#Loading Dock AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ki-yomii · 11 months ago

Text

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat.

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?”

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness.

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses.

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat.

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom.

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

#jeon jungkook x you #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook #bts jungkook

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party-snake · 5 months ago

Text

A sweet reunion

Sebastian solace x Fem! reader

This was just a little something I thought up after playing the game all day 🥰 enjoy.

What if there was an au were you guys reunited after he got taken away from you?

Tw: Angst, separated lovers, talks about death (no-one dies dw) reunited lovers, tooth aching fluff.

This was written for the people who have already played Pressure. I have not finished it myself, But there will be spoilers for Sebastian's file as well as doors '001' - '047' I highly suggest you play Pressure before you read this.

❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀--❀

Life after Sebastian got convicted just wasn't the same. Your room felt empty without his warm body next to yours, dinner felt lonely. Lonely. You were so. so lonely. He was your love, your boyfriend. You wanted to marry that man. But, then he got convicted of 9 counts of murder.

You were devastated, to say the least. He was brought to court and tried. Found guilty, and sentenced to death by electric chair. You would never see him again. That day after the trial, you did nothing but cry in your bed. Your love, your life, taken. Just like that.

A few years later, you got convicted as well. You were sent down to Hadal Blacksite along with a few other prisoners.

You step into the waiting area and the head director gives you instructions over the radio. Looking around the large area and watch as several people walk into the submarines, taking them away to Hadal Blacksite. 'A death wish' You thought. A small snack bar catches your eye on the opposite side of the dock.

You trail over to it, spotting the several snacks and bottled waters. "Hi! How may I help you?" A small cat person appears from behind the counter and startles you slightly. "Can I get a water and a sandwich please?" You point at the turkey and cheese sandwich behind her. "Of course." She turns around and grabs your snack and water.

You tap your nails against the counter and she turns back with your load. That's when you spot the sugar cookie. Neatly wrapped in pretty pink packaging. Sugar cookies. That was Sebastian's favorite. You smile as you think of him. "Could I also get two sugar cookies?"

The submarine is dark as you step into it. The door folds and slams shut behind you. And down you go. You press a button on the control panel and the sub whisks you up to the surface.

The doors open and you step out onto the open dock. Grey and blue walls surround you with several crates and a forklift. A desk next to a door marked '001' in bright green lettering. Walking up to it, your fingers graze the slot where a keycard should go. 'Locked.' You turn around walk a few steps, ducking under a crate. On the other side is a few desks and a keycard on one of them.

You grab it a return to the door, sliding the keycard in the slot. It slids open with a beep and you walk into the next room. 'One down, 99 more to go.'

Along the way you had encounters with several monsters. A shark with several green eyes, and an Angler fish that you had to hide from. Your heart was pounding as your feet shakely carried you to door '47' It slid open to a dark room. The flashlight you had picked up flickers to life and you point it around the room. 'Good, no more of those squid things.' The grate on the side of the room is flund with a crash and you jump.

"Stranger, over here." A deep voice speaks. A shiver runs up your spine as you walk over to the grate. The voice is familiar to you somehow, but how? It couldn't be... could it? You crawl your way through the grate and come into a small room.

It was dark when you entered, standing up completely and stretching your arms above you. A small light flickers on in the coner of the room and you look up towards the source. "Welcome. Welcome! Don't worry i'm not going to hurt yo-" Wait. "Sebastian?" You say, cutting him off.

"Ah, Yes?" He pauses, a little confused. "How did you know my name?" You grab at the diving gear and pull it off your head. As your eyes met his, they widen. "Sweetheart?" He says shakely. Your eyes swim with tears as you two stare at each other for a while " I-I thought you were... you were dead." You sob out.

It had to be him. The short black hair, the voice, his mannerisms. He leans foward, putting two of his arms on the ground, putting another to your face, feeling your skin and wiping away a tear. You laugh and kiss at his hand. He smiles and chuckles softly. "Hi hun." He finally says. Putting hand on his, you lean foward, closing the distance and kissing him sweetly.

Warmth, love, finally. You'd found him. After all this time. You have him back. He pulls away and laughs. "Looks like someone missed me." You puff out your cheeks. "Of course I did. I thought you were dead!" He shrugs. "That's fair." You look over his body, his angler fish light, the gills, the large tail. Three arms?! "What happened?" A frown appears over his smile and he looks away.

An hour or so passes as he explains to you what happened after he was convicted. You sit on his tail, eating your sandwich. You can't imagine what he had to go through, the scientists, the pain from the DNA. All of it. You felt terrible. "So... yeah. That's what happened." You frown as you look at him.

"But it's okay. I've found you. I'm still alive." You finish the last of your sandwich and pull out the two cookies. A hand comes up to wipe your mouth and unwraps the two cookies. "Do you still like sugar cookies?" Your eyes met again. Shock appears in his eyes and he nods. "You remembered?"

"Of course I did love." A giddy smile is on his face before you can blink. "I haven't had a cookie in so long..." He leans down slightly and he opens his mouth. The sharp teeth scare you bit, but you giggle anyway. You make an airplane sound and wave it towards his mouth.

His teeth bite down around the cookie and he licks his lips. The flavour is sweet. The soft texture of the frosting and the crumble of the cookie itself is just... delicious. He almost cries. His hand comes fowards to take the rest of it from you. You place it on his hand and smile. He returns it.

"I love you." He says. You're stunned for a second before tears return to your eyes. "I love you too Sebastian." You say, taking a bite out of your cookie.

#pressure sebastian #sebastian solace x reader #fluff #angst with a happy ending #random shit #pressure sebastian x reader #roblox pressure x reader

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imagine-darksiders · 19 days ago

Text

Absolute Anarchy - chapter 2

The Bull.

A Darksiders/Scp au.

Cw: Animal death, threat, guns, shooting, references to goring, livestock, abuse, blood.

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Two days.

By your count, it’s been two days since you were pulled from the SCP’s cell and tossed unceremoniously back into your own with Mullins’s gloat echoing in your ear.

“Enjoy solitary, Scuzz.”

A slammed door, a buzzing overhead light, and nothing but your peeling wallpaper and creaky bed springs to keep you company…

Two days is beginning to feel like an eternity.

You have to remind yourself that it’s not.

They’ve only given you four meals, after all.

Taking a mental account of the trays that are shoved through the slat in your door is just about the only way you can measure the passage of time in here. Two meals a day, morning and evening. That’s the facility’s standard. And they’re all ‘served’ to you with the decorum of throwing slop to a pig.

Apparently, you revoked your rights to eat in the mess hall with the other D-Class after you refused to follow orders to shoot at the new SCP, or so you assume.

The first day was embarrassing, to say the least. You spent it in a state of near-complete hysteria, wailing and pitching a fit at the locked door, out of your mind with fear that at any moment, they’d come through it and drag you off to a fate worse than death. When you were hoarse in the throat, and your eyes red-raw from trying to scrub them dry, you hunched over in the corner like an animal, shivering violently in sporadic bursts.

Then the first meal arrived.

You ignored it, and it sat there unappealingly on the shelf attached to the slat on your side of the door until, hours later, that slat scraped open again and the second tray was shoved through, neatly sending its predecessor clattering to the floor.

It sounded so much like the gun you dropped in that thing’s cell.

It takes another few hours to muster the courage to unfold yourself from the corner and stumble towards the food, stepping absentmindedly around the grey porridge going hard on the floor.

The second day is spent on your back, staring bleakly up at a grey ceiling and trying to occupy your mind. Inevitably, your thoughts turn to the SCP. Moreso, the colossal gun fused with its biological arm, and the chambers that had been pointing straight at you, so much like Mullins’s Beretta…

But it hadn’t fired a single round…

Why…?

Well, you suppose you have an indeterminate amount of time to muse on its reasoning. You have no idea how long they plan to keep you in solitary, after all.

However, as punishments go, you think this one has so far been remarkably tame.

Nearly two whole days without being thrown to the wolves! Marvellous, in the grand scheme of things.

You suppose if anything, you ought to just settle in and enjoy the relative peace and quiet where you aren’t being tested against the nightmares of this facility. Why, this isolation is practically bliss!

Of course, no sooner have you thrown that semi-optimistic spin on your situation…

“Oi!”

Somehow, not even complete and total separation from your fellow humans could make you miss the sound of Mullins’s strident shout.

When your door is roughly hauled open for the first time in days, you feel no joy or elation, and certainly not gratitude. All you know is the unshiftable ball of dread rolling around in your guts.

Mullins looms in the doorway once more, his lips moulded around a cigarette that hangs loosely between his teeth.

“Get movin’,” he growls, the dog end of his cig flaring like a red-hot poker, “Dinner time.”

-----

Is it comedic or tragic to find yourself once again standing rigidly in SCP-8103’s loading dock? Because you sure as Hell don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

When you arrived, you half expected the scientists to shove another rifle in your hands and order you to finish what you never even started. Instead, much to your astonishment and trepidation, they hadn’t given you so much as a by-your-leave before they forced you through the doors at gun point.

No instructions. No way to defend yourself. Just your jumpsuit, and your wits – which seem few and far between these days.

Chewing ravenously on your lip, you wait for the secondary door to start ascending; just another yawning beast opening up to welcome you into an entirely different maw.

You really, really don’t like what Mullins had alluded to when he said, ‘dinner time.’

Are you finally being thrown to the very deadly wolf?

The SCP did have teeth, you recall in uncomfortable detail. Very big, very sharp teeth, suggesting to you that it must have to use them at some point. Though for what, you hardly dare imagine.

You’d convinced yourself you got lucky the first time you were pulled from the cell without being riddled by giant bullets. Now you wonder if your luck wasn’t just biding its time, waiting for you to let your guard down before it suddenly pulls the rug out from under you and abandons you to your fate.

The secondary door of the loading dock whooshes open to admit you, and you have to release a shaky breath when no body flops through the gap. Then it occurs to you that the bodies might not have been removed by human hands, and suddenly you feel like being sick all over again. The blood is still there, of course, dark and dry and crusting over the tiniest cracks in the floor. But at least most of the truly gory viscera is… absent.

With an audible gulp, you tread carefully around the dark patch near your feet and tiptoe to the corner of the dock, bracing your spine to the wall.

Once again, you can’t hear anything inside. But it must have heard the door open. It must know you’re here.

“D-Class,” a scientist’s voice crackles over the speakers.

Almost instantly, a familiar growl thunders to life, spilling across the airwaves and rolling around the corner towards you.

Ah. There it is.

“Stop hiding by the door this instant and step into the containment unit.”

Well… If it didn’t know where you were before, it certainly does now. At least it’s stopped growling.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you lean cautiously out past the threshold, twisting your neck about to try and catch a glimpse of the entity before it can spot you.

Of course, that was wishful thinking.

A pair of golden eyes leer down at you from the other side of the room, sending you ducking back behind the wall with a gasp, clutching at the front of your jumpsuit. Whatever courage you’d scraped off the sides of your empty reserves had been entirely spent on throwing your weapon down the other day, defying orders and expecting, genuinely, to be gunned down.

You can’t do this again, not when your heart is on the verge of breaking out through your ribcage. Perhaps you can linger here in the doorway for the duration of the-

“-Now!”

You flinch, smacking the back of your skull against the wall.

“Ah! Shit.”

Right… Foolish of you to forget that in this place, choice is a badly concealed illusion.

You’ve already pushed your luck once, and just because it didn’t result in your becoming a lure subject for the Old Man or some other horrific fate, doesn’t mean that won’t happen if you continue to refuse orders.

You wonder how pathetic you must look to the Lab Coats now, sniffling in miserable resignation as you force yourself to edge around the corner, hugging the wall, with your eyes cast to the floor, falling back into that old childhood mindset that if you can’t see the monster, then the monster can’t see you.

The door you’d crept beneath falls shut with a deafening ‘wham,’ and there’s the familiar whirring of the locks as they pivot back into place.

You’re immediately greeted by a low, throaty rumble from the SCP.

Quaking, you drag your gaze off the floor and venture a glance up at the other end of the cell.

And there it is.

Stooped in a crouch against the furthest wall of its cell, SCP-8103 is lurking, that streamlined tail lifting and slumping to the ground like an agitated feline’s, and its great, silver head turned in your direction, poised to watch you through raptorial eyes.

A lipless mouth peels apart and issues a steady hiss between its blackened fangs, eyelids narrowing to thin slits that bleed golden light.

“Hssss…!”

“…Yeah,” you murmur under your breath, bracing each palm on the wall and pushing yourself away from the security of having a solid surface pressed to your fragile spine, “I’m not exactly thrilled to see you again either.”

The entity’s hiss peters off at the sound of your voice, and for an uncomfortably long moment, the pair of you merely regard each other; it with apparent aloofness and you with the trepidation of a mouse trying to step through a trap unscathed.

There is one imminently glaring thing that you can’t help but notice; the entity has made no move to aim its gun arm at you, which you suppose is a good thing. Evidently, it appears content for the time being to simply glare down at you from the opposite side of the room.

Does it even remember you? It must, if it isn’t aiming a weapon at you, you muse. Implying that it doesn’t see you as much of a threat.

Fine by you.

Hands clasping and unclasping, you somehow find the strength to tear your gaze away from its relentless stare and turn instead to the observation window, noting the several figures muddling about in the dimly lit room, some motionless, some scribbling away on their clipboards, and one hunched over a bank of monitors, no doubt keeping watch over everything that happens in this cell.

Swallowing past a lump in your throat, you flick a hurried glance over to the SCP again, only to go stiff when it turns its head parallel to the wall behind it, regarding you from the corner of one eye. At least it doesn’t otherwise seem inclined to move any more than that.

“Um…” Breathing a near silent sigh, shuddering at the thought of accidentally provoking a reaction, you peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth and shout-whisper at the window, “I… I never got a debrief?”

The inferred question goes unanswered, and you’re just beginning to muse on whether or not they can even hear you when the speakers crackle to life once more.

“D-One-nine-three-five…” comes a female voice this time, clipped and staccato. And cold. Cold like an icy road in winter, dangerous on all fronts for those unprepared to face it.

“Approach SCP and commence interrogation.”

Interrogation?

As if it understood the word just as well as you do, the entity’s tail flicks up to curl over its helm in one, smooth motion, pivoting slowly towards the window as a quiet hum starts to build at the base of its throat.

“So, that’s their game,” you huff, watching the SCP snap its jaws at the scientists, privately pleased that the focus has shifted away from you for the time being.

For as much as they like to try and impress upon you all that this place is a research facility, not a prison, the Lab Coats aren’t very good at keeping a lid on the jailhouse jargon.

You can still remember your own awful interrogation, back before you learned what this place really was. Two men in grey suits, each carrying themselves with the highest level of self-importance…

‘Do you have any family?’ they’d asked you in that too-bright room, a fluorescent light buzzing noisily overhead, ‘Close friends? Are you employed?’

You often kick yourself for not hearing their real question woven between the lines.

‘Is there anyone who would notice your absence?’

You’d been blinded by confusion, panicking from the sudden threat of having your future ripped away from you, bleak as it was. It might have been bleak, but it was still yours.

You answered ��no.’

It probably wouldn’t have made a difference even if you’d told them ‘yes.’ They’d have soon found you out to be a liar when they inevitably sent agents to administer amnestics to your supposed friends.

And now those same people want you to interrogate an unclassified, highly volatile SCP?

The deliberate echoing of their method sparks an uncomfortable comparison in your mind, and you find yourself suddenly unnerved by the idea that you D-Class aren’t truly so different from the entities in this place, are you?

Both subjected to tests you want no part in. Both locked up against your wills. Both at the mercy of people who believe your suffering will lead to the greater good…

You catch yourself before such thoughts can develop. Dangerous territory to be delving into.

Stupid.

But still, the irony of your paralleled circumstances doesn’t escape you.

Just how on Earth are you even supposed to begin interrogating a gigantic, unknowable entity anyway?

Say ‘How do you do,’ and offer a handshake?

Blowing a slow and unsteady breath through your lips, you elect to ignore the first order to move closer, and instead hope the scientists will be appeased when you open your mouth to speak.

Its attention has already returned to you, its horns jutting forwards like prongs ready to skewer.

You shove aside the visceral thought of your body dangling from one of those horns, and instead clear your throat, resolving to say whatever comes to mind. Even if it’s nonsense, even if it’s ineffectual, even if it’s…

“Er…. Mm. H-hello.”

Smooth as a country road…

The entity just stares down at you blankly for a second before two slitted nostrils open up just above its mouth, flaring widely as it gives the air an audible sniff.

It doesn’t raise its gun though, which is encouraging.

Giving another hard cough to re-clear your throat, you stammer out, “I-I… I like your gun?”

‘Smack.’

Someone must have slapped a palm to their face and left the microphone on for you to hear it. Still, that saves you from doing the same, at least. If you aren’t careful, this will quickly turn into less of an interrogation and more of a social blunder.

Even the SCP looks bewildered. You’re sure that’s the first time you’ve seen it blink – just a quick flicker of golden light as it recoils its head slightly and spares a glance down at the aforementioned weapon fused to its arm, helm cocked in the opposite direction.

“It… it is a gun, isn’t it?” you ramble on, clenching your hands into the overhanging sleeves of your jumpsuit, “I mean, I never actually saw you fire it but… I – I can only assume that’s what… happened to the people before me…” Your sentence tapers off into silence when the entity looks down at you once more, opening its mouth.

You brace yourself, all the breath caught in your lungs whilst you wait for it to let out another snarl… Or worse…

Instead, what travels up its throat and slips between its crooked fangs is less aggression and more… well, you don’t know what. But it’s a far less vehement sound than you’ve heard prior. A hum, you suppose, still deep and hollow, but the intention behind it doesn’t strike with the same chord as a growl.

“I suppose I should thank you for that,” you add with a stilted laugh that doesn’t even touch genuine. When the beast blinks again, you hastily add, “For not killing me, I mean. Not for… Well, y’know.”

A vague gesture at the blood staining the walls and floor says more than enough, though it is odd that the SCP’s gaze follows your hands and glances at each of the dark patches in turn, warbling another strange note from its chest.

“Sooo…~ Yeah.” Drumming your fingertips against the front of your thighs, you click your tongue and reach for anything constructive to say. “Thank you.”

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“Did you see that?”

The scientist’s painted lips crook up, intrigued. The expression is quick to falter as she glances about at her peers, all of whom are shooting her looks of varying uncertainty.

With a sharp tut, she stabs her chin at the SCP. “It reacted to the mention of its gun. Looked right at it when the D-Class referred to it. Which tells us…”

When all she received are several, blank faces, she heaves an enormous sigh and lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, eyes screwing shut in exasperation. “If it looked to the gun when the D-Class mentioned its gun….?”

“Oh!” It’s her intern who eventually pipes up. “It speaks English!”

Frankly, she thinks her fellow researchers ought to be embarrassed that a greenhorn is the one who makes the connection.

“Or understands it, at least,” she adds, flicking the microphone on once more.

"D-One-nine-three-five. Tailor your inquiries to matters of the SCP’s origins.”

With the instruction dished out, she removes her finger from the switch and steps closer to the observation window, taking a mental note of each expression flitting across the D-Class’s face.

Surprise, then horror, then settling on a grim acceptance, illustrated by the hard line your lips draw themselves into.

At the very least, she plans to get some information about the SCP before the next, real test can begin.

Tossing a look over her shoulder at Mullins, she asks, “Is the specimen ready?”

The guard, who had previously been leering at the scientists from his spot by the door, snaps to attention with a click of his boot before he whips out his walkie-talkie and mutters something into it.

After a static-laden response from the other side, he gives her a nod. “It’s in the crush,” he says, “Prepped and ready to be deployed.”

“Good,” she returns, straightening her back with a satisfied hum, “We’ll give the D-Class a few more minutes to get what little information out of this thing is to be had…. Activate the crush at…” Trailing off, she checks her watch, “- Fourteen hundred hours.”

Bringing everything right up to schedule.

Perfect.

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

You wonder if you’ll go down in the Foundation’s history as being the first D-Class who ever thanked an SCP for not killing them.

What you said - that hesitant, ‘Thank you.' - you said with the intent to appease the armoured titan somehow, a feeble attempt at appealing to whatever intelligence might lay behind its silver helm.

Because you’re only too aware that in this cell, placating the enemy is the sole weapon you have in your arsenal. For when the enemy is this much larger, stronger, and deadlier than you are, you’ll never beat it in a confrontation.

You had not, however, expected that this kind of SCP was the type to be assuaged.

And yet…

By some miracle, you’re still alive, and the fact that its thunderous growls have petered out entirely suggests you’ve done something right, at least. Even if that something was just letting your mouth talk while your brain was busy frantically trying to make sense of the SCP’s bizarre behaviour.

Is it the sound of your voice that’s caused it to fall silent and take a single, heavy step towards you – one that you match with a rapid retreat of your own – or is it the words themselves that seem to have piqued its curiosity.

And if the latter rings true, would that imply that this entity is capable of understanding English?

Now there’s a question that befits a proper interrogation.

You have to admit, you’re about willing to ask it anything that’ll stop the beast from backing you into the far wall, something it’s been doing with its slow, measured steps for the past few moments, the pale pupils of its eyes large and round as it angles its head from side to side and peers down at you like it means to take you in from every perspective.

“Hey, um-“ you begin, swallowing your spit when the tail sprouting from its back twitches with apparent interest, “Can you… understand me?”

You almost feel the scientists holding their collective breaths. From the corner of an eye, you see several of them lean closer to the window.

Even you’re waiting on tenterhooks as it pauses, one of those terrible, clawed feet thumping back down in the spot it had just lifted from. You give the SCP a moment, but soon enough, as it raises its snout to the air and gives a few audible sniffs with those slanted nostrils, you realise you’re not going to get a discernible response.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ then,” you finally add, neither pleased nor put out by the revelation. All you want is to leave this cell. Once is lucky, twice is coincidence. You don’t want to find out if you’ll survive your third visit…

It doesn’t offer a response beyond lowering its head and staring straight down at you again, an upsetting display that leaves you feeling as though you’re being pinned by the gaze of a hunter.

“So, can I come out now, or...?” you ask the people on the other side of the window without taking your eyes off the towering brute. There’s only half a containment cell separating you from it.

You don’t realise at first why nobody responds to you.

Their silence is quick to make sense however, when there’s a sudden sound to your right.

At the disturbance, you nearly trip over your own feet in your haste to face the noise, and as you do, the SCP follows suit, its tail hurtling up into position above its head, aimed with rigid precision at a large panel of the otherwise featureless wall that’s suddenly sprung open.

A door, you realise belatedly.

And your stomach drops the moment you remember exactly what kind of door it is.

You’ve only seen it in operation once, in a much different cell with a much different SCP.

D-Class call them ‘feeding tubes.’

The Lab Coats call them ‘crushes;’ close-fitting cages hidden behind the walls of a cell where drugged up livestock are held until the scientists release them into an SCP’s unit for consumption….

‘Dinner time.’

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss through your teeth.

You can’t see around the corner into the crush, but goddamn, you can hear the very recognisable bellow of an animal that’s just come around from sedation, its hooves stamping in confused fury against the metal floor beneath it.

A stomach-lurching snarl punches through the air and draws a cry of fright from your lungs. The SCP’s hackles are raised, bulging and bristling as it snaps at something you can’t yet see, its black fangs protruding from dark gums, and the pupils in its golden stare shrinking down to pinpricks.

And worst of all, bad enough to put the fear of death back into your quibbling heart, is the arm it raises slowly into the air, the all-too familiar whirring of machinery filling your ears as the cylinders near its elbow start to rotate - a gatling gun gearing up to fire.

The animal in the crush snorts madly, and with an abrupt rattling of metal followed by a clang and a thud, it charges from its confines and hurtles through the gap into the cell, a blur of black hair and dark, rolling eyes and a pair of horns lancing forwards from the top of its head.

It’s a bull.

Massive, terrified, furious.

You let out an embarrassing bleat when he bursts into the cell.

Almost at once, he catches sight of the titan in front of him, and he throws his head back with a snort, cloven hooves scrabbling to find purchase on the smooth concrete floor as he skids to a halt just several yards shy of the looming SCP.

You can only reason that he’s burned through the sedative quicker than anticipated. Usually, the livestock are so drowsy, they’ll stand stock still and do absolutely nothing to stop themselves from being killed or eaten alive by the SCPs.

Even months down the line, you still shudder to recall the time you painted the floor of SCP-5031’s cell with the contents of your stomach after witnessing it slice mercilessly into an unfortunate sheep.

You’re really not eager to have a repeated incident here.

Flanks quivering with adrenaline, the bull’s bulging eyes stare up at the colossus in front of him. And then, as bulls are often wont to do, he begins to size up his opponent.

Your heart flips upside down in your chest as you wedge yourself firmly into the corner, blood-shot eyes darting up to the SCP’s gun arm.

Why hasn’t it fired yet?

The gun is still humming, aimed squarely at the poor animal, but all its wielder does is snap its fangs together a few times, not unlike a bird clacking its beak to warn others off its territory.

In response, the bull huffs a breath through wide nostrils, sweat clinging to his glossy shoulders. Then, tossing his horns and turning to the side, he begins a back-and-forth trot from left to right in front of the SCP, who tracks the agitated creature’s movements steadily with its weapon.

But still, it doesn’t shoot.

Your knocking knees can’t hold you up any longer, and they give out quite promptly, forcing you to hunker down instead. The position in your corner is too open, too vulnerable. If bullets do start flying, you need to be as tiny a target as possible.

Breathing fast and hard, your vision starts to swim as you shoot a desperate, pleading glance at the window, praying to a god you no longer believe in that one of the Lab Coats will take pity on you and open the door.

It’s wishful thinking at its finest.

The bull’s moos only seem to grow increasingly frantic with each second that ticks by, shrill and broken as though he too is calling for help the only way he knows how. He paces like a caged rat, looking for an escape even as he continues throwing his head down and tilting his horns in the SCP’s direction. A meagre threat to be sure, but the bull isn’t to know that.

And as for the entity, while its arm continues to follow the bull's path across the room, its only outward acknowledgement of the animal in its cell is to utter a slow, continuous growl that seems to build towards an inevitable crescendo.

“Come on,” you breathe, teeth chattering between the words, “Open the fucking door!”

You shouldn’t have opened your mouth. You shouldn’t have made a sound. If only you’d just shut up and hunkered down in your corner, perhaps you wouldn’t have drawn any attention to yourself.

One of the bull’s ears flicks backwards, and all of a sudden, he wrenches himself away from the SCP and spins around on his hooves to face you, head held high and the whites of his eyes shining clear as day against his jet-black hair.

You meet that gaze; and understand. You’re both cattle here. Just a pair of frightened animals trapped against their wills with a common enemy who outmatches you in every conceivable aspect.

But the bull, of course, doesn’t think like you do. He doesn’t know you’re just as afraid as he is. He’s been brought here by creatures who look and sound and smell like you, and now here’s one of them: standing in front of him like a target, stark against his grey-walled cage with hard floors and no familiar sky over his head.

A bull doesn’t consider the fairness in a fight. A threat is a threat, no matter the size.

Tail whipping madly through the air, the bull leans back on his hindquarters, and before you can blink, he abruptly surges forwards into a head-long charge, nose tucked into his chest, horns aimed with deadly precision at your abdomen.

You don’t even notice when the SCP’s growls cut out. You’re too busy throwing your hands up in front of you and wrenching your head away from the charging missile, letting your jaw hang open around a silent scream. If you had the time, you’d pause to reflect on the irony of being killed by the least likely suspect.

As it is, the bull is only a few strides from you, hooves flying, thick neck rippling with muscle that’s about to thrust forwards and impale you on an entirely new set of horns. He bellows, the haunting din deafening to your ringing ears, and then he –

‘-BLAM!’

There’s an almighty thud, and something wet splatters across your shaking palms.

At last, your scream catches on a vocal cord, and the sound rips out of you like a wailing siren.

Someone in the observation room must have left the microphone on because you can suddenly hear an exclamation of ‘Jesus Christ!’

Your eyes are screwed shut so tightly, it’ll take a crowbar to pry them open again.

Even as the mechanical whir of machinery dies down, even as something with titanic lungs heaves deep, grunting breaths, even as the ground beneath your plimsoles vibrates with the fall of enormous feet, you don’t look.

You can’t.

You can’t… until out of nowhere, in a suddenly deafening quiet, your right hand is promptly and unexpectedly nudged.

Another piercing shriek fills the room as you wrench your eyes open and come face to face with a wall of silver and grey.

“FUCK!” you yelp, collapsing onto your backside but finding there’s nowhere to retreat to with your spine squashed up against the wall.

The SCP’s head is hovering before you, mere feet away, its yellow eyes almost crossing over one another to peer down at you, utterly still and disconcertingly silent.

‘Oh god. Oh god. Oh god….’ The words repeat in your head like a mantra, rapid-fire and frenetic.

But you don’t make a sound out loud.

Your mouth dangles open, not a breath nor a wheeze slipping in through your teeth as you wait, blood pounding in your ears. Somehow, even your body knows to be still. You’ve stopped shaking, too afraid for the adrenaline to control your muscles.

The instinct to play dead has taken over.

Through tear blurred eyes, you can see the SCP up close for the first time, the blank, white pupils floating in pools of gold, the charcoal skin sitting beneath the sockets of its visor, each nick and scrape zigzagging across the surface of its silver helm….

You let out a squeak when it pries its jaws apart and chuffs a hot breath over your face, catching the finer hairs at the side of your head and blowing them off your scalp. The air from its lungs smells acrid, and it burns your nose when you accidentally inhale.

It takes everything in you not to choke.

You wait for the bite. For the agony of those giant teeth sinking into your body and crushing you between them with a flex of its jaws. You wait, and wait, and wait, unheeding of the commotion occurring in the observation room. You only have eyes for the entity now, as though even taking the tiniest of glances away and breaking eye contact might spur it to attack.

Its horns, much like the bulls, jut forwards, each one a massive spear that hems you in on both sides, their tips nearly pressed to the wall to your left and right so that there’s truly nowhere to go.

"Please," you whisper, though it comes out wobbling, "Please, don't..."

A single blink is your only reply.

Then, as suddenly as it had crouched in front of you, the SCP - apparently satisfied with its impromptu inspection - lifts its great, silver head and stands up, moving away from you once more. Its leg stretches backwards, stepping deftly over the dark shape of -…

Oh…

Oh dear.

The bull lays dead on his front, hooves tucked up underneath his stomach. He had died collapsing forwards. And the only tell of what had killed him comes from a still smoking hole in the back of his skull. Murky eyes stare out at nothing and blood trickles in a steady stream from his nose, tongue lolling.

At first, your eyes dart over his entire body in search of wounds similar to those you saw on the D-Classes who died in here, but even with the fluorescent overheads lighting up every angle, you can’t pick out any other damage to his otherwise pristine pelt.

There’s only one wound.

One shot to the back of the head. Quick… Merciful.

Your eyes raise to the SCP’s gun arm and see that from one of the barrels, a dainty wisp of smoke is drifting steadily up towards the ceiling.

SCPs aren’t merciful.

What the Hell is this thing?

Peeling your bone-dry tongue off the roof of your mouth, you tilt your head back and gape up at the face of the entity towering above you. Its arm is reaching out for the bull, and you can do nothing but watch aghast as its clawed hand curls around the animal’s back legs and drags him back towards the opposite wall on the other end of the cell.

Slowly, methodically, it bends down onto its haunches and squares its stance over the bull, hissing at the Lab Coats behind their window like a lion guarding its kill. And like a lion, it doesn’t seem intent on letting the meat go to waste.

By the time the secondary door has begun to rise, you’ve scrunched your eyes shut again and slapped both hands over your ears to try and block out the sickening cacophony of snapping bones and the squeak of flesh being torn from muscle.

Staggering into the loading dock, you barely make it three steps inside before you collapse onto your knees, then your side, a wide-eyed, shivering mess of a human being.

Two guards have to haul you up by the arms, and without prompt, they drag you, crying hysterically, back to your cell.

#darksiders #scp #scp fandom #strife x reader #reader #D Class

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sweetbunpura · 2 months ago

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Take what you can. Give nothing back...

I was looking at Jack Sparrow quotes (I love POTC 1-3~) and I can't help the idea of Yuu saying the quotes....but in a Pirate AU.

Yuu's been an absolute menace on the seas, out of the Eight Sovereigns of the ocean, she is the one the government can't keep tabs on. They hope to weed her out somehow, learning that Yuu rescues anyone stranded or people needing help from an sinking ship. The leaders of the government think of an idea and if it means sacrificing one of their own....they'll do it.

They command Rollo, one of the new captains, to try and find Yuu who will no doubt lead them to the rest of the Sovereigns. But unknown to Rollo, they load up his ship with explosives. While they're docked in the ocean for the night, the explosives go off, sending the ship and it's crew members into the ocean. Ramshackle, Yuu's flagship, comes to their aid as their lookout had seen the explosion.

Sadly, Rollo's the only survivor as the crew pulls him aboard, he passes out before he has a chance to see Captain Homura. He wakes up the next day in the infirmary, startles their doctor as he stumbles his way out onto deck to see he's been taken "prisoner" by the pirates.

While the crew watches him, some faces Rollo's seen in the bounty pictures: Ace and Deuce from the Heartslabyul, Jack from the Savanclaw, Floyd from the Octavinelle, Epel from the Pomefiore, Ortho from the Ignihyde, and Sebek from the Diasomnia. There where three people he was unware of watching him from the mast. A ginger haired man with fox ears and tail, a tall man with white hair and black shades, and a young boy with cat ears and tail.

Before he could say anything, footsteps are heard behind him.

"Finally up are we?"

It was Captain Homura.

#twst rambles #twisted wonderland #Pirates of NRC #rollo flamme #yuu homura

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goth-mami-writer · 6 months ago

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♡•Feel Sick•♡ (pt.2)

~(AU) Leon Kennedy × f!Reader fic

⚠️TW⚠️: plot contains themes of age gap romance (reader is 18yo), obsessive behaviors, mild instances of stalking, coercion, emotional manipulation and graphic smut. (Please interact with discretion ♡)

♡Find part one {_here_}♡

@badasseddy 🖤

《 You saw as both your parents were passed out drunk on Leon's guest sofa downstairs in the basement living space he prepared for guests and you shook your head while you moved for the door.

After slipping through the sliding glass that would lead you into the dock house, you got this twinge in your stomach. Something was telling you that this wasn't about getting away from your parents at all- you were excited to be alone with Leon. With that thought, you tried to set aside any feelings that might make your heart race a little faster but it quickly failed.

“It's just a little crush. Just something stupid because I'm a girl and he's a guy…” You said trying to reason with yourself internally.

When you entered the large open boat house where Leon already stood aboard the cabin cruiser he owned, you felt yourself hurrying in pace to get across the dock as he called out towards you,

“There she is. About to think I got stood up.”

He unlooped one of the many ropes away from the holding post on the dockside to begin untying the tethers from the anchor and you chuckled in reply coming aboard,

“I don't have anything better to do.”

You saw a cooler placed on the deck near the steering mount and you searched for a bottle of water he might've had cooling inside. But when you opened the lid, you saw it was loaded with long neck bottles of beer hidden amongst the ice.

You turned your head mischievously seeing that with his attention elsewhere right now, it would be too easy to get away with sneaking a beer. But there was one problem with that plan- you'd never be able to crack away the metal cap on top without a considerable amount of help, so you sighed.

Then, tried a new approach.

“Hey Leon?” You asked over your shoulder with a falsified charm in your tone,

“Yeah?” He answered.

“Can I have a beer?”

He quickly turned his head with narrowed eyes to that surprising inquiry that almost became an immediate ‘hell no’. First he wondered where you got the guts to actually ask him to drink while still being underage but something then crossed his mind. He made sure the boat was finally untethered completely and he crossed his arms to face you from across the deck,

“You want to drink a beer?”

You only nodded your head with a feigned confidence that Leon could see right through and he nodded to see how long it would hold up once you actually went through with this stunt.

“Alright, sure.”

He moved to the steering mount where he already had a beer opened for himself in the cupholder and he handed you the bottle with a heedful mention before you took it,

“If you can finish one drink of my beer without making a face from how nasty it tastes, you can have it. Deal?”

You accepted what sounded to be a challenge and took the glass bottle in your grip. You placed the narrow rim to your lips and took a courageous mouthful of the summer lager that he enjoyed. You tried to keep your face hardened away from a reaction to the taste. It was awful. Bitter and somehow aromatic like gasoline in your throat. When your lip started trembling, quickly you faltered and grimaced from disgust.

“Yeah, spit it out. Go on.” Leon said with a nod as he glanced over to the edge of the hull.

After you spewed out your first taste of beer, he chuckled watching you try and smack away the flavor as he began to sit in the driver's seat to begin turning the key in the ignition. You felt the engine power up and you took a seat behind him, feeling stupid for that little act when he mentioned,

“Why do you wanna grow up so fast, huh? Beer doesn't make you any older or wiser, sweetie.”

The boat began to drift away from the dock slowly in reverse and you just said with a shrug as you got comfortable on the padded seat on the back deck,

“I dunno. Just never tried it?”

When the wind began to toss your hair and you felt the gentle waves of the water jostling the boat as he drove, you felt at peace for the first time in what felt like weeks. There weren't any deadlines for graduation or fees due by the end of whatever. It was nothing but his silence.

You pulled your hoodie closer as the wind began to bring a chill to your skin since you only wore your bikini underneath your thin sweatshirt and Leon noticed you balling yourself up into the seat. After a final swig from the beer he had kept on the boat's dash, he shifted the engine into a lower gear, letting the motor hum lower as their speed lessened on the water more steadily.

“You wanna drive?” He asked turning his chair away slightly to face you and your smile brightened immediately to the offer.

You came closer, wondering why he wasn't getting up but then watched as he merely scooted back in the seat, patting the space he'd made now with his knees open. Your blood chilled to know that you'd practically be sitting in his lap to do this and you couldn't hesitate now.

When you eased down into the seat, your hands met the wheel of the boat, only to be instructed by Leon on how to drive when the water was this dark and you listened as he spoke over your shoulder. He shrugged off his dark windbreaker to put it over your shoulders to keep you warm and you blushed darkly, feeling relieved that you were both somewhat still in the dark.

“So-” He said over the quieter noise that consisted now of the soft water beneath the hull and the murmuring engine,

“Tell me why this little boy of yours decided to ditch you. Is he moving away to college or something?”

“No-” You spat with your expression immediately souring at the thought.

“It's dumb, I promise.” You said, hoping to not annoy him with your teenage melodrama of being dumped by a loser who only wanted to screw you.

“Can't be that dumb if it had you that upset.” Leon mentioned with his hands suddenly resting over yours on the wheel.

Your heart began to gallop but you watched as he steered the boat now into a secluded spot edged with trees on the shoreline and he turned off the engine with a jerk to the ignition. His arms were curved around you as he maneuvered and fidgeted with the dash and you watched his focused face assure that all of his dials and meters read correctly before he removed the key.

“Come on-” he said tapping your shoulder to stand up,

“I just got a new sectional put in below deck, let's go stretch out while you tell why you let some jerk off get you so tore up.”

He rubbed your arm sweetly as you stood to begin heading down the narrow stairs that took you below deck. He had a quaint living space that included a small counter made for bare minimum kitchen appliances but a much larger sitting room complete with a modest TV and entertainment center. He turned on the television with a flick from the remote and moved to one of the kitchen cabinets as you sat down on the sectional sofa.

He tossed a long string of red licorice in your lap from behind and then plopped beside you, shamelessly manspreading in his cargo pants when you looked over in thanks that he remembered your favorite candy.

You bit a small piece from the end, fidgeting with the wrapper and then saw that he was still in wait with a playful expression for the rundown on your breakup and you sighed to begin explaining,

“He said…I'm too naive- whatever…that means.”

“Oh, bullshit.” Leon said with his arm stretched over the back of the sofa as the TV chattered between you,

“You? Too naive? He's an idiot, first of all. What- so he just…wanted someone to screw around with?”

You blushed deeply, afraid to tell him by that reaction that you were infact a virgin with very little experience so you only shrugged, mentioning that your ex didn't go into much more detail at the time. Leon only sat down his beer with a clunk to the small coffee table and mentioned with care in his tone,

“Well, it sounds like you dodged a bullet, kid. Don't let someone make you feel bad like that. There's no way he's worth it.”

You looked down with your ankles crossed now to the tension of feeling that it needed to be said to complete the picture of what happened so you said plainly, not even looking up to speak,

“But..he's right though?”

“What do you mean?” Leon asked in reply, turning his gaze over.

You felt your blood boiling now, and you felt even your chest becoming rosey when your voice turned mousey in a stutter,

“I'm….I mean- I've..never-”

“No way.” Leon interrupted, seeming to sit up straighter in case he was understanding this wrong. This was a delicate question and it was none of his business more importantly but he became...curious,

“Sweetheart, are you…a virgin?”

Your crossed ankles began to shake and Leon neared closer watching you quietly fall apart to tell him ‘yes’. A tender smile came to his mouth when he noticed your nerves unravel to explain exactly why but he calmed you with a touch against your shoulder when he said to ease you,

“Baby girl, you don't have to explain yourself. Trust is all it's about and you're making all the right choices, okay? Don't let some dumbass kid pressure you into that because he'll feel cooler. That's all it is.”

You nodded, but felt your face becoming hot with what you knew to be embarrassment and he only shushed you again before pulling you into a soft hug. You fell into his arms with all of your worries in the past few days all seeming to bubble up at once. Sniffling into his collar, you felt reduced down to merely inches of dignity left but he cupped your head as he held you against him sweetly.

“I just want to be like other girls. I wanna be pretty and…noticed-” You said with trembling lips amid your tears while Leon petted his hand over your hair to soothe you.

“You are pretty, baby. What are you talking about? You're a knockout.” Leon mentioned to console you as you became wrapped around him,

“Hell- i'm a little surprised to know you're a virgin. Must be something wrong with these boys. You don't trust them, do you?”

You shook your head as it rested on his shoulder and his hand caressed your back as you wiped the remainder of your tears. His mouth calling you pretty felt like a final straw at long last confirming what you knew to be true. You did have a crush on Leon. It was true and it wasn't something small.

Not anymore at least.

You felt more comfortable than you had been in months and that warmth finally gave you the courage to say what you'd realized in those fleeting moments,

“I only trust you, Leon.”

He felt his expression change hearing that. Your father was his best friend in the world. More than that, your father was his same age- meaning he, himself, was old enough to be your father. If that was the case, why was he feeling as though you wanted more? Did he…want more too?

Even if you did, it was wrong. He thought of what your dad might do if he found out…his best friend had eyes for his only daughter. With that image, he began to draw back mentally until it felt that there was another card being placed into play:

You weren't a child anymore. He loved you. You were his girl and his sidekick through and through.

You were intelligent and level headed. Maybe a little naive but he couldn't expect more from a girl trying to navigate a world after high-school. He thought of these boyfriends and how quick they'd be to ruin something so innocent as a ‘first time’. It made his blood hot thinking of some kid using you as a piece of meat. The protective instincts he felt might end someone on sight for mistreating you and one thing only felt right.

His next idea felt crazy and it was but his heart began to flutter and his veins began swelling with what he felt to be want. The realization set in for what he wanted, which…could be what you might've wanted to and he felt daring as he whispered to you while you lied against him,

“Your first time needs to be special and I don't want some little boy taking advantage of you, doll. You're a woman now-….

His touch still petted against you but now at the small of your back as he continued to whisper into your ear warmly with words that engulfed you with heat however and your body began to burn with delight,

“You want me to help you earn a little experience…with someone who's gonna keep you safe? I'd never hurt you, sweetheart and if you trust me, we're halfway there.”

Your cheeks ignited in blush and your legs shook, to which he cupped a firm, steadying palm against your knee to ground you in place while you replied,

“Leon…I won't be..good at it- I probably can't even..make you-”

“Slow down-” He said, interrupting your words so you wouldn't worry further about trying to please him,

“This isn't about me. This is about showing my girl how she needs to be treated when she finally gets a boyfriend that's worth a damn. I don't want you to impress me, I just want you to feel comfortable and feel good. Think of it like a little practice run, okay?”

You often wondered how someone could ‘learn’ to have sex and now that the opportunity arose here with him, your skin was crawling with need. Your reddened face pulled away, weighing all the cons of this insane, absolutely shameless idea of having one of your dad's friends take your virginity but what held you tightly was the truth that Leon would never hurt you. But if your father found out, your world might possibly split in half from his fury and you needed to know that this would stay secret.

"You swear you won't tell my Dad?” You asked before letting yourself go through with this, but a smile was growing on your troublemaking mouth.

“He won't know a thing…unless you tell him.” Leon said, nodding his head in confirmation, asking for your last word of consent and you agreed.

He stood up and tilted his head to the side where there was a small sleeping space towards the back of the cabin, the bed was small but you didn't care.

“Come on, let me show you…how this is done.” He said taking your hand to begin leading you. 》

Part 3 coming soon! ♡

#leon kennedy au #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil 4

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ulysses000 · 1 month ago

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Revolutionary Yonji AU

Yonji spotted Sanji running away during the attack on East blue and chased after him. They started fighting on the ship, which immediately sailed away. Then somehow in the midst of the dialog and childish fighting, Sanji said that he was all gone and wasn't bothering anyone and to fuck off in general. That's when Yonji realized that he didn't give a fuck about Sanji, he was in the middle of the fucking sea, with no communication and no idea how to get back to Germa. He started showing off in a “get me some dendenmushi quick, I need to call my dad to get me out of here and sink your fucking boat” kind of way. A crowd of cooks tied him up to keep him calm and dropped him off on the nearest island.

It's a bit of a conspiracy theory, I guess, but it's okay. Anyway, uh, Judge was let through Red line... So his attack on East Blue was conventionally “legalized” by the government (I just don't want to even allow the idea that Judge could cheat the “customs”…. he definitely just came and directly said “I'm going to conquer the islands”), so Marines were not there, but there was a revolutionary army, which is very fond of East Blue.

Yonji managed to get to Cozia, fucked up about the war, how the clones were being slaughtered, how the civilians were suffering. He docked on the other shore and some old lady sheltered him there for a while, he thought she was nice because she turned a blind eye to his brash behavior, and then the old lady was killed by a clone. Yonji got tilt, started beating this clone with anger, and then by tradition Dragon appeared behind him and stopped him with the words “it won't help her…….”.

In short, the little guy had a rough couple of days: Sanji told him some things on the ship, but he still brought him food; he got angry at the people who didn't want to give him a boat to go back to Cozia; he felt for that granny, who treated him well, but she was killed because of his own fault (or rather because of Judge's fault)…. In general, Dragon told him some pathos things and Yonji decided to stay with him to think it over………

Then he probably saw Sabo and what happened to him and tilted even more….

(1)"Sometimes I think back to my childhood. My father. My brothers. Sister. Mum. Sometimes I think about travelling to North Blue, just to see them..... This is gonna sound weird. But I envy you. I'd love to forget my past." (2)"Hey! What's wrong?" (3) But sometimes not remembering hurts more than remembering, because sooner or later the past will come back to haunt you.

I like the concept of Yonji quietly visiting on Egghead and hanging out with Vegapunk))) and Bonney with Kuma!!! Because I think for a long time Yonji denied science and stuff because of what happened in his childhood, but Vegapunk would load him up with populist speeches, super dreams and change his mind + they talk about Judge's youth!!!

#one piece #jewelry bonney #vinsmoke yonji #one piece sabo #revolutionary sabo #sabo #revolutionary army #emporio ivankov #vegapunk

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godihatethiswebsite · 8 months ago

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Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part 2 - Cultivating a curious mind

You know what? I blame @dragonnarrative-writes for all of this. It's all their fault for poking this part of my brain in the first place even though I was originally just trying to poke theirs ><

There were only so many places you'd been allowed to go growing up even with a chaperone at your side. Mother brought you up the way any well respected young lady should be, and to be honest you felt much more at home in your skirts and dresses working on your drawings in the parlor than you did climbing over the fence in your backyard like your cousin convinced you to. But your father worried Kyle was improperly rubbing off on you and wanted to find you something to fill your head with where you could still be kept an eye on.

His solution: the Museum of Antiquities in Cairo.

After all, how much trouble could you get into reading about dead guys? At least they wouldn't be trying to chase your skirts as you got older.

Father owned his own shipping company that dealt with the transport of goods and wares, ancient artifacts included. He knew the people who were in charge of the facilities and thought this could be a replacement for the adventures your cousin liked to try to drag you on.

The beautifully painted sarcophagi drew in your imagination like a moth to a flame, chiseled sculptures and pillars depicting ancient beings far different than the god you'd been brought up believing in. And weren't you just the most well behaved little girl when your father brought you along on his business trips. All he had to do was put a book in your hand about the Old Kingdom and you'd stay seated right where he left you until it was time to leave. The drawings in your room turned less from pretty landscapes and fresh vases to imitations of the reliefs you'd seen from photographs of burial chamber walls. Your mother was slightly alarmed at first, but once she saw you still happily keeping up with your piano lessons and needlework she quickly gave in.

Once you were old enough to walk around the city by yourself, you stopped by the museum at least once a week just to spend hours wandering the halls - sometimes more if you noticed a new shipment of wares showing up on your father's ledgers that week slated for delivery. Always so eager to witness the unveiling of new items even if they'd never get put on display. One of the perks of growing up around the loading docks and being a sweet well mannered child to the workers.

You didn't work at the museum with Dr. John Price, but you'd frequented there an awful lot to have come to decent terms with the man. Always gruff, a bit rough around the edges, but boy did he have a mind for antiquities.

He wasn't always the easiest man to deal with; someone who didn't have time for the stupidity that came with being around the uneducated masses during business hours. He'd been working there in some capacity or another since you'd first became a patron, though back in those days he'd been a lot less rigid.

At one point you'd been barred from looking at a book that your father deemed had too much suggestive material in it - it was a tome about Tawaret, goddess of childbirth and fertility - and sent over to your favorite reading chair with something about Pepi II instead. Try as you might you couldn't get into it, mind still lingering on the forbidden subject which was just the latest in your stream of mythology research. You'd been half-heartedly flipping through the pages when a shadow passed you by and casually deposited the desired reading material in your lap, not even bothering to glance your way as he kept moving and turned down another aisle. He was clean shaven back then, but he'd made an impression as a kindred spirit willing to look the other way.

Now almost twenty years later you did your best to stay out of his way and disturb him as little as possible, but every so often you'd be fortunate enough to stumble upon him on a good day where he'd indulge you on certain topics of conversation that flowed smoothly, allowing you to see the lingering passionate twinkle of a younger man hiding behind eyes so full of wisdom and tired experience.

(And if you happened by chance to occassionally pass by a tall, large, tank of a dark robed man waiting patiently for his turn to have an audience with Price on your way out of his office - following you with his deep brown eyes and a cloth cover shrouding the lower half of his face from view - you kept your gaze to the floor and gave him a wide respectful berth, only risking a glance back at the individual long enough to see the broad planes of his back disappearing behind Price's door with a click of the lock)

<< ✿ Previous ✿ << ✽ >> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[Edited 5/8/24: changed formatting, title, tags, and numbering system]

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blood-grove · 10 months ago

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unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 3 -> next

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv

a/n; hehehehemuahauahahahahaa (also realized the abuse tw doesnt rlly apply much its more like past abuse then current so ill fix that.) also i dont believe in proofreading (im lazy) also im not good at dialogue or sticking to povs....:(

The mer was in horrible condition by the time they had located them, Sightings from swimmers, surfers, and divers anyone that could have briefly seen them.

They had finally got a lead and the team was off, It didn't take but a couple of hours to find the injured Mer it didn't seem to disturbed at our presence yet till of course it seemed to notice us finally starting to swim away.

Susan one of our head researchers loading the tranquilizer gun as we prepared things around the boat, From what he could see the mer seemed to be in worse condition on the skinnier side and scarred beyond thought possible glimpse of sunburn scars also confused him.

"Where'd ya even find da' poor ol' sap like that Gaz?"

"Around the dock was on a break..nearly thought it was a corpse till it swam away."

"Creepy.."

He nodded sighing as they started up the boat again steering themself to be on line with the mer that must of noticed they were being followed they had started at a quicker pace of swimming which no doubt was hurting there injuries even worse pulling up beside them with the both allowing Susan to take proper aim.

A first hit there tail fin when they tried to quickly surface for air which sent them into a panic he felt anxious they would get away as they got another dart ready

They seemed to feeling the dart in full effect as they tried to shake the dart off there struggles gradually weakening when Susan had already reloaded getting a good shot on there back as the mer tried to dive deeper.

Recovering there now unconscious form had been relatively easy they were on the small size of Orca mer as they were laid on the boat heading course back to the facility as the medics on board got to work with patching up some of there injuries some would need surgery to be properly stitched up and fully sanitized.

He sighed as he looked over the mer sighing as he gave a gently pat to it's tail it hurt him to see them in such a state.

"As far as our examination goes we can't get a definite age but they are a full adult, There underweight so slipping in supplements and more high fat content in there food is a must.." A medic would explain as they both watched the Orcas surgery from behind glass.

"A lot of there wounds were infected but in the early stages so recovery from them might be a easy enough process.."

"You think there wounds are the cause of them being underweight?"

"We don't think so the wounds would be much more infected than they were now if it had been from a while back.."

Gaz sighed as he shifted.

"I'll go talk with Price-"

He turned heading out as he started down the hall.

He always thought this place needed some decorations besides the main lobby and a few other rooms the hallways were bare made the place feel more sterile and void always made him shiver or maybe it was the cool A/C that the old man was so stubborn about.

It didn't take him long to reach Price around the pool area.

"Garrick, How'd it go?"

"Better than expecting there gonna be leavin' to the rehab pools soon enough..You think they'll be big enough?"

"Pretty sure we've handle Mer's bigger than em' right?"

Gaz nodded, "There pretty small mer poor thing's underweight and got a infection'"

Price hummed as he picked up what he was working on before Gaz came in.

"You heard about Shadow's Shore getting a bunch of there 'attractions' stolen?"

Shadow's Shore, God those bastards they were notorious for kidnapping or even killing merfolk for sport.

The merfolk they kidnapped were usually children easiest to grab and place into there tanks treated no more than a mindless creature they usually didn't live there entire lifespans which was still unknown for most merfolk due to people like Shadow's Shore taking them while there young just for them to die barely even adults.

Video's from the place made his blood boil forced to do tricks, Getting treats as if they were a dogs, And god that annoying baby talk.

Merfolk were basically on the same intelligence level as human even rumored to have there own general language and species specific language yet laws in a lot of places refused to see them as such allowing Shadow Shore to stay open for the money it brought in.

The merfolk that were hunted were treated like trophy kills let out into small pools where they where shot and held up to pose with the person who paid to kill them.

Gaz shivered he still remember that video that was quickly covered up by the press, That poor mer crawling desperately out of the pool trying to get away so many arrows sticking out it.

Gaz quickly shook himself out of that thought focusing back in front of him.

"Really? fuckers would of deserved it..What'd made you bring this up?"

"They lost a few of there Orca Mer's"

a/n; cutting this short here cuz its literally 1 am as i finish this part off LMAO if this isnt as good as the other ones blame 1 am kron 🫠 also loreee ! loreee! some background info into this world :))))

#cod #gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz x gn!reader #reader #gender neutral reader #gaz x reader #captain john price #john price #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soapghost #merfolk au #fanfic #eeeee <3 #amateur writer

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hopeforchanges · 2 months ago

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*matthew mcconaughey enters the chat*

alright alright alright fellas how do we feel about an au where Galadriel, a commander in the High King's service, is dispatched to a desolate outpost in the far reaches of Middle-earth—a remote coastal village overlooked by the rest of the world. Her task? To guard an ancient relic that could tip the balance of power in the eternal struggle against Sauron. The mission is cloaked in such secrecy that she’s forbidden from disclosing her presence, let alone the true purpose of her assignment, to anyone.

She doesn’t expect much to happen in such an isolated place. But Galadriel, being Galadriel, can’t let well enough alone. One evening, restless and needing an escape from the crushing solitude, she ventures into the town’s tavern. There, she overhears whispers of a slaver ship docked at the harbor, its captives destined for the black markets of Umbar.

Galadriel doesn’t hesitate. Under the cover of night, she infiltrates the ship, intending to free the prisoners. Her plan is flawless until it isn’t—she’s discovered by the slavers just as she begins unlocking the captives’ chains. Before she can fight her way out, another intruder crashes the scene: a rogue sailor and smuggler named Halbrand, armed with nothing but sheer audacity and a blade sharper than his tongue.

Halbrand commandeers the entire operation, loading the freed prisoners (and an increasingly frustrated Galadriel) onto his ship and sailing them to safety. When they’re finally free, Galadriel realizes her predicament: she cannot return to her outpost without arousing suspicion, nor can she explain her mission to Halbrand. Meanwhile, Halbrand assumes she’s one of the captives he’s rescued—a noblewoman perhaps, judging by her sharp gaze and sharper words.

Bound by circumstance, Galadriel finds herself aboard Halbrand’s ship, playing the role of an enigmatic survivor. She’s constantly torn between her sense of duty and her growing reluctance to leave. Halbrand, for his part, is intrigued by her. There’s a storm in her eyes that speaks of battles fought and lost, and he can’t help but feel a strange connection to her—something he doesn’t quite understand but doesn’t want to lose.

As they sail across Middle-earth, smuggling goods, dodging corsairs, and helping the downtrodden, Galadriel begins to see the world through Halbrand’s eyes. She’s fascinated by his wit, his resilience, and the surprising kindness he hides beneath his roguish charm. Halbrand, in turn, finds himself captivated by her fire and her unshakable sense of purpose, even when she tries so hard to mask it.

But secrets have a way of surfacing. As Galadriel struggles with her hidden mission and the growing weight of her feelings for Halbrand, she begins to wonder: has she found something worth fighting for beyond her duty? And will Halbrand, if he ever learns the truth, see her as a betrayer or the unexpected gift he’s starting to believe she is?

#what the fuck is he doing corsair-ing through the sundering seas #well #he was once randomly on a raft and we didn´t question it for like 8 episodes #so i thought i'd take my shot #will he ever reveal himself to be sauron #fuck around and find out i say #hope musings #the rings of power #haladriel #hope's aus

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kickingitwithkirk · 9 months ago

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Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 917

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, non/con, dub/con, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death, murder conviction, parental dominance, trafficking

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnkinkbb -DeanJohnSam @anyfandomdarkbingo -Free Space

A/N: UPDATED 3/24

A/N II: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N III: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

GIF by 1x20

PART III

Sam found himself in the warehouse's back area that had been altered, now a mixture of original storage on the left and prefabricated rooms to the right, with the loading dock straight ahead, where his wolf was leading him. The scent of home was strongly intermingling with blood where cursing and bodies impacting each other were echoing down the hallway, drawing Sam in.

A quick look-see around an open door revealed fluorescents bathing everything in washed-out colors: a very pretty, weeping, leashed O kneeling next to an expensively attired Alpha, passively observing two other Alphas engaged in a fight when one abruptly spun, spraying blood across the back walls not far from another lying in a pool of their blood on the floor. Enraged, the remaining Alpha redoubled their efforts to restrain a naked, blood-covered female who was, holy fuck, an O!

Sam watches, astonished that, while tiring, the O wasn't giving up when another Alpha wielding a blackjack shoves him out of the way, bludgeoning and knocking her to the floor, repeatedly striking to ensure she stayed down grabbed her collar and dragged the dazed O towards a line of heavy-duty dog crates stuffing her in one. While blackjack hauled out the bodies, the banged-up Alpha grabbed a hose washing blood down the floor drain, then turned it on the caged O when Sam’s brother rushed in, grabbing him.

“Sammy! What the fucks the matter with you!” Dean, visibly distraught, dragged him down the hallway, flashbacks to when Sam disappeared for two weeks after turning sixteen on his watch and when their Alpha returned, his atrocious reaction. “You promised me you’d never disappear like that again!” Right now, Dean wishes Sam was still unpresented and could discipline him when John, appearing relieved, quickly reverted to norms. “Sam, you ever do that again,” admonished his pup in a tight voice. He wasn’t expecting Sam’s I found the O response questions, “What are you talking about?” Sam pointed towards the room and exclaimed, “She killed two Alphas!”

“Are you sure it was an O?” John sounded doubtful when the palatable taste of the blood and the scent that led Sam back here hit him, making his wolf jolt at his overloaded senses and his canines elongate. John wrestled back control to his hunter intellect when his eldest growled, bolted back down the hallway, followed by Sam on his heels, and yelled, “Dean! Sam! Get your asses back here!”

Helms appears out of nowhere and sees Dean arguing with the suited Alpha. “Winchester, you have no right to be back here!” The suit stops arguing with Dean and turns on the Dealer. “You think you can sell me misrepresented goods, Helms?” Pointing to the cage rages, “I paid you an exorbitant price for twins. But you lied! Look at that thing!!” John peers back at the cage and sees the leashed O reaching into a wire cage, shaking the other one’s arm as Sam knelt next to her and, oh, holy shit, laid a hand on her shoulder.

John rushed over before the suit realized the young Alpha was touching their newly acquired property. “Step away from them, Sam.” Sam reluctantly got up as John squatted down to inspect them. The caged one curled up in a fetal position is larger than her sibling, but one can still see her full, pink lips and cinnamon-freckled skin, and she smells nothing like the other. Helms thought he could pass off these O’s as twins? No wonder the suit is pissed. The O whimpers, opening her uninjured, fox-tilted eye to reveal the iris’s unusual mosaic, and upon seeing Sam, a faint ring of gold manifests, and his wolf reciprocates.

John knew only one thing could override rut suppressants snapped, “Dean, get Sam out of here this instant!” Dean comes over, green eyes widening, and doubles-over groans out, “Sonuvabitch!”

“Dean! I gave you an order!”

Dean hobbled to his dazed brother, “Come on, Sammy!” They stagger for the door, using each other as a counterbalance. John returned his attention to the suit, still arguing with Helms about some contractual blah blah blah, felt a touch on his leg peers down at the O, whispering, “Alpha, please don’t let them kill her!”

John watches the caged one reach a shaking hand through the bars, stroking the other’s arm comfortingly. She has strong protective instincts, like Dean when Sam has one of his nightmares. John’s thoughts are interrupted by the suit hollers. “Hey! What the fuck you are doing over there?”

The suit stomps over, and John’s hackles go up, expecting an altercation. Instead, they take the O’s leash, leading her across the room to tether her to the doorknob before addressing him. “I understand you need an O to keep your son out of jail, so I’ll make you a deal. You can have that thing,” they point to the cage, “for a dollar. Save me the effort of getting rid of it.”

“You can’t make side deals in my establishment!” Helms screeched. The suit uses their status to dominate the Beta Dealer. “You lied about the product, and since I’ve signed all the contracts and a deal being a deal, as you keep pointing out, I can do whatever I want with my property.” The suit addresses John again, “Are you interested or not?” John gazes at the now unconscious caged O, then back to her twin, whose eyes plead for help.

“You have a deal.”

Part IV

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys

#winchester's folly 3/24 update #winchester's folly #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader x sam #dystopia #spn au #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #superntural #alpha dean winchester #alpha sam winchester #alpha john winchester

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thewisaaaaad · 4 months ago

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AAAAAND here's a bit more from Narinders Locker AU!

this time its about spooky cat himself, along with the failed vessel!

Narinder is very much the same, but instead wears a white coat with a red stripe down the middle. They are still a half skeletal cat, but his chains do not strictly keep him in place; the other captains just chained him to four anchors and threw him into the sea, after all. So he just drags himself across the seabed, looking through wreckages and searching for adventure with his two adopted demigods.

The lamb always knows where to find him, though. The crown makes a very handy compass.

Narinder loves fighting, more than everything else. Everything except his morals. When he was mortal, he loved to start bar fights, especially in defense of people who could not protect themselves. When he ascended to godhood with his family, it was his and Shamuras idea to include an oath to protect the mortals of the sea, to watch over them and not use them as tools, so as not to become the very gods they had set out to slay.

Narinder knows that one day he will no longer be a god. As per the oath, a Captain is chosen by their crew, not the other way around. And the lamb has a naturally magnetic personality, and a drive that pulls faithful crew to their side. One day, when the Captains have fallen, he will challenge them to a duel. He will naturally give up his godhood, but wants to go out on his terms: a blaze of glory, a legendary fight that the crew will talk of forever more. That will be his immortality, as his soul gets to rejoin his family in the deep.

But that isn't what happens, of course; the Thing in the Moon has other plans for their lost champion.

Ratau is an old bartender at this point, running a lonely tavern on an island far from the Captains strongholds. He holds on to the old Iron Veil, beached deep in the forest of the island he retired on, hidden within a lake at the center.

He has a sailors tongue, and passes the time playing nucklebones with his trader friends, when they come to visit.

When the small sloop loaded with woolly refugees docked at the lonely island, Ratau welcomed them with open arms, inviting them to stay the night at no cost. The sheep, exhausted from running, gladly took shelter with the unaligned tavern master.

While there, a young sheep took interest in his craft, and Ratau taught them many things, including a couple knife tricks to help defend their family.

Imagine their surprise when they see that same sheep show up at his bar in an empty ship once belonging to the green Captain, drenched and dripping seawater on his floor, bearing the red crown.

Both of them took time to mourn that day, and the Lamb has returned many times since.

#cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl au #narinders locker #i really don't know what i'm doing #cotl lamb #cotl ratau

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piratekenway · 1 year ago

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wheezes. with all this chaos in the servers, it's really only a matter of time until someone notices that, wait, hang on, why is Desmond accessing the servers when he's dead? possibly while all this chaos is happening, Shaun and Rebecca and Bishop and whoever else is on tech duty are trying to figure out who's using the old account and password. they haven't deleted it yet bc they're trying to track the activity—is it an initiate? somebody from those DedSec guys? a new player on the field?

meanwhile Desmond borrowed some rope darts from Shao Jun and is now using one to fast-rappel down onto the Notre Dame with Ezio and Altair and Evie coming along with him. I just like the idea of Ezio marveling at the architecture of Paris and meanwhile Desmond is just like oh shit this is the French Revolution. Ratonhnhaké:ton's on the ship since of this whole group he's the most experienced at captaining a ship, so he's just watching over it while they're parked above the Notre Dame.

Evie flat-out refused to stay on the ship while her brother and her beau are in danger, so she's the first to notice the Blighters mixing with the Extremists and the fact that something about the mechanics have changed. Desmond points out there's three server bridges around here, and knowing Jacob, Evie figures he'll be gunning for the one in Le Marais, near the Bastille.

HAHAH BELLEC. oh god. Arno tried to save him too, not quite as many times with Elise but still. but still. he and Jacob and Jayadeep rush up to the cell and Bellec is happy to see Arno, calls him pisspot just like he used to call Charles, and tells him that he's proud of him for doing the right thing and throwing off the Templar chains de la Serre and his girl laid on him. Arno says something about how he'd half-expected Bellec to get out of here by now, and Bellec says that he was searching for something through the prisons of Paris. "must've gotten thrown into a half-dozen prisons," he says wistfully, "just looking for clues."

"clues?" Jacob whispers.

"drawings on the wall, I don't know, it didn't come up again," Arno murmurs back. "we're breaking the sequence here, I should be in the cell with him," and he nods to the filthy mattress on the ground, "but needs must." he picks the lock to Bellec's cell just as the assault on the Bastille starts.

they need this gang war. they need to get this district free of the Extremists' grip. so Arno tells Bellec to go and get the other prisoners out, and to take down the Extremists and their leader, whoever it is. and if it's de la Serre's daughter who's the leader—

"kill her, sure," says Bellec.

"no," says Arno, quickly. "no, she's." he swallows. "I have to deal with her. you focus on getting out."

Bellec interprets this as Arno claiming a kill. Jacob and Jayadeep watch him go, then look at Arno and are just like. okay. what the fuck.

Ezio, in the meantime, keeps finding the Nostradamus enigmas all over Paris, while he and Desmond and Altair and Evie are trying to get through the French Revolution with heads still on their shoulders. (lol what if Ezio keeps being a target of various parties bc he's a nobleman and something in their programming is like Get Him.) except the riddles have changed and the reward for finding them isn't a key to unlock a room in the Cafe Theatre: it's a flash of an image, or a conversation. it's all badly corrupted, but he gleans just enough from each flash to be able to piece together a general idea of a location.

at first he wonders what the hell it is. then he hears Leonardo's name and it clicks: Juno has Leonardo, and even corrupted by her will, his friend is still, on some subconscious level, trying to aid them. resisting in the same way Thatch did.

the post is getting Too Long on my blog and it’s breaking my poor phone so. WHEE. new one!

gang sails off into the distance! and by “distance” I mean they’re high-tailing it into the Assassin servers in order to regroup and recuperate and figure out what the fuck to do now since. well. hey, they retrieved Desmond and they’ve kept him safe! uh. now what. if there were other Assassins’ memories in Abstergo, how long until they gain sentience as well? and how the fuck did Desmond and Jacob find a movie projector on the ship?

Desmond is still kind of reeling from everything that’s just happened, and to his surprise, despite the whole awkwardness surrounding Uh Fuckin Everything, the Kenways are willing to take him in, altho Edward somewhat morbidly jokes that their dysfunctional family being an improvement over his is really kind of sad when he thinks about it. then he offers to let him take a turn at the wheel—he needs to go see what they’ve done to the captain’s cabin anyway, he wasn’t able to since the collision and it’s probably messed with a few things.

they do need a base to operate out of for the time being. Davenport Manor is suggested, then somewhat reluctantly shot down bc of the two Templars around who are immediately like yeah uh No. Café Theatre is too cramped, although in a pinch it could do. the Frye twins’ train has little to offer in the way of bedrooms. Monteriggioni is considered and makes it into a top five list, only losing bc an entire town is a little too big and prone to glitches. (Desmond is a little peeved about it.) eventually everyone settles on finding a version of Great Inagua in the Assassin servers and regrouping there so they can figure out their next move. and maybe Edward is a little bit smug over it.

I do like the idea of Desmond teaching the gang how to really break shit in Abstergo, like—Juno is still in there, and there’s a possibility there might be more sentient data representations of dead Assassins (and dead Templars) rolling around now in the servers. Ezio shudders to think of Juno at the same time that Shay does, and they’re both concerned about the idea of Juno being able to simply possess somebody, and if she’s able to do that in the digital realm, there’s the lingering possibility of her being able to do that to an actual flesh and blood person. which nobody wants! so that’s on their priority list. and also all the other possibly-sentient people who might be running around the servers.

Arno and the twins and Henry listen to all of this, then sit in contemplation. then all three of them are like. oh shit we have to check on our simulations bc Lydia and Elise might also be gaining sentience and god KNOWS what they’re doing right now without us. who wants to come with, we’ve got spare clothes for you. (aka: how to justify the legacy outfits lol.)

The “Too Long Post” which was about the playable characters in Abstergo’s games gaining sentience for easy reference. (And considering we ended it after they got away, we can count that as Arc 1 XD)

Honestly, I think the only valid locations for their homebase would be the Great Inagua or Davenport Homestead because they also need to park their ship (depending on who you ask, it’s either called ‘Aquila’ or ‘Jackdaw’) and the Seine river would be hard to navigate while the Thames is chock-full of other ships and boats and the moving train means they can’t always get to the ship quickly. Also, they all try to fit in the mansion that Edward had ‘commandeered’ but it becomes clear that there is a division. Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton took the rooms nearest to Desmond. Haytham took the room furthest away from everyone and Shay took the room to his left. Shao Jun took the empty room nearest to Ezio while Aveline took the empty room nearest to Ratonhnhaké:ton. Jacob’s the only one who went ‘whichever room is free’ and Arno took the room furthest away from Shay which sorta put him between Jacob and an empty room that Evie took for herself. Jacob joked of Jayadeep just sharing a room with Evie so he took the room on the other side of Jacob instead, making Jacob roll his eyes. Edward just took his old room (which was the largest room). So… they might be in this together but they’re definitely not exactly the bestest of allies at the moment.

Desmond taught them what he knew, things he didn’t know when he was alive but he just… knew once he ‘woke up’. He doesn’t even know if these skills came from his memory of Clay or from his memory of Dionysus (holy shit, his Isu ancestor was the god of wine and debauchery? What the fuck???) but he wasn’t going to reject such a boon. He’s quiet about his life though, only sharing a bit if anyone asked about what they saw.

And the only one who asked was a worried Shao Jun because Shay was keeping his distance and the others either didn’t have such a bad memory to watch (Aveline, Evie and Jayadeep) or didn’t even see any memory (Jacob and Arno).

The ones connected to Desmond though… Desmond told them everything. Even Edward who was just in the room with the three people who had the biggest urge to find Desmond and Haytham who Edward believes had been affected just as much by the time they started to piece Desmond back together. Edward provided the alcohol back then (although Altaïr did not partake) and they finished more than five bottles of Edward’s hardest liquor. He was especially worried for Haytham who grabbed an entire unopened bottle and just started topping his glass with it and ended up finishing it and still requesting his glass to be filled afterward.

Are we talking about the Juno in Desmond’s dataspace or the real Juno in digital space? Because if it’s the real Juno and this is set after Syndicate BUT before the comics where she died, then Juno is out in the real world (which would give us an excuse to have our sentient Assassins travel into other corners of the internet XD).

However, I do like the idea that they’ve unintentionally created Juno 2.0 from Desmond’s memory of her (and also a bit of Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton’s memories). This also gives Ratonhnhaké:ton a reason to want to take her down since she… technically didn’t lie but she absolutely used Ratonhnhaké:ton and gave him the short stick in that deal. (With her past misgivings to Ratonhnhaké:ton, Edward would be on board and maybe even Haytham once he learned how everything had been set into stones because of the path the Isus have chosen the world to walk to, including how the Kenway family ended).

You know what would be fun? If they made the grievous assumption that the data are gaining sentient while they were gone BUT the real reason why they’re slowly gaining sentient is because all sentient data (them) are still connected to the virus that started this all. Now, the virus was fast-acting in Abstergo because it was meant to fuck shit up there but the virus also have a failsafe that makes it dormant when it knows it’s no longer in Abstergo’s servers. But… the virus itself might be dormant but constant exposure to it will still affect data.

… wanna make Arno have a bad time once more? Élise is slowly waking up and she starts remembering…

The many times Arno repeated her death, together with the pain and rage that consumed her during those days, not knowing Arno repeated that memory over and over again to try and save her.

You gotta wonder… if Élise would even be happy to see Arno once more when her most lived memory was her death.

(Also… Lydia would be fine being sentient since she loves her grandaunt and granddad who raised her but… remember… Jack the Ripper is also in the servers).

#animus ghosts au #assassin's creed #tw long post #long post for ts #meanwhile everyone not in paris is figuring out who they ought to go try and save first. ziio and hope? mary and ade and anne?#thatch: who are ziio and hope #and then when he finds out he's like OH i seen 'em around! loading shit into our ships docked in nassau #but they glitch out fast idk why until you mentioned they weren't from nassau

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perpetualexistence · 11 months ago

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Sea Monster AU: Chrefxposition

So, on the one hand, this part is a few days later than originally promised. On the other hand, it's twice as long. I could have arguably made this into two parts, but I've got no energy left to figure out where exactly it should be split. Turns out decent exposition can take a while!

In the eventual fanfic proper I'll be sure to spread/foreshadow some of this exposition earlier. With me writing as I'm going it with only an outline for certain events, the foreshadowing is going to be a bit splotchy, but I'll try my best.

Without further ado, time to watch Noah go darker yet darker still!

Content warnings: Mentions of eating people, death, blood, Alejandro being a manipulative bastard

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For the rest of spring break, Alejandro insists on hunting more than usual to build up an underwater cache for later. Noah has to work on overdrive to find enough ships to keep Alejandro happy. He goes to different parts of the lake in order to spread out the location of where the disappearances are happening. Also to keep them as far away from his hometown as possible. He knows this many disappearances so close to one another are going to draw attention from other humans. He doesn't comment on it for two reasons. One, because he'd rather not test Alejandro again even if the concern is practical and legitimate. And two, he wants the disappearances to get attention. He's got to figure out who's smart enough to notice, and vocal enough to try to do something about it.

Noah starts intentionally hanging out by the docks more. He knows it's safe because Alejandro never dares to get that close to civilization. Sailors will sometimes have odd jobs when they need an extra hand on deck or someone to help with loading/unloading. Since everyone knows everyone to some extent in his town, the Mudaliars have a reputation for picking up odd jobs in order to help pay off their debts. Noah's never done it before since he's had his poetry to provide income. But at the very least, it means he can have an excuse for why he's there. It also gives him an excuse for talking with sailors to see what their thoughts are on sea monsters. He doesn't bring up the disappearances himself, because that's inviting trouble. Instead, he lets sailors do what they like to do best: talk.

That's how he finds Chef, a loud ex-marine who found himself kicked from the marines and now works as a sailor taking odd jobs transporting things across the lake. Chef shares that the real reason he got booted out is because he started noticing a bunch of disappearances with other marines. He started hearing tales of beasts and went to go investigate it himself. Sure enough, it was a giant monster making easy pickings of his brothers in arms. His husband knew more about taking those slimy bastards down, so he went to him for help. Eventually they did win, but he lost men doing it, and the beast sunk to the bottom of the ocean, getting rid of their proof. He was tossed out for 'recklessly endangering lives'. (He sacrificed far more men than he truly needed to as a distraction, and didn't even let them know that was going to happen.)Now he's seeing all these disappearances happening and his gut is telling him this is happening again. He doesn't have the same firepower as before, but he and his husband are still preparing.

Noah's now very curious about this husband of his if he's the one who knew more about sea monsters. Chef immediately gets suspicious and wants to know why he cares so much about this. Noah hates having to give up information, but he knows if he's to get anywhere, he's going to have to. He says that he knows for a fact he saw something like a sea monster in the distance. He's just been keeping quiet because he doesn't know who would believe him. Which isn't technically a lie. It just doesn't reveal how much else he knows. It also won't really give Chef any new information since by the sound of it he was already going to prepare regardless of if he got any confirmation from someone else. It's enough to get Chef decide to take him in on his and Chris' monster hunting crusade.

Chris's family are among the humans that believe/know sea beasts exist and make it their job to hunt them, his most notable one being his cousin Jerd.

Chris though? Nah, he doesn't give a shit about hunting. He just cares about fame and fortune. He stole a random ass book that was supposed to have rituals to give him just that and booked it. The pouch around his neck is a result of that in that it's supposed to give him good luck. Someone else in the family made it for him as a rite of passage in being ready to join the family business.

He's pretty shitty at magic because he doesn't want to put in the time and effort to learn, he just wants the results. And this is why he'll forever be shitty at magic. Magic is about intertwining sentience with nature. For that, you need two things: Desire and Effort. The desire has to be focused, and it has to be what a person actually desires. If a person thinks they want one thing, but deep down they really want something else? The magic's either going to act based on the true desire or be fucked up as a result. That's the sentience part.

The nature part is effort. You can't get something for nothing. If you try, someone or something still ends up suffering along the line. There's balance in the ecosystem of the sea, even for those who are at the top of the food chain. It might not be fair to those on the bottom, but it is what it is. Whether you take time and effort in learning runes, or gathering ingredients, the point is that it's your work in a way that you truly know is giving it your all.

Chris has definitely got the desire, and it's why he was able to become famous thanks to his magic pouch. However, he wasn't willing to put any work into actually maintaining the pouch's components so his luck ran out. He keeps it mostly for sentimental reasons at this point. He can't really go back to his family because he stole the book, aka a family heirloom that he knows damn well is dangerous when it's in the wrong hands. (Little does he know his family would have been okay with him leaving the family business. Their problem was with how he did it, which is no one's fault but his own.) He doesn't even know how to read the damn thing because he never paid too much attention to his parents trying to teach him how. All he does know is that it's very powerful, has a mind of its own, and hates Chris because it loves to try to snap closed on him.

So now he's a washed up TV host stuck in this dingy little town. The only person who's still standing beside him is Chef. He runs a stupid little pawn shop in this tourist trap of a town to try to sell fake crap, plus some of his tv host memorabilia. He's trying to find a way out of this mess until what does he see? Evidence that there's a sea monster lurking about.

Chris realizes he could just expose sea monsters to get fame that way. Completely ignoring everything that his parents ever told him that it'd be a terrible idea. Sea monsters would have no reason to hide if they were public knowledge, so their fatality rate would grow exponentially. Still, that's not his problem, and his good luck will ensure that he and his husband will turn out alright.

Chris doesn't quite care for including this walking twig into this situation at first when Chef introduces the two. As far as he's concerned, Noah provides nothing and is a walking liability. Up until Noah reveals that he's able to hack.

His family has a whole library worth of information about sea monsters. In order to try to expand their reach in where they can defend against sea monsters, they've taken to digitizing the library. Thanks to Chris's less than stellar exit, he's been locked out of that information. But he knows how to find it, and Noah seems like he'll be perfect for actually getting in. And hey, the kid's volunteering to do all the boring research? All the better! Chris will focus on strategizing and seeing what this dumb book will do for him. Not that he tells or shows Noah the book. He's lazy, but he's not that dumb to let someone else touch that thing.

This is how Noah starts learning things about merfolk. Turns out they've been around for quite a long time. It turns out merfolk aren't naturally as big as Alejandro. They use magic to make themselves that big. Due to the amount of effort and food to maintain their size, they can't use any other kind of magic when large. Thanks to generations of not using any other kind of magic, they lost the ability to use magic to do anything except change their size over time. That's how they gained their own separate classification as sea monsters. The only exception to size magic they have is using lake/ocean currents to travel. It takes a lot of magic depending on the distance traveled.

Their first meeting is making a lot more sense to Noah.

It also presents an interesting idea. Maybe he doesn't have to kill Alejandro. Maybe he could just stop him from ever growing again.

He knows he should kill Alejandro. He'd never settle for being kept vulnerable for the rest of his life. Noah would have to become his keeper. He'd never get rid of him. And yet. Despite all the murder he's witnessed, helped with, and at least slightly enjoyed, he still hasn't taken a life himself. He really wants to believe he has standards. Killing Alejandro would cross one of those.

It doesn't help that despite how dangerous Alejandro is, and how clearly he's pushing the limits of their deal, Alejandro actually does listen to Noah. He hasn't knowingly gone after innocents. He hasn't physically hurt Noah.

If anything, Alejandro has been gentle. He'll snatch him up when faking his death for a crowd, but he never squeezed and always checked to make sure he was okay afterwards, even when he was trying not to make it too obvious. Alejandro had a horrible habit of messing with his hair yet despite his claws Noah never had a scratch on him. He'd put Noah on his shoulder to go for a swim without getting him wet.

To let him look down at the destruction he helped caused against people who spit and cursed at Noah. To help him feel above others and his actions. To somehow spoil him rotten with attention to practically beg for a reaction. Noah's dark humor as he watched bastards die was to cope, the smirk that grew on his face a coincidence. He felt nothing to hear Alejandro laugh as if they were just sharing a regular meal.

Alejandro had also caressed his throat with a claw the first chance he had power. He had felt a vice like grip when he dared to argue back. So long as Alejandro is huge, Noah is going to be relying on Alejandro's mercy. As recent events have shown, that can be a finite resource.

He'll just do more research to see if his idea is even a workable one. He'll figure what to do next after that.

Researching more about magic led to him learning about a new faction: sea witches. They were merfolk who were able to use magic for means aside from simply changing sizes. They made potions, used rituals, spoke chants. Their powers came primarily from the deals they made with others. There were rumors that deals like these could make magic accessible even to humans. Other rumors said that humans could learn to use magic independently.

Sea witches and sea monsters are naturally at odds with one another. One needs people to make deals, the other needs people to eat. Or at least, to stay as big as they do for as long as they do. Turns out sea monsters can in fact survive without eating humans. It's just that humans keep them bigger for longer. Figures that Alejandro would lie about having to eat people out of necessity.

As a result, sea witches did create defenses against sea monsters. Including spells that would strip them of their magic and force them into their smallest form. Bingo.

Unfortunately, while there are mentions of magic in the database, there don't seem to be any actual spells/rituals there. Something about sea magic not mixing well with technology. He's going to have to ask Chris directly to see if he'll be interested in shrinking Alejandro rather than killing him.

Chris is alright with this because hey, a small merfolk you can put in a tank sounds perfect for exposing and becoming famous! (Not that Noah will actually let Chris take Alejandro away, but he doesn't need to know that.) He'll just have to lie a little to his husband about plans to kill Alejandro, no big deal. And...ugh. He's going to have to actually try to read that magic book to find something about shrinking things. Noah's immediately interested in seeing that book for himself, but Chris shuts him down immediately. Chris will look at the magic shit, Noah will just be the one getting them whatever they need. A coffee would be a great start.

So Noah ends up becoming more like Chris's assistant. He gets used to getting Chris coffee or do the more boring research a lot. Chris uses Chef to get the more out there ingredients for this new ritual he's managed to find. And he starts sending Noah to carve out runes around town. Something about 'using the town's natural magic to siphon that of the sea beast'. Noah would prefer to know exactly what he's doing, but Chris keeps being cagey about Noah having to know things.

During all of this, Noah still has to meet with Alejandro to keep him happy. Thanks to overindulging during spring break, Alejandro's in a much better mood. However, he's being rather clingy with Noah. If Noah didn't know any better, he'd think Alejandro was trying to keep him from being able to have time for anyone else. It makes finding time to work with Chris and Chef a lot more difficult. He can't juggle stroking Alejandro's ego, Chris's ego, and going to classes all at the same time. So he decides to sacrifice going to classes. He'll help Chris and Chef during that time and Alejandro won't question him being away since he knows Noah needs to 'keep up appearances'.

It sucks because after the spring break party, he had actually been considering trying to know some of the others more. If only to take a break from Alejandro. There is one person who won't leave him alone though: Owen. Owen finds out through the grapevine about Noah not showing up to classes and immediately gets to texting to check on him. Noah makes up a lie about not feeling too well/needing to step back, and Owen buys it. Still, now that Noah's responded to one text, Owen takes to texting him throughout the day. Because he was pretty serious about trying to get to know Noah. And Noah would never admit it, but it's nice that someone else cares to check up on him. Plus, Owen is terrible with secrets, so he ends up blurting so much gossip about the others. Noah gets to make sarcastic remarks about them, and Owen just rolls with it. It's nice.

Eventually, Noah's suspicions about Chris outweigh his need to be cautious. So much so that he decides it would be better to try to break in to Chris's and Chef's place to see what exactly this spell book is saying to do rather than just take Chris's word for it.

It's written in a language he doesn't understand. He doesn't have the time to decipher it since he doesn't want Chris or Chef to know that he's in their house looking at it. He does manage to find the pages that Chris has been frequently using, though. They're the only ones that seem to be in English. He's not surprised to learn that Chris has been lying to him about the spell. He's horrified to discover to what extent.

Chris gives absolutely zero shits about this town. He wanted something that would help him take care of this sea monster problem, and he didn't really care how it was done. He practically had to fight the book to show him anything that wasn't in nonsense gibberish. But then, for once in his life, the decided to be book is on the same page as him. It showed him a ritual for mind controlling a sea monster that involves a rather brutal sacrifice of a whole town's worth of people. That sounds like a WAY better deal than regular fame and fortune!

Noah was already not happy when he found out about the mind control. As much as he's worried about his Alejandro, he doesn't know if Alejandro deserves that. Knowing him, he'd probably prefer death rather than being forced to obey someone else. Then Noah reads to the end and discovers the whole 'sacrifice a town' thing. That's what the runes around towns were for.

He'd been putting so much focus into trying to take down the literal monster, he'd forgotten all about how humans could be metaphorical monsters.

Noah knows how to take care of that. It's what he always does when he finds people that deserve to die.

He tells Alejandro about them.

He doesn't reveal the whole plot against Alejandro, of course. He just reveals that some sailors had been getting suspicious with the whole spring break binge eating. He infiltrated them to learn what they knew, and now they're getting too close. He's not sure how much of that Alejandro truly believes, but he does agree that if humans want to hunt him down, then they need to go first.

Noah first makes sure to screw up the ritual by fucking up his own carvings and scratching them out with the knife Chris let him use to do this in the first place. At this point he'd been using it so much it just became a force of habit to keep having it.

Then he goes on a ship with Chris and Chef who thinks that everything is going according to plan. Well, Chris's plan of mind controlling a sea monster, Chef's plan of killing one. What Noah had never told them was that Alejandro was an electric eel. He made sure to encourage Chef to use as much technology as he saw fit in order to leave them completely vulnerable.

Things would have been easier of course if Alejandro didn't decide to gloat about Noah being his loyal little pet when he shows up. Which bothers him both because it ruins the surprise and because it's condescending. This doesn't help things as Chris and Chef are quick to try to spring into action. Chef is trying to solo Alejandro, and Chris is coming at Noah pretty pissed because he's also just now realized that the ritual that should have automatically started taking action hasn't done that at all. Alejandro's occupied because Chef did still come with firepower, and Noah can recognize murder in Chris's eyes.

He's standing over Chris's body now. He knows it's a body because of the blood and the stab wounds. He knows he did it because he's gripping a knife in his hand he doesn't remember pulling out. Chef must be in Alejandro's stomach by now or else Noah would be dead. He can piece together what's happened, but he honestly can't remember the act itself. He knows he had to do it because Chris would have come to kill him first. He hadn't planned on crossing this line but seems like he did anyways.

He loves hates the pride in Alejandro's eyes. The promise that the first can be the hardest. But he's very grateful that Noah had chosen to live.

This isn't living. Rather than process, Noah points out that he's got to go back to Chris and Chef's house to get rid of any evidence that he knew them. After Alejandro takes care of Chris's body, he lets Noah go back to shore.

Noah dashes for the house, goes for the book, and hugs it like his new lifeline. Chris's book is now in Noah's possession. The book is rather content with its new owner. Because it felt Noah's desire to defend himself and his town, and willingness to put effort into doing it. It translated that ritual for Chris specifically to have something like this happen. It won't translate itself again, but if Noah's truly like the book thinks he is, that shouldn't be a problem.

Noah now has an unfiltered shot at evening the playing field with the book of a sea witch. Time to fight fire with fire.

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