

- I need boxing lessons.

- That, I can guess.

Enjolras frowned for a second, then seemed to remember either where he was, or the wounds on his face.

- Can you take me as your student ?

When someone came at him for lessons, Bahorel usually gave himself a moment of reflexion, assessing his future student's stamina, determination, and especially their willingness to stop and listen. But there was something about Enjolras... He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe the attitude, the way he was carring himself, ready to take on the whole world. The wounds on his hands were proof of it. Or something else entirely. Some kind of... radiance. A magnetism. Since he'd come in, Bahorel hadn't been able to take his eyes off him. And there was an edge in his voice...

Suddenly, his hand flew to Enjolras' chin and lifted it a little. To Enjolras' credit, he didn't flinch, just looked at him, a little wary. From up close, the bruise around the eye was really impressive, all black, purple and blue, the swelling still noticeable. What did they hit him with, a brick ? That must have hurt like hell...

Bahorel suddenly noticed where his hand was, and quickly let go.

- Seems like you can give as good as you get.

- I don't turn the other cheek, Enjolras retorted. So ? Can you ?

Talk about determination. Bahorel clasped his hands, to break the weird spell Enjolras seemed to cast around him, and announced :

- Well, ki... Enjy, how about you show me what you can do, and then we'll get the paperwork going.

Enjolras scrunched his nose a little at the nickname, and Bahorel was sure he was going to bolt without looking back. But no, he put his bag down, pulled the sweater over his head, and joined Bahorel near the punching bag.

- Okay, Bahorel started. First, you need to stretch, like this...

~*~

The chime of his phone pulled Bahorel out of his concentration. He glanced at the clock. 7 PM. It was time for his next lesson. Usually, he would have been quite cross to be kept so late, when there were so many best things he could have been doing instead. But he couldn't bring himself to be more than a very little bit annoyed.

He barely had time to stop the punching bag from moving, when Enjolras came in. He looked way better than three weeks earlier ; no more traces of what had happened. Maybe there was still a very faint white mark across his forehead, but you'd need to be very close to him to notice.

Enjolras took off his jacket, and walked to Bahorel.

- How are you today ? Bahorel asked with a smile. Ready to box ?

- I'm fine. What about you ?

- Strong as an ox ! Bahorel boasted, hitting his chest with a fist.

The gesture made Enjolras smile, and Bahorel's heart did a little jump. Of course it did, Enjolras' smile was beautiful, radiant, without a hint of cynism. Bahorel knew of many people who would have given their right leg and the foot attached to it for a smile as gorgeous at that one. Bahorel did his best to keep a straight face, and went through the warm-up moves with him, as usual. And it was a good thing for him that he was so used to the course of his lessons, because Enjolras' presence was very distracting.

When it came to aesthetic preferences, Bahorel was quite flexible. None of that "prefers blondes" or "only dates pretty ladies with long legs and nice boobs". It didn't take much to reach his heart : a nice smile, a fun-loving view of life, gorgeous eyes, lots of stamina, .... Nothing too complicated. Just someone who could keep up with him in every activity. A pretty face and a nice body were just a bonus.

At first sight, Enjolras may not fit with his criteria, as loose as they were (the criteria, of course. Bahorel wouldn't judge anyone for their promiscuity or lack thereof). His words were laced with fire and determination, but not the fun kind that Bahorel loved. The way he focused on the bag, as everything he did, told him that Enjolras was quite the serious person. Not that he never had fun, he probably did, everyone did. But not the kind of fun Bahorel liked to have.

But there was still this presence, this vibe that attracted the attention as soon as he came in and seemed to suck in all the oxygen in the room. Staying around him hadn't help with making Bahorel immune to that effect, either. Even now, as he was several feet apart, he could feel the draw, guiding his eyes back to the slight form of his student. Which didn't help in the slightest with his predicament. He was supposed to work (out), not oggle him. And still, every time he tried to focus on his gestures, on the way he hit the sack, and note what would need to be corrected. Instead, his eyes kept crawling back to the back in front of him. Enjolras was wearing only a long, thin shirt and leggings - leggings ! Each time he moved, the hem lifted, unveiling a thin band of skin. And those legs... Bahorel had to refrain himself from going higher than mid-thigh. He was a gentleman, at least in that regard. But his self-control was wearing thin.

Finally, after what seemed both like three seconds and an eternity, the clock struck 8 PM. Bahorel signaled the end of their session. Enjolras stretched his back, arms thrown over his head. Bahorel did a titanesque effort to keep his eyes glued on the floor. Only when the red hoodie disappeared from the bench it's been thrown on did he deem the situation safe enough.

- You're getting good, he said as offhandly as he could.

- Really ?

Oh please, no, don't sound that giddy. But Enjolras did, with a smile so bright it put the fluorescent lights to shame. Bahorel's heart did a sommersault, but he did a great job at bringing it back to its righteous place.

- Yeah. Soon your punches will be as devastating as mine.

- Don't mock me.

There was no hint of hurt in Enjolras' voice, and Bahorel was glad he didn't take offense.

- I'm serious, he insisted. You're making progress.

Enjolras nodded. As he gathered his stuff, he suddenly dug through his bag, and pulled out of it a slightly crumped sheet of paper that he held out. Bahorel's first reaction was to wonder if it was some kind of invoice, but no. Why would Enjolras give him an invoice ? Besides, it was brightly colored, too brightly, even, with large letters announcing something. Nothing incriminating there, he could take it.

It was a flyer, advertising some kind of social justice club. Very ugly flyer. They probably didn't have any graphic designer or art student in their little group. But the name in large, blocky letters was the same than on Enjolras' badge, and he seemed so proud that Bahorel would bet his montly wages on him being the leader, or at least had a hand in creating the group.

- What's that ?

- We meet each Friday night, Enjolras explained, beaming. Well this, and rallies. On Sundays, usually. We'd like to do it more often, but it's difficult getting everyone... (He coughed a little.) We're holding meetings to discuss all kind of social questions, discuss them, and try to set up ways to either implement changes, or raise consciousness about them.

Bahorel nodded along. He was right, it was a social justice club. Not that he minded them, of course. But he ? In a club like this ? because Enjolras giving him the flyer meant that he wanted him there, to talk about issues and march to protest them. All good, but Bahorel's approachs tended to be a bit more... hands-on. What could he bring to a group of well-meaning students ? But Enjolras was looking at him with such an expectant look that he couldn't bring himself to crush his hopes.

- Maybe I can drop by, he finally answered. I need to check first.

Enjolras gave him the kind of brillant smile that made him want to do something very stupid, and left with a wave. Bahorel glanced again at the paper in his hand. Then again, maybe it could be fun ? He wouldn't lose more than a few hours of his time, going there, and it's not as if his time was accounted for and precious. Going there wouldn't ask too much of him, and maybe it wouldn't be too much boring. And even if it was, there was still Enjolras to stare at, discreetly, of course. Whatever happened, the evening wouldn't be lost on him. Yeah, he would definitly check this out. All in good fun.

~*~

- So, how is the new kid doing ?

Bahorel refrained from telling Grantaire his new pupil wasn't a kid anymore, but that was Grantaire for you. Anyone younger than him was a "kid", except Bahorel, and that was only due to the fact that he could throw (and already had thrown) him through a (first floor) window.

They had gone for coffee after their training session, as usual. For three years now that they've been practising together, it's become their own ritual : a no hold barred match, followed by coffee and a snack, and eventually some first aid applied to their bruises and bumps.

Finding a sparing partner, getting friendly with him and setting the routine had been way easier than choosing a good coffee shop. They had tried almost half of Paris', but always, there was something wrong with them : the place was not clean enough, the coffee was subpar, the baristas were stingy, it was too cold, too warm... always, there was something wrong, and they were left coffee-shop-less once again.

Until they stumbled into the Café Victor, by accident. It's been raining all day, but the weather patiently waited until they were outside to unleash all its fury with a hail hard enough to cut them into pieces. They rushed through the nearest door for shelter. And that shelter was a little coffee shop. Like every trendy place, it had the dark metal / light wood combo, with fancy light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, and those weird high chairs that had a very low back. Grantaire hated those things. But it managed to have a distinct atmosphere, with many plants scattered around the room, and the walls being covered in frames : pictures, drawings, collages, in black and white or vivid colors. The main room was connected to a second one by two steps, with chairs of normal-height. A low stage had been set against the far wall, under a large, abstract, very bright piece. All this managed to give the place a cozy, welcoming feel, and Grantaire and Bahorel happily adopted it as their favourite coffee place in the world.

To the displeasure of one of the baristas. "Fiery redhead" surely sounded like a cliché, but Bahorel had never meet someone that fit it so well. He was a bit on the short side, built like a twig, covered in an array of freckles, and always gave the impression that Bahorel had been put on Earth for his personnal aggravation. Which wasn't entirely wrong. Bahorel was a flirt and a bit of a smart mouth, nothing too mean, of course, but the guy didn't seem like he could take a joke, and he had a tongue sharp enough to retort everytime. Which, of course, was like an invitation for Bahorel to keep his act.

They ordered their drinks, gigantic and full of an unhealthy amount of sugar, but that's what you needed after a good sparing session, the bruise on Bahorel's face bearing witness of the energy they put into it. The redhead was already busy behind the counter, but it didn't stop Bahorel from winking at him as he grabbed his drinks.

Once seated, Grantaire asked, around a gulp of coffee :

- So ? The kid ?

- Good, good. Lots of fire.

- Of fire ? Is that a metaphor, or real fire ? Because if it's like that girl, the one with...

- It's not like that ! Bahorel quickly amended. He's not an arsonist. Just.... very enthusiastic.

- I like that in a man, Grantaire said with a raised eyebrow.

- You like everything in a man, you scoundrel.

- And women, don't forget, but what can I say ? My love is a pyre that only needs the smallest spark to catch on fire.

- And you'll burn your wings.

- Such is the life of Icarus, what can I do ?

Bahorel fondly rolled his eyes, but they knocked their mugs together.

- So, Grantaire said again after drinking almost half of his coffee in one gulp, tell me a bit about the recruit.

- You're weirdly curious, but I'll humor you. So... just picture this : this high (he gestured above the ground), with long blond hair, very curly. Blue eyes, too, and...

He didn't go farther than that before Grantaire dissolved in a fit of giggles. Bahorel knew that it was no use trying to calm him down or ask him anything. So he just enjoyed the rest of his drink, waiting for him to stop.

It took almost five minutes before the giggles finally died down enough for Grantaire to breath again. He hiccuped a little, but managed to wheeze :

- Are you telling me that Goldilocks came into the bear's house and asked him for boxing lessons ?

Bahorel pondered on the merits of pushing him backwards, then decided to let go.

- Keep your snark for yourself. He seems like a nice guy.

Also, he's really cute, he mentally added, but did he want to say this ? Of course not. He'd never hear the end of if, not in this life, and maybe not even in the next.

- Oh, I bet, Grantaire retorted. A paying customer...

- You're despicable, Bahorel said in his best Daffy Duck impression.

Grantaire snorted in his cup. The redhead barista, who was refiling the napkin dispenser, glanced at him, but quickly went back to his work. Probably rolling his eyes. Bahorel stuck his tongue at him, causing a new eruption of giggles.

They ordered a new round of drinks, and went on to chat about their last training session. The wind was blowing the rain across the window, but it was warm, inside, and the coffee was delicious. Neither was in a hurry to go home, and they stayed there, enjoying their drinks and each other's company.

#les miserables #bahorel #enjolras #grantaire #same prompt fic challenge #lots of dorks being dorks #bahorel and R are good friends #I'm trying to be witty

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five-rivers · 5 years ago

Text

Manuscript

Phic Phight phic phor @phantomroyalty. I'm experimenting with a slightly different Clockwork. Sort of inspired by those prompts I did late last month.

Once, there were half-ghosts.

Danny knew this, now, drumming his fingers on the hard plastic surface of the binder he'd borrowed from Sam. Written on one cover in purple sharpie was the title 'Voynich Manuscript.' It was, according to Sam, an untranslated 15th century work that had baffled cryptologists and linguists for years and years.

Danny could read it. It had been written by a half-ghost.

At least, that was the claim, and, considering that Danny could read this language he'd never learned, Danny was inclined to agree. He opened the binder again, running his fingers down the printed pictures of the pages. He'd been doing that off and on throughout the evening, ever since Sam had showed it to him, instead of doing his homework.

It was comforting. Strange, but comforting, to know that Vlad had not been the first half-ghost. To know that there were other paths to his future than 'bitter old man,' even if the other visible path was 'weird botanist.' To know that Vlad's issues really were Vlad's issues, and not half-ghost issues.

The book was about ghost plants, what they did, what they were good for, how to find them, and when to harvest them, complete with maps, time tables, and recipes. It was a sort of almanac, almost. A very out of date, almanac, true, and Danny was pretty sure those islands weren't arranged like that, at least not any more, but still...

And it had been written by a half ghost. That, more than anything else, was what kept drawing Danny to the pages. The author had barely mentioned their identity, skimming over their origins in the first couple of pages, but every plant had notes regarding how it affected half-ghosts in particular, every recipe was tuned for the half-ghost anatomy, with side effects listed for humans and ghosts as an afterthought.

Danny slowly leafed through the pages, occasionally pausing when sentences jumped out at him.

This book had been written by a half-ghost. It had been written for half-ghosts.

Once, there had been half-ghosts. Many of them.

What had happened?

There were a limited number of people he could ask. He threw the book into his backpack, shouldered it, turned himself invisible and dropped through the floor. He fell through the kitchen and into the lab, whereupon he slowed his fall to a gradual drift and set himself down lightly on the floor.

His parents were, of course, working in the lab, but they didn't notice Danny. He padded by them, silent, and snagged the remote for the portal doors from the table. After taking a moment to make sure they didn't notice the sudden disappearance of the remote from the table, Danny pressed the button and darted through the still-opening doors.

Safely in the Ghost Zone, Danny released his invisibility, which he still found tiring to use for long periods of time, and went ghost. Ghostly tail streaming behind him, Danny flew to the lair of the only ghost he could be sure had all the answers.

The clock tower certainly lived up to the 'tower' part of its name, looming tall above Danny as he approached the front doors. Not that it didn't live up to the 'clock' part. It did. And the surrounding zone kept up the theme with all the gears floating around. It all added to the sense of foreboding about the place.

But what really pulled it off was the faint, persistent ringing sound that hung just on the edge of Danny's hearing, like that of a large bell that had been rung just a moment ago, its sound perpetually fading into imperceptibility but never quite getting there.

The doors opened as Danny raised his hand to knock on them. Danny always at least tried to knock on the doors, because the time he hadn't, he had walked right into them. Clockwork had a weird sense of humor.

"Clockwork?" called Danny, floating into the large main hall and searching the corners.

"Yes, Daniel?" said Clockwork, once again managing to wind up right behind Danny despite Danny's best efforts.

As always, Danny tried to hide how startled he was by turning and smoothing down his ruffled hair.

"Hi," said Danny. Clockwork smiled. "So, uh, I'm guessing you know why I'm here?"

"Yes," drawled Clockwork, circling Danny once, then floating away.

Danny flew after him. "I'm just, well, you understand why I'm curious, right?" asked Danny as they flew into a narrow hallway lined with time mirrors. Each one held an image of a different time, a different age. All the mirrors on the left were of the Ghost Zone, and all the mirrors on the right were of Earth.

"I do."

"So, you know what happened to them, right? All the halfas?"

"Of course," said Clockwork, stopping to face an image of a city that might have been London.

Danny drifted to peer over his shoulder. "Will you tell me? At least, what they were like?" he asked, hopefully.

His blood when cold(er) when Clockwork shifted to look at him. The expression on Clockwork's face was pure trickster mentor.

"Oh, Daniel. You know I like you to find answers like that on your own time."

"Yeah, um, I'll just-"

Clockwork pushed him. Danny tumbled back, farther than the hallway should have allowed. Heck, heck, heck.

He righted himself, hands going to his chest. They seized on something small and round. When had Clockwork managed to slip a time medallion onto him?

After a beat he processed his question and snorted at himself. Clockwork could have put the medallion on him at any time. That was kind of Clockwork's whole thing.

Danny looked around himself. He was still in the Ghost Zone (unless, of course, the Earth's sky had turned green for some reason), but the land beneath him spread out in all directions. There was even a slightly curved horizon.

Directly beneath him was a city. The streets were all covered over with blue cloth awnings, and the buildings sparkled like crystal.

Alright. So, Danny had a couple of choices. One, he could take the medallion off right now, go home, and have to learn whatever lesson Clockwork was trying to teach him the hard(er?) way. Two, he could stick around and (possibly) get the answer to one or more of his questions. Probably a lot of trauma, too, considering he'd asked about why the other half-ghosts were all gone, but he could take the medallion off whenever, provided that no one decided to phase it into his chest.

Were there half-ghosts in the city beneath him?

He wanted, needed to know.

Letting go of the medallion, he flew down diagonally, reaching ground level a good distance outside the city. He didn't know what the etiquette was for entering this city, but starting off at the gates was probably a good idea.

When he reached them, skimming along the purple earth, the gates were wide and open, the tunnel they formed in the wall carved with abstract swirls. There were no guards that Danny could see, and no one was going in or out through the gates, but Danny still proceeded cautiously. Beyond the gates he could hear the noise and bustle of a crowd, and, sure enough, as soon as he got past the first building he found himself in a marketplace.

This was not the first marketplace he'd seen in the Ghost Zone, and it had many familiar features. Unidentifiable glowing plants, glowing potion jars, glowing clothing, glowing powders, things with too many legs being sold as food, a lot of glowing in general, poison-bright colors on otherwise mundane merchandise, things that floated, rugs with kaleidoscoping patterns, etcetera.

The difference was that so many of the shoppers and merchants were human.

No, he corrected himself as he caught one of them changing forms with a pair of bright blue rings, they were halfas.

Danny stayed in the market place and listened.

He listened to gossip and haggling and children playing with each other and begging for their parents to buy them this or that. He listened to merchants advertising their wares. He listened to a young man not much older than himself complaining about new powers. No one pointed Danny out as unusual, even when he switched forms a few times.

It was amazing, just seeing half-ghosts live like this. He wished he could talk to them, but although he could understand what they were saying, he had no confidence in his ability to pronounce the words.

It was just so peaceful.

A shape fell through the blue awnings stretched above the marketplace, tearing them and pulling down some of the poles and booths they were attached to. People screeched and shouted. Merchandise escaped. From the epicenter of the wreckage, a man stood, eyes flickering between sea green and toxic glowing orange.

"Lord Dimidius!" shouted one woman. "What has happened?"

The man's face was twisted in pain and fury. "Pariah Dark has declared war on us."

A hush fell over the market. Except for the chickens. Chickens feared neither man, ghost, or god.

"Why? My lord?" asked one of the men, floating forward.

"The Observants," Dimidius said, spitting, "gave him a prophecy that one of us will someday end his rule."

"Then let's make it true!"

"Time out," said Clockwork, putting a hand on Danny's shoulder. The scene froze, chickens and all.

Danny had been right about the trauma.

"Was this," said Danny, "about me fighting him? Did all these people die because I fought him, and the Observants saw that?"

"No," said Clockwork. "Ultimately, Pariah was looking for an excuse. The Observants wanted to give him one. The prophecy, as far as they knew, wasn't true. They made it up. Besides, Pariah doesn't succeed in taking this city for another hundred years, and most of the younger residents were able to flee to the human world."

Danny exhaled. "Really?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you would."

Clockwork laughed. "Let's get you home." He opened a portal. "Other than the revelation at the end, did you have a good time?"

"Yeah," said Danny. "I did."

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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linderu · 5 years ago

Text

let me take care of you.

characters: khun, bam pairing: khunbam series: tower of god ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659209

summary: khun miscalculates his stamina as he's limit testing with his fire fish ability, passes out with a fever and headache. bam takes care of him.

s3 webtoon spoilers. beware.

@ashe-is-here - tagging as requested! <3

“Khun! Can we try it one more time?” Bam looked behind his shoulder at Khun, thorn activated overhead. It was shaped differently than normal, with wisps of bright red fire curled around it like vines.

They were in the middle of practicing different combinations of Khun’s fire fish ability with Bam’s thorn and shinsu attacks. After their tag-team fight with the ranker at the wall, they had mutually decided it would be beneficial to figure out what sorts of enhancements or transformations Bam could create with the power up, and which would potentially be the most efficient to use in a battle. Khun, himself, was also trying to test the constraints of his power to see how far he could stretch it…

… but after going at it for a couple hours, it was really starting to take a toll on his body.

“… Yeah!” Khun called out in between breaths. He was aware he was reaching his limit, but he felt it was crucial they nailed this synergy down as fast as possible. If this ability could help Bam fight off the monsters Jahad kept sending after them, then any amount of overexertion on Khun’s part wasn’t only justified—but necessary.

Bam was doing everything he could to improve right now. He couldn’t let himself fall behind.

“What… did you have in mind… this time? Bam?” Khun asked, panting heavily while preparing his stance; his knees bent, with one foot forward and both palms facing Bam. “Did you want to try… ‘Rainfall’ again…?”

Wide Range Shinsu Control Skill – Rainfall. It was the skill where Bam manipulated shinsu into an airborne maelstrom, sending piercing droplets crashing from the sky onto enemies in a wide area-of-effect attack. When combined with Khun’s fire fish, the shinsu took on a bright, fiery red appearance, almost as if it was liquid flame. Not only was the move buffed in terms of its strength and speed, but it ignited whatever it touched, and Khun found it incredibly mesmerizing to watch. It was like the sun was exploding.

Rather than responding, Bam wordlessly stared at Khun, thorn slowly beginning to dissipate. Khun opened his mouth to ask why he wasn’t saying anything, but before he could speak, his vision became spotty, disorienting him.

“Khun—are you okay? I think we should stop for now…”

“No, I can keep going—” Khun cut off mid-sentence as a wave of heat washed over him, and he leaned forward, his face meeting his palm. The world around him began spinning slowly, throwing off his balance.

“Khun—?” Bam’s voice sounded like he was speaking underwater. He took a step forward, though Khun was too dizzy to notice, his eyes lidding as he struggled to stay upright.

Limit testing was truly a dangerous game to play—if done wrong, it was practically dancing with death. At the very least, he had discovered this weakness now, rather than in the middle of a high risk fight. While it wasn’t like he hadn’t expected his stamina to wear thin, Khun didn’t factor in the effect it would have on his temperature. A high fever seized control of his body, chills wracking his frame, and through a small crack in his fingers, he could barely make out the hazy image of Bam rushing to his side.

“Khun—!”

“Ba—m…” Too worn to use his ice shinsu, he succumbed to the fever, his legs giving out from underneath him.

The last thing he remembered was the faint sensation of falling against something soft and sturdy, supporting him from hitting the ground.

Sorry, Bam.

---

Khun awoke to the soothing sensation of a cold, wet cloth being draped over his forehead.

His lids fluttered open only for him to be met with a searing migraine, the pain being so terrible that he immediately clenched his eyes back shut. Khun’s head was throbbing to the point his pulse thundered in his ears.

Where was he? What had happened? He thought he’d been training with Bam, but then…

“Khun… you’re awake, right? How are you feeling?” Bam’s voice. It was soft, as if he was intentionally being mindful about his volume. As much as Khun loved to hear him speak, he was appreciative Bam was whispering.

“Did I collapse…?” Khun mumbled, struggling in his attempt to sit upright. He supported his weight on one wobbly arm, opening his eyes despite the pain, and smiled weakly in Bam’s direction, who sat beside him on the bed. “Hey, Bam…”

“What are you doing…? Don’t get up!” Bam whispered frantically. A steady hand met Khun’s chest, carefully pushing him back down, and despite his unwillingness to show vulnerability in front of Bam, he was too weak to not obey.

This absolutely sucked. Bam had too much on his plate to be worrying about him right now.

“I’m fine—” A chill ran down his spine, cutting him off mid-sentence and contradicting his words. He sunk under the blanket with a frown.

Bam adjusted the cold towel on Khun’s head, before tugging the covers up to his chin. Khun could only watch helplessly, still feeling cold despite being tucked into bed like this.

God, he was so lame right now.

“You’re not fine,” Bam chided gently, concern displayed clearly in his expression. “You still have a fever—you need to rest.”

“I will be fine,” Khun corrected himself. “Once my shinsu returns a little. I can cool my temperature with ice— fuck.”

He screwed his eyes shut again, another wave of blinding pain washing over his head. A shaky breath escaped his lips as he bore the brunt of it, waiting impatiently for the agony to pass.

“Do you think you can sit up to drink some water?”

“… Probably not...” Khun admitted, mumbling his defeat.

He gave up. Unless there was a way for him to physically sit in a freezer, he just had to bide his time or sleep it off until he could use his shinsu again. He already knew there was no point in making it worse for the sake of looking independent or tough.

Bam could see right through him, anyway.

“Alright. Then give me your hand, Khun.”

“… What?”

His hand? What for?

“Shibisu suggested it to me—as a way to cure headaches. I called him over the pocket as soon as I brought you here.”

Rather than waiting for his response, Bam slid an arm underneath the side of Khun’s covers in search for his hand. His fingers brushed Khun’s palm, and for a moment, Bam held his hand, giving it a gentle and reassuring squeeze. He then carefully began massaging the area between Khun’s thumb and index finger.

Khun understood immediately that Bam was targeting the Hegu pressure point. Smart call by Shibisu—he could already feel his headache slowly dissipating. Not to mention, for Bam to hold his hand like this… it felt nice in a different way, too. One he couldn’t quite appreciate when he felt as terrible as he did.

They settled into a comfortable silence. Sleep threatened to pull Khun into its clutches, with Bam’s presence making him feel secure, and the rhythmic pressure to his hand lulling him. He tried to resist it as much as possible, wanting to soak up every second Bam spent pampering him.

He couldn’t do anything about the situation, so he might as well indulge in it.

---

“Khun… are you awake?” Bam whispered after a while.

Barely, Khun thought to himself. He wanted to reply, but he was too tired to find his voice.

Bam shifted beside him, and Khun felt him lean over, looming above. A calloused hand—not the one that was rubbing his own, since that one was still preoccupied—brushed over his forehead, and Khun opened his eyes.

Their faces were only a couple inches apart—much closer than he had anticipated. From this distance, Khun could pick out all the individual streaks of gold in Bam’s honey-brown eyes, which were locked onto his, showing nothing but concern.

All he could do was stare.

“Ah… sorry. Did I wake you? How are you feeling?” For whatever reason, Bam didn’t move away. The hand on Khun’s forehead smoothed a couple stray locks out of his eyes, while his other hand paused its massage, opting instead to loosely rest in Khun’s palm.

“Better.” Khun breathed out, slightly dazed. Without thinking, he gave Bam’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks to you.”

“… It’s hard to tell, but I think your fever’s gone down.” Bam’s hand returned to Khun’s forehead, and he paused with a frown, seeming to be contemplating something. “Shibisu… said that using your hand to test for a fever doesn’t give a good indication of temperature.”

Khun held his tongue. Shibisu was right, of course, but he also didn’t think it was necessary for Bam to check his temperature anymore. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but if he had even a dash of shinsu replenished in his reserves, it should be enough to reverse the fever.

If he told Bam that, though, he would surely pull away. So he kept quiet, deciding to be selfish for just a little while longer.

Bam drew closer, his eyes lidding. Confused, Khun watched him intently, their proximity leaving him with bated breath.

“Hold still for a second, Khun.” Bam murmured. Shyly, his lips grazed Khun’s forehead, the touch featherlight at first before they pressed more firmly to his skin. He held the contact for a short moment before pulling away in a hurry, removing his hand from beneath the covers, too.

“Bam—…” Khun stared at him dumbly, eyes wide. Bam stared at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

“… It doesn’t seem like you have a fever.” Bam mumbled, scratching his cheek. “Is that really the best way to take someone’s temperature…? I feel weird… my heart’s racing. What is this…?”

Khun exhaled deliberately, and slowly sat up in bed. He still felt a little sore and feverish, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

There were more important things on his mind right now.

“Maybe…” Khun started, studying Bam’s behavior before he finished his thought. Bam lifted his gaze to meet Khun’s, but he found he couldn’t hold it for long, and he stared at the blankets pooled in Khun’s lap instead.

“Maybe you’re getting sick, Bam?” Khun finally suggested, smiling playfully Bam’s way. “Do you want me to ‘check your temperature’ for you?”

#khunbam #khunbaam #tower of god #tog #khun aguero agnis #drabbles

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thorn-amidst-roses · 4 years ago

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Also posting a little write I did for our holiday game, under the cut-

To give a little explanation, our normal ST doesn’t want to go back to our main game during his college break, so instead he’s running a game set in the First Age that we’ll pick up and set down as need be.

I got tapped to play Ma-Ha-Suchi again, but this time as a PC rather than NPC, and newly Exalted, so I wrote a little thing to set the stage of where he’s at in his career...

Odovocar’s theatre was a relic seemingly left behind as the streets of Meru kept pace with the advancements of its denizens – as Essence lighting crowded out the old lamps and ancient cobbles were smoothed for the progress of mechanical behemoths, and then simply for show as the vehicles of the Chosen ceased to roll along the ground, this one building stood timeless in stone, and plaster, lit by fire and adorned in materials that necessitated replacing every-so-often.

There had been a period of time long before the Wolf’s second breath when this antiquity had been mocked and scorned, but now it was almost chic in its way. Initially the Chosen would laugh at the absurdity of it all as they adorned themselves in the clothes of bygone eras to attend the building which was almost mortal in its modesty – but now, the Peacock’s unwavering patience paid off, and it had become the fashion.

It seemed an ideal venue for Odovocar’s young student – himself accustomed to the styles and manners of Meru that were…to say politely, a bit out of date. Whereas some mentors would have rushed to correct the affectation, Odovocar clung to it, enforced it – it was not a faux pas, but a firm dedication to the truly vintage. New faces amongst the Chosen had a way of looking all the same, of being very current and eager to blend with their elders, but the Peacock believed that such a contrast had its attractions.

It had also a certain audacity, this creature that was still more mortal than not donning the robes of Celestials centuries his senior.

The Peacock accordingly rushed to get him onto the stage as soon as was possible, up front and center before the eyes of the Host. A libretto had been written specifically for the occasion, a drama of heroism and tragedy, of expectation subverted.

For once, the Peacock even relinquished the stage and allowed the Wolf the spotlight – at least, as much as Odovocar could endure.

This was the framing of the show, as were most shown here– simplistic, almost a childs’ tale, but effective. Picture this: the beautiful young Prince should meet the Princess, and naturally adore her. Then, when in the end of the first act, she is swept away by a horrific Beast of the Wyld, what should the Prince do but pursue her even to the depths of the Creature’s lair in the second?

Then, in the finale, the Prince must of course have his duel to the death with the Beast – played, naturally, only by the accomplished shifter of shapes and proprietor of the stage – this in the form of an intricate dance, truth be told the full raison d’etre of the production, as combatants circled and fought one another so fiercely that it required the full attention even of the Chosen to track who had the advantage now, and then a moment later – and surely it must be the Prince, but ah! no – see, he lies dying – and only then we see that it was the Princess who knowingly lured him to his doom, all to feed her master.

It was this fateful dance that would rocket the Wolf to fame beyond the token acknowledgement of his Exaltation, and strike him in the minds of the Host as something to be regarded with myriad emotions – attraction, and tender sensitivity, and the laughter-behind-the-hand one hides from the truly foolish.

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athenagc94 · 5 years ago

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Gust and Piper - Beginnings Pt. 1

I’m starving for more MTAP content, but now I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I have to create some of it too... I guess. Here is a little of snippet of something I’m working on for my builder, Piper, and Gust. It’s a lot of scenes right now and I’m working on bridging them together. Here’s one of them. Kind of the start of everything. I don’t know

I’m also posting the story here on AO3!

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

As a younger man, Gust dreamed of making his mark on history. He planned on traveling across the Free Cities, designing important structures for important people. Several years ago, he’d fled to Atara to chase those dreams. He lived the fast paced life of a bustling city. He’d studied under his mentor Vera for years. When he graduated, he was ready to take on the world as the next Master Architect. If Gust could smack his younger self upside the head, he would. Because that kid was a naive fool.

When he and Albert discussed the possibility of forming their own business, he didn’t plan on setting up shop in his hometown of Portia. However, his sister’s health started to decline and, as it does, life happened. Now, here he was, four years later with nothing to show for it. He spent his days hunched over a drafting table, designing bland buildings for the bland people living in this bland town. It wasn’t the life he had hoped for, but it was his reality.

His grip tightened on his pencil as he dragged it across the page. The latest rendition of the South Bridge was beginning to take shape. It wasn’t his first crack at the design and he doubted it would be his last. His design process followed a similar pattern these days. He’d create an inspired concept, the client would see it, they would hate it, and he’d be back at square one. Wash, rinse, repeat.

His father always said Portia was a frontier town and that they would develop it into something great. Gust clucked his tongue irritably. The longer he worked in Portia, the less he believed it. How did one develop a town full of people that feared the very concept of change?

“Good morning!”

The front door jingled. Gust set his pencil aside and turned around. Portia’s newest builder, Piper, stood just inside the door, hands stuffed in the front pockets of her grease stained coveralls. She didn’t seem to notice him right away, in fact, she didn’t spare the loft above a single glance as she searched the lower level. “Albert?” She disappeared out of sight, “you here?”

Gust pursed his lips and stood up. Albert was usually on top of helping customers. He rarely did any filing in the back rooms during office hours. Albert would never miss out on helping one of Portia’s eligible bachelorettes. He peered over the railing curiously. His desk looked like it hadn’t been touched. The usual mess of work orders and commission forms were stacked neatly on either side of his desk and his chair tucked in place.

Now that he thought about it, he never heard Albert come in this morning. He racked his brain. They’d left the office together yesterday. They were discussing the latest commissions they needed for the bridge when they bumped into his father. Gust groaned. That’s right. Albert was meeting with his father and Mint this morning to go over the budget for the project. He would be gone until after lunch.

“Albert?”

“Albert is meeting with my father this morning.”

He heard a gasp and the builder reappeared under him. He watched as several emotions played on her face. It was like flipping through a book. Surprise quickly turned to realization, which immediately became disappointment. He sighed. Yeah, he tended to have that effect on people. “He won’t be back until this afternoon.”

Piper glanced down at her watch and made a face. “Can you help me then?”

Gust blinked, taken aback. Most people never asked him to help. If a customer came in while Albert was out, they’d quickly apologize and came back later. To them, Albert was the brains of the operation. Gust was just there to be pretty and make things pretty, which was a fair assumption now that he thought about it. Regardless, it wasn’t true. Gust was knowledgeable enough about the inner workings of A&G. But the people of Portia didn’t need to know that, if they did, he’d be expected to help them. So he never corrected their assumptions. Apparently, no one had bothered to inform Piper.

He rolled his eyes and turned away from the banister. He may as well help her. The sooner he did, the sooner he could get back to work. He smoothed the lapel of his coat as he meandered down the stairs and towards Albert’s desk. If he remembered correctly, Albert kept the blank work orders in the bottom left hand drawer. He rummaged through the drawer, pulled out a blank order and took a seat.

Piper hadn’t moved. She stared at him, dumbfounded, though he couldn’t imagine why. Was she surprised to see him willing to help? Should he be insulted right now? He pursed his lips. A moment passed, then another, and she still didn’t move. He tapped the nib of his pen impatiently on the desktop. After another moment of tense silence, he cleared his throat. “Well?”

Piper shook herself from her stupor. “Iー” she cleared her throat, “I’m looking to add an extension to my workshop.” She bounced on the balls of her feet. “I’m tired of sleeping where I work, ya know?”

Gust didn’t know the feeling, so he chose not to respond. He tried to ignore the awkward silence that had settled between them and made quick work of filling out the form. It was easy information. The initial consultation was always easy. His real work began when he started conceptualizing. It was his favorite part of the process, but recently, it had also become the most draining. He could see it now. He’d design the new addition. The builder would want something less aesthetic and more functional. He’d be disappointed and create the same thing he’s made for the last four years.

“Alright, I’m going to needー” The rest of the sentence died on his lips. Piper was gone. He peered around the room and found her examining the model he’d left on one of the displays. His stomach lurched. He’d spent weeks designing that model for a competition for the Vincent Design Institute. The results had come back earlier this week. They had been less than satisfactory. He swallowed thickly. He would have thrown it out already, but Ginger had insisted he keep it. She didn’t want his hard work going to waste.

Piper peered a little closer. Scrutinizing it. Picking apart every flaw, just like the judges had. His grip tightened on his pen. Just like he had since the results had come out. He pushed himself out of his seat and approached her.

“Are you done snooping around?”

Piper jumped away from the model. He met her sheepish gaze evenly as he crossed his arms. “Sorry,” she gestured to the model, “I was just admiring this. It’s really well made.”

Gust felt the heat flood into his cheeks. Pride swelled in his chest as he let his arms fall to his sides. At least someone seemed to notice its quality. “Well, thank you,” he said curtly, “I guess.”

Piper gaped. “Is this your design?”

He scoffed, “well, obviously.” He brushed past her and approached his model. He’d drawn inspiration from the logic cube Ginger sometimes played with. It was a boxy structure made up of three stories. Every level was skewed on a central axis to give it a unique shape. He’d used lots of windows and skylights to draw on natural light. “It was for a competition I entered last month,” He ran his finger along the edge of the top most story. Dust was already beginning to collect on its surface. “I didn’t win,” he continued bitterly, “they said it was too strange. They didn’t understand my vision. The crotchety old fools.”

Piper tilted her head to the side. “Well, those guys have no taste.” She knelt in front of the design and peered through one of its windows. “It’s so interesting. I’d love to see it full scale. It would be breathtaking.”

Gust narrowed his eyes and searched her face. She had to be messing with him. The people in Portia didn’t like his designs. She was tracing the angles of his design with his eyes. She wore a sincere, almost dreamy, smile as she examined his work. He stared a little longer before giving up. She genuinely liked it. The mere notion made his heart flutter in his chest.

“Have you studied architecture?”

Piper snorted. “Well, no,” she admitted as she stood back up, “but I’m a builder, so I make things for a living. Sometimes I like to admire the handiwork of others. Especially when they’re this talented.” She stuffed her hands back in her pockets and took a step back. “You think differently and I like that.”

“Unfortunately,” Gust regarded his model with a look of disdain, “you seem to be the only one who shares in that sentiment.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “It’s a shame they didn’t appreciate your design,” she was bouncing on the balls of her feet again, “If it makes you feel any better, I would have scored it well.”

Gust would be lying if he said it didn’t. It felt good to know that someone appreciated his work. His real work, not just the stuff he made to satisfy the town. He didn’t really have a lot of support in his creative endeavors. There was Albert of course, but he was more practical about these things. He did what had to be done to make money. Whatever made the client happy, he would do without question. His sister tried to show her support, but she lived a sheltered life and she didn’t quite understand his late night tirades about parapets and gables.

Piper was a builder. She understood construction and aesthetics to some degree. The materials he’d used to create this model had been given to him by his father. A halfhearted attempt to show his support, but the materials came from somewhere. Had she been the one to provide them?

Gust’s breath hitched. “Those materials my father got me,” he began slowly, “they came from you didn’t they?”

Piper shrugged. “Your father asked me to lend a hand. I was more than happy to help.”

“You sure like to be nosy, don’t you?” He tried to sound irritated as he brushed past her, but he couldn’t stop the smile that curved on his lips. The room had gotten significantly warmer. His heart was hammering so loud, he was afraid Piper would be able to hear it. He pressed a hand firmly to his chest and cleared his throat. “Now,” he slid back into his seat, “come over here and sign this. You’re wasting my time.”

“You’re not the only one with things to do.”

“Then do us both a favor and get over here.”

Piper didn’t argue and took the seat across from him. “Sign here, here, and here” He punctuated each word with the tip of his pen. “This is just the initial work order, so Albert will touch base with you later to go over the details.” He handed her the pen and shifted back in his chair.

As she read through the fine print, Gust gaze wandered back to the model across the room. He’d spent the last few days despairing over its imperfections. If only he’d made the angles a little cleaner, or if he’d spent a little more time conceptualizing, maybe then the judges would have liked it. He was nursing a big blow to his ego. He had even begun to doubt his abilities as an architect. Maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought he was.

It would be breathtaking. Her words resonated with him. He had thought the exact same thing when he drafted the first renditions. It would be nice to see it come to life.

“Is that all you need from me?”

Gust tore his gaze away from the model. Piper fidgeted in her seat. She really didn’t like sitting still, did she? “That’ll be all for now.” He picked up the order form and placed it in Albert’s pile off to the side. “I’ll begin drafting some concepts for you addition. When I’m done, Albert will bring them your way for review.”

“Ooo, a Gust original for my addition,” she beamed at him, “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

Gust gave her a thin smile and he hid his twitching fingers in his lap. He could feel the thrill of inspiration course through his veins. He was itching to get started. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll try not to,” she winked and slipped out of her seat, “but I should really get going, so I’ll leave you to it. Thanks for your help.” She offered him a small wave. Gust watched her go, offering no farewell in return. She didn’t wait for one. Without another word, she slipped through the door and out into the plaza. The door jingled after her.

Gust was out of his seat in a flash and making a beeline for the model. He scooped it up in his arms and hurried up the stairs to his drafting table. Several ideas were already floating around in his head. He hadn’t been this excited about a project in awhile. He sat down at his table with renewed vigor and got straight to work.

#mtap #my time at portia #mtap gust #mtap builder

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sonipanda · 5 years ago

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HELLO NEW BRAND! I am so excited to share these all with you, starting off with the Bas Nylon Delice Noir Stockings. This pair, along with the 3 others to come, have been gifted by a good friend of mine to try out.

I just wanna begin by saying you have to read about the brand below, because it certainly made an impression on me for sure!

About La Dame De France

“Quality is not just a product, it’s a state of mind. La Dame de France strives to make every effort to satisfy its customers by offering nylon stockings with vintage looks for women today.

The Lady of France lifts the veil on its quality criteria.

THE PRODUCTS :

La Dame de France 100% nylon stockings are designed in France and then meticulously knitted by an Italian company renowned for its generational know-how and seriousness.

Let us unravel the whole of the specifications of La Dame de France in a desire for transparency.

The aesthetics and regularity of the mesh from tiptoe to the top of the cuff justifying the solidity of the bottom

The comfortable comfort of the 100% nylon cuff for all legs

Perfect tinctorial affinity of the toes, passing through the sole, the heel, the leg and the cuff whatever the nylon thread used.

A correctness in the sizes and a regularity in the measurements

A pair of stockings is made up of two legs of identical length

For the bottom seams, an ultra fine and regular knitted seam (the knitting technique of the latter does not allow invisible continuity between the tip of the pyramid and the start of the seam, a jump in the thread is compulsory)

A Lady of France 100% NYLON stamp in pearl gray ink on the reverse (1 leg per pair). The tampon has been designed to be present on the outside of the right leg. If you want to make it more discreet, it is quite possible to thread the bottom with the tampon on the left, so the tampon is found on the inside of the thigh.

La Dame de France nylon stockings are checked by hand before being placed in a plastic bag to keep the stocking flat. A transparent label indicates the bottom name, size and color. The sachet is then wrapped in paper packaging. This packaging, created and designed as an envelope by Stéphane Perruchon, is made in France.

The envelope, closed with a paper label, can be kept to put back the pair of stockings after use and find a place in your lingerie drawer.

La Dame de France nylon stockings have been tested for wearing in everyday life. The brand’s stockings are deemed solid with classic use. On average, tests have shown that these stockings can undergo 8 to 10 washes by hand or machine in a lingerie net. For information, a 100% nylon stocking (not stretchy) is more solid than a stocking with lycra (stretchy).

THE SERVICE

Product quality is one thing, but the quality of La Dame de France service is also important.”

– taken from their website

The Spec

Colour: Noir / Black

Size: 2 / Small

Denier: 15

Materials: 100% Nylon

Price: €10.00

Website: La Dame De France – Nylon Stockings Délice Black

My Outfit

I went all vixen-like with my outfit today, as I haven’t worn this skirt for ages! I paired it up with my lace bralet and added my new lace up peep toe sandals to finish off the look. You can always brighten it with a different top or change the shoes to a colourful pair.

My Deets

Bralet: Ann Summers

Skirt: FemmeLuxe

Stockings: La Dame De France

Heels: Shoedazzle

The Review

From The Website: The black Délice nylon stockings are perfect to accompany all your working girl looks. The power of nylon appeals to women and men. La Dame de France stockings envelop your legs with an immediate lifting effect. With reinforced toes and heels , these RHT socks are comfortable and solid. Discreet with its simple seamless nylon veil, the Délice 15 denier bottom is easily unrolled from tiptoe to the top of the thigh to join the suspenders. Its flexible 100% nylon cuff has been designed to suit all thighs, both fine and round. The seamless nylon stocking is the stocking you need to discover the unique feeling of this non-stretch materialon your skin. Assume your femininity by wearing these exceptional stockings and do not hesitate to specify it, if we were ever tempted to say that you are wearing tights. Succumb to the adventure of nylon and discover the great thrill, because its softness is inimitable and the desire for a caress on your skin will never leave you.

The Délice La Dame de France nylon stockings were made with the idea of wearing them in a crazy way, that is, high on the thigh to emphasize the shape of the buttocks. It dresses the legs of women and men women.

The Packaging: I was super impressed with their simple yet elegant packaging. The white envelope-style packaging is great to be used over and over to keep your stockings away from any damage. I like that they have a sticker placed over the opening to show you that they have been checked.

When you get in, you will see the pair folded neatly around plain card and inserted into plastic packaging. This pair comes with leg and foot shaping to it, making it easier to get it on.

Getting Them On: I did a little scrunch and roll from the feet to the thigh, taking care going over my anklets. I lined up the toes and heel before I slowly shimmied them up the legs.

On The Legs: they are incredible! I am in love with how they look on the legs, and adding flash really enhanced them for sure.

The quality of these are fantastic; they felt amazing and you can tell they are gonna be great when you first tough them. They haven’t ripped or snagged at all whilst I’ve been in them, which I am super happy about.

The fit of these are true to size, with very little room. I would make sure you check out their sizing guide before purchasing as they will not stretch. The only time I would get wrinkling around the knees and ankles was when my legs were flat on the floor, otherwise they were pretty much non-existent!

The feel of them is just sublime; I cannot even begin to express how soft and silky these are, both inside and out. They are the type your hands just easily down them and your legs glide off one another. They were so soft against the legs, and these don’t irritate in any way either.

The Toes & Ankle: I absolutely love! These comes with reinforced toes and heels, which look so elegant. The toes have a small strip going across the front and back, and let me say these don’t cover all of your toes width-ways. You’ll see what I mean below.

The heels have a lovey circle design to them, which I love the look of. It’s something unique that I haven’t seen on a pair before.

The toes have plenty of wiggle room in them and no pressure is added either. I didn’t feel my toes were cramped in any way.

Around the feet and ankles, it’s a lovely smooth fitted finish with the odd wrinkling around the ankles now and again.

The Bands: are gorgeous! They sat so perfectly on my thighs, exactly where I wanted them to be as well. I didn’t have to tug them up at all or shimmy them down for being too long; they were just perfect. I had the brand stamp facing outwards (I say this as some people face it inwards) on the right thigh.

These were comfortable around the thighs; they didn’t squeeze or feel loose in any way and they were so comfortable to move around it. They didn’t restrict movement either.

I used metal clasps on these, and they held up so well without any issues. You can use plastic if you wish and they work well for you.

I also love how thick the welt is on these too; they have this lovely thick denier which compliments the sheer legs so well, and that reinforcement band underneath. Everything about these I have fallen in love with!

My Thoughts?

I’M RECOMMENDING FULL STOP! I loved these so much, and I cannot wait to try on the next pair!

La Dame De France Bas Nylon Délice Noir Stockings HELLO NEW BRAND! I am so excited to share these all with you, starting off with the Bas Nylon Delice Noir Stockings.

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manjehaal · 5 years ago

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Ignite the Stars: Chapter 2

Read on AO3

My Lady…

Her steely pink eyes snapped open at the intrusion, bringing a halt to her meditative trance.

“Speak,” was all she said, tugging her consciousness away from the vast recollections she had set it on, but placing her focus on the commander's muffled voice instead. It was better this way. To not be distracted by colorful hindrances, but to focus on painless tasks, and the will of her malevolent Emperor.

Lady Mayura, the plans are not aboard the ship and no transmissions have been made. However, an escape pod was jettisoned during the fight, with no lifeforms aboard.

What a sly princess, Mayura marveled, holding her fist tight at her side. “She must have hidden the plans in the escape pod. See to it personally, Commander, that a detachment is sent down to retrieve them. The Emperor will be dissatisfied if the plans slip from our fingers.”

Yes, my Lady.

There was a moment of pause and then a hitch in his breath, just as Lady Mayura moved to silence him.

“Commander?” she asked, voice thick with indignation, having had enough of pointless conversation with hubristic imperial officers.

I’m receiving a transmission from his majesty, Emperor Papillion…

His voice came off as weak, much like the breathless drone of a corrected admiral. But he cleared his throat, evenly continuing. Lord Hawkmoth wishes to speak with you, My Lady.

“Very good commander, see to that detachment,” she said, voice hollow, as she ceased the sound of her communicator and presented herself to face her master. Her dedication to him was without question, but she knew the prices paid by her Emperor’s fury and the venom of his voice. News that a young princess had gotten the upper hand in their civil war was not the news she wished to present to her lord. Not while breath still remained in her chest.

“Yes, my Lord,” she said evenly, dropping herself onto the cold floor with her sturdy bow. “How may I do your bidding?”

* .

* '

* *

They move slowly through the Tatooine sands, leaving their trails visible to any creature that possesses eyes. Civilians pay them no mind, but the monsters of the desert are quick to follow their trails.

“How did we get into this mess? I really don’t know,” muttered the protocol droid. “We seem to be made to suffer. It’s our lot in life.”

The smaller droid ignored Threepio’s wailing, moving onward dutifully with a one-track mind for her majesty, Princess Marinette.

“I’ve got to rest before I fall apart. My joints are almost frozen.”

Bleep blip, was the only response he received, being willfully ignored by the steady persistence of Artoo, scouting out the land for the woman that the Princess had pleaded for. And so he turned, despite C3PO’s many protests, venturing into rocky land in search of settlements. Bleep blip, bleep blip, bleep blip…

“What mission? What are you talking about?”

Whistle, beep, beep.

“I’ve just about had enough of you. You’ll be malfunctioning in a day, you nearsighted scrap pile. And don’t let me catch you following me, begging for help because you won’t get it.”

And in his own malfunction, with the ignorance of a droid, Threepio parted ways with his companion, leaving each of them left lonesome, free for the taking of the night time monsters.

On the smooth path walked by the muttering See-Threepio, cloaked creatures with glowing eyes walk toward him silently, knocking him sideways and then quickly dragging him into the darkness.

Artoo, just a dome-shaped droid of blue and silver, rolls through as eyes peek through the jagged rocks. Though startled by the lit eyes of his attackers, he is defenseless against their numbers, being pushed to a halt and dragged backward into their transports.

Without defense, they have no choice but to let themselves be taken to the den of the monsters.

* '*

A line of dusty machines was spread out across the plane of dessert, being presented to Etienne and his handful of credits. Each model was unique in its own right, beaten and amuck with dirt, but of use, nonetheless.

Adrien paced his way beside his uncle, allowing him to bargain frugally while he pretended to observe the other models. His uncle had his focus on a red droid, and though it may do him good to pay attention, Adrien allowed his gaze to head back to the horizon, where the twin suns were ghosts of themselves, just two heavy moons that cooled off Adrien’s sunburnt cheeks.

Earlier, if he had seen it right, he swore a star destroyer had graced the air, leaving a streak of light across the northern sky. He had allowed himself, for the first time in many long weeks, to let himself hope. Even Nino had agreed, peering through the scope, that it was a rare thing to see. For something of that size to so closely touch the backwater planet of Tatooine. It often seemed like this was the only life out there, with no way in and no way out. People just didn’t leave. Not the ones who lived there, mind the bounty hunters and smugglers.

Adrien had seen the ship as a sign. A sign of an escape. A way out. A way to freedom. And he couldn’t keep himself from clinging to it.

“We’ll take the blue one,” his uncle said, placing a hand on Adrien’s shoulder and positioning him to look at the machine. Adrien just nodded, smiling at his uncle in approval as he began to inspect the droid for himself. Just as soon as he forced himself to focus, Etienne called to him, examining a gold-painted protocol droid, motioning for his nephew to come and follow. “Take these two over to the garage, will you? I want them cleaned up before dinner.”

He frowned, meeting his uncle’s eyes, but kept silent.

Adrien had hoped he would have time before nightfall to meet Nino at Tosche’s Station. It was a desperate attempt to gather the parts he needed to fly, to one day take off and leave the desolate planet. But more than that, it was Nino’s last night on Tatooine, being that he was sailing off at dusk to join the Alliance. Leaving Adrien behind in the confines of his protective Aunt and Uncle, as a useless farmer, with nothing to offer for the greater good of the galaxy.

He shouldn’t have ever hoped for anything else.

“You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done,” Etienne said gruffly, nudging his nephew toward the droids. “Now come on. Get to it.”

He sighed, turning to the golden droid beside him. “Alright. Come on.”

* .

* '

* *

He couldn’t help but feel as if he was running out of time.

The Empire’s steel grip loomed heavier each passing day, like a dark shadow on a once golden galaxy, stripping life and replacing it with oppression. For many years, the shadows didn’t reach the outer rim the same way it did the capital, but as all things did, even Tatooine was changing. Freedom was a myth. A place of safety was nonexistent. Everybody knew the Empire was corrupt, but nobody was brave enough to consider how to stand up against it.

Not until the Rebel Alliance.

Adrien had always been sheltered from the chaos of the infectious Empire since he had been a boy, being told not to ask questions and to focus on what he could control, like his work. But that was easier said than done as he grew older, being exposed to calamities he couldn’t disregard and news that he could never forget. Nino had been his first friend who had ventured outside of Tatooine, filling him in on many of the things Adrien would never have heard of otherwise.

The Rebel Alliance was one of those things.

Adrien burned at the thought of escape, to join such an Alliance, to have a cause. Moisture farming kept civilization going, but it hardly filled him with relief. Nor did it fulfill him the way it did his family. Not the kind of fulfillment he could find in blasting the Empire’s oppressive shadow to ashes all across the star systems.

Instead, he found himself scrubbing down a droid with a damp cloth while lowering another into an oil bath. “Very important stuff,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow and setting the rag down on his workbench.

Clearly, all of this was much more important than freeing entire races and civilizations. At least, that’s how Uncle Etienne seemed to see it. As something that couldn’t be helped. As something that had to be ignored.

“It isn’t fair,” he said softly, crossing the workshop with a fresh cloth. “I’m never going to get off this rock. Nino’s right,” he said, clenching his teeth as he dug away at the worn dirt of Artoo’s countless missions. The droid beeped sympathetically, turning his upper dome to acknowledge the attention of Threepio.

“Is there anything I might do to help?” the man of gold intervened, still lowering into his oil bath.

“Can you alter time? Transport me to another system? Quicken the harvest?” Adrien asked with a sigh, tossing the rag to the side.

“I don’t think so, sir. I’m only a droid and not very knowledgeable about such things. Not on this planet, anyway,” he continued on. “As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure which planet I’m on.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, preparing himself for many hours of the droid’s rambling. Company is company, he decided, digging around for something more effective to clean Artoo.

“If there’s a bright center to the universe, you’re on the planet that is farthest from it.”

“I see, sir.”

He was growing tired of the formalities. “You can call me Adrien.”

“I see, sir Adrien.”

“No,” he said, chuckling softly, comforted by the company. “Just Adrien.”

“Adrien,” the droid repeated. If the droid could smile, which he couldn’t, Adrien was sure he would have been now as he enthusiastically made his introduction. “And I am C3PO, human-cyborg relations. And this is my counterpart, R2D2.”

“Hello,” Adrien said casually, beginning to scrub yet again.

He liked droids a lot. Though he didn’t go around admitting it, he spent most of his childhood interacting with artificial intelligence, finding company in the likes of scrap metal and wires far more than he ever did the other children. He had always been so secluded from the other civilizations, being demanded to work long hours on the farm while the other children hung out closer to Mos Eisley. Nino was the only kid at school who would walk the trek to the Mars farm, and even then, he couldn’t do it often. So droids, though artificial, had served as good companions more often than not.

Beep, beep, blip ...was the blue droid’s greeting.

Adrien was making no progress with the droid. “You’ve got a lot of carbon scoring here. Have you two been caught in a lot of blaster fire?”

“With all we’ve been through sometimes I’m amazed we are in as good condition as we are, what with the Rebellion and all.”

Adrien paused, his hand slipping, eyes lighting up instantly as he turned to the talking droid. He blurted it out faster than he should have, nearly leaping to his feet at the droid’s words. “You know the Rebel Alliance?”

“That’s how we came to be in your service, if you take my meaning, sir.”

Adrien’s hands pulsed, turning to face the droid completely. “Have you seen any battles?”

“Several, I think. Actually there’s not much to tell. I’m not much more than an interpreter and not very good at telling stories…well, not at making them interesting, anyway.”

He chucked, letting his eyes dim slightly at the droid’s reluctance to tell him more. Usually, droids were more forthcoming than humans, which is one of the reasons he valued them so much. But due to humans, droids often had restrictions on what they could and couldn’t say, and details of a revolution such as the Alliance were things not meant for the eyes of a young farmer.

So he tried to let it go and focus on his work.

Adrien’s hand was getting sore from digging, wiping away at the worn machinery. He was fed up with the dirt lodged in the droid's mechanics, making it difficult to access his inner structure.

Pulling abruptly on one of the Artoo unit’s bolts, a sudden flash of blue light passed over his fingers, causing him to stumble backward. And then, lifting his eyes to the configuration, just a flickering silhouette of a girl, with eyes wide with dread, but yet hope. With strength, her voice carried a sweet spirit.

A girl.

A beautiful girl.

Help me, Caline Bustier, you’re my only hope...

. . . *

. * . . . . . . + .

. . + . . .

. . . . . . .

. . . +. + .

. . . .

. . . * . . . . + .

#Ignite the stars #miraculous ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #marinette dupain cheng #Ladybug #Adrinette #Ladynoir #marichat #ladrien #Miraculous Love Square #love square #star wars #miraculous fic #fanfic

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calligraphist-artemisia · 5 years ago

Text

The Sun Prince (Chapter 5)

Summary: It was an accident. A simple misstep that sent him plunging into the darkness and waking an ancient magic. Now Prompto has to deal with the consequences of making a deal with an Astral and learn how to control the magic blooming inside of him.

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the username “kishirokitsune”

-----

Chapter 5: Into the Fire

After all of the running around they'd done, it felt odd to be left with nothing to do except wait. There was little reason to set out and take up a few hunts when Cid promised that he was less than a day away from completing repairs, and so Ignis insisted that they remain on Cape Caem.

There was a sort of logic to it that Prompto couldn't deny, but it didn't stop the boredom from creeping in.

Ignis and Gladio quickly found ways to keep themselves occupied by helping out around the house, while Noctis snuck away to nap in various places until he was inevitably discovered. Prompto entertained himself by walking around and taking pictures of whatever struck his fancy, and eventually his feet led him to the elevator of the lighthouse.

His heart lurched at the thought of rising up to the top in an old lift, but the chance to catch a photograph from the top was too appealing to pass up. He could stomach it for a minute or two, and then he could get back down to solid ground.

That was until he got to the top and found Noctis's most recent hiding spot. The stray cat who kept turning up was there as well, curled up on the prince's chest.

Prompto quietly sat down with his back against the wall, giving himself a moment to breathe and ignore the fact that he was eighty feet up off the ground. His camera offered him a distraction as he scrolled through the pictures he'd taken and deleted the ones that turned out too blurry or were near-identical duplicates. Being near his best friend also helped calm the anxiety he felt.

They would leave for Altissia soon.

Prompto should feel excited about that. He had always dreamed of getting to explore beyond the Wall and see the beauty of the world beyond through the lens of his own camera, and Altissia was supposed to be the most beautiful of all! He would get to take so many photographs – well, hopefully. They weren't going for a vacation, after all.

But...

The more he thought about sailing across the Cygillian Ocean, the more dread he welt, welling up in his chest and threatening to choke the air from his lungs.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was coming.

Maybe it was just his anxiety talking. Or it could be a side-effect of his powers. Either one would explain the awful nightmares that plagued his sleep, preventing him from getting more than a few hours of rest at a time.

Prompto looked over at Noctis, who was still sleeping soundly.

Their time at the chocobo post was short, and Prompto didn't have nearly as much time as he wanted to cuddle the baby chocobo's before Noctis whisked him out of sight for some extra training, while Ignis and Gladio were busy watching some of the races going on.

His magic came to him more easily each time he used it. Noctis expressed his own surprise at how quickly he was advancing, but Prompto brushed it off, remembering what Rhyos said about his body already being used to magic. With a little extra work, he learned how to craft his magic into a sphere shape, rather than the formless light he produced in the beginning.

Prompto wondered what Rhyos was doing and when he would decide to show up again. He hoped it was before they left for Altissia. There were even more questions he wanted to ask and hopefully the Astral would stick around long enough to answer some of them.

Maybe he was waiting until Prompto improved some more? Either that or he got some sort of glee out of making him wait.

Yeah. That second one sounded about right.

Prompto set his camera to the side and held his hands out, palms up. He guided his magic to swirl around, gathering until two golden orbs floated in front of him. He grinned, pleased by how easy it was becoming. With just a little focus, he could direct them to slowly fly around and move independently of one another.

The stray cat made a “mrrp” sound as she woke and watched the orbs with great interest.

“No, kitty,” Prompto said quietly. He pulled the orbs back to his hands and was about to absorb the remaining energy back into his body, when a voice cut through the air and startled him badly enough that they fizzled away.

“What are those?”

Prompto squeaked and twisted around to find Iris standing at the entrance, hands on her hips, and staring down at him with a determined expression.

“I, uh, what are what?” Prompto winced at his poor attempt at a cover-up.

Iris raised an eyebrow.

“Please don't tell anyone,” Prompto tried again.

“Hard to tell anyone when I don't know what's going on,” Iris responded lightly. She shut the door behind her and joined Prompto against the wall, casting a curious look over at Noctis. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Iris was truly a marvel. At only fifteen, she carried herself with such poise and maturity, even when faced with something unexpected, that it was easy to forget how young she was. Prompto supposed it was because she was from a long line of Kingshields and had also grown up in the citadel. Hard to relax and be a child with that amount of pressure.

“It's kind of complicated,” Prompto said, not sure whether or not he wanted to tell her everything. He still hadn't worked up the strength to tell Gladio or Ignis about it! Gladio would never forgive him if he told his little sister first.

Although, it would be good practice.

“Prompto has magic now.”

Or Noctis would take the choice away from him.

Prompto whined and tilted his head back, letting it thunk against the wall. “Dude, not cool.”

“I promised not to tell Gladio or Ignis, but you never said anything about Iris,” Noctis said as he sat up. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out so it didn't look as disheveled after his nap.

“It was implied,” Prompto said crossly.

Iris looked between them apprehensively. “I can just, y'know, go and pretend I didn't see or hear anything?”

“No,” Prompto bit out. He sighed and sat up straight, forcing a smile on his face as he looked over at her. “I mean, I've got to tell everyone eventually, right? And you already saw it, so I'm not going to make you pretend you didn't.”

Iris relaxed. “Okay, well take your time. Or you can let Noctis explain...?”

“Noct isn't allowed to explain anything anymore, but it's like he said. I have magic now,” Prompto told her, taking charge before Noctis could say anything else. (Not that he looked like he wanted to. He was definitely avoiding looking anywhere near his friend after blurting out his secret.) “I fell into these ruins while we were helping out one of the hunters and found this, um, artifact and it gave me magic. Noctis has been helping me control it.”

Simplicity was best, right?

Iris didn't need to know every last detail, like the deal he made with an unknown Astral, or even that Rhyos liked to pop in unexpectedly to talk. Nor did she need to know about the nightmares that plagued his sleep ever since his illness. Even Noctis didn't know about that last one.

“Can you do anything cool with it, like warping? Do you have your own armiger? Not that the magical balls aren't cool, but...” Iris shrugged, apparently unsure of where she was going with her questions.

“No warping, no armiger, and excuse you but the orbs are super cool,” Prompto responded, hoping he came across as joking in the end. He grinned at her for good measure. “I dunno. I can almost make a shield, but I haven't gotten it to hold up against anything. It might have just been a fluke.”

“It's still impressive when you've only been practicing for a few days,” Noctis pointed out.

Iris looked awestruck by everything she was learning. “Seriously? It took Gladio three days just to figure out how to access the armiger and pull out the correct weapon.” She turned immediately to Noctis. “Do not ever tell him that I told you that. Anyway, I think I'm starting to understand why Gladio won't let me travel with you guys. You're both beacons for trouble. He couldn't handle the three of us running around, even with Ignis's help.”

Noctis chuckled.

“You won't tell anyone about this, will you, Iris?” Prompto asked, seized by sudden worry. “I'll tell them eventually. I just haven't figured out how. I will. Soon. In Altissia?” He winced and shut his mouth.

“I think you're making a bigger deal of this than you need to, but I'll keep it a secret for you,” Iris promised. “And because I'm so awesome, I'll let you practice how you're going to tell them on me! It'll be fun!”

Prompto wasn't sure that it would be fun at all, but it was nice of her to volunteer.

Iris grinned at him, taking his silence as agreement. “I'll even do my best impression of Gladio! I'm pretty good at it, right, Noctis?”

“I dunno. I don't think you've got that patented grumpy stare down yet,” Noctis said thoughtfully.

Iris proceeded to prove that she was very good at impersonating her brother, though the glare looked wildly out of place on her sweet face.

-----

A woman with fiery red hair woven into intricate braids led the way down a well-lit passageway. Water flowed down the tall, white stone walls and pooled along the sides, but never moved closer to where she walked. She was draped in blue silks decorated with golden symbols, and the fabrics flowed as she moved towards a massive door.

Behind her, a crowd of people slowly followed, leaving proper space for those carrying two white caskets, one behind the other. All were silent.

The towering white walls were bathed in the golden light of the sun, though as it began to set, shadows rose from the floor and began to cover the walls. Neither the woman nor the procession behind her faltered in step.

The door, with bands of gold representing the rays of the sun, over which a bird with rainbow feathers was placed, began to shimmer with a red light. It spread across the walls, lighting up hidden symbols, and the door soundlessly opened.

A melodious hymn filled the halls as they began their descent into the depths.

At the end of the procession was a familiar man with long dark hair and red eyes.

“Rhyos?” Prompto gasped in bodiless form.

As though he heard him, Rhyos turned to look around. When his eyes met Prompto's, everything went black.

Lady Lunafreya appeared in the darkness and Prompto opened his mouth to scream a warning, but no sound came out. He was forced to watch, helpless, as a featureless figure stabbed her in the side and red spread across the fabric of her white gown. She fell back and her trident slid form her grasp.

-----

Prompto gasped for air as he woke, tears streaming down his face. He sat up and pulled his legs to his chest, trembling as he tried to silence his sobs.

Nearby, Noctis mumbled in his sleep.

It took him a few minutes to calm down, but even as his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep that night. He lifted his head from his knees and that was when he saw the figure sitting near the window, moonlight illuminating his form.

“Rhyos,” Prompto whispered, too drained from his most recent nightmare to feel surprise.

“I apologize for visiting at such a late hour, however it came to my attention that things are progressing more quickly than anticipated.” Rhyos gave Prompto no chance to respond. “There has not been a wearer of the crown who experienced visions like yours since the height of Solheim power. Why did you not tell me?”

Prompto glanced worriedly at Noctis, but his friend showed no signs of stirring. “They're just nightmares. It didn't seem important,” he whispered.

Rhyos narrowed his eyes. “You speak of more than the funeral you glimpsed. Tell me about this nightmare of yours, and do not worry about your prince. He is a heavy sleeper.”

That didn't mean Prompto wanted to risk waking him up, but he also couldn't let his chance to talk to Rhyos go to waste. “I keep seeing... someone getting hurt. Someone important,” he said, being purposefully vague.

“You will need to be more detailed than that.”

Prompto closed his eyes. “I keep seeing Lady Lunafreya being stabbed. I can't see who's doing it or where she is. It's like I'm floating in this dark void.”

“It is not unusual for visions of a probable future to look that way. Nothing is set in stone and there is always the chance that the future can change. If you are seeing something, it is either to prepare you for what is coming or it is a hint of something that needs to be changed,” Rhyos explained. “Visions of the past are more clear.”

Visions.

Nausea roiled in Prompto's stomach and he took a moment to try and calm it down. His thoughts wailed profanities.

Lady Lunafreya was in danger and he didn't have the first idea of where or who the threat was. Was he not meant to know? Was it like Rhyos said and the vision was meant to prepare him for what was coming?

No.

Prompto refused to let that be her fate.

There had to be something he could do. His powers had to be good for more than just killing daemons!

“How can I stop it from happening?” he asked.

“The visions themselves will ease up now that you understand their warning, but it is likely you will occasionally glimpse moments of the past. Some are to help you in your life. Others, such as the one you had tonight, are because of me,” Rhyos said.

Prompto frowned. “You sent me that vision?”

Rhyos shook his head. “Not intentionally. It was a moment I was dwelling heavily upon. The crown and I have a connection and it likely picked up on that.” He paused for a moment. “Perhaps the next vision you have will be the creation of the crown. I think you would enjoy that one.”

As long as it let him get a proper night of sleep, Prompto wouldn't complain. He took a deep breath, trying to remember the questions that he forgot to write down. “Um, so... are those all of them? The visions and the magic, I mean. Or should I prepare for anything else because of the crown?”

“Your magic will continue to grow stronger, as will your control over it, but I cannot say for certain what other abilities the crown will grant you. It decides for itself who is worthy and of what,” Rhyos said as he stood up. “Long ago, I granted it to the Kings of Solheim, blessing it with the power so that they may protect their people. Now it is in your hands. The power you now possess will enable you to protect your people; those you care about most. That is its foremost function.

“It is not a tool of war, nor of greed. A lesser mortal could not command the abilities to come forth. What you have been granted is a mark of the purity of your soul. Of your desire to do good.”

Prompto could feel the burn of Rhyos's eyes on him. “But I'm not anyone special.”

Rhyos smiled. “And that, perhaps, is why you are the perfect candidate.”

“And what of the cost?” cut in a new voice.

Even Rhyos looked surprised as Noctis sat up and ran a hand through his hair. Dark eyes met red, and the Astral gave a respectful bow.

“What ever do you mean, Prince Noctis?” Rhyos asked.

“There's always a cost,” Noctis said, wholly serious. “I've spent my whole life watching my father's life be drained away. I know what it feels like to ask an Astral to come to our aid. What is the cost that Prompto pays for all of this?”

For a moment, Rhyos did not speak.

Prompto looked between them, wondering if he should be the one to break the silence, but he was curious too.

Rhyos smiled, his expression more gentle than Prompto had ever seen. “Worry not, young prince, there is no price to pay. That crown will not drain his life away nor make him grow weak. I always preferred lifting my chosen people to new heights rather than limiting what they can do.”

Relief washed over Prompto. It hadn't been one of his worries until Noctis brought it up, but the relief came nevertheless.

“I fear my time with you is coming to an end. I would hate to be the reason you lose anymore sleep than you already have,” Rhyos said. “There is one last thing I need to speak with you about, and that is your voyage across the Cygillian.” He waited until both of them were paying attention before continuing. “Altissia is the domain of Leviathan and her favored Messengers. It is not a place where I am welcomed, and as such, I will be unable to help you as long as you are there. Both of you, be cautious. The Tidemother's memory is long and her mood changes with the ebb and flow of the tide itself. Prove to her your strength and she will aid you. Fail and she will devour you.”

“Bleak,” Prompto commented.

Rhyos grinned. “I look forward to your return.”

The last thing Prompto remembered was Rhyos walking across the room and the feeling of warm fingertips against his forehead. Comfortable darkness rushed to greet him and he sank into the depths of slumber, where only pleasant dreams awaited him.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #prompts #fanfiction #The Sun Prince #slow burn promptis #solheim magic

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cardassiansstolebutton · 6 years ago

Text

Folklore

Requested Anonymously

Part Two of Troublesome Heart. There will be a third part.

Weyoun rested peacefully in Deep Space Nine's Infirmary. He was alright, but absolutely exhausted- Vorta, despite their resistance to poisons, were complete lightweights when it came to anesthesia, their bodies completely without defense against such drugs. Apparently the Founders hadn't ever thought about giving their servants painkillers. Dr. Bashir had insisted that the surgery had gone smoothly and that Weyoun would make a full recovery. You trusted the good doctor, but you insisted on staying at Weyoun's bedside overnight anyway.

The lights were dimmed and you were half-dozing when you realized you and Weyoun weren't alone.

The Female Changeling -couldn't someone give her a name?- stood where there had been nothing before. She had probably been disguised as a tricorder or a surgical instrument or something, but you didn't really care how she had done it. You had been expecting some trouble. Not necessarily her, but maybe someone who had it out for any Vorta, even one like Weyoun who wanted to help. You had expected a Starfleet cadet out for revenge or a Bajoran with a bad attitude, and you had prepared yourself.

Well, you thought, pulling your phaser from its hiding place and clicking it up to the highest setting, at least this works on Changelings too.

"He's mine now," you said, lifting the phaser so that she could see it. "You can't have him."

In the low light, the Female Changeling looked like something out of a nightmare. Something about her silhouette made you think she wasn't completely solid at the moment, like she wasn't fully invested in looking like a humanoid and would rather melt only halfway into the shape. She had chosen a pale blue color for her eyes, probably inspired by Odo's, and they glinted strangely. You weren't sure if it was the light or if Changelings had the ability to make themselves glow. And, if they did, and she was doing it right now, then this was all for dramatic effect.

You knew it: She was just a big drama queen.

Well... so was Odo, if you thought about it.

The Female Changeling made a hmph sound reminiscent of Odo's grumbling. "I don't want him." She looked at Weyoun with the same disgust and contempt that Kira usually reserved for Dukat. "Unfaithful creature."

You might have rolled your eyes, if you weren’t so afraid of looking away. "Okay, you see, that's why people keep defecting from the Dominion."

She glared at you. Her shimmering eyes wandered to examine your phaser. You weren't sure if she understood that it was a serious danger to her- it was outfitted to blast enough heat to at least seriously scorch her, if not disintegrate her. That wasn't something you especially wanted to do, but if she tried to hurt you or Weyoun, you wouldn't have much choice in the matter, would you?

"If you're not here for him, what do you want?" you asked.

"I want to understand," she said simply, as if that explained everything and she now expected you to write a complete essay on the matter.

"Understand what?"

"He..." She hesitated. Those blue eyes glittered as she tilted her head. You saw the glow reflect off where her hair should have been, but the texture you saw was like the wet clay of an unfinished piece of pottery. Definitely no hair, or even scalp. Just the basic shape of a head, and a somewhat melt-y one, at that.

Talk about dressing down.

"He was my most loyal servant for many, many years," she finally said. "But you... you managed to turn his faith. He left the Founders, his gods, for you. You are his god now."

Your gut rolled unpleasantly at the idea. "I'm not his god. I'm not like you."

"Then what are you?" she hissed, followed by a disgusting gurgle.

So that's what you sound like when you melt.

"I'm someone who loves him," you said, "and that's something he's never had before."

The Female Changeling scoffed derisively, rolling her eyes. "Love."

"Yes, love." You felt angry, suddenly, for Weyoun's sake. "I'm not talking about affection, or romance. I care about him. I chose to care about him, even though he wasn't on my side. You don't care about anyone but yourself. You think he doesn't know that? You think the other Vorta don't know that? Just give them a chance, and they'll all turn on you."

The Female Changeling said nothing in reply, but you could feel her scorn from across the room. If she had been willing to tolerate you for curiosity's sake before, she no longer was. You had insulted her in some of the worst ways, and someone with a god-complex like hers wasn't about to acknowledge being called an idiot.

"We took out his suicide implant," you told her.

"Termination," she corrected you. She... sounded angry.

"Same thing." Were you poking a bear? Probably.

She made a scraping noise like dragging sandpaper, but said no words. Her eyes glinted dangerously, and you knew you were pushing it, but you wanted to push it. You wanted to push her, to show her how close she had come to ruining Weyoun. You wanted her to feel shame.

"Every time I tell him he's done well, he glows," you said, brushing over Weyoun's hair with your free hand. You still held the phaser with poise, hoping that your shot would be faster and stronger than whatever she might shape-shift into if she got fed up with you. "When I say he's done something right, he is so proud, and when I thank him for even the smallest thing, he acts like I've given him a gift." You took a shaky breath to quell the outrage you felt on Weyoun's behalf. "All he wants is love and he is so good at loving. Why didn't you ever see that?"

"He was a servant, nothing more," said the Female Changeling with all the self-assured pompousness of a queen on her throne. She melted a little further across the smooth floor. "Now he is even less than that."

Your finger squeezed lightly over the trigger.

"Go," you said, jerking the phaser in her direction with hope that she might realize your were serious. "If you come back, I'll shoot you."

She hissed lowly before slowly melting away. You watched glistening sludge ooze across the floor and out the door. It had a faint yellow glow to it, almost like liquid embers, and you imagined that, if only she weren't so hideous in personality, you would think her to be beautiful.

Pity, you thought.

And then she was gone.

The station was still asleep and Julian hadn't even come to check on you when Weyoun began to stir.

You had been tempted by both emotional and physical exhaustion to get on one of the biobeds and fall asleep, just for a little while, but the Female Founder’s visit had triggered some version of a fight-or-flight response that kept you awake no matter how tired you got. Come morning, you were tired in a way that made your eyes ache, and you had a strained grip on your phaser that pinched the tendons from your wrist all the way up into your shoulder.

You carefully made sure the phaser was hidden from sight when Weyoun finally opened his eyes.

"Hey." You kissed his forehead as gently as you could. "The implant’s out. Everything went great. How do you feel?"

"Alright, I... suppose," he rasped. He couldn’t quite part his lips properly, and the words slurred from a heavy tongue. "I had... the strangest dream."

"Really?"

His lips quirked a little bit. His muscles were probably still too lax from the anesthesia from him to properly smile, or make any expression, really, but his eyes softened and you could imagine exactly what he was incapable of conveying.

"I dreamed... that the Founders tried to make you a god. You refused them, because you had fallen in love with one of their servants."

You smiled and took his hand in yours. "Huh. Strange."

#Weyoun #weyoun imagine #weyoun 6 #imagine weyoun #weyoun x reader #female changeling #deep space nine #deep space nine imagine #imagine deep space nine #deep space imagines #ds9 #ds9 imagine #imagine #star trek imagine #imagine star trek #Vorta #imagine ds9 #troublesome heart

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