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zorosdimples · 9 months ago

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YUUJI X READER X CHOSO

when choso approaches yuuji with an intimate confession and a plea for help, your best friend convinces you to give his big brother a hands-on demonstration.

mdni. reader has breasts + a vagina + is called “baby” once; otherwise referred to as they/them. this is just over 1k words. i may write additional parts, but i make no promises!

Why did I agree to this?

Your back is pressed to your best friend’s broad chest, his tawny skin hot against your own. Bent at the knee, your legs are spread far apart, feet planted on the white bedsheets. A whimper escapes your bitten lips—a soft, fluttery exhale—half-embarrassment, half-excitement.

Discarded somewhere on Yuuji’s bedroom floor is your bra. You’re simply clad in a pair of cotton panties, plain white, nondescript. You wouldn’t call the undergarment sexy, but the bulge straining at the small of your back begs to differ; it sends a thrill down your spine.

Choso kneels between your open legs primly, wide palms clammy as they rest atop his knees. His eyes are smoked amethysts, unreadable as they pointedly remain on his brother, never straying to your face or your mostly nude figure.

“Look, Cho,” Yuuji entreats as his calloused touch moves upward from your thighs to your breasts. You swallow the breath that hitches in your throat, chest shuddering as two thick fingers pinch each of your nipples. “Touch them riiiight here—feels good, huh baby?”

Baby. (You’d rather drop dead than admit it, but you’ve pleasured yourself countless times to this fantasy, the image of your best friend calling you every endearment beneath the horizon in his honey-sweet voice.)

Wading through a syrupy fog of tension and want, you nod in agreement. Choso swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he replaces Yuuji’s hands with his own, gaze darting to yours. His palms are larger than his younger brother’s, his ivory fingers cool and smooth as they circle your nipples.

Earnestly you suggest: “You can look at my tits, Cho.”

Yuuji chuckles at the way the older man’s cheeks ripen and bloom from your forwardness; his hands settle on your thighs, kneading the fat as he watches his brother shift his attention. Choso focuses on your chest, at the way your breasts ripple and bounce under his careful ministrations.

For the first time since he walked into the room, Choso speaks. “Is it okay if I…” he licks his lips as he trails off.

His voice is gentle and almost monotone; you’d be offended if you couldn’t see the flush that burns the tips of his ears and bleeds down to his strong chest. (The visible strain in his black boxer briefs puts your mind at ease, too.)

“Use your mouth,” you urge him with a kind smile.

It surprises you how quickly Choso dips down, the tip of his nose brushing the swell of your breast before he sticks his tongue out and paints a swirl that ends on your nipple. At first, just the peaked nub rests between his chapped lips. But he builds confidence—or curiosity gets the better of him—and you gasp as he sucks as much breast as he can fit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. He repeats his movements on your other breast.

When he raises his head, he leans into you, stopping a hair’s breadth from your mouth, a silent plea for permission. “Now kiss me,” you murmur; Choso obliges.

It begins chastely: your lips slotting with his and guiding the pace. He jolts at the sensation when you first slide your tongue along the seam of his lips, although he catches on quickly, allowing you entry. While his hands initially rested awkwardly on the mattress, he now moves them upward, cradling your cheeks with reverence. His kisses are sloppy and unpracticed, but you both find yourselves growing heated as your fingertips map his torso, skating lower and lower until you can twirl his thick happy trail. You whimper when he shifts and accidentally grinds against you.

Yuuji interrupts your increasingly desperate make out. “Ready to see them, Cho?”

Choso pulls away, a string of spit snapping between your parting tongues. He watches as Yuuji thumbs the top of your underwear before sliding them beneath the fabric and stroking your plush hips.

“Before you remove these, you should feel our lovely guest through the fabric.” Yuuji’s breath curls against the shell of your ear; you can’t help the moan that slips out and hangs in the air. He rests his chin atop your shoulder, his next words making you clench: “I’ve got a feeling it’s soaked.”

Eyes the color of bruised plums meet yours. Three fingers brush against the top of your panties, trailing down over your clit, stopping right at your hole. “You’re so wet,” Choso states, rubbing the sodden fabric. “All of this is because of us?”

You shiver under Choso’s fervent stare. Yuuji presses a tender kiss to your shoulder as his hands move up to caress your hair. You swallow dryly; you don’t think you’ve ever been as turned on as you are right now, pinned between the brothers’ bodies and undivided attention.

“Yeah—mmm, yes,” you manage to get out.

Pleased by your response, Choso hums. He drags a fingernail up your underwear until he teases your clit, featherlight, coaxing a warble from you. Eventually, he makes his way back to the waistband. “Can I?”

You bite your lip. “Please, Cho.”

As though savoring the moment, Choso lays down on his stomach and peels the garment off, exhaling a shaky breath as your pubic hair emerges, then groaning when your entire cunt is bared. Yuuji slides a hand down your belly and peels back your vulva, desire webbing across your folds, highlighting your swollen clit.

“Oh fuck—that’s a pretty sight,” Yuuji mutters.

His brother either doesn’t hear him or ignores him entirely; Choso looks only to you. “I’m going to taste now, okay?”

“H-hold on,” Yuuji blurts out. You twist around to look at him. His amber irises blaze as he slips his middle finger down, shallowly massaging your wet hole. “I—” he pauses, “I wanna try, too.”

His eyes never leave yours as he raises the shining digit to his mouth and proceeds to greedily lap up your arousal. “Shit,” he hisses. You think you’re going to wither under the intensity of his flaming stare. But instead—he pulls you into a bruising kiss.

Before you can process the pressure of your best friend’s lips on your own, Choso licks a line from your hole to your clit, wrapping his thick arms around your thighs, and Yuuji swallows your squeal of surprise. All rational thought floats away with your impending bliss.

You still don’t know why exactly you agreed to this arrangement. But these two brothers are going to be the death of you—of that you’re certain.

#unmmmmmmmnnnnmm. i’ve mentioned this before in passing but finally wrote a little something. may write additional parts—idk!#it’s just a thirst—pls enjoy!#yuuji x reader #choso x reader #jjk x reader #yuuji <3 #choso <3 #༄ kae writes

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smol-lydia · 2 months ago

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Coffee and Cigarettes: A Viktor x f!Reader Rehab AU

TWs: mentions of drug use (future, not this chapter) mentions of anorexia and bulimia, smoking, mental health issues

Summary: You didn’t exactly sign up to spend part of your time as a scholarship student at the elite Piltover Academy on medical leave at a co-Ed rehab for those who struggle with addiction, but you want to keep your academic standing, so here you are.

You also didn’t sign up for the cute theoretical physics major turned fellow patient with the golden eyes and irresistible accent, either

A/N: hi all I’m backkkkk it’s about damn time!!! I’m currently going through a very transient period in my life and all that, and I haven’t watched act 2 yet due to that but I do know Jinx and Vik meet, and ik he calls her Powder. I figure that he would call her Jinx here if she wanted it though. I may have made reader a cello player because my sweet golden retriever of a boyfriend plays the cello lmao

I’ll have 15 months clean + sober at the end of November, gd willing 🙏💜

—-

The ward smelt of antiseptic. Wait—no. This isn’t a ward. You’re bleary eyed and tired from the meds they’ve given you to detox; being shuffled from a more intensive unit to this co-Ed rehab just feels like a blurry stop on a long road.

Your belongings are in a plastic “patient belongings” bag and a single wheelie bag; you hadn’t planned on this. On any of this.

On the Disaster. On having to take a leave from the elite Piltover Academy, the university where you had gotten a scholarship as a music student. The Dean said your scholarship wasn’t in danger; that the department just wanted you well again.

You didn’t know what you wanted anymore.

The intake isn’t much of a change as before. Name. Vitals. A new hospital bracelet to replace the other. Answering the same questions over and over, as though they aren’t in your file. You want to crawl into bed and stay there forever.

The charge nurse, a no-nonsense woman whose name tag reads “Sevika” seems done with you before you even open your mouth.

As you sit there, in the hard plastic chair, drawing your knees up to your chin, a short, blue haired girl approaches the nurses’ station.

She’s thin. Too thin, her collar bones sticking out and her cheeks hollow. You know that look, the look of malnourishment, and envy burns worse than the stomach acid.

“Sevika—“ the girl starts, and Sevika holds up her hand in a “stop” motion.

“I’m busy. Intake.”

“You can’t just—“

“Jinx. Unless your arm is about to fall off or something, it can wait twenty minutes. Go talk to Lest.”

“Fuck you too.”

Sevika rolls her eyes, and turns her attention back to you. “Well, now I can say you’ve met your roommate.”

“My roommate?”

“You’ll be in Room 2 with Jinx. We’re gonna keep your luggage locked up here until after dinner when the night staff can search your belongings for contraband with you.”

You want to say that if you possibly had contraband it would have been taken at the detox; that Sevika surely would know that given your paperwork. But she doesn’t seem like the type you want to get into a pissing contest with, especially on your first day.

Finally, she lets you go with a gruff, “you can go into the community room now,” flagging down a lackey to lead you, still shell-shocked, down a hallway and through a pair of double doors.

The community room is a little rough around the edges, but you can forgive that, given you’re more than a little rough around the edges yourself.

There’s a few couches scattered here and there, a plain wooden table in the back with some chairs drilled into the floor. A series of cubbies along one wall, with personalized name tags clearly designed by one of the patients’ in blue and pink paints.

A bookshelf with a small lending library of books; if your mind wasn’t so fuzzy you would gravitate towards here immediately. If you weren’t busy with your cello, your head is always buried in some book or another. It didn’t exactly make you the most popular growing up.

Maybe that was why—

No. That was stupid.

You stand on the precipice, the stupid binder they’ve given you on entry held close to your chest, taking in the scene around you, of the other fuck ups in the cage, so to speak. There’s the blue-haired girl, the skinny one, that’s supposed to be your roommate. She’s sitting all wrong on one of the tall-backed armchairs, the kind that you used to see in the Academy library. In the matching armchair next to her is possibly the most attractive boy you’ve ever seen.

All lanky limbs and sharp angles, with bright golden eyes and thick brown hair you immediately want to run your hands through. His crutch is next to the chair, and he has an Academy pin on the lapel of his vest—his shirt underneath is rolled to the elbows and you keep thinking about his forearms for some reason.

Oh god, this is bad.

Your mouth goes dry, and it gets worse when you notice he has the most perfect mole by his mouth, begging to be caught by an errant kiss. Your heart is hammering in your chest and your realize that not only is this quite possibly the worst “first day of school” vibe ever, but you haven’t said anything for the past thirty seconds like some sort of startled creature afraid of her own shadow.

The blue-haired girl throws a wad of paper at the Beautiful Boy’s head. “Hey, Vitya!”

“I told you to stop throwing things at my head.”

Oh, his accent is enough to bring you to your knees, too.

“Fine. But look! We got a new one! And Sevika said she’s rooming with me!”

Vitya—if that’s his name—turns his attention to you, and you don’t know what to say or do.

Thankfully, you don’t have to. An effortlessly cool young woman takes control, sticking her hand out for you to shake, blocking your view of the boy.

“I’m so sorry they just left you like this. Lest. One of the floor counselors.”

“The only cool one,” Blue Hair drawls from the corner.

“Jinx—“ Lest doesn’t even pretend to be mad.

“Would you like to introduce yourself?”

You shrug your shoulders, mutter your name. That’s enough, apparently, and you are about to go hide in a corner, but no such luck.

“Hey! New roomie!” Jinx waves you over.

“Hm?”

Jinx hangs off the chair. “I scared off the last roommate.”

“Jinx, you snuck contraband up your—“ Vitya points out in a matter of fact tone.

Jinx cuts him off with the wave of a hand. “Details, Viktor. Does it really matter?”

“Well, yes.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. Viktor has a wry sense of humor; you can see the twinkle in his eyes when he speaks, and it’s precisely the same type you enjoy. The sound seems to catch him off guard, and he looks at you up and down for a long moment; you find yourself wondering if you’re being studied, and it takes a lot of effort to keep your gaze level.

A click of a doorknob and heavy footsteps.

“Jinx, meds.” Sevika.

“Do I have to?”

“What do you think?”

“Ugh, fine.” Jinx gets up, blue braids trailing behind her, leaving just you and Vitya-Viktor. You’re still standing awkwardly, not sure if you’re bold enough to take her spot.

“She has a thing about the chair,” he says, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“I mean, I get it. If I had been here a while I would probably have a favorite too.”

You settle for the floor, drawing one knee up to your chest and circling it with your arm.

“It has been a while.”

Shit. If this is what Jinx looked like after a while in treatment, you probably didn’t want to see what the “before” was. You decide to change the subject.

“Vitya or Viktor?”

“An abrupt topic change.”

“I noticed you were called both. I was wondering what your name is.”

At this, you are gifted a rare smile from him, something you know you’ll be playing over and over again in your mind.

“It’s Viktor.”

——

#viktor arcane #arcane viktor #my fic writing #my fic #viktorxreader #viktor x reader fic #viktor x f!reader #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor x reader #viktor nation #jinx arcane

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porcelainseashore · 2 months ago

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The Other Son - WoD HalloZine "Haunting"

Commissioned art by @medeaft

Author's Note: It’s been such a joy to take part in @vampemoqueen’s WoD HalloZine—my very first zine! Thank you so much for this experience and putting it all together. Here’s a short story of Kai, my beloved Ventrue, and the shadows of the past that haunt them.

Content Warnings: Brief references to drugs, self harm, maybe suicide (if you squint?), nihilism, and murder of a child.

“Jesus!” they cursed as their feet plunged into the silty drainage and mud squelched underfoot.

It had only been a little over half an hour since Kai entered this godforsaken place, burrowing their way underground like vermin. Beyond the manhole covers overhead, cars zoomed by and train tracks rumbled. They were still close to the surface, close enough to hear the city breathe.

However, down here, filth and grime carved out names for themselves on the grooved walls. At first, they gagged at the stench, finding it unbearable, but as their senses adjusted, one smell blended into another, like a sickness they could no longer distinguish.

Under normal circumstances, they would never be caught dead wandering around the sewers downtown. But since when were things normal? Like all fledglings turned neonates, they had been obeying tall and elusive orders every night since their Embrace. Except, they weren’t like the others—they were groomed to succeed and never to fail.

There was another splash as the ground sucked them in, causing them to sink knee-deep.

“For Christ’s sake!” they yelled again in frustration.

All at once, they heard the scolding voice of Liezel, their mother, resounding in their head just like it was yesterday, “Kai! How many times must I tell you? Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!”

They mouthed the words as it came. Liezel’s arms were akimbo, her brows furrowed as spittle flew across the room. She had rapped their knuckles harshly with the wooden handle of a feather duster for good measure.

Kai could feel the sting of pain upon their hand, as clear as day, but sharper still was the humiliation, the hurt pride. Their younger stepbrother, Alfie, had giggled to himself in the corner. They clenched their fists. People said they took after their mother’s temper, and more often than not, they found themself agreeing.

At this point, their tailored pants and leather shoes were soaked through and ruined. Even dry cleaning wouldn’t be able to salvage them in their miserable state. Grimacing, they brushed beads of waste water off their waistcoat—it was Sisyphean, almost—as new drops replaced old, blooming in piss-drunk patches across silk weaves.

Why had their sire, Elena, sent them here again? Oh yes, “The sewer rats,” she said. “They’re hiding something from us. Find out what it is.”

They flipped their damp bangs away from their face in annoyance. Nearly two decades as a Kindred and they were still an errand runner—to Elena, to Lady Josephine, and in turn, to Baron Judge, the overarching Camarilla… Stringing them along with faint promises of power, like seductive wisps of smoke unfurling from their tongues, slithering into their ear and making a home in the hollow cavity of their skull.

Well, there were no sewer rats here. Through the dimmed shadows of light, all they could hear was the sound of sewage flushing through the system, pipes hissing and shaking, and molded moisture leaking from the arched ceilings. As they took a right, a group of vagrants huddling over a naked fire in an oil drum eyed them suspiciously. One crawled out from his tattered cardboard bed and shambled over to them.

“You got any er—”

Fentanyl. Meth. Heroin. He probably thought he could score some. The mole people—the homeless, the addicts, the outcast. They lived underground, in the flood tunnels, because there was nowhere else to go. Sometimes the water would reach so high that a bunch of them would drown. Not being quick enough made them easy pickings for the Nosferatu, but still bad blood all around.

Kai scrunched their face in disgust before relaxing their expression. Maybe they would have some use for this pitiful thing in front of them. With a practiced smile, they simpered, “I do… but first, tell me, how well do you know this place?”

The man coughed and shivered, grinning with swollen gums and putrid teeth. “Like the back of my hand.”

A guide. The gatekeeper of the sewer entrance had talked at length about its subterranean depths. Perhaps this man would know more. Raising an eyebrow, Kai focused their gaze, making sure their eyes met. A thin ring around their irises glowed—subtle, enticing, yet demanding. “Take me to its belly.”

He blinked slowly, once, twice, and then nodded. “This way,” he beckoned, turning around and trudging off through the labyrinth like a good soldier.

And so, Kai carried on, past winding corridors and forgotten lairs, crushing soiled glass and used needles beneath their heels. At the sides, strange altars decorated with melted wax candles and rotting pomegranates honored secret gods. The tunnels got darker and colder, so much so that they had to rely on their phone light to brighten up the path, but the guide didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he became livelier the deeper they went, as if he were drawing energy from some unknown source.

“Albert and Persephone would have a field day with this,” Kai grumbled under their breath, mocking the two absent members of their coterie behind their backs. Sarcasm dripped from their lips, cloying and condescending.

They recognized that same unease they felt whenever Albert conducted one of his ceremonies, or the time they witnessed Persephone casting eerily-shaped shadows from her bare hands. The taint of Oblivion clutched at their unbeating heart and made their skin crawl.

Distant screams and moans from an alley interrupted their thoughts and a gnarly hand tugged at their arm. “Not there,” the guide warned before taking off again along another passageway.

The metallic stairs they descended afterward screeched on its hinges, clanking against the wall. Kai wondered how far down they went. It felt like they had been walking for miles. At some point, their phone light flickered and went out, and they stood in total darkness on the suspended staircase swaying in the chilled air.

It was so silent you could hear a pin drop, which was weird, precisely because they heard nothing. No creaking, no footsteps, not even the sound of one’s breathing.

Where had their guide disappeared to? Was this some kind of twisted prank they had fallen for? But it couldn’t be, that mortal should’ve succumbed easily; they saw him submit, enslaved by their will, he couldn’t—

“Kai! Help me, please!” a shrill cry pierced their left ear, shocking them to the core as they stumbled blindly forward, tumbling down the flight of stairs.

When they finally hit the rock-hard ground, something wet and sticky trickled down the side of their face as a dull, throbbing ache blossomed from the crown of their head. “Shit,” they muttered, tasting tangy iron on their lips, like licking a battery.

Dazed, they tried to pick themself up, only to slip on the waxy surface, falling into the muck on all fours. Shame and embarrassment rushed in twofold, rising like waves of heat towards their chest. That prickly feeling at the back of their throat returned, threatening to come apart. This couldn’t be happening—not to them, they didn’t deserve this.

“What do you think you deserve?” the same voice whispered in their ear. Cold, unnatural, and unfeeling, but uncomfortably familiar.

“I deserve a lot more than you!” Kai had screamed, back when they were kids playing on the cliffs along the coast. Resentment reared its ugly head as they glared down at their stepbrother. His chubby hands grasped the cliff’s ledge while he dangled in mid-air, squirming beneath Kai’s feet.

“I deserve all of this!”

They could crush him right now, that stupid weakling who’d never worked a day in his life, who’d everything handed to him on a silver platter, just because he was the favorite.

No one would know.

Crush him.

Do it.

The whispers grew louder as they buried their head in their hands and growled.

“Kai! Help me, please!”

They took one more look at their stepbrother’s soft brown eyes and the ocean of tears that had welled up in them, before setting their foot down on his tiny fingers, treading on them like ants. Alfie lost his grip and Kai had watched quietly as his body was reduced to a simple ragdoll in the tempestuous wind. His limbs tossed about wildly as the howling gust drowned out the boy’s cries. Jagged bedrock by the cliffside framed its subject like a moving watercolor painting. If they squinted, they could pretend it was a bird diving to catch its prey.

They waited, patiently and then some more, until the red sea foam turned pale, and all that was left was a memory of what once was. One less mouth to feed, one less child to fawn over, one less rival to tussle with. Time didn’t bring any remorse. Perhaps they had been a monster even before they were reborn.

From afar, an unearthly roar and mechanical whir shredded through the stillness, jolting them back into the present. Was this what the Nosferatu were hiding? Kai had heard stories of otherworldly entities that existed on this plane, undecipherable, unseen to the naked eye. There were more than just Kindred around, and they were beginning to realize that they weren’t on the top of the food chain.

Bolting forward, they couldn’t care less if they looked more animal than human as the sludge clung to their feet. It felt like a mass of hands creeping up their legs, dragging them down into the dirt where they belonged. They should’ve been put down for what they did. But they felt nothing. Years and months of nothing. At the funeral, they pressed a shard of glass into their palm, squeezing it within the pocket of their trousers, so that they would cry. Liezel couldn’t look at them for weeks.

Maybe this was the day of reckoning, their last chance to repent, but was there really something to feel guilty for? They had merely taken what was rightfully theirs from the beginning—before their mother remarried another man they were forced to call father, before they were told to sacrifice whatever they had for the sake of the other son.

They had reached the end, knowing this to be so as loose stone and rubble gave way, crumbling into the void pit below. It was pitch black, a long drop into a vortex of emptiness. For every second they stopped to pause, the darkness enshrouded them further, heavy and suffocating as it seeped in through their orifices.

And they were back on the cliff, at the scene of the accident. Although, instead of Alfie, it was Kai who was standing at its edge, waiting to be pushed.

“How does it feel to be in my shoes? How does it feel not to exist?” The tone was derisive, contemptuous.

Did Alfie expect them to accept their fate? To beg for forgiveness and mercy? They convulsed with laughter, the sound ricocheting off the walls. Their body was hollowed out, empty, a vacuum where nothing could be replaced.

There was only one thing left to do. Fear and weakness had no place in the Clan of Kings.

“Don’t you know?” they remarked, eyes black as coal. “I always win.”

And then, they jumped.

Dividers by @diableriedoll

#wodhallozine #vtm oc #oc: kai #ventrue #vtm #vampire the masquerade #world of darkness #my vtm writing #kai-writing #porcelainscribbles

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 9 months ago

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Recover: Cole Cassidy x Reader

Everything was in ruins. Everything was destroyed, up in flames and smoke. The once proud, Overwatch banner fluttering in the Swiss wind is now ash. You were one of the lucky ones returning from fighting, even luckier to miss watching the explosion happen.

Countless dead, many more lying in rows of rooms in the now overcrowded hospital in the next city over.

In the chaos and panic, it was only another stab at Ceaser’s back to know both Strike Commander Morrison and Blackwatch Commander Reyes were both missing, Moira O'Deorain as well. Even in these tragic times, the leaders were missing, gone from the wreckage.

You felt numb, only watching on as the death toll rose overnight in the hospital. No time to grieve, as soon as you all started to weep for one, three more followed soon.

But even in these tragic times, it was warming to see those recover quickly. Genji Shimada of the Blackwatch division was one of them, only needing replacement parts welded back onto him before he too roamed the rooms with you.

But you both found yourselves hanging around one room in particular.

Cole’s room.

It was puppy love, really, but you couldn’t help but feel like a teenager again with how he complimented you. Those tips of his hats to you, all of the little gestures, the growling southern drawl, the winking… Even throughout the chaos of what was Overwatch and Blackwatch, you both found time to… get to know each other better.

He made you feel all fuzzy inside, warm and happy in the cruel world of war you all were forced into. But now, as you look over his body lying lifelessly in the hospital bed, you felt hollow.

His left forearm had been completely blown off, the elbow missing completely. Shattered ribcage and gashes that had him stitched up worse than old children’s toys. His right knee already prepped to have metal implanted later today as his kneecap was missing.

His once hearty tan now pale under the unforgiving hospital lights. Dark circles under his eyes made him look like the undead. All of the bruising and scratches only hurt you the more you looked at them.

You refused to leave his side when you could stay, only really leaving to help out or when he was wheeled back in for more time under the knife. Genji, Ana, Angela and Reinhardt would always walk in on you, clutching Cole’s right hand as you furiously tried to stay awake, wanting to be there when he woke up.

That’s where you were right now, sat in the uncomfortable chair, hunched over onto the hospital bed, elbows digging into the thin mattress as you kept your head up with one hand as the other was linked with Cole’s. It was hard to keep your aching eyes open, the monotone beeping of the machines had started to lull you to sleep once, earning you a mark on the forehead from when your elbows gave out and your head smacked the railing on the bed.

Genji had dropped by earlier, sat with you for a bit in silence before being called away by Angela needing to tune up his cybernetics.

You only perked up as the door opened once more.

Ana had walked in, looking at you gently before looking back at Cole.

“They have his arm’s blueprints ready. Torbjorn is making it now,” she offered, smiling softly at you. You only nodded your head slightly, covering your mouth as you yawned. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“I don’t know,” you stated. “I wanna be here when he wakes up.”

“What good will that do? You’ve already hit your head once from not sleeping, it could be something worse soon.”

“Ana, I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse sleep-deprived.”

“That doesn’t matter. You can’t stay up with coffee and force. You need rest.

Please.” She stayed silent for just a moment. “Cole would want you to.”

Just the mention of his name brought tears to your eyes. You sniffed and sat back in the chair, never unlinking your fingers from his hand.

“I’ll nap in a bit.”

“(Y/N),” she warned.

Damn her motherly tone.

“One more hour. And then I’ll rest.”

Ana sighed, knowing full and well that in one hour, you would be defying your promise and staying up, waiting patiently for Cole to wake up. Without saying another word, she left the room, leaving you to near silence.

You had no idea how much time had passed, most likely another two hours before the door opened again. It was Ana again, Reinhardt behind her, no doubt the muscle if you refused and latched yourself onto the bed as to not go.

“You’re still up,” she noted.

You felt awful, you were exhausted but you didn’t want to sleep without knowing Cole will be alright. So many things could go wrong in your sleep. You couldn’t bear to know that you weren’t there as he died.

“Come on, (Y/n),” Reinhardt stepped out of the way of the door, “it is time to rest.”

Knowing the German soldier would not leave this room without you in tow, you gave up. Defeated, you finally let go of Cole’s hand and stood on quaking feet. They both smiled, knowing you would finally sleep and take care of yourself.

They both stepped outside into the hallway, allowing you to look over Cole once more from his scruffy hair and sunken face to his pale, clammy body that was mostly hidden beneath the hospital sheets.

As you stepped after the two, you stopped and coiled up at the softest groan, fearing that it was just a hallucination. But as you looked to Ana and Reinhardt, their wide eyes were confirmation that you weren’t hearing things.

You practically flung yourself back into your seat, grasping at Cole’s hand, crying as you saw his eyelids flutter and split open just a bit. You heaved and sobbed, suddenly breaking apart as he gently squeezed your trembling hands, gazing at you out of the corner of his eye.

#overwatch fanfiction #cole cassidy #cole cassidy x reader #cassidy x reader #jesse mccree #mccree x reader

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sashaasreads · 1 month ago

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Shattered Reflections

A/n: A little angsty story about Bucky Barnes. This is not an x reader.

Part 2 part 3

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The mirror stared back at him, cracked down the center.

Bucky Barnes sat on the floor of his bathroom, knees drawn up, his breathing shallow. His vibranium hand hung loosely at his side, the faint hum of its mechanics the only sound in the silent room. The apartment was dark; the only light came from the flickering bulb above the mirror.

He hadn’t meant to break it. It had been a moment of weakness, of anger, of frustration—a punch thrown at his own reflection.

The crack split his face in two, dividing the man he wanted to be from the shadow he had been.

“You’re not real,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

The image didn’t answer, but it mocked him all the same. Half of his face was James Buchanan Barnes—the boy from Brooklyn who dreamed of something better. The other half was the Winter Soldier—the assassin who left nothing but blood and ash in his wake.

He stared at the distorted version of himself, memories clawing their way to the surface. Hydra’s commands, sharp and unrelenting. His hands, covered in blood. The screams.

“You’re not real,” he repeated, louder this time, as if the words could banish the ghosts.

But he knew better. The Winter Soldier was real. And no amount of words could erase what he had done.

Bucky’s left hand twitched—a phantom sensation from a limb that was long gone. He remembered losing it, the explosion tearing through his body as he fell from the train. He remembered waking up to agony and confusion, Zola’s cold voice instructing Hydra’s scientists to “prepare the asset.”

Asset. That was all he had been to them. A weapon. A tool. A machine.

He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The cold tiles pressed against his back, grounding him. But the memories still came, unbidden and relentless. He saw himself walking through smoke-filled corridors, Hydra agents scrambling to make way for him. He felt the weight of the rifle in his hands, the mechanical precision of his movements as he carried out their orders.

It was always the same: faces blurred by time but emotions sharp as ever. Fear. Anguish. And his own detachment, a passenger in his body while the Winter Soldier pulled the trigger.

Sometimes he wondered if they had truly erased his soul, or if they had just buried it so deep it could never find its way back to the surface.

His vibranium arm glinted in the faint light, a cruel replacement for what was stolen from him. It was better than the crude monstrosity Hydra had given him, but it didn’t feel like his. Nothing about his body felt like his.

The present was no less cruel. The world didn’t know what to do with him—half the people treated him as a war hero, the other half a war criminal. He didn’t belong anywhere.

Steve was gone. The one person who had truly believed in him, who had fought to bring him back, had left. Bucky understood why, but the ache of being alone again was a weight he couldn’t shake.

Shuri had tried to help him, too. She had given him peace, even hope, in Wakanda. But Wakanda wasn’t his home. He didn’t think he had a home anymore. Brooklyn was just a memory, a place that existed in the 1940s, frozen like a photograph in his mind.

And now he was here, in a rundown apartment, staring at his fractured reflection and wondering if he even deserved to keep breathing.

Bucky’s fingers curled into fists, flesh and metal trembling. He thought about punching the mirror again, shattering it completely. Maybe it would feel good, a brief catharsis in the destruction.

Instead, he unclenched his hands and pressed his metal palm against the cracked glass. The vibrations hummed faintly as he traced the jagged line splitting his face.

“You’ll never be whole,” he muttered to himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating. He let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the empty bathroom.

He thought about Sam. Sam had been trying, hadn’t he? Trying to help him, trying to reach him. But every conversation with Sam felt like an interrogation, like being forced to confront truths he wasn’t ready for.

“You’ve got to start letting go,” Sam had told him once. “Forgive yourself.”

But how could he?

He looked back at the mirror. “You don’t deserve forgiveness,” he said aloud, his voice breaking.

The tears came then, unbidden and hot, sliding down his cheeks as he stared at the stranger in the mirror.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. The tears eventually stopped, leaving him feeling drained and raw.

The world outside was quiet, the city muffled by the late hour. Slowly, Bucky pushed himself up from the floor, gripping the edge of the sink for support. He wiped his face with a trembling hand, avoiding his reflection this time.

He thought about Shuri’s words, about Sam’s stubborn faith in him. About Steve’s unwavering belief that he was more than what Hydra had made him.

Maybe they were wrong. Maybe he would never be more than the broken pieces of James Barnes and the Winter Soldier.

But maybe—just maybe—he could try to be something else.

He didn’t know what that looked like yet. He didn’t know if he had the strength to rebuild himself. But the flicker of hope, faint and fragile, was there.

As he left the bathroom...

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Part 2 is coming very soon.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #the winter soldier #the white wolf #marvel #mcu #winter soldier #angst #sashaasreads

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helluva-insomniac · 1 year ago

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“Poison” Deep Analysis

(Aka I had too much free time in study hall)

***Some of the questions are unanswered!!!***

Starting with the skulls:

This is one of the questions I have to leave unanswered! I can’t figure out if the skulls are just an omen of death and evil and stuff or if they have a deeper meaning in their design. One thing though I am sure of is any time in this video is when red skulls are used, it’s Valentino. Most red in the video is Valentino overall. (I’m also really liking the bisexual lighting lmao)

Right after the red skulls are used, there are skulls with an “Angel Dust” color palette. I have yet to figure out if these skulls truly represent Angel, but they are definitely used after the red ones to show that Valentino has authority over Angel Dust, which is why the red skulls are shown first.

Next, use of chains:

The chains are red, which agains means Valentino and the chains represent his control over Angel.

Glasses:

I can’t believe it took me so long to notice these!! Obviously Valentino being a dickhead.

Dancers:

The dancers here look exactly like the ones in the gifs released this year, so they are probably related.

(Sorry I couldn’t find a higher quality image)

And the ones in Poison:

I think this means the gif scene and this song are together, unless the dancers are shown in multiple scenes. (Return of the bisexual lighting!!)

The smoke:

The red streaks throughout are Valentino’s smoke, and are even further reinforcing the fact that Valentino has power over Angel.

How “Poison” is depicted:

Possibly one of my favorite points. The letters have another Angel Dust pallet to them, but the second “o” IS THE RED SKULL. This initially made me start this analysis. More of the “Val has power over Angel” motif.

“Every night I’m livin’ like there’s no tomorrow”

This lyric is really powerful along with the ones before it. Not only is Angel trapped, he feels it. This lyric is also very important because it changes later, to “Every night I’m wasted like there’s no tomorrow”, and that’s the first in this song (apart from the smoke) that says that Valentino is drugging Angel.

Angel streaks (??):

A lyric ends with pink streaks over the word that mimics Val’s smoke, but their pink color leaves me to believe that it represents Angel’s free will.

ALSO:

Going along with this, RIGHT after on the next word, Angel’s pink streaks are replaced with Val’s red smoke.

“Drownin’ in poison”:

At this point, Val’s smoke takes on a watery look. Once again showing the authority of Val over Angel and I’ve said that so many times and blah blah blah. But I think the style of it is really cool

“I’m fillin’ up my glass, but it’s always hollow”:

I really like the word choice here. But WHY DID THEY CHOOSE IT?? If it’s meant to be a “glass half full/half empty” thing, I’m assuming it’s Angel saying that his life is hollow and empty. In between this lyric and “full of poison”, the background turns from pink and on “full of poison” changes to red.

“I’m sick of the poison”:

During “I’m sick”, the screen is pink. On “of the poison” it turns red. Also Angel is expressing how he no longer wants to work for Valentino, but

“What’s the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself”

I don’t think this lyric from earlier in the song is Angel expressing self-pity, but he may feel like he deserves the treatment he gets. That, or he was drugged or truly believed it was a good decision when he signed his contract with Valentino.

Last frame:

I had to remove one of the images I was going to use above so I could get the point across here because holy shit. As much as I want to be positive and say that Angel will get out of his contract nice n’ easy, I really don’t think that’s going to happen. I think that there will be at least a really bad fight between Angel and Valentino, if in season one Angel is released from the contract at all. Another scenario could be that Angel only gets out if Val gets exterminated or a being with high power (someone with power like Charlie or Lucifer or even a very high-ranking Overlord) forces the contract to be broken and Angel to be free.

Also: notice how “tomorrow” is in white while the rest of the lyric is in black. It’s either Angel’s final shred of hope or he has truly given up all hope. The skull reinforces my point above of this not going well for Angel.

————————————————————————

Please comment/send asks if you have your own ideas!!

I think Blake Roman’s voice for Angel is amazing!! I especially like that it is a bit more masculine idk why :) but like holy fuck!! I love this song so much it’s right up there next to Addict

(End- the rest of this is just notes)

Also: there are so many points that if I missed a few I’m sorry lol! It’s so easy to do an analysis on this and I might do one again on other songs when the show comes out.

Also also: I know some of the lyrics and some of my points have other darker/more sexual meanings, but I don’t have the time or mental capacity to unpack that lmao

#hazbin hotel poison #hazbin hotel #angel dust #this took me forever #I love it so much tho #hazbin valentino #hazbin charlie #hazbin lucifer #hellaverse

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crypticsketchpad · 2 years ago

Photo

ok u know what. *organics your robots*

spec bio wubbox concepts because why not! lore and rambling under the cut:

The Wubbox is an ancient species of monster dating back to the Dawn of Fire. Presumed to be extinct post-cataclysm, several caves full of dormant eggs have been found in the present day, and the species has once again become widespread in monster society. Loud, powerful, and somewhat territorial, they served as guardians of pre-contemporary monster tribes, and were regarded as gifts from the Celestials.

pic explanations

1. sketch of an adult wubbox, with different textures/components labeled. they are mostly covered in armor-like scales that are shed periodically; these can be replaced/upgraded by artificial parts, and are often repurposed into armor and instruments by other monsters.

2. sketch of a wubbox hatchling + notes:

- Baby teeth are sparse but very sharp, can and will eat almost anything (young wubboxes are notoriously ravenous, which lead to the myth that they eat other monsters)

- Protective cap over chest “speaker” (see image 4), falls off after a few weeks

- Long, fluffy fur for retaining warmth

- Simple armor plates that are shed several times while growing; initial set is made of eggshell parts that fuse onto the hatchling’s body

- Bioluminescent markings do not appear until adulthood

3. “blushing” wubbox; when flustered, their under-eye plates retract slightly, exposing patches of fur on their cheeks. these patches, like the rest of their fur, is bioluminescent, and is similar in texture to fiber optic lights

4. rough respiratory system diagram. they have very large lungs with a sort of dual output system; when speaking or “singing”, air passes through their larynx and into a hollow cavity in their chest covered by an eardrum-like membrane that functions like a speaker. this amplifies their voice and creates their signature booming roars.

5. side view of a wubbox’s head + skull concept. their mouths are full of large, flat teeth, with a diet consisting of vegetation and processed foods.

6. earth epic concept. in this scenario, “epic” wubboxes are the result of eggs being stored in certain environments for prolonged periods of time and developing specific adaptations for said environments; for example, an earth epic would be created by keeping an egg buried in volcanic ash, in/near magma, or just in a high temperature environment.

an earth epic’s horns are hollow tubes developed from their eye plates, which grow out to cover their nostrils completely; these horns are the output of a built-in air purification function in its respiratory system that filters the ash and smoke it breathes in and ejects the contaminants in mist clouds.

7. air epic concept + notes

- Large eyes and angled under-eye plates

- Wingtips are notched like an eagle’s (air epics are very fast and agile fliers, being smaller and more lightweight than others of their species)

- “Nostrils”/air output valves on their wrists; purpose unknown (these are mainly used to emit train whistle-like shrieks for communication, but why they exist is a mystery)

- Body armor plates are replaced by smaller, feather-like scales

8. lol bald eagle

extra note bc i haven’t designed the rare versions yet: “rare” wubboxes are the result of experimentation on a common individual in an effort to “improve” the species for the modern age; all current rares are clones of the first successful specimen

#wubbox #epic wubbox #my singing monsters #speculative biology #sketch #organic wubboxes

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darklydeliciousdesires · 8 months ago

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Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Eight.

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,827

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Sparks skittered, catching at her edges, reducing her to embers as she shook hard, hands grasping at the soft, dark blue nylon that bound each of her arms to the bedposts. It was a completely new experience for her, being bound like that, especially by a man so skilled in the art of shibari. The process had taken time, but as his fingers had expertly worked the rope over her skin, tying each intricate knot tightly into the chest harness tie, extending down to her arms, he’d covered her in kisses and licks at the same time.

It was pleasure beyond comprehension, to be lavished to kinkily by somebody she loved so much. Lying on her back at his complete mercy, arms spread wide, she gently juddered at the feeling of his mouth sucking her clit, two long fingers burrowed deep in the soaking clutch of her walls, all while gently working her lubed up glass dildo in and out of her ass.

Little bursts of bliss skipped over her nerves, an electric green stare gazing up at her intently, lips pulling at her bud firmer, his cheeks hollowing as he grunted, low and carnivorous. “You taste so amazing, baby, and you look so hot, all bound up. Like it, don’t you?”

He expected her to form words?

Her soft whimper was answer enough, Adrien smiling against her, releasing the suck upon her clit to beat the tip of his tongue across it rapidly. He had every intention of teasing her a little, but couldn’t resist the eroticism of letting her come against his tongue, her walls clamping around his fingers, little bliss filled cries filling his ears as she tensed and felt glimmers prickle up her spine one vertebrae at a time, her legs closing around his head as she shook from the force of it.

Barely giving any time to recover, he pulled her legs to drape over his shoulders, daggering into her soaking sex fully, enjoying her still fluttering walls pulsing hot around his cock. Leaning to her, he sucked each nipple in turn, feeling the rope knots brush his chest as her back arched elegantly like a bow, Jade losing herself entirely to the bliss of having both holes stretched.

Eventually, the glass phallus was abandoned, replaced by the incredible sensation of a very well-lubed cock parting her narrow passage. It hurt, taking something so wide, her little winces keeping him inching in slowly, thumb moving to her clit, rubbing slick little circles that sent warm wells of pleasure pouring golden beneath her skin in no time at all.

“Harder, please.” she panted, his mouth pressing kisses full of fevered desire at her neck, three fingers plunging into the sodden clasp of her cunt.

They kissed with fiery heat, his teeth gently biting the plush of her lower lip, his groans all smoke and salt as he breached her deeper, pulling back to do it again, but hard, drinking her soft wails down like wine. “You take it so well, honey, being all full of me.”

He dragged her slow, faster, slow again, watching her arch against him as she whimpered, the lock of her inner muscles around his fingers telling him she was close. Removing his thumb from her clit and gentling his fingers, he began edging her, her release torridly swelling, then ebbing. She flexed at him uncontrollably, her walls hot and slick, his cock twitching as he rutted and pulled back again, heart hammering at the pure sinful carnality.

She was reeling, the hum of energy coursing and gathering momentum without release, her clit bobbing against his thumb when the contact returned, Adrien removing it again for a few seconds to allow her to cool down. Building her again, the glimmers built to skitter once more, the ropes creaking as she tugged against them.

He arrowed a little deeper within her, his groan gut-wrenching as he felt the head of his cock pulse within the tight constriction, fighting his own urges to chase the release he held back from, slowing, waiting until it abated before he speared her again.

He had her mewling softly, clenching on him again as her hips shuddered, little bubbles of pleasure effervescing up her spine as her muscles flexed against her bindings, the stretch of the nylon audible, scintillating, the rope marking her flesh as she continued to struggle in her constriction. Electric tingles danced over her body in response to the tightness of the bindings, feeling herself built to teeter, flames blazing beneath her goose pimpled skin. Once again, her release was edged, Adrien giving her less time to cool off before doing it again, and again, and again… and again.

She was pushed to the very limit of what her body could handle, her breathing rapid, her eyelids fluttering, almost completely lost to the moment. Especially when slipped his fingers from within her, feeding them into her mouth and clutching her jaw in his big hand, before moving his grasp to her neck, tightening just enough to impede the blood flow and make her giddy. The act was sexy enough in itself, but the fact she trusted another man to hold her neck like that was what truly made him ache from the arousal of it, his cock beginning to fuck her with rapid finesse.

He kept on edging her, tightening and releasing the pressure at her neck, watching her movements very carefully, knowing he had to look after her through everything he was inflicting. He knew from experience there was a fine line between what could and couldn’t be tolerated.

“What’s your name?” he asked, slowing a little, the grasp on her neck loosening.

“Jade.”

“And your safe word?”

“Storm.” Short and easy enough to remember, her absolute favourite type of weather.

“Good, you’re not too outta your head with it yet. You’re taking it really, really well, baby. I love you so much.” He leaned to kiss her, glad that she was still mentally capable of continuing. If she couldn’t answer basic questions, that was the time to stop, regardless of if she had uttered her safe word or not to him.

Her head was spinning, but not enough to need a break or cease, Jade moaning softly as he began building her up again. Those soft noises gained more volume the further her body rocketed towards the light, her thighs trembling madly as once again, he edged her, holding her right there on the precipice, the coil in her rocking back and forth over the edge of nirvana.

He took her to the very epicentre of sexual paradise, before at last, her golden surge of light finally broke his horizon as he let her have what she’d ached for, her orgasm shining through her, his hips staccato as his voice broke on an almost helpless sounding groan, filling her with thick ribbons of cum.

His aftercare began with immediate effect, untying her bindings, stroking every red rope rub that marked her skin, lifting her from the bed and taking her from the bedroom to the bathroom. They stood beneath the hot deluge of water once in the shower, wrapped around one another while sharing kisses, still coming down from the incredible sexual high that took its time in ebbing away.

“Why are you even sexier when you’re wet?” she asked, fingers combing through his soaking hair.

His eyebrow twitched, mouth broadening into grin. “I often wonder the same about you.” The wink he followed his words with had her in a fit of giggles, pulling him close, more kisses shared.

Once out and dry, they found their way into comfortable clothes, resuming their place in the lounge, bundled up in blankets while they chatted and drank wine. Outside, the snow poured from the sky in a pretty deluge of white.

“Get out of here, really?” she spoke, after hearing that his mother had an interest in her music.

“She stood there looking blissful while singing along to Pisces. Word for word, too,” he revealed, Jade absolutely delighted by the revelation.

“Even the screaming parts?”

He laughed at even the thought of Lois attempting that. “No, but when my dad heard that bit, he suggested you might have a demon.”

Her giggling shriek filled the room right to the ceiling, clapping her hands together before reaching for her wine glass again. “He might be right.”

“She said she wants to meet you too, while we have time off from being anywhere but here.” It made nerves bloom in her tummy, but she instantly agreed to it. They knew how serious they were about one another, so why not get the meet the parent's thing done as soon as they could? That meeting took place just five days into the New Year, one which sadly their father’s couldn’t attend, Patrick away at a guest lecturing spot and Steven locked into surgery.

A meeting of the mothers was good enough, though.

Those respective mother’s both arrived early at Shuka in SoHo, the agreed meeting place, Lois sitting at a table by the window idly sketching while she waited and kept an eye on the door. At seeing a woman walk in who bared a striking resemblance to the girl her son was so enamoured with, she took a wild shot.

“Gemma?”

The attractive woman with the curtain of shiny, black hair turned from where she was standing waiting to be seated, her smile widening. “Lois?”

“Yes, hi!” Beckoning her over, she stood to greet her with a hug and a cheek kiss. “Oh, mother of pearl, your daughter is the image of you!”

Taking her thick, faux fur jacket off, Gemma seated herself adjacent. It was something she was very, very glad of, her genes being so dominant that her darling first born looked little like her sperm donor. He was never her father in her mind. That honour fell to one man, her beloved husband, the man who had loved her raised her since day one. “We’re told that often. It’s so nice to meet you, I have to say! We had some of your photographs displayed a few years ago at my museum, but unfortunately, I never got the chance to meet you when you came! I appreciated them though, very much so.”

Lois inclined her head, nodding a little. “Thank you, that’s kind. Yes, I was bowled over when I was displayed at the Guggenheim. My son mentioned you curate there for the Asian antiquities. How fascinating! What drew you to the far east, artistically?”

Their offspring had predicted it right off the bat, that their mother’s would instantly find an easy connection through art. “God, the variety of beauty created over three millennia, each as varied and intricate at the years that befell it, yet there is a consistency there that I find fascinating,” Gemma explained, the waiter arriving with them to take her drinks order, Lois already furnished with a vodka and grapefruit juice. “Bloody Mary please, hon. Extra Worcestershire.”

“I have to say, your accent is an utter delight,” Lois noted, “half London, half New York.”

“Oh, I know!” she laughed, “People always give me this perplexed look, wondering where exactly it is that I’m from. My buba has it a little, too, but my twins not so much. They’re very broad New York, only nine when we came back.”

“Yes, Adrien mentioned that Jade’s siblings were twins. I sometimes lament that we stopped with him, but my god, it’s hard, isn’t it? Nobody can adequately sum up the toils of motherhood, and you’ve done it three times over!”

“As likely my girl will, too. Twins are generational in my family. My younger brothers are twins, my mother was a twin, her mother before her, too. And yes, motherhood has been my most demanding role to date,” Gemma revealed, thanking the waiter who furnished her drink, asking if they were ready to order food or not. “We’re still waiting on our kids, so give us a little while yet, love.”

Just then, said kids arrived arm in arm, looking so loved up their respective mother’s felt their hearts pinch.

“Oh, look at them,” Lois cooed, waving to her son, “what a beautiful couple.” Both women stood to greet their offspring and be offered introduction before they sat down again, Gemma feeling a little unbelieving that she was sitting across from the man whose films she enjoyed so much. The man her daughter also viewed with nothing short of all-encompassing adoration.

It might only have been early days, but god, they looked so in love. After the whole mess she’d ended up in with Ivan, Gemma was relieved to see her finally putting it all behind her and moving on with somebody new. That somebody new was handsome, polite, well spoken, down to earth and very naturally charming, the elder of the Burton women very taken with him right from the start.

As for Lois?

“Here, I took this on the way out the front door this morning,” she spoke, handing her phone across the table to Jade. “That’s what I painted while listening to Black Electric Wasteland.”

Taking the phone, she held it near, then far, reaching towards her mother and make a motion with her hand. Gemma sighed, removing her glasses from atop her head. “Buba, get an eye test!”

“Don’t need one, I just want to pick out the details better,” she spoke, placing the glasses on and studying the painting, her face lighting into a smile. Her music had inspired the art of a woman she admired greatly. It bowled her over completely.

“Baby, that’s bullshit. You know you need one,” Adrien spoke lightly, nudging her with his elbow, prompting her sheepish glance away from the phone. “You wore Jen’s to read the tour itinerary half the time.”

Gemma was impressed at seeing him call her out gently. Not many people challenged her daughter’s stubborn streak.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” And she conceded? Instantly? Who was this woman, and what had she done with Jade? “Lois, this is stunning. The colours, the way you literally made the tone of the album come to life on a canvas, it’s amazing! Oh my life, you’re so talented!” she complimented, receiving a small smile of appreciation.

“That’s kind of you, thank you,” she replied graciously, pointing at her phone, “and if you scroll right, you get to see the most adorable picture of Adrien when he was two!”

“Mom,” he groaned, looking a touch pained. “Please don’t say it’s a naked one.”

“It isn’t, but come on! It isn’t like she hasn’t seen you with your clothes off! Don’t be such a prude.”

How Jade kept the massive guffaw of laughter in her chest from booming out of her mouth at that, she didn’t know, knowing her boyfriend was the furthest thing from prudish. Swiping right, she squeaked instantly, looking at the picture of a tiny Adrien taken out in the rain, a look of pure joy on his face as he beamed a grin out from beneath the hood of his coat. “Look how cute you are!” she cooed, turning the screen to him. He shook his head, turning to Gemma to inquire a little further about her current work projects at the museum.

As first meets with at least half of the parents went, that afternoon was a hit, both women separately texting their offspring to express how much they’d enjoyed getting to know their new love. After their meet, the pair headed straight to another bar and then onto a restaurant for dinner, both acutely aware that people were discreetly taking their picture throughout.

“Hey, come on. Unclench your jaw,” Adrien spoke, squeezing her hand.

She took a breath and a big gulp of wine, sighing with a small growl. “I should be used to it, and I am, but I hate that people take so much interest in my private life. Our private life, now.”

He nodded in understanding. It had annoyed him in the beginning, too. “You’ll learn not to notice eventually. It’s just something that comes with the territory. Trust me, when people get used to the idea of us being together, they won’t bother taking so much notice either. They always enjoy peering in when it’s all shiny and new.”

It was all shiny and new, Jade focusing upon the man sitting across from her rather than those around them directing their phones to capture their evening. He came back to hers that night, leaving in the morning to head up to his house, having a few days overseeing the continued renovations. Jade couldn’t wait to see it, but since it was, as he had said in as many words, a complete building site at that time, her introduction to the home would be delayed until conditions improved. ��

Spending time in their own lives away from their relationship was very indicative of the people they were, not needing to be clung to one another at every available moment. They did make a little more time for one another, however, ever conscious that once they returned to work, it’d be a month and a half before they got to see one another again in mid-March. After that, their schedules would allow even less, with Adrien busy shooting two projects with a month between each, Jade doing three back-to-back.

There’d be a three-month gap between seeing one another, and while both accepted that it was very much the way it went, they didn’t relish in it. Their month of January being in the same place at the same time was spent stocking up on time together, working it in around seeing their family and friends.

They occasionally went out, but mostly were quite content to abscond to the privacy of Jade’s apartment, very much enjoying the new relationship honeymoon period, relishing in getting to know one another much better than they already did. Adrien noted it all, everything he loved about her, the little things he found so adorable, silly insignificances that made him smile. Like when she occasionally put unnecessary S’s on the end of her words.

“Gorgeous, sexy mans!”

“Oh look, it’s rainings!”

Or the way she so delightfully assigned gender to inanimate objects.

“Baby love, where’s red handled knife?”

“He’s in the sink. But don’t cut that bread yet! She needs to cool!”

Another thing they very much enjoyed was the fact they’d met in one another their complete sexual match, the spice amping up instantly at even the mere suggestion of things turning sexual. Take one otherwise quiet Tuesday morning, for example, Adrien still half asleep as he stood in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee machine to brew a pot, smiling to see Jade saunter in. She looked so gorgeous, her hair braided back, no makeup on, wearing her bra and a pair of his boxers.

“Morning,” he croaked, leaning to kiss her, enjoying the sensation of her hands running up and down his bare chest a few times.

“Hey sexy mans.” Reaching past him to the shelf, she grabbed a jar from the centre, twisting the lid off and scooping out a dollop of coconut oil, melting it in her palms and smothering her face with it as he gave her a look of mild incredulity. “It’s really good for the skin,” she revealed, her mouth beginning to widen, “as well as other things.”

Moving behind him, she hopped up onto the counter in the narrow space, her arms sliding around him as she began laying kisses against his shoulder. He still had the bulk he’d gained for his role in Predators, and she loved it, but would take him any way he came.

“What are you doing back there, Moo?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as her hands began to glide down over his abs.

“Wait and see.” Her hands continued to travel further; her mouth planting kisses against his neck. He was already semi-hard by the time she shifted his sweats down, letting them rest below his hips, her hand curling around his cock and beginning to stroke. His breath caught in his throat, thinking that her plans for him that morning would definitely leave him feeling more awake than the coffee that slowly dripped into the pot.

He could see his reflection in the shiny gloss of the black tiles opposite, watching the sight of her hand pumping slowly, her nails circling his nipples until they pebbled, giving one a hard pinch at the exact moment her tongue flickered against his neck.

“God, you look so hot, especially when you’re turned on,” she purred, nipping him softly, her hand trailing up to grasp beneath his jaw, tipping his head back to furtherly exposed his throat.

“Mmm, wow, your cock is so hard. Almost seems a waste, knowing you could be splitting my wet little pussy with it now, baby. You can do that later, though. This is all about you, and how hard I’m going to make you come all over my hand.”

A shuddered breath fluttered over a moan, almost a whimper, his pulse jacked up as his cock twitched within the oiled slick of her grasp. “You’re a fucking demon of a woman, Burtie,” he groaned, making her snicker softly.

“I am,” she agreed, “that’s why you love me.” Running her tongue in a slow lick up the side of his neck, it ended in a soft bite upon his jaw, Adrien making a noise of pure sin as her fingers swirled the head of him, at a loss to do with his own hands, reaching back to grip the counter he leaned against. The noise arrowed right to her apex, sharp arousal slicking her folds, but as she’d stated this was about him, not her.

His hips bucked forward with the next twist of her hand, Jade sensing his need, tightening her grasp around him. “Such a beautiful, big cock,” she whispered, nipping his earlobe, letting it slide out from between her teeth while her nails flexed upon his neck. “Come apart for me, let me hear those groans.”

Her words evoked it just as much as her hand, the sensation of bliss darting through him, a gritted moan pouring from his mouth as he spilled thick and hot over her fingers, heart hammering torridly within his chest. Kissing the centre of his back, she hopped down, leaving him breathless as she washed her hands, Adrien pulling his sweats back up as he basked in the afterglow of a very intense orgasm.

“I was gonna hit the gym for an hour this morning,” he spoke, pulling her close once she’d dried her hands, “but the only cardio I have on my mind now is bouncing you on my dick.”

“I like the sound of that.” she beamed.

The coffee sat in the pot for a while longer that morning.

#adrien brody fanfiction #adrien brody #adrien brody smut #adrien brody fanfic #adrien brody fic #adrien brody x ofc #sky full of stars #adrien and jade

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johaerys-writes · 2 years ago

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I have come to clasp your knees in supplication.

*deep breath*

Menelaus succeeds at saving Pat from Hector and drags his ass back to camp like in all the renaissance sculptures but he’s super injured and #traumatized. So achilles come screeching out of his tent and does some #angst. He’s literally so angry but also eaten alive with guilt. But he’s gotta keep it together because Pat needs his love because of #hurt/comfort and the #wounds are so serious he needs much #protectiveness.

Will you do this for me? I implore you by the cute, teeny tiny feet of Hera.

Thank you so much for sending this prompt! This has been sitting in my inbox for so long, I hope you like what I did with it <3

Words: ~2,700, angst, hurt/comfort

Achilles restlessly paces the camp. Hours pass as the sun dips towards the west, its light choked by the indigo death-roes of the sweltering day.

Patroclus, before he’d ridden away to battle, had vowed to return soon. Achilles waits for him.

He spots the polished gold of his own chariot in the distance. The horses kick up a cloud of dust as Automedon pulls taut their reins, as soon as they’re in view of the Myrmidon camp.

Something’s not right.

Achilles can tell right away. He’s always had keen senses, that animal instinct that warns one of a storm when not a cloud can be seen on the horizon, of a fire when neither smoke nor flame is present. There’s something in the air; he can see it plain as day.

He crosses the camp in a few quick strides. Automedon hops off the chariot to meet him. He is pale, his eyes hollow beneath the shadows of his helmet.

“My lord—”

“Where is Patroclus?” Achilles asks. The man peers at him wordlessly, until Achilles grabs him by the shoulders. “Where is he?”

The man’s lips part uselessly, for no sound comes out. Before Achilles has the chance to shake the answer out of him, the clatter of another chariot distracts him. It is Menelaus, riding swiftly into the camp. He is holding something. Someone.

Achilles’ blood runs cold.

The chariot is drawn to a stop. Menelaus descends, slow and encumbered under the weight of the body he’s holding. The limbs are mangled, bloody, the curly hair stiff with sweat and mud.

“Hector,” Menelaus says breathlessly, his neck and arms shiny with sweat and blood. “He— got to him. I only barely managed to whisk him away. Ajax kept the Trojans off for as long as he could and held the battle while I ran.” He glances down at Patroclus’ limp form in his arms. He is almost unrecognisable, his once smooth olive skin now a mixture of browns and reds as deep and dark as grapes crushed for wine.

“The armour,” Menelaus says mournfully. “I couldn’t save the armour. They’d already taken most of it.”

But Achilles isn’t listening. The words touch his ears but do not register as words: they’re merely sounds, lost in the threads that keep unravelling around him, the threads that stitch Achilles’ world together.

Patroclus, a bloody heap, is laid at his feet.

He doesn’t realise his knees have buckled until he crashes on the packed earth. A scream tears its way out of his throat; then another, and another. He cradles Patroclus in his arms, his body warm and pulsing as the blood that’s rushing out of his many wounds.

I did this, Achilles thinks, choked by his own breath. I did this to you.

Hands descend upon him, try to pull him away. He grabs at someone’s wrist on instinct and pulls its owner down to the ground with him. It is Automedon, his trusted charioteer, who has driven Achilles to hundreds of battles and returned him to camp after each one. Returning him, safe and sound, to Patroclus.

Achilles squeezes the man’s wrist until the bones creak beneath his fingers, blind through the tears. “I ordered you to bring him back to me unharmed.”

Automedon only peers at him, guilty and wordless, waiting for whatever punishment Achilles sees fit.

The anger is quickly replaced by worry when Patroclus heaves a pained breath. Achilles lets the man go, then turns all of his attention to Patroclus. He lifts him off of the ground gently, afraid to injure him further.

“Bring me vinegar and warm water,” he tells whoever is following him towards his tent. “Bandages and needles and horse tail hair. Then leave me with him.”

“My lord, we should call the healers—”

“Leave me.” He barks the order without even turning his head as he lays Patroclus down on the bed.

Through the haze of tears and anguish, all Achilles can see is the dirt that clings onto Patroclus’ face, his neck, his arm, the blood that keeps oozing sluggishly from the gush in the centre of his chest.

It’s like Achilles’ heart has been torn out of his chest and trampled into the dust, like Patroclus was.

When everything he asked for is brought to him, he doesn’t waste a moment. He orders the door of his tent to be sealed shut, to be left in peace. His focus is singular and absolute.

It’s been months since he’s had to use the skills he learned at Chiron’s side. He pours water and vinegar on Patroclus wounds to clean them, then starts meticulously picking out every speck of dust, every sliver of metal from the crushed remains of the armour. He sprinkles dried yarrow root to stem the bleeding, then stitches the torn skin back together. His fingers work ceaselessly to undo the damage that’s been done, to mend it. After the larger wounds have been taken care of, with a damp cloth he cleans the smaller ones, all the cuts and the scratches and the bruises, the scraped palms of Patroclus’ hands and his torn fingers. Each of them he cleans tenderly, careful not to cause him any pain, any more than he has to.

Achilles does not know how much time has passed when the last of Patroclus’ wounds have been bound. With the clean water that he has left in the bowl, he brushes a wet sponge through Patroclus’ curls, wipes the dried blood and dirt from his cheeks and brow, revealing the lovely features, calm and tensionless as if in sleep.

When Achilles finally sets the healing implements aside, his hands tremble with weariness. He lies down on the bed they’ve shared for years and curls up in a ball beside Patroclus. He lets the tears come, lets them fall.

Don’t leave me, he whispers into the crook of Patroclus’ neck, breathing in his familiar scent through the astringent smell of strong vinegar and the thick sweetness of the crushed yarrow flowers. Don’t leave me here.

Patroclus’ eyelids do not stir; only his ribs expand slightly with each shallow, laboured breath.

Consciousness is a blur of pain when Patroclus crawls from the murky bottoms up to the surface.

His throat is parched. Each breath hurts, and his body feels cold.

It takes him a moment to realise what it is that dragged him out of that heavy stupor. He’s in his tent, he knows this, the tent he shares with Achilles. He can tell by the colour of the light around him, the smell of the bed beneath him, the feel of the furs against his skin. The air is thick, stale.

There’s a body beside him. A head bent over him, hands clasping his own. A cascade of golden hair on his stomach, but he can’t feel the soft strands on his skin for all the bandages that cover it. Achilles’ shoulders quake, and Patroclus thinks he can make out the quiet, sniffling sobs he tries to stifle.

His hand, when Patroclus raises it, is heavy as tempered iron. He touches Achilles’ head.

“It's alright,” he mumbles. The words an unintelligible slur through his cracked lips, but his need to comfort Achilles in his distress pushes him to try again. “It’s alright, love.”

Achilles lifts his face to look at him. His cheeks gleam with tears, old and new. He must have been crying for hours, Patroclus thinks, for days, his eyes as red as they are green. It’s like Patroclus is gazing at him through water, or a veil of thin gauze; he can’t make out the high cheekbones, the drawn eyebrows, the curl of the lip. He tries to speak again — don’t cry, dear heart, dry your eyes— but the air sticks to his throat, and he coughs weakly, painfully.

“Shh, don’t speak,” Achilles urges. He disappears for a moment, then a cup is pressed to his lips. The liquid is pleasantly warm, and it tastes bitter when it hits his tongue. Dried yarrow and linden flower, Patroclus registers dimly, as he swallows a mouthful, then another. Achilles gently, as if he’s cradling an injured bird, lays down Patroclus’ head on the pillow.

“What happened?” Patroclus asks, after he’s caught his breath. Even this slight movement has agony shooting through every limb, every fibre.

Achilles simply stares at him. “You don’t remember?” When Patroclus doesn’t respond for a long moment, more tears start coursing down Achilles’ cheeks.

“You almost died, Patroclus,” Achilles says in a trembling voice. He sounds hoarse, exhausted. He must have been by Patroclus’ bedside for days; Patroclus has never seen him in such a state. “Hector’s spear missed your heart only by a hair. Had it not been for Menelaus and Ajax to drag you away…”

The battlefield flashes before Patroclus’ eyes. A bright light searing his eyes; then the arrows, the swords, the spears. The dying clamour of horses and men all around him, then Hector. There was no pain, not really; this, Patroclus remembers. Only this depthless feeling of loss, of desolation; the knowledge that he would never see Achilles again. The sudden realisation that it was Patroclus, after all, that sealed both of their fates.

Such cruel games the gods play.

“When I sent you out into battle, in my own armour, I never thought it would be Hector you’d be challenging,” Achilles continues. “You were to strike fear into the hearts of the Trojans, drive them back towards their walls, then come back to me. I told you to come back to me. I told you—”

Achilles’ mouth sets in a hard line, but it isn’t cruelty or pride that makes his tone sharp and essential like the edge of a knife. It is fear. That bone deep fear that Patroclus can feel in his own marrow. “Patroclus, how could you do this to me?”

How could he, indeed. Patroclus has no ready answer. He only remembers Troy’s walls, high and impenetrable like the gates of Hades. He remembers gazing at them from the chariot, and thinking how easy it would be to storm the city now that the men are off fighting, their blood high with battle lust. How easy it would be to simply end the war, so that they could leave those gods-forsaken plains behind, along with the prophecies that circle them like carrion birds. With their ships heavy with gold and slaves and Troy’s treasures, the Achaeans would all return to the kingdoms satisfied— not even greedy Agamemnon would say no to this. Achilles would return to Phthia, and spend the rest of his days ruling over the lands his father left him, until his skin was as leathery and his hair as golden-grey as Peleus’ must be now.

A life of obscurity, Thetis had said, an eternity of their names forgotten, but would that be so bad? If this senseless war was finally over, if they both could finally live, would that be so terrible a fate?

What childish fancies those thoughts seem to him now. He turns his head away, unable to meet Achilles' red, tired eyes. All this time, he’d been silently begging and pleading with whatever higher power there is to let him stay by Achilles’ side, for a little while longer, for as long as he could. And yet it was he, in the end, who threw himself into the glowing embers, praying only that Achilles wouldn’t be caught in the flames.

And yet, it never occurred to him that by doing so, he’d be condemning Achilles to the same life Patroclus had been dreading. A lifetime alone.

“I just wanted it to be over,” he whispers, regret welling up inside him like the dark banks of an overflowing river. “I wanted it all to be over.”

Achilles stares at him for a moment in disbelief, then pushes himself up to his feet and starts pacing across the tent. He rakes his fingers through his hair; the usually lustrous locks are now tangled and messy, as if Achilles hasn’t combed them in days.

“You promised me. You promised that after I was — gone—” he pauses for a heartbeat on the word, “that you would perform the burial rites for me. You, and no one else. And that if my son was still living, you would take him from Scyros and return to Phthia with him, and show him all my property, my bondsmen, the kingdom he is to inherit — for Peleus would surely be an old man by then, or struck by grief upon tidings of my death. You promised—”

“Do you really think I’d have the strength to make it to the end of this war with you gone?” Patroclus whispers. There are tears in his eyes, he realises distantly; the breathless, bitter chuckle that leaves his lips is dry and brittle like autumn leaves. “Philtatos, you know me better than this.”

He doesn’t need to look back at Achilles to know the pain that crosses his beautiful features. He stands motionless for a long moment, silent and distant, as if gazing at Patroclus across a great gulf. His footsteps are silent on the fur rug— then, Achilles’ warm forehead touches Patroclus’. He leans over him, trembling, and kisses his cheeks, his eyes, his lips. Patroclus can do nothing but push through the lingering haze of pain and exhaustion, clawing at the edges, to stay with him. To stay.

“Never go far from me,” Achilles pleads quietly, solemnly into their kiss. “Not even for a day. Not even for a moment. Do you hear me, Patroclus?”

His fingers are soft when they trace Patroclus’ cheek, the stubble that has grown there over the days he’s spent unconscious. There is persistent demand in the way he touches him, that still cutting edge of desperation.

“Don’t leave me behind.”

"I won't," Patroclus murmurs, and though every part of him hurts, he still lifts his arms to hold Achilles, to pull him close, to let him curl against him and take whatever comfort he needs from his battered body.

He brings Achilles hand to his lips and kisses the sword-calloused palm of it, sealing the promise he's given him time and again:

Always. Together always, in life, in death, in oblivion and dust and the dark tears in the fabric of remembrance. Always, the two of them despite the world.

The light wanes, and still they lie there, drifting in and out of troubled sleep, and for once Patroclus dares to dream of a distant future.

The fires burn high today, smoke billowing over Troy’s battlefields. Mount Ida's peaks shimmer in the distance, the great city’s walls barely visible beneath it.

From atop the deck of their ship, Patroclus gazes at the place that has been his home for ten years. The Achaean camp and the dark ships dragged up the beach as far as they eye can see, and all the Greeks, people amongst them that Patroclus came to know as friends, small figures milling restlessly like ants.

The life he led in the shadow of a war that tore the world they knew asunder.

Agamemnon had come again, pleading with Achilles to fight in the war, bearing rich gifts. Achilles had denied each one, and had bided his time long enough until Patroclus could stand on his own two feet and survive the long journey back to Phthia.

"My lord," Automedon says behind them. Achilles turns to look at him, his features hard with determination. "The wind is favourable. The men are ready."

"Lower the sails," Achilles commands. He sets his hand on Patroclus' shoulder as the beach gets further and further from them with each beat of the oars. They both watch, hidden in the great shadows that the Myrmidon sails cast upon them.

They both know they're leaving the Achaeans there to die.

Though it stings to leave them all behind, friend and foe; though he knows Achilles' name might be tarnished by it before it is forgotten for good, Patroclus can't bring himself to regret this.

"Think Peleus will be glad to see us?" Achilles whispers in his ear. "Or will he turns us away like defectors?"

Patroclus smiles, because the answer, for once, is easy.

"He must already be preparing the welcoming feast. Thetis will have surely told him."

Achilles grins, and against the backdrop of the soot-grey sky and wine-dark sea he's bright like a young flame. He winds his arm around Patroclus' waist and holds him close as the great walls of Troy become but a white-yellow speck in the distance.

"Let the winds take us home, then."

Thank you so much for reading! Like and reblog if you enjoyed this— it really means a lot :)

#patrochilles #the song of achilles #tsoa #the iliad #hades game #achilles x patroclus #patroclus x achilles #achilles/patroclus #achilles #patroclus #johaerys writes

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mmxstrangers · 3 months ago

Note

CONGRATULATIONS!

🎉You chose a two for one special!🎉

You have selected the [Kapp and Undead] as your attire. Please see the following list of properties with this choice.

Kappa

Your head is hollow and open like a chalice. Water fills it and the more water you hold, the better you feel. Different liquids placed inside will alter your power for better or worse, so be careful with what you fill your head with.

You can snatch and eat the souls of others.

You LOVE cucumbers! They are a temptation you cannot say No to.

Undead

You are now experiencing post mortem and all the "perks" that come with it. From Livor to Rigor mortis, the progression of decay is your journey to navigate through.

Even though you are actively decaying it doesn't hinder your ability to perform daily tasks, though, some things like Rigor mortis make things a little difficult. You can detach and reattach any part of your body with simple needle and thread.

At some point three will be nothing of you but a skeleton.

The two lookalikes squinted at the message before glancing at each other.

Before they could fully process what was going on, a Poof! went off along with a cloud of smoke to briefly obscure the two from view.

Chi blinked, the optics on his visor activated to show where he was looking. While he didn't feel that different - various audio signals detected were still being received and processed, so he knew his information-sifting was intact - he could feel the sloshing of... Something, in his head.

He hesitantly lifted his hand.

The skintone of it was off - more greenish and scaly-looking in texture, with webbed fingers and clawed fingertips. Not only that, but a new weight was on his back.

What... Was he?

Suddenly, he felt a nervous spike of energy flare up - and it wasn't from his own systems.

A feeling of concern settled in his gut as he turned around to his partner.

[ CONTENT WARNING: body horror and graphic description ahead. It gets gross. ]

Theta's tendrils were tensed behind himself, shaking as if frozen in place and visibly struggling to move.

The pseudo-Zero's systems felt... Off.

There was normally a buzz of sensation as his body actively monitored for changes, which was a blessing and a curse in-of itself - it was from his self-repair factor, responsible for near-instantaneous replacement of his fleshier bits at the cost of his metabolism processing whatever he shoved into his mouth blindingly quick. It was why he was usually so hungry all the time.

While the gnawing in his stomach didn't go away at that moment, Theta did not feel that buzzing sensation vibrating under his skin anymore. If that was the case... That meant his self-repair factor was completely offline.

The horror of the realization slowly blanketed over him, punctuated by the sloughing of skin weighing downwards and tearing away from his face on one side.

A sickening plop was heard afterward, feeling the residual warmth of fluid slipping through his fingers.

Glistening flesh greeted him as he stared at the fallen part of his cheek, suddenly becoming more aware of the cold feeling hitting his exposed teeth and muscle. The smell of chyme penetrated the air. If there was anyone around, the scent alone would drive them off - but Theta's mind was twisting onto itself, struggling to understand what was going on and utterly ignoring what was around him.

Chi's calm aura was barely keeping him from freaking out; Theta would have completely lost his mind otherwise. However, his partner's presence didn't stop a foreign emotion from creeping into his circuits; it seized the red robot completely, apprehension freezing him in place.

He felt nauseous.

#encrypted commentary ;; anons #halloween event #mun art #codename: watcher #codename: thanatos #body horror cw

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nevadas-night-time-novelist · 11 months ago

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I’d ask for more stuff for the reader with the employers (other than Audi) but rrrrrfgg. So little content of them

I feel you Anon, but that's cuz there's jack shit info on them. This got longer than intended and tumblr wont let me save anymore to this post, so I'll make another post with Conductor and Deliberator! :]

Stygian x reader

CW: Talks of death/decay

STYGIAN

Arguably the oldest of the four widely known employers, for as long as life has existed, so too has death. Black wisps of smoke curled around his skeletal form, flowing down without pattern or consistency. His few visible features deep set in his face, from his dull pink eyes, to his cheekbones protruding prominently.

His paper thin skin seemed to barely sit on the pink toned bones, looking as if any movement would tear it away, it was something you'd wondered about often when thinking of him.

"Worm." His voice was hollow, a soulless husky rasp with a hint of airiness to it. That was how he referred to everyone he deemed below him, which was everything but his kin.

Being called upon to aid in his work was exciting, yet a heavy burden. Plenty of dead souls passed this realm, and you were part of an exclusive team of judges, dictating where each S-3LF should go. To be reborn, to be banished to purgatory, sentenced to hell, or perhaps the worst fate you'd come to learn of, to be torn asunder into nothing, scattered across the cosmic void.

Sure, purgatory and hell weren't pleasant places, but arguably seemed kinder fates that simply becoming completely undone, as though one had never existed at all...

He snapped his fingers, and you were alone in his office. "Sit." His voice was cold and commanding, yet it always had that tone. Reading him was difficult, always a frigid reception, emotionless to the fullest extent. You obeyed without a word, the chair uncomfortable and worn, unlike the one behind his desk, which was new, plush, and looked a whole lot more comfortable.

His gaunt figure passed by, and a hint of ash mixed with embalming fluids flooded your nose, still incredibly potent despite how often the smell filled your office space.

Narrow hip bones lay neath the skirt of his black floor length toga, a belt of tiny animal skulls rested around his waist. "You are being far too kind to these pathetic bugs. You have yet to submit souls to be cast into The Nothing. Weakness like this shall not be taken lightly."

"I'm sorry, sir." His eyes narrowed.

"These are unworthy beings deserving of erasure, if you can't comply, you'll find yourself joining them into obscurity."

"I'll do better, sir. I vow it."

"As is expected. You are meant to make my job easier. Remember, you are replaceable."

"Understood, sir."

You were suddenly back in your office, leaving Stygian alone in his. He sat at his desk, gritting his teeth. Yes, this little worm was weak, below him, so why couldn't he get you off his mind?

Too kind for their own good, even when he insulted them, berated and tore them apart, they were ever-so polite and always replied formally. His smoke curled around his head, growing thicker as his annoyance grew, filling the room with a black and pink haze.

He was the beast of death, reeling in souls and fixing the afterlife for all, and love and romance weren't really his deal. He was utterly blind to this, doubly so because it was mere mortal that caught his fancy.

He snapped his fingers, and at once a younger fellow Employer appeared in the chair ahead of him. "You really need to stop doing that. I was busy." Dreamer sighed and looked at Stygian. "Why did you call on me, brother?"

Stygian sighed, like a wind blowing through bones. "A mortal being plagues my mind. You deal with these things regularly, what do you propose is wrong with me?"

Dreamer twirled her star earring. "Depends, what thoughts are you thinking?"

"They infest my mind like maggots, writhing in my skin and burrowing deeper. Their face haunts my mind, a ghost trapped in my skull. Tell me Dreamer, tell me, what is wrong?"

Summoning a tea cup, Dreamer sipped thoughtfully. "You're in love."

"What?"

She giggled and rolled her eyes. "This mortal, whoever they are, you're in love with them. Indulge in it, or don't. Do what thou will, tis what thy's best at. But if you do intent to pursue them, do change out of your deathly rags, okay Steeg?" She clapped her hands, and was gone.

In love? HIM? Bullshit, Dreamer was in her own world again. No. He wasn't in love. He needed to kill you, to break you from his mind entirely, to make you cease to exist, to-

A stack of documents landed in his tray, and he groaned, taking the top one off. His eyes instantly went to the bottom, your signature freshly inked. "Perhaps the purple one has a point." He slumped in his chair slightly, casting the paper aside. Auditor could file them himself, he enjoyed that stuff anyway.

Stygian got up, melting into the floor, appearing back in his private quarters. Heading to his wardrobe, he cracked it open, seeing nothing more than old suits, funeral attire, and worn out reaper robes. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, of course his clothing was useless, he rarely took care of his physical form.

He's living death for Maker's sake, why is he fussing about this?!

"Your thoughts are disrupting my flow." Connie was sitting in a chair in Stygian's bedroom.

"Tis a shame we cannot all have coherent thoughts, Conductor." Stygian scowled angrily. "Precisely what are you intending to achieve here?"

Conductor let out a melodic chuckle, his voice smooth like a fine tuned instrument. "You're not yourself. You're... Bothered. And I don't mean your usual gloom filled irritated self." He rested his head on a fist. "And since when do you change your attire but once a century?"

Stygian gritted his sharp teeth. "Well. Fine. Dreamer may have placed..... Strange thoughts in my mind, about... 'Love.' With some mortal of all things." He threw an old suit on the floor. "And that my clothes are RAGS!"

Connie straightened his tie. "She.. Has a point on that second thing." He pulled his baton, twirling it around in his hands, a blue light shooting out and wrapping itself around Stygian, and instantly tall, dark, and depressing was in a new, freshly pressed three piece suit with a pink tie to match his eyes. "Much better."

Stygian tapped his tie, and a skull lapel pin appeared on it.

Again Conductor swirled his baton, and a fat bouquet of white lilies mixed with blood red roses appeared in Stygian's arms. "Mortals are finicky, they enjoy things like that. Now go and demand they accept your offer."

You were seated at your desk still, condemning another old soul to the void. This one had lived so many lives, so many wicked lived. Dissolving them would be a blessing to the world... That was rather cruel, unlike your usual thoughts. Strange...

"Ahem." You spun in your chair, seeing Stygian in a full suit, his misty 'hair' flowing down, streaks of pink inside inky black. "You will attend a restaurant with me tonight. We need to discuss what happened earlier in greater depth."

Stygian wasn't asking, he was commanding. "Y-yes sir." You found yourself questioning his motives, he never spent time with anyone besides his brothers and sister.

His eyes narrowed, reading you back. "Here." He grunted, thrusting his arm out, shoving the bouquet into your face. "I've been informed that your kind... enjoys such gestures."

"What.. is this?" You looked up from your roses and lilies, and spotted soft pink flushing his cheeks, his eyes averted. "Sir?"

"Just get ready." Stygian snapped his fingers, a body hugging lacy black dress, with rhinestones and intricate little patterns embroidered on, and a classy all black suit, equally bejewelled with lace gloves both appeared on your desk. "Hopefully either of those should be to your liking."

You picked out one of the garments and rushed off to the staff toilets, heart racing and hands shaking. This wasn't happening, right? In a second, Stygian's hand would slam on your desk, and he'd bark at you to wake up. Surely he hadn't picked up on your slight attraction to him, right?

It was cringe-worthy, the living embodiment of death making your stomach butterflies flutter wildly. His cold demeanour, his harsh attitude, the puppy-love feeling of him softening these traits for you, it was all a fantasy, right?

Dressing up, you stepped out, and nearly collided with Stygian, who was lingering outside. "You... look nice." He grumbled, covering his mouth. "I figured you could perhaps enhance your appearance further with this."

He held out a box, opening it to show off a beautiful necklace with pink gemstones encrusted in rose gold metal. "A-are you sure about this sir? This doesn't seem like you."

Stygian looked at you finally, smoke swirling around his skull, twirling around your face as he stepped closer. "Don't think I haven't picked up on your signals, mortal. I can hear the way your heart races when you're close to me, I feel the lingering stares that could almost imprint in my form. I've ignored it and pushed it down for as long as I could, mistaking my own affections for resentment.

You wish to entangle yourself with death? Then prove to me you're worthy of it." Your hands grasped his cheeks, passing through his misty form and grabbing a hold of the black bone beneath, pulling it towards your face, feeling his teeth against your lips.

His flames were cool, but his bones were warm, pleasantly heating your hands as you held him, one of his skeletal hands covered yours, the other pulling you closer by your hips.

A lightheaded feeling washed over you, you started to collapse in his arms, but he was quick to support you. As he pulled back, you noticed a white mist flowing from between his teeth.

"Quite literally stealing your breath away." Resting in his arms a moment, his hand rubbed your back to comfort you, the other cradling your head against his chest. "To be in love with a mortal... To my kin it's unheard of. But you're different. You always have been. You vex me, but I crave it."

He slipped the necklace around your neck, and you looked up from the comfort of his skeletal form to his pink eyes. "Does this mean you're not firing me at dinner tonight?" You joked and he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Of course not. How dare you expect me to let such a good thing go."

#madness combat #madcom #stygian #madness combat stygian #madcom stygian #the employers #stygian x reader #madcom reader insert #madness combat reader insert #madness combat x reader #oc dreamer #the conductor #conductor #madness project nexus #x gon deliver to ya #maybe got a bit sloppy but fuck theres nothing to work with with these guys on god!!!

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wangxianficrecs · 1 year ago

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At the end of all things by Entityx

At the end of all things

by Entityx

M, 6k, Wangxian

Part of the MDZS Mini Remix for Tired Adults™

Summary: Lan Wangji is aware that he is not the only one who is left haunted by constant bloodshed. Everyone has changed over the course of the Sunshot Campaign. However the one who underwent the most drastic change was undeniable. It's subtle- he's still friendly and boisterous with members of his sect. But he is not truly open anymore. Gone is the optimistic boy who radiated sincerity with every word. Instead he is replaced with a hollow imitation, with a smile cracked at the edges, and a laugh that is too hollow to fool anyone. Kay's comments: Sunshot Era Wangxian who are constantly at each other's throats has so much potential, especially if it escalates to them actually fighting and that ending up in a golden core reveal and this fic delivered on all of that and much more. The first half is incredibly dark and angsty, showing the reality of Lan Wangji's life in the war and the second half treats us to Wangxian first fighting and then slowly growing closer as the revelations hit. A really great story! Excerpt: Wei Ying grins, "Lan Zhan! Come, take a seat!" He shifts over on the log he had been sitting on, patting the empty space next to him. Briefly, Lan Wangji wonders how someone can have a smile so welcoming even whilst wearing robes stained with blood. He carefully seats himself beside Wei Ying, careful not to let his robes touch the mud. The slight contact of their shoulders brushing against each other puts him on edge; this is the closest he has physically been to the other man in a very long time. "Lan Zhan! What are you doing here? Don't tell me you missed me," Wei Ying teases. "I was walking nearby and I saw smoke. I thought there was trouble." He can't stop the frustration from seeping into his voice. I thought you were in danger. Wei Ying's smile falls, and he puts down the jar of wine he was cheerfully swinging just moments ago. "Ah, I didn't realize…" "Wei Ying, what were you thinking- starting a fire this close to enemy territory?" He is careful not to raise his voice- but it doesn't matter. The second the words leave his lips he realizes that they sound accusative, and he knows he's made a mistake. The other man's eyes flash red. "Fuck I forgot about the stupid rule okay? We were just trying to have fun." The other Jiang cultivators, even as drunk as they are- are beginning to look uncomfortable. They glance at each other uneasily, once, twice and ultimately walk away. Wisely, or perhaps rudely- they do not stick around to say goodbye to their senior.

pov lan wangji, canon divergence, sunshot campaign, angst and hurt/comfort, war, nightmares, mental health issues, wei wuxian has ptsd, wei wuxian's three months in the burial mounds, golden core reveal, miscommunication, unresolved romantic tension, hopefuly ending

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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eunuchmoder · 2 months ago

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I've been part of the local fire brigade for just over a year, now. It's nice looking back on the time I've spent with the folks here, both doing heroic deeds like fighting fires and saving lives, and engaging in the relaxing side of things by hanging out with everyone over a cold pint or drooling over a tray of brownies baked by a local who admires our work.

I've spent a year doing this job, and I've consistently been the most prolific generator of funding and community endearment. My deeds speak louder than I ever could.

I have thrown myself into frays that my peers would never even think of stepping near.

Because I am the only one who is able to.

I've saved more lives than I can count. Because my fingers have burnt off. I can't even count in my head anymore, because it feels like the dense smoke has replaced the fluid that shields my brain from the walls of my skull.

I always wear my gear: flame-retardant suit, oxygen tank, iconic helmet and visor. I have never taken it off.

I always say it's because we see too may fires up here in the bush and we always need a hero on standby.

But it's because I can't take it off.

My skin has disintegrated. I've been desiccated by the heat and my muscles have turned to plasma and ash. My suit is quite literally hollow, filled only by my cremains. I'm like a fucked-up sentient urn that can locomote.

If I take it off, it'll all pour out onto the ground – I'll collapse. I can't be swept up and dumped back into my suit. I've seen people try with other ex-heroes.

I can only fight fires as well as I can because I've died in them myself.

I have no flesh to burn or lungs to choke.

I'm a pile of ashes. I'm not alive. I'm functionally undead.

Tonight, we raised our glasses to Jimmy—48 years old, as ornery as a wizened old man can get, but with a heart of absolute gold—he's been here for ten years now on the force. We shared stories over drinks and food.

He brought up that time I saved him from a certain death by lugging a fallen rafter beam off his chest, and how I swapped his empty oxygen tank for mine when a chunk of debris severed the line between it and his mask.

They cheered for me. They cheered for Jimmy still being alive and well.

Tradition dictates that we now clink our glasses and take a sip.

I pour my glass into the neck of my fire suit and feel it trickle down along the walls of the rubber and fabric, eventually pooling in my boots, sloshing around with hopeless weight.

It's fine, though. The taste of stuff doesn't actually matter when you're saving lives. Stopping to smell the flowers only works when they're not actively at risk of being burnt down to sticks and smoke.

Though, I could swear I tasted the beer this time.

I couldn't.

Ashes don't mix well with the sweetness of a cold one.

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mekachu04 · 3 months ago

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21. Battle

Kidd - 15 (not really in this one) | Killer - 19

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Killer's side of the Break-up

How Killer got to be Boss

I kill some OC's again

Kidd is talked about a little but is not present for this one

Killer isn't really a main player either until the end

another blink-and-you-miss-it future!crew cameo

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

Boss Athair may not have time to form an opinion of the Heaps recruit that called himself Killer, but his right hand man certainly does. A man of few words, Ceannard is old enough to be retiring form this whole business, but his loyalty to his Boss means he won't do so without someone trust worthy to take his place.

He's got many a men who make good soldiers, very few that will make good leaders. And even fewer capable of advising a leader.

Solider Brathadair is none of these things, but he'd been at Athair's side longer than anyone, and Athair treats him like a son. Solider Killer is all of these things, but is nothing more then 'Boy' to the Boss. It's maddening to Ceannard - seniority overshadowing all else. Athair claims to trust Ceannard in all things, but here is the impasse they have stalemated on.

Athair wants Ceannard to train up Brathadair to replace him. Ceannard has been working with Solider Boy for almost three years now and last fall even got him to swear fidelity to Athair and become a made-man. Ceannard knows who the better choice would be; Athair thinks Boy's ties to the new Heaps Boss is a liability, Ceannard sees it as proof that Killer has a good head on his shoulders, and could be a very good tool to have with negotiating, he just needs some refining.

The Heap's Boss is wild and impulsive, and the crew he's gathering have no restraint or etiquette. But he could be a strong ally, and Athair needs one after things fell apart with the young upstarts that have taken charge of the west and south parts of the city. Athair is the old man on the block, and the only one still pretending to respect him in the Big Boss in the City, and Ceannard knows it's only a matter of time before that becomes it's own fiasco.

<><><>

He just wasn't expecting it to happen so soon, a hail of bullets ripping though the hall. Not many are afforded the luxury of fire arms - and Ceannard would very much like to know what finally caused their last ally to turn on them, and how they got this far with no alarm being raised.

"Soliders!" he's ordering them into position; his men armed with sword and daggers, against unknown numbers with guns and fire - if he had to guess based on the smoke starting to come in though the door. He and Brathadir will fall back to cover the Boss; The rest will likely die here, but hopefully give them time to move.

His next order never leaves his lungs, Ceannard gasping as the air is driven from his body by the blade driven through his back. Athair looks back at him stunned, horrified at the blood now falling to Ceannard's feet. Behind them the soldiers have engaged with the intruders, back to them, unable to see him falter. Athair falls forward on his own accord to catch his man before Ceannard hit the floor, the Boy was kneeling next to Athair and Ceannard, post forgotten as he tried to help Athair stem the bleeding.

It was a hollow endeavour. Ceannard knew it. Athair knew it. Solider Boy likely did too, but it didn't stop him from trying to keep his mentor from bleeding out.

"Brathadair!" Boss Athair summoned, looking for his senior soldier for backup in the unfolding chaos.

"Boss..." Solider Boy whispered, drawing his attention back. Athair watched his oldest friend slip away in his arms, numb. But that's not what the young man was drawing his attention to.

No, he was looking at the blade still sticking form Ceannard's back, a familiar hilt in the hazy light. Athair knows this blade to well - a gift from his own hand to Brathadair. His face is unguarded for a precious moment, disbelieving the man he called son would take the life of his dearest friend. He grabs a fistful of the mask Boy wears over his face - he'd mocked him for that Athair recalls, but it's working well for him in the thickening smoke - and pulls him close enough to glare into those ice blue eyes - "Solider - You find the man coward enough to stab my partner in the back, and you end him. You massacre everyone of those men if you have to, but the man who did this dies today."

"Yes Sir."

<><><>

When the dust does clear, there are clear losers. Ceannard is dead. Most of his men are dead. Brathadair is dead, along with the turncoats who allied with him.

Somewhere in the chaos, Athair took a bullet to the face. Killer's not sure why, the man never really liked him after all, but he still moves the corpse over to Ceannard.

Only one other Solider made it as far as Killer can tell, and even though he's a head taller than Killer, he still some how manages to look up at Killer for directions. He's as pale as Kidd, with a lost look to him, his dark blue frazzled hair sticking out erratically to complete the distressed nervous energy coming off him.

He stands there, looking over Killer, and then their fallen Boss, and their commander. "Now what do we do, Boss?"

#kikitober2024 #massacre soldier killer #my work #fanfic #one piece #a03 #fanart #KiKi #bubblegum - one piece #tw: death #tw: blood #tw: betrayal

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moonstrider9904 · 7 months ago

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Cave of Pools and Diamonds, part 3

Chapter 7 of Moonwalker: The Flame

{series masterlist} {next chapter} {previous chapter}

{crossposted to Wattpad - coming soon} {crossposted to AO3}

Summary: The return to Kashyyyk is not easy on Sarah, and while in proximity to the village where she and the Batch once stayed, she feels the Force calling her toward a familiar cave.

Tags/Warnings: Mature. Mild panic attacks, destruction, canon-typical violence.

Word count: 4.3k

Songs: crossroads, reflection, city of tears

Few places in the galaxy were home to so much green. The trees towered above the ground, reigning the planet, with their peaks reaching high into a light gray, cloudy sky. At that time during the planet’s orbit, the air was warm and humid, though it never felt suffocating, and the ambient was embellished by the incessant singing of birds and chittering of land wildlife.

The planet was large, but the squad knew of a village, and upon the Marauder’s entry into Kashyyyk’s atmosphere, the course toward it was already set. The ship was lowered in almost the exact same spot it had been poised on all that time ago, and when the Marauder’s platform lowered, the members of Clone Force 99 walked down in a similar formation as they had back in the day, accompanied by the two new, young faces they’d picked up along the way.

The moment Sarah’s foot touched the soil of Kashyyyk, she felt it. Like a wave that crashed onto her, the memories came flooding. The search for iron, the Wookiee villagers that greeted them, the caverns, the dangers, the company. The diamonds. Sarah felt hers radiating warmth as it rested on her chest, dangling from her neck, and she pulled to a stop as she took in the scenery, so familiar and unchanged, yet so far away from what she once knew.

Despite the warmth and the sounds of nature in the air, something felt off, and it didn’t just have to do with the plaguing memories.

“The village isn’t far from here,” Hunter said as he began to lead the way. “This way.”

“I’m detecting smoke in the air,” Tech announced, holding his datapad in front of him. “And I do not expect the source to be natural.”

“The source is fire, Tech, of course it’s natural,” Wrecker teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I am referring to the cause of the fire that caused the smoke afterwards,” Tech replied.

“Not a lot of forest fires happen on Kashyyyk, not with this humidity,” Echo followed.

“My point exactly,” Tech agreed.

Everyone followed Hunter into the forest, and those who had been there before expected to see the familiar huts, most of which had been rebuilt by the batchers themselves. Where they were all expecting warm tones of brown and green, and lively Shyriiwook chatter emanating from the village, when they reached a point where the village came into view, everyone stopped in their tracks with ice coursing through their veins and their hearts plunging into their stomachs.

The huts, the trees, even the ground itself, were coated in a lifeless gray ash. Faint clouds of black smoke emanated from the ruins on the ground as well as from the huts that had also been ravaged but hadn’t managed to fall from their trees, and an eerie silence tensed the air all around them. The air had lost its scent of fresh green and humidity, and was replaced with the musk of burnt wood, smoke, and even the exhaust of a vehicle.

No, the cause of this wasn’t natural, and it added rage to the pile of emotions already swarming within the squad as they witnessed the grim scene.

Unblinking, Sarah’s wide-eyed gaze scanned the ruins back and forth as she tried to make some sense of what she was seeing. As she stood still, she noticed Gungi walking past her, witnessing the scene, and he fell to his knees as he let out a mourning wail. The sorrow in Gungi’s voice cast a horrid, hollow sensation throughout the others; there was nothing but loss in the picture before them. Loss of the past, loss of life, loss of the joy of what once was.

A gentle breeze blew past Sarah, coaxing her into the direction the wind blew to, and as she looked, it seemed like the forest grew bigger before. That was when she heard her name being spoken in the wind in an unrecognizable voice, and she then realized what lay in the direction she was being called to.

The cave.

Around her, the squad had begun to discuss the next course of action, but Sarah couldn’t bring herself to listen to any of it. Slowly, she began to pace off in the direction she was being called to, but it wasn’t long before she felt a hand clutching at her fist, breaking her attention momentarily. She turned around to see Tech looking at her with concern gleaming past his goggles.

“Where are you going?”

She looked at him, and then at the rest of the squad, who looked at her with equal confusion.

“I…” Sarah said. “I’m getting a feeling. I need to go, I’m sorry.”

“Go where?” Tech asked her. “What feeling?”

Sarah exhaled softly and tried to formulate her thoughts in the clearest way. “The Force is calling me to the cave.”

“The iron caves?” Tech verified.

“You mean the cave where you got stung by the centipede and poisoned?” Wrecker approached her.

“That one,” Sarah’s heart sank. Somehow, the memory of her being high on the centipede’s venom had escaped her, as did the one of the creature that had left Crosshair wounded. It struck fear in her—she’d barely made it out alive when she had company.

“We’re coming with you,” Hunter said.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Sarah said. “This is my calling.”

“I made an oath to protect you in the kyber caves on Jedha,” Hunter argued. “As far as the Force is concerned, I am still your guardian and I should be down there with you.”

A subtle pout formed on Sarah’s lips as her gaze saddened. “I need to be there alone. I can feel it.”

Before Hunter could protest, Gungi spoke up and caught his attention. He told Hunter that Sarah was right, that if the Force was calling her to something, it corresponded only to her. And when he finished, Hunter looked at Sarah once more, silent, and she could see even through his visor that worry and disappointment clouded his rich brown eyes.

“You’re needed up here,” Sarah said. “You need to protect them too.”

“What if you get hurt?” Tech intervened, reaching to grab Sarah’s wrist again.

The gesture didn’t escape Hunter, and from the corner of her eyes, Sarah could see how his visor quickly turned in the direction of Tech’s hand on her wrist.

“I have my comm on me,” Sarah reassured, meeting Tech’s gaze again. “If anything goes wrong, you’ll know.”

“I’ll track you either way,” Hunter spoke up.

Sarah couldn’t help but glare at him.

“For protection,” Hunter clarified.

She stifled a scoff and ended up nodding at him. “Fine. I’ll track you too when I emerge.”

Omega ran up to Sarah before she left and reached out with a handful of ration bars. “Here, I don’t know how long you’ll be down there, but you might need these.”

Sarah smiled at Omega and gently placed a hand on her shoulder as she took the bars. She put them on her backpack alongside the disassembled rifle and looked at Tech, not oblivious to the fact that even in his confidence resulting from high intelligence, Tech was clearly worried. She would have loved to reach out and embrace him, kiss his helmet just over where his lips were, but she wasn’t sure that was the right time to drop such a bombshell on the rest of the squad.

“I’ll return,” Sarah told Tech.

Tech adopted a look of trust and nodded. “Do take care.”

“I will,” Sarah whispered, and she turned around to head where the Force was calling her.

Through the twigs and the plants, Sarah was led to a dark entrance. She immediately recognized that it was not the same entrance she’d used back in the day. This one was smaller, but the dark void that it led to looked equally daunting. Despite the fear she could have felt, Sarah’s marks burned as she stood at the cave’s threshold. She knew she had to step into the darkness for her to find whatever the Force was trying to tell her. Carefully, she stepped down the entrance, and the light around her gradually vanished. It was then that she remembered the trails of lights she and Crosshair had put down when they had entered, and Sarah had no such comfort this time. She reached to the ground for a large stick and tore a fragment of leather from her belt, and tying them together, she fashioned a torch that would suffice for as long as she was down there.

Sarah submerged herself into the darkness of the cave and followed wherever her instincts told her to go whenever she reached a crossroads. Though she knew there was a purpose, it began to feel as if she was wandering without a course, and for the first time since she entered the cave, Sarah felt lost. She was stranded with no idea how deep or how far she was, much less which way she’d have to turn to go back the way she came from. The warm flickering of her torch was the only comfort in the darkness, and she felt a weight forming in her mind and the hollowness in her chest returning. But Sarah knew that standing still wouldn’t get her anywhere, and she closed her eyes, exhaled, and focused.

Sarah then knew she had to walk straight ahead, and that was where she went. She lost track of the time she spent pacing in that direction, and just when it all seemed still, Sarah felt the ground beneath her become weak. Just as she made sense of the fact that she’d stumbled upon a pocket of gravel, she was already beginning to fall, with her shocked scream thundering through the caves. She fell through darkness until eventually hitting solid ground, coughing as she crawled up to standing, and when the dust finally died down and she could breathe again, Sarah shuffled through the pile of gravel in search of her torch, but it was no use. She’d lost it, and she had no way of producing light once more. Just like that, Sarah was alone, entombed in the caves where creatures lurked and no light would reach her, and she felt her entire body begin to shake.

Hurriedly, she checked herself. She had her diamond on her chest where it belonged. The rifle was still secured to her back, and her blaster was steadily holstered at her hip. She reached for her comm and tried to turn it on, but all she heard was static. She wouldn’t be able to contact anyone with it. Reaching the verge of panic, she took deep breaths. Her loud mind was eventually able to turn quiet, and when it did, Sarah was relieved to finally be able to hear the Force calling again.

Sarah…

She realized she needed no light to see. Sarah exhaled everything, mindful of her bond with the Force, and with a blind trust, she walked forward again. The darkness seemed eternal, thick and unbearably dense, but when she turned a particular corner, Sarah picked up on a delicate light-blue gleam in the distance, and the burning of her marks down to her very last instinct told her to go toward it. She picked up her feet and soon arrived at the bulb, and just as she stepped foot in it, she felt herself stop breathing.

“Fancy a swim with me, Ace?”

She’d been there before.

“You need to sleep,” she told him.

“You rest,” Crosshair insisted. “I’ll keep watch.”

“We’ll be safe here, and I’ll sense anything before it tries to sneak up on us,” she affirmed, though her words were contradicted by how tired she looked.

“The way you did with that thing back there?” Crosshair inevitably grunted as Sarah helped him sit on the ground.

“I will throw you into the lagoons if you keep being a dick, Pumpkin,” she gave him a fake smile.

An arrogant laugh escaped him. “You’re just going to jump in after me, Ace. You’re crazy for my bones.”

Sarah walked deeper into the bulb, and the blue gleaming coming from the iridescent algae in the water caused delicate reflections on her figure. Her gaze scanned every corner of the cave, battling the bitter sting of solitude, and at last, she looked at the water of one of the lagoons. Her marks burned, and she walked towards the lagoon, kneeling down on the ground and bending over the edge to the point where her hair and the chain with her diamond dangled forward above the water. The blue glow coming from the algae was enticing, even peaceful, and for a second, Sarah felt a tender smile curling her lips.

She felt the need to reach down and run her fingers through the clear blue water if only just to wash away the dust. Her hand slowly made its way down, and the moment her middle finger touched the water, a wave of sensations crashed onto Sarah and tore her from the physical world, driving her through a series of images blurring past her eyes at what felt like lightspeed. The only sensation Sarah could cling to was that of her heart pounding through her chest and her body heaving up and down with heavy breaths as the tried to process everything that she was seeing.

She saw a cloudy gray sky with nothing in sight for klicks upon klicks.

She saw Tech. She saw blaster fire. She felt sorrow.

She saw a pair of uncommonly blue eyes staring directly at her with dark eyebrows crowning them, one of them with a small scar.

She saw Crosshair in his full black Imperial armor.

She saw herself with glistening yellow eyes, and her marks were pitch black on her skin to the point where it was impossible for them to be darker.

She saw Crosshair in his original, familiar gray and red armor, and she could have sworn there was a brief smile on his thin lips.

Then, there was a blur of snow, fire, clouds, and smoke, sunlight and oceans but also a hot, towering jungle. Smiles, frowns, laughter, and tears; ships and houses and the Marauder burning in flames, it all blurred together until Sarah was brought back to reality and she was thrown back a couple meters from the edge of the lagoon onto the cold, rock solid ground, and all she saw was black as she slipped into unconsciousness.

When she abruptly woke up, Sarah panted. She couldn’t blink, she couldn’t even cry. She couldn’t make sense of how long she’d been out or the things she’d seen, and as she sat up, she felt her heart would leap straight out of her chest. On the ground, she rested a hand on the floor while the other sustained her forehead, and finally, her breathing began to steady itself. She replayed the images in her head, the visions of Tech, of Crosshair, and a man she didn’t yet know, all the smoke and violence and emptiness, and yet, the most terrorizing image of them all was the one of herself with her nebulous, pink and blue nebulous eyes turned yellow.

Sarah had studied the Force enough to know what the yellow eyes meant, and she had felt enough fear and anger up until that point to know that was where it led. Contradictorily, all she was able to feel at that moment after seeing such images was fear itself, and as she slipped into helplessness, Sarah began to weep.

“Why?” She whimpered into the cave, lifting her gaze up as if she could look into the Force itself. “Why are you showing me this?”

When all the response she got was silence, she began to cry harder.

“I never asked for this, you know?” Sarah sobbed. “I would have done things differently if you had just let me. I just want a home, I want my family together, dammit, is that too much to ask?!”

She stormed to her feet and anger crowded her features. “I just want Crosshair back, is that too��much to ask?! Did you only bring me here to rub that in my face and tell me I’ll turn dark because of it?!”

Again, there was only silence. And in the middle of it, the tears falling down Sarah’s cheeks got slower, and in the distance, she could hear the occasional stone shifting and droplet of water falling into a lagoon and its echo rippling through the emptiness of the caves. She was alone. She felt forsaken, and she was lost. Sarah remained standing on her spot with her gaze falling vacantly down towards the lagoon, and she waited.

Then, on the pathway on the opposite side of the bulb, Sarah noticed a familiar trail of torch lights coming on, illuminating a cavern that was pitch black. She recognized them—she’d put them down herself all that time ago, and there was no reason for them to power on other than a higher power. A sign. An answer.

Sarah knew it was time to move. She walked in the direction of the cavern, following the lights, the trail much easier to follow than if she had remained in darkness. The road ahead seemed to quicken, as she finally felt the confidence of having been there before, her fear of the dark caverns vanishing behind her with every step. Even the air around her felt lighter and more breathable as she made her way up the caverns, and she knew she was close to the exit when she saw stone debris around the paths culminating in the large, hollow bulb she had made it to where the large carcass of a centipede rested on the ground.

Shivers coursed through Sarah as she beheld the grim sight. Her steps around the centipede were slow, basking in the sheer size of the beast that had managed to knock her down back then. The fear and the sorrow of her memories threatened to take over her again, and just then, Sarah reached the head of the centipede where, on the exoskeleton, she could see scorched bone on the area around one of its eyes—the mark had been left there by a clean bolt fired from the rifle that rested disassembled on her back.

Sarah reached her hand out and ran her fingers slowly over the scorched bone, and when she touched it, the light that crept in from outside through the entry of the cave seemed to intensify. She turned her head in that direction and noticed the ray of light falling on her, and the center of her chest got warmer and seemed to emanate a light of its own. That was when she looked down, and Sarah gasped when she saw the ray of sunlight concentrating solely on her diamond to the point where it even resembled a kyber crystal acting as the soul of its lightsaber; a beam of light powering the body around it, guiding it down the path of light.

Sarah looked back up at the light that came in through the entrance, and she made sense of it. The visions, the sorrow, they weren’t definite. Whether or not Sarah remained in the light—her fate—was bound to the things she saw. Tech had been among her visions, and he’d been the source of comfort and love in Sarah’s life. She had no doubt he’d kept her from steering down a wrong path.

And as for the pain of all the memories of Crosshair, as well as the sorrow from his departure, Sarah had also seen him smiling in his old armor again, and she knew those hadn’t been memories. She vividly remembered every angle she had seen him in before, and having seen him like that alongside her diamond shining made her feel hope. She would see him again, and that was a path worth far more than becoming enclosed in the darkness with memories of what once was. It was worth moving forward.

“I understand,” Sarah said quietly, knowing she would be heard, and after one last look, she let go of the scorch mark on the centipede’s carcass and faced the entry, heading towards it until at last climbing into the light and leaving the cave behind.

Once more, Sarah was surrounded by the endless green of the trees of Kashyyyk and the singing of birds. It was cooler than when she’d first gone into the cave and the sunlight seemed brighter—she would first need to know how long she’d been inside. Sarah knelt and placed her hand on the soil and felt the energies coursing through the planet, and she got a clear vision of where she had to go. She strode through the forest for a time she didn’t bother measuring, and eventually, she was close enough to feel her family closing in around the same area where more smoke rose between the trees.

“Sarah!”

She heard Hunter’s voice calling her from a distance, and after a last few bushes, Sarah emerged at a blank space surrounded by trunks where she met her squad still accompanied by Gungi, all of them looking at her puzzled, yet relieved. Omega ran towards Sarah and wrapped her arms around her waist, and Sarah hugged her back instantly, crouching down to do it better. Soon, everyone else had gathered around them, and Sarah stood back up to greet them all.

The first person with whom she made eye contact was Tech, and she would have said many more things to him had it not been for the fact that he and the others were holding shovels. Then, Sarah looked around and finally made sense of the smoke, and her gaze landed on Tech again, alarmed.

“What happened?” Sarah asked.

“Trandoshans,” Tech replied, removing his helmet to converse with her better. “Trandoshans with imperial tanks. They are the ones responsible for the damage.”

“Oh, stars…” Sarah looked around at the others, her gaze landing on Hunter. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

Gungi spoke to her, in his native tongue, “Don’t worry. You did what you were called to do. How was it?”

Sarah hesitated. “It was… overwhelming. But I think I know what the Force was trying to tell me.”

“Are you hurt?” Tech asked her. “You have dust patches all over.”

“I fell a few times, but I’m not hurt,” she answered softly.

“What’s going on?” Hunter asked her, his tone gentle, as he picked up on her raised heart beat.

Sarah looked at him again. “Nothing, I… I had visions.”

“Visions?” Omega asked. “Like… did you see the future?”

“Visions are tricky,” Gungi said in Shyriiwook. “Whatever you saw is not necessarily true, especially if the vision was alarming or frightening, but you do need to be mindful of the path you’re taking.”

Sarah smiled softly. “Yeah, I figured as much. Don’t worry. I’m confident I’m on the right track.”

And she didn’t need to doubt that, not when she saw her squad together. She knew that if she had them all, she’d be fine. The image of her with black marks and yellow eyes would still continue to bother her for some time to come, but Sarah knew she could get past it when she turned to Tech and he was already smiling softly at her.

“When we have the opportunity, I would like you to tell me in detail,” Tech said. “I have not studied the Force nearly enough.”

“Consider it done,” she answered and looked at Hunter and Echo. “So, Trandoshans. Do we engage or evade?”

“I say we engage,” Echo said. “We owe it to the Wookiees.”

Hunter seemed deep in thought as he considered his answer, and just then, the chittering background noise intensified. Everyone stood alert, but Sarah and Hunter exchanged a look. Whatever was approaching them was large, but it didn’t feel hostile.

And then, from between the trees, three Wookiee warriors emerged riding Mylaya steeds, large feline creatures with incredible telescoping ears and wisdom decorating their animalistic facial features. The Wookiees that rode them climbed down and greeted Gungi first, and then the rest of the squad, inviting them to come along with them to their village in gratitude. They distributed themselves among the Mylaya steeds, with Gungi, Tech, and Sarah riding on the green-furred steed alongside the chief warrior.

“You may want to hang onto me,” Tech told Sarah, looking over his shoulder.

“I would,” Sarah agreed as she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. “I’d hate to fall.”

“Do so tightly,” Tech instructed. “Mylaya steeds are known to leap and climb across the flora of—GAH!”

Upon the Wookiee warriors’ command, the Mylaya leaped from the ground and made its path between the trees, shocking anyone who wasn’t prepared for such an abrupt movement. It inevitably drew laughter out of Sarah as she clinged to Tech and they seemed to glide through the air.

“Tech, you fly far more ruthlessly than this,” Sarah giggled.

“At least when I fly, I am in control,” Tech justified himself. “The steed’s course is so far unpredictable to me; I cannot calculate a path and therefore cannot prepare for impact or any other potentially unforeseen event.”

“Just enjoy it,” Sarah chuckled. “Some adrenaline every now and then is fun.”

“Do not tell me about fun, for of the two of us, I am the riot racing champion,” Tech answered with confidence.

“And yet, you were just frightened by a Mylaya,” Sarah teased.

“This conversation is over,” Tech decreed.

Sarah giggled lovingly at him and wrapped her arms tighter around his torso, leaning her head on his back as she enjoyed the remainder of the ride toward the Wookiee village.

Meanwhile, on the back of a different steed, Hunter watched Tech and Sarah closely.

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