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ceruark · 7 months ago

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i love you, it’s ruining my life

synopsis: the love of your life is engaged, and you foolishly show up to the celebration. notes: gn! reader x sunday. arranged marriage (not to you, sorry). angst. cw: light smut words: 1,273 inspiration: fortnight by taylor swift got me in a chokehold… a/n: oh to have sunday longing for you…

You shouldn't be here.

There's a number of things that sentence could mean. You shouldn't be here, attending the engagement party thrown for the head of the Oak Family. Here, in Golden Hour's finest ballroom, dressed in the outfit he loves to take off of you. Here, hidden away in one of the private rooms. Here, in Sunday's arms, fingers tangled in his hair while he steals kisses from your lips, drinking you in like he's just spent an eternity in the desert. Devouring you, because he knows it’s the last time he can.

They've wedded him off to an established actor from the Iris Family. Their face isn't plastered on billboards as much as Robin's is, but you've certainly noticed their increased presence in the media in the past few years. You've only met them once, at the entrance of the ballroom, hanging off of Sunday's arm and thanking you for coming. They seem nice enough.

The image of their smiling face flashes in your mind, and you shove at Sunday's chest weakly, more of a test to see how strong his will is than an actual signal for him to stop. In response, he grabs you by the hips and pulls you closer. His lips trail kisses down your cheek and jaw and settle at your neck. A slight gasp leaves you as he tugs your collar lower and sucks at the exposed skin. You grip at his hair and pull, unsure if you’re still testing his resolve or trying to find your own.

The Family had started their search for Sunday's partner two years ago. As was customary for the heads of families, potential suitors were carefully screened and selected based on the image the specific family head had to keep up. All of their selections for him had been the same: distinguished, elegant, and influential in one way or another. Any of them would have been perfect as his other half in the eyes of the public.

Only one of them resembles you in some way, and they're out in the ballroom, likely wondering where their fiance has disappeared to.

Sunday tugs at your top and looks up at you in silent question. You nod at him, and your resolve slips through your fingers in the same moment the piece of clothing slips through his. He moves his hands up to grasp your waist, and presses a kiss to your stomach before moving his face up to your chest. You move a hand away from his hair and use it to muffle a gasp when he bites down on the area, sucking the skin into his mouth. He presses a tender kiss to it after.

The Family had never considered you, or even looked your way. How could they? You were a Bloodhound, and not a noteworthy one at that. You were rough around the edges, too used to defending yourself against drunk patrons with a temper. Having grown up around hot-headed and boisterous individuals, you let your true self shine through unapologetically— the very thing that had drawn Sunday to you.

Lively, brutish, undignified. You're a fool for having ever believed you'd be his one and only.

He shifts his head slightly, and you jolt when you feel his tongue trail over your nipple. He lifts one of his ungloved hands up to the other side of your chest. You bite down on the back of your hand to muffle a moan when he rolls one of your nipples between his fingers, still sucking at the other one.

Sunday hadn't told you he'd gotten engaged; you had to find out through the news six months later like everyone else had. He'd taken you on twenty-six dates during your period of blissful ignorance. At the time, you idly wondered why the places he'd taken you to were so secluded and hidden from the public eye— more than usual, at least.

You were making small talk with Siobhan at Dreamjolt Holstery when you got the notification of the engagement on your phone. The betrayal stung; you knew it was coming, but you felt blindsided by the fact that he hadn't told you himself, as soon as he found out.

You got blackout drunk that night, and you hadn't spoken to Sunday since then, not until tonight. You didn't open any of his texts, threw the handwritten letters he sent you in a drawer, and avoided the places he and his sister frequented like the plague.

And when you stood at the ballroom entrance, greeting the happy couple, he spoke your name in that reverent tone he reserved for Xipe.

And when he caught you alone in a hallway and pulled you into one of the private rooms, you didn't stop him. You couldn't. You didn't want to.

You can't stop him, his devout love, your name rolling off his tongue in fervent prayer. You don't want to.

You shouldn't be here.

Shame crawls down your spine, and you shove at his chest, hard this time. He looks up at you, face twisted in confusion and desperation.

"Did I hurt you, angel?" He whispers, his lips and breath tickling your skin.

"You're going to hurt me." Your voice is hoarse, barely audible. "You're going to hurt them. They're kind. They don't deserve this."

He stares at you, and you turn away to study the intricate wallpaper, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze. You move your hands down to gather your top and put it back into place.

Sunday catches you by the wrists, pulling himself up to meet your line of vision. He presses his lips against yours. It's everything and nothing all at once: tender and starved, lingering and fleeting. He barely parts, and you can feel the movement of his lips against yours when speaks.

"Please," he begs. "If I can't have you in the future, at least let me have you tonight."

Your heart aches. Tears prick at your eyes. "We shouldn’t be doing this."

"Please." He moves away, raising the back of your hand to his lips. "I need you."

"Sunday." Your voice catches on the last syllable of his name, and the first few tears slip out before you can stop them. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

A lifetime and silence and stillness passes between you before he finally pulls away. His fingertips graze your skin as he helps you put your top back on. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp as you comb through the tangles in his hair.

He reaches for his gloves, but pauses, hands hovering in the air for a moment. He ends up settling them on your cheeks, pulling you in for one more kiss. This one is soft and uncertain, just like the first was.

"I'm sorry."

You grit your teeth and blink against the tears. "It's not your fault." You pause, then add, "I'm happy for you."

The pain that flashes in his eyes has you regretting the words. He sighs and releases you, finally moving out of your way. You push yourself off the wall, keeping your eyes forward as you head for the door. Your hand lands on the knob, and you stop when you hear him call for you again.

He speaks so softly you almost miss it. "I love you."

It's the first time he's ever said it.

A choked sob escapes your throat, and you throw the door open, rushing out without glancing back.

In the vacant hallways, the joyous sounds of laughter and jazz reverberate off the walls. Tears roll down your face.

You shouldn't be here.

#hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr angst #hsr sunday x reader #hsr sunday #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #hsr smut #ceru.writes #ceru.hsr #ceru.nsfw

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writefightandflightclub · 1 year ago

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Suddenly got hit by the thought of Leto taking his sweet time eating his cum out of you after fucking you over and over for hours…

Um. Excuse me? Ok. Um. Help?! Like. My God. Um. Yes?!

(Thank you for this delicious thot, Erika, and please accept this hastily scrawled offering in return for your kindness in sharing this 😝🧡 Also sorry for typos or incoherence. Wrote this in a haze and I’m about to go to bed so no time to proof!)

P.s. I’m keen to write more for the Duke atm so anyone (18+ ofc) feel free to hit me up with requests 🧡

Word count: 1.1k ish

Warnings: SMUT: oral, cum-eating (lots) 18+ only, Minors DNI

Plenty: (Duke Leto Atreides x fem!reader)

You’re sure his tongue is tracing the shape of the Caladan coastline as it shivers through your folds, pleasure blooming through your core like the surge of waves into your deepest coves.

You cry out, clamping your own hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, the sound digressing to something muffled against the palm of your hand.

You feel Leto chuckle warmly against your cunt, before sucking a puckered kiss over your clit. “What is the use of a palace so grand as this if my concubine cannot make noise, hmm? Who is it that will hear you, all this way from the halls?”

“The guards, perhaps.”

“Let them hear you.”

Your breaths grow ragged as he works at your folds with his tongue. “I think they have already heard plenty from me for today, my Lord.” Leto knows well how to please you. Perhaps he does not care as to who knows it.

“There’s no such thing as ‘plenty’ when it involves you, my dove.”

He must believe that, for all day he has not tired of you. All day he has bred you, filling you over and over with his seed until you were full of him. Until, when he shoved inside of you with his throbbing cock, his own release was forced out around him, coating your thighs, his balls, his abdomen, the silken sheets - both your writhing bodies.

And, now that you have finally drained him dry, he settles himself over your sensitive cunt, his tongue laving the apex of your thighs, licking up his own spend.

He huffs his warm breath against your folds again as he adjusts, settling his head more squarely between your thighs. Your legs are folded back towards your chest by the firm press of his warm, broad palms, your Duke laid out on his front - in an undignified manner, quite unbefitting a man of his position.

You take pride in it. In him. At stately functions you have gossiped with other concubines - or, rather, have allowed them to gossip in your presence, as that would be unbecoming of your position. You’ve heard them tell that their Lords are more than content for their concubines to sink to their knees in service, but that the equivalent act is never bestowed in their favour.

And then, there’s your beautiful Leto.

You could count out whole calendar months against the time he’s spent between your thighs, and you know you are endlessly lucky to be at his service, when he gives you so much in return.

Indeed, you moan as his tongue probes greedily at your sensitive, fucked-open entrance, humming as his lips and beard glide over the mess he’s made of you. “Leto,” you gasp, as you realise he must mean to suck you clean of him.

He hums and you hear him swallow, the idea of him tasting himself sending a wild, throbbing want to your over-worked clit.

You throw your head back on to the propped stack of pillows he’d arranged you on when, moments ago, you had grown limp and boneless through your earth-shaking release. Your body positioned so that his seed must be gradually eking out of you, you now realise; taking a slow, honeyed surge down to his wanting lips.

You lick your own lips, imagining the moreish salt-tang of him, and once again pleasure crests as his tongue shivers through your folds. His ministrations dance over you in a gentle, teasing pattern; then, he flattens his tongue, licking a hot, greedy stripe along the full length of your throbbing slit.

Even the air is full of sex, just like you are, the room salted like the sea, a rousing musk which fills your lungs and makes you think of home.

You whimper, clamping your hands either side of his head, twisting your fingers into the regal, grizzled waves which undulate between the slack grasp of your fingers. You know not whether you mean to pull him closer or to push him away, but in the end you do neither, instead bucking your arousal up and into his mouth, grinding your heat against his beard and chin and nose until he is coated - a mess of your juices and his own seed as though he is the shore now, and you the dragged, liquid tide coursing over his stony face.

Leto does not complain, however. Instead, when you look back down to him his eyes are glinting wickedly - like black stones winking out of rock-pools. He hums into your heat, the sound low and drawn-out; sending vibrations singing through your core and reminding you you are empty of him.

“Leto!” you squeal suddenly as he swirls his tongue against you, flicking and thudding against your clit. Using all the power and finesse in his lips and tongue to stake his compelling argument.

You grow breathless, an impossible pleasure building as he writhes his tongue along your sensitive folds, meticulously cleaning every last drop of him from you.

“Do you like to taste yourself, my Lord?” you ask as a warm heat blooms right through your middle.

“I like to taste how full I made you, my dove. I like to taste how many times I claimed you as my own.”

From his position, you watch crinkles radiate out from around his eyes as he looks up at you - with a wicked amusement at the growing state of you, already a mess and about to become further undone. Then, he resumes his focus, his proud nose nudging against your clit as he sinks back towards your entrance.

The blooming pleasure makes you clamp down on nothing, empty of him, squeezing more of his seed out of you. You feel it trickle out of you, moments before it is met eagerly by Leto’s lips and tongue. You shiver as you feel the pleasant scrape of his drenched, coated beard, flattened to his shapely chin as he laps up every drop.

He grunts, pushing your thighs further back, opening you up to him further, and, as his tongue curls and slides and probes against you just the way you like, you fist your hands into the sheets in desperation. “Leto! My Lord! What do you mean to do to me?” You can barely take it, so overcome with pleasure already. “Do you mean to clean up every drop?!”

He chuckles warmly, a sound only you are ever privy to. He grips your thighs to manoeuvre them downward, settling them either side of his ears for your comfort. Allowing him to twist and to plant a delicate kiss to your inner thigh.

“I plan to keep going until I can only taste you, my love,” he rasps into your skin, and his words cause your eyes to roll skyward once more.

Leto dips his eager mouth towards your cunt once more too, entirely unrelenting.

You interpret that you are going to be here for some time at his service; but that suits you just fine.

When it comes to Leto - and his supple tongue - there’s no such thing as plenty. Never such a thing as enough or too much.

He shoves his tongue inside of you, finally through with his teasing, it appears. Indeed, the benevolent Duke finally grants you a consistent pace and motion, carrying you forcefully skyward as your pleasure lifts - like a hawk tossed aloft by the graze of the wind under its wings.

And, this time, when you come undone, you do make enough noise to befit a palace of this size.

In fact, by the time your Duke is done with you - which won’t be for some time - they may even have heard your gracious, lilting moans from all the way down in the halls.

#duke leto atreides #duke leto x reader #duke leto atreides x reader #leto atreides x reader #Oscar Isaac

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yuurei20 · 11 days ago

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Short Translation from Twst the 2nd novel: The Day of the Tournament (2/6)

"The march itself was suggested by the chair of the spelldrive tournament management committee, the housewarden of Octavinelle. He is likely the student wearing glasses, standing diagonally to Vargas' back. He smiles as he nods along, looking more satisfied than anyone else.

The thought of having to sit through such a spectacle was originally met with displeasure, but complaining students were mocked for being envious of those who had made the teams. By this point opposition has almost entirely disappeared, and the tournament adviser—Vargas—is a huge proponent.

‘Listen up, you all. You are to show our visitors those bodies that you’ve been training up so hard for this day. Like mine!’ Vargas contorts his body, grabs his own wrist, and flexes his pectorals. 'Educate them on the excellent muscles of Night Raven College!’

Another collective sigh echoes throughout the auditorium. Unlike before, these are sighs of exasperation.

While Vargas and his impressive physique do have their fans, a far larger percentage of the student body has grown tired of his relentless demands that they achieve his level of physical beauty.

With a cough from Trein, Vargas finally drops his pose. ‘It would’ve been nice to broadcast the march as well, but it was added so abruptly that preparations couldn’t be made in time…the TV broadcast will begin from the opening ceremony, right after the athletes make their entrance. Athlete or no, all students are to be on their best behavior once the ceremony has begun.’

The teachers, in a line behind Vargas, all nod with serious expressions.

The drawing for the tournament bracket also happens during the opening ceremony. It seem there was an incident last year where angry students had begun booing. Such undignified behavior must have caused quite the headache for the faculty.

‘Understood?’ Vargas emphasizes, his voice low. Then, he continues. ‘The main gate will be opened shortly. Do not to be discourteous to outsiders. Do not forget your pride as Night Raven College students.’

The students nod together, and Vargas displays his pure white teeth. 'Good—you are dismissed. Confirm your check-in times again! Especially the athletes—you are to take the utmost care to not be late for the march.’"

#twstnovel2 #twisted wonderland #twst translations

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adiluv-moved · 1 year ago

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✦ : ❝ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 !

꒰synopsis—wc꒱ in which the cold isn't as bad as he'd originally believed. 738 words.

꒰warnings꒱ soft-yandere scaramouche, barely edited.

꒰adi moment꒱ honestly a bit too tired to try and come up with something interesting/funny to put here, so just imagine that i said something really captivating instead! ♡ hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀིㅅ´ ˘ `꒱ྀི১

Scaramouche, in the many centuries of his existence, has never once considered himself a fan of the winter. Or, as he's found himself being corrected at an increasingly alarming rate, he hadn't. At least not before you decided to worm your way into his life.

It's embarrassing, really. Humiliating, if he was being entirely honest. Pathetic, even, that he would ever allow himself to bend so readily to the whims of a mere mortal, especially one as blatantly naïve and idiotic as yourself.

He should have you killed for it. Would, too, if the mere thought of watching his underlings throwing your lifeless body into the creek right behind your ramshackle cottage didn't stir up the strangest sensation of discomfort within his hollow chest.

... You've got the man absolutely whipped for you, to be truthful, though it's hardly even the worst part of his little dilemma. Couldn't be anywhere near it, really, when you knew of his feelings towards you, understood them, reciprocated them—dissipating the storms brewing within his very being with a mere glance in his direction. You're more than comfortable with the situation you've found yourself in, and that much is clear, a fact that elicits both distress and elation from the ever-feared Balladeer.

He finds that he's become more prone to the latter, as of late.

Your lips were soft whenever you kissed him. Your grip was gentle whenever you pulled his body towards you, though the entryway of your cramped home, into your arms ꒰where he rightfully belongs, he's sure꒱ whenever he'd return to visit after a particularly strenuous mission. Tender, and warm, a type of affection so faint that he feared even the most insignificant gust of wind would be enough to erase it from his body entirely.

But the winter, as he soon comes to find, changes that.

Although he'd much rather clamber onto the cold metal of Il Dottore's vivisection table than admit it out loud, it's truly impossible to deny just how comforting you are to hold, face buried into the crook of his neck as your form trembles beneath his fingertips. Your lips have become chapped, now, and he can feel just how dry they've become—tickling his synthetic skin alongside your shaky breaths, though he's come to find that he hardly even minds it.

You look adorable, truly, wrapped up within his luxurious fur coat, undignified whines escaping your lips whenever he taunts you with an attempt to push you away, force you to battle the freezing temperatures without the aid of his body heat, watch as you freeze up without the extra warmth he provides you. It's an honest miracle that you survived before meeting him, he teases, given the absolutely atrocious state of your abode's decaying walls, soothing circles rubbed onto your back as attempts to defend your childhood home die out on your tongue.

Scaramouche could have them fixed for you, if he so desired. Toyed around with the idea, even, flipped through reviews of some of the more reputable renovators he could find. And he will, he reassures you, pulling your weight atop his own ꒰a gesture more for his comfort than yours꒱, tangling his fingers into your hair, because he'd hate to have another human die on him—especially so when he's already allowed himself to become attached, again—and it's really only a matter of time until he's called away on another mission, and he's certain you won't be able to hold out much longer as things are.

... But there's no harm in enjoying your desperation, if only for the time being. Because you wouldn't be upset with him. Because you can't be, surely, when your love is so terribly addicting, entrancing him like a moth to a lamp. Because seeing you grab onto him with all of your strength, even if partially motivated by the desire to stave off frostbite, makes him feel wanted. Needed. A type of satisfaction that burns away his inhibitions, sears itself into his nonexistent heart.

Besides. Even if he were to miscalculate, and even if your home remained in poor condition by the time he's set to leave, it's not as though he'd ever actually leave you for dead. He's nice, like that. And you're dear to him, now, if those words even hold value for a puppet like himself.

... And he thinks you'd look much nicer, more in place, within the comfort of his estate.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

#꒰📍꒱﹕my writing ⋆#genshin impact #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scara #scaramouche #the balladeer #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact drabbles #yandere genshin drabbles

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 9 months ago

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Supersons +1 propmt fill Part3 Tr3s

The sprinklers activated in an instant and covered the centre in a deluge of water. Whatever scientists remained scrambled to recover what remained of their creations before the water could irrevocably damage them. In a hidden corner, one Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent made knowing glances to each other, a mutual agreement reached in seconds after decades of friendship. With the help of a crowbar, the men quickly pry open one of the exit doors, making way for panicked civilians to exit the premises, 'Brucie' giving comfort to those distressed by the recent events. It wasn't long before they had to make themselves scarce. They had their sons to rescue, there was no time!

As Bruce and Clark snuck out into the empty hallway, having been quickly evacuated by a Gothamite's natural self-preservation instinct and discipline from years of attacks. They nodded, and went their seperate ways. Clark to go change into his Superman outfit, and Bruce to calm the inevitable deluge of reporters before changing into his own costume.

Cameras flashed over the front entrance to the event, blinding the last few stragglers to leave, and Bruce, standing tall against the crashing sea.

"Mr Wayne! What can you tell us about the new villain that Joker has teamed up with?"

"Mr Wayne, how does Wayne Industries intent to secure future events from attacks on this scale?"

"Where is Damian Wayne? Sir how can Wayne Industries secure the future of Gotham if you cannot protect your own children?"

"Mr Wayne is it true that you allowed Jack Fenton to attend the event despite knowing he was a quack?"

And on and on and on. Bruce never intended to give these people what they wanted. He had children to save, and investigations to conduct. Before he could excuse himself, however, a roaring boom echoed down the street like summer thunder. Reporters screamed as they trampled over each other to escape the path of a silver behemoth charging down the road. Thick metal plates lined its exterior. A large satellite dish adorned its top, and jutting out from the sides were massive guns. The van sported too many OSHA violations to be anything less than a tank on four wheels than any civilian vehicle. Batman will have to crack down on whatever corrupt whitecollar criminals allowed this monstrosity on the roads.

The van charged right up to where Bruce was standing on the pavement, before coming to a terrifyingly rapid halt, so sudden that the entire vehicle jerked forward from its momentum. It would have been cartoonish if it hadn't stopped cleanly right in front of him. The front door slammed open, and a pair of black-gloved hands grabbed Bruce by the shoulder. In public surrounded by cameras, Bruce was helpless but to comply.

"BRUCIE WAYNE! I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU!"

Bruce scanned the interior of the van in an instant, clocking in the undignified Clark Kent clinging to his seat like a child to their parents leg, tie messed up and suit creased. His classes were crooked on his face. "He just scooped me up like I was paper mache, Bruce!" The man's voice was shaking.

"Strap in Brucie, because the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle cares for no trivial matters like traffic laws, or even physics laws!"

What kind of branding was this? "The Fenton Family wha-" Jack slammed the gas. The GAV rocketed into max gear in an instant. The force threw the poor man off his feet. Bruce went hurtling into the backside of the GAV and crashed with a bang. The G-forces kept him glued to the wall like a black-suited starfish, at least until Clark extended an arm to peel him off.

"I'm starting to think you might be right about him being a supervillain." Clark whispered.

Bruce grimly nodded.

"Alright so now that we're all together, here's the plan folks!" Jack said, tone all too cheerful for the chaos he was creating on the road. Innocent cars swerved out of the way of the advancing war machine. Pedestrians clung to lampposts and fences as gale force winds blasted them from its wake. "Let's start with the bad news: Our kids have been spirited away by suffering spooks! The good news: The Fenton Radar works!" Jack tapped on a screen on the van's console, showing two beeping dots on a radar map.

"BUILDING!" Clark yelled. They were rocketing right into a townhouse.

Jack yanked the wheel to the left. The GAV turned 90 degrees in about half a second, turning both passengers into ragdolls thrown across the side. On the outside, a subtle Superman-shaped dent was visible. "Thanks for that, Clarkie! Now I'm sure you guys aren't as experienced as me and my lovely wife Maddie are in hunting ghosts, but don't worry! I can give you a crash course."

"Please don't say crash course." Clark quivered.

"Could you maybe slow down?!" Bruce yelled over the roaring engines.

"No can do, Brucie! Any slower and the GHOSTS will leave the Fenton Radar's range, and then we'll never get our kids back!"

"I think I'm going to be sick." So Kryptonians can get nausea from high-speed vehicles, interesting. He'll have to update his file.

"The Joker and his associates entered your portal and set it to blow, how can we even get the kids back if they're on the other side!"

Jack turned around with a smile. "That's what the Fenton PortaPortal version 2 is for! Never leave home without a spare, my grandpa Fenton always said!"

"Dr Fenton, that bridge was destroyed in a gang fight!" Bruce shouted. Construction workers were already scattering, but a thick concrete barrier stood in their way.

"No need to worry, Fenton engineering can handle a little hole here or there!"

"The entire bridge was destroyed, we're going to fall off!"

"I love your sense of humour Brucie, but even if we did it wouldn't matter!"

"I really think it does, Dr Fenton!" Clark gripped the bottom of the nearby seat hard enuogh to dent.

"Nonsense, watch this!" Jack pushed the gas even further, as if that was even possible. The GAV reduced the concrete barrior to smithereens. "Go go Fenton Famliy Ghost Assault Vehicle: Aerial Mode!" The mad scientist's shouted in glee. He pulled another lever, activating a pair of wings from the sides.

Clark would deny screaming like a girl to the end of his days.

~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the Zone...

Danny shifted nervously in his position, atop the swarm of Lydia's bats, and flanked by the freaking Joker of all people on one side and Freaking Freakshow on the other. What did he do to deserve this?

If It was just the Joker and Freakshow, he would just happily transform and kick the snot out of these clowns, but sadly he's not alone.

Also tied up with rope both human and ghostly were one Damian Wayne and Jon Kent, the former of which looked none too pleased about the current situation. While Damian spat vitriol upon the Joker and his "D-list half-rate assisstant," with man himself largely ignoring his words to fawn over the chaos of the Realms, Danny contemplated his options. Good news: Freakshow hadn't blown his secret yet, which was cold comfort for the moment, seeing as if he had, he'd just be able to punch these suckers and be done with it, but nooo. Maybe he could overshadow the other boys and hypnotise them into forgetting? Was that a thing that can be done? Would've been convenient, and because of that, Danny suspected it's wishful thinking. If it worked, great, if it didn't work, well Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne have ties to the Justice League, who have ties to the government, who hire the GiW, so there's a non-zero percent chance such a stunt would end up with him on a dissection table.

Which means he's left playing the waiting game, spectating the Joker jumping up and down like a fangirl over all the green, and purple, and fighting, and death. First day in Gotham, guys.

"Psst." Jon whispered to him.

Danny said nothing, but leaned a little on Jon's side.

"Don't worry, we're gonna be ok, I'm sure the J-J-Justice League will be here. Just sit t-t-tight, ok?"

Wow, that was really touching that he was trying to comfort Danny, but the ghostly part of him didn't even need to feel Jon's shaking, or hear his stutter to know the kid was absolutely terrified. Now that he thought about it, it really should be him doing the comforting.

"Eh I wouldn't hedge my bets on it." Causing the other boy to squeak in fear. Curse you, snark instinct. Why can't you be heroic and reassuring instead.

"Neither would I, boy." Freakshow said, almost like he was rubbing in just how much danger his secret was in.

"You will unhand us, or you will know the meaning of pain in every sense of the world. This I tell you. I will feed you to my chickens. I will cut up your flesh and grind it into paste and then fertilise my vegetable garden with it. You will regret crossing me."

Jon let out the faintest whisper, something Danny would've never heard if he wasn't a ghost, and a master of quiet sounds. "Really selling the normal kid act here, Damian."

"On the contrary, lovely chlidren, I believe it is you who will soon become ghosts. NEYEHEHEYEHEH" Oh god here comes the gratuitous laughter. "I can't believe such a t~~tttttTANTALISING opportunity has been out there for me this whole time! AHAHAHAHAAH. And for you, my little children, to have come to this wonderful little science expo alongside your dear old daddies only to become part of the exhibit?" The Joker cracked into laughter, slapping his knees and collapsing in fitful giggles.

Each of the free boys gulped, each of them considering how to save the apparent civilian(s) among them without exposing themselves...

@impyssadobsessions

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doodle-pops · 2 months ago

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Celebrating Autumn with the Lords of Gondolin

Synopsis: In which you introduce the Lords (and Turgon) to partake in many festive fall activities.

Hosting an autumn-themed party in Gondolin had been your idea, and somehow you managed to get King Turgon and all his Lords on board. The courtyard of Gondolin was dressed in golds, reds, oranges, with wreaths of autumn leaves hanging from pillars and pumpkins scattered around. The air was crisp, and everything had a touch of warmth, from the fire pits dotting the grounds to the hot spiced cider ready for everyone to try.

It wasn’t easy—throwing modern human ideas into elven culture wasn’t exactly the most natural thing—but you made it work. And now, Gondolin’s lords were about to see what a true autumn celebration looked like.

Glorfindel was the first to arrive, grinning as he eyed the pumpkin-carving station you had set up. You told him it was a classic autumn tradition, and he had jumped in without hesitation, picking up a knife and carving some elaborate design that looked like it belonged in a museum. “Let’s see if the others can keep up,” he said, obviously too proud of his creation already. You just laughed.

Egalmoth, with his flair for all things colourful, was immediately drawn to the garlands of autumn leaves you’d hung around. “You have a talent for decoration,” he remarked, already considering how he could replicate this in his own house. You had to stop him from adding more feathers to the mix. “Keep your peacock tendencies in check, Egalmoth. This is autumn, not a bird festival.”

Rog and Galdor rolled in together, both eyeing the apple-bobbing station you’d set up. Rog, ever the competitive one, looked ready to dive in face-first. Galdor, on the other hand, seemed more hesitant, probably thinking about how undignified it would look to dunk his head in a bucket. “Come on, Galdor,” you teased, “I’ve seen you charge into battle with trolls. Surely a few apples won’t scare you.” That earned a hearty laugh from Rog, who immediately took up the challenge.

Ecthelion was, unsurprisingly, more interested in the autumn music you’d selected. The harps and flutes blended with the sounds of crackling fires and rustling leaves, setting the perfect mood. He wandered over to the musicians, offering a few pointers. “Of course, Ecthelion’s turning it into a concert,” Glorfindel whispered to you, shaking his head in amusement.

Then, Maeglin showed up—late—already brooding before he even stepped foot in the courtyard. He looked around, unimpressed, until his eyes fell on the pumpkin-carving station. “What is this?” he asked, genuinely confused. You handed him a carving knife and gestured toward the pumpkins. “Carve something. It’s therapeutic.”

Turgon, ever the picture of regal composure, made his entrance just as Maeglin started slicing away. “I trust this...activity is appropriate?” the king asked, giving you a look that said he was still uncertain about the whole idea. You just grinned. “Trust me, Turgon. If nothing else, watching your nephew stab a pumpkin will be the highlight of your evening.”

The apple-bobbing contest kicked off with Glorfindel joining Rog and going head-to-head. Both were elbowing each other out of the way in a very un-lordly manner, while the rest of the group gathered around to cheer or laugh at their antics. Maeglin, as expected, looked sceptical by the whole thing, but even he couldn’t resist glancing over occasionally to see who was winning.

Egalmoth, being Egalmoth, had somehow found a way to tie autumn-coloured ribbons into his hair, showing them off to anyone who would listen. He tried to convince Ecthelion to do the same, but the captain of the fountains was far too dignified to humour him.

Meanwhile, Turgon had finally warmed up to the idea of an autumn feast, especially once the pumpkin-spiced everything made its way to the table. You weren’t sure if he loved or hated it, but he certainly looked intrigued. “This is...different,” he commented, taking a cautious sip of pumpkin ale.

The pumpkin-spiced food was a hit—or at least, it became the subject of much discussion. Galdor wasn’t sure about the pumpkin bread but enjoyed the roasted chestnuts, while Glorfindel happily inhaled anything remotely edible. Ecthelion, ever the refined one, sipped his pumpkin ale with an arched brow, considering it more thoughtfully than anyone else.

As the night wore on, Glorfindel and Galdor started a friendly archery competition, using pumpkins as targets. Maeglin actually got involved, managing to hit a target dead centre without even trying. “I hate how good he is at everything,” Glorfindel muttered, shaking his head as Maeglin smirked and walked away.

The hay-bale toss turned into an unexpected competition between Glorfindel, Rog, and Maeglin. You watched as they tried to outdo each other, tossing the heavy bales farther and farther until Maeglin, ever the silent competitor, sent one soaring well past the others. “I should’ve known the smith would win this...again,” Glorfindel said, shaking his head with a laugh.

Once the bonfire was lit, the atmosphere became more relaxed. The lords gathered around the flames, drinking and laughing as the night grew darker. You introduced the concept of roasting marshmallows, and though Rog seemed confused at first, he ended up liking the sweet treat more than he’d admit.

As the night continued, you convinced the group to participate in a scavenger hunt you had prepared earlier in the day. You’d hidden little tokens all around the courtyard, each representing something from the autumn season—acorns, tiny pumpkins, golden leaves—and you split the group into teams. Glorfindel teamed up with Ecthelion, while Turgon, much to your surprise, paired with Rog. Watching the elven lords of Gondolin running around in search of hidden trinkets had you stifling laughs for the rest of the night.

By the time the bonfire was lit, everyone was in high spirits. Rog and Galdor were still trading jabs about who won the apple-bobbing contest, while Egalmoth was already planning next year’s party. Ecthelion had taken over the music, adding a dramatic flair to the entire evening with his harp, while Glorfindel tried (and failed) to convince Maeglin to at least smile once before the night ended.

The final event of the evening was a storytelling session around the bonfire. Ecthelion, naturally, volunteered to go first, spinning a dramatic tale about a haunted forest. Glorfindel, of course, made it funnier than it needed to be by making shadow puppets in the firelight, causing the others to groan in mock frustration.

Maeglin stayed quiet through most of the stories, but you caught him smirking a few times, especially when Rog told a tale about a prank gone wrong. Even Turgon, ever serious, seemed to relax in the warmth of the fire and the company of his closest friends.

As for you, you stood back, watching as the lords of Gondolin—so used to battles and council meetings—embraced the ridiculousness of an autumn celebration. Turgon caught your eye from across the fire, giving you a nod of approval. Maybe hosting a party wasn’t the worst idea you’d ever had.

Masterlist

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jwillbiteyourfingersoff · 7 months ago

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Ch.1 : Meet Cute

Norm Maclean loves his sister, and after Betty finds out about his discovery in vault 31, he is forced out into the wastelands to "find her"

Norm Maclean/Gn!Surface!Reader

Ch: 2

Another day in an unloving wasteland, in an unloving life, and undignified exile. Getting adopted then expelled from the brotherhood of steel in 6 months had to be some kind of laughable record. Stalking through the desolate stretches of sand and broken down buildings put a hamper on my mood, but sitting alone in one of said buildings and finding some rations and a place to rest let my sour mood settle for a while. Taking the goggles from my eyes and laying them besides the palette, hand still on my hostler, I closed my eyes for a possible 30 minutes of sweet escape from the world surrounding me.

This slumber, of course, was interrupted by the sounds of approaching feet. An eye shoots open, the hand still resting lightly on my pistol tightens, readying to shoot an angry cannibal (or maybe a ghoul?) straight between the eyes. “Fuck off unless you want your brains as some fresh paint for these walls.” I bark, pointing my pistol at the entrance of the half destroyed structure. The footsteps stop, and a small noise seems to come from the entrance. I walk closer, pistol still aimed and ready, trying to sneak a peek outside the slanted door. I see someone dressed in all blue, yellow accents curving their suit and…

“Holy shit.” I whisper, not believing what I’m seeing for a moment. “A… vault dweller?” I lower my gun slightly as I continue to scan the man before me. He's slim, slight in his build, almost mousey. His hair is fluffed and he looks like hes actually most likely showered in the past week. “I thought all y’all were dead. What are you doing up here?” I question him, gun now less of a concern to keep up at all times.

“I-” The vault boy croaks before coughing, “My name is Norm. I’m looking for my sister.” He raises his hand up to his sides as he takes a very small step forward, showing his lack of weapons and threat to me as best he can. “Her name is Lucy, she has a suit with a 33 on it like me.” He continues to speak cautiously and slowly, as if trying to communicate with an animal. “I don't want trouble or to hurt you, I just want to know if you've seen her.” He looks at me, sincere and hiding his fear well.

I study his face. Hes admittedly quite cute, but that might be because he doesn't look like he's starving and rotting at the same time. His big brown eyes feel… trustable. Truly a unique trait on the surface, same as his uncracked lips and clean(ish) face. “I haven't seen your sister, vault boy.” He seems to deflate a bit, some of the hopeful energy he carries seems to vanish.

“Oh. Alright, then. Have a…” He looks behind me, into the sand filled, ramshackle building, “…palatable rest of your day.” He begins to walk backwards, and I lower my gun. He lets out a sigh of relief and turns around as I do so. He begins stomping through the sand away from me, but something makes me want him to stay.

“You know, a vaulty like you ain't gonna make it long alone out here.” I yell after him. “The only reason I didn't shoot ya is because I don't like killing people who ain't carrying no weapons.” I re-holster my gun, putting my hands on my hips as I watch him try to ignore me. “Not a lot of people are gonna be as kind, especially not to a vaulty like you.” He stops for a moment, turning to look at me in a mix of annoyance and fear. “That 33 might as well be a big ol target on your back.”

He turns to look at me fully, facing me as he seems to scan me “And why should I trust what you say?”

I shrug “Shouldn't, really. But if you want someone who don't kill for fun or food, I’m the best you got for miles.” Leaning against the door, I cross my arms. We stare at one another for a long while, him searching for answers in a purposefully cryptic face. “This is the only livable shelter for a long while, I’m willing to share as long as you promise not to steal any of my shit.” The deal comes out of the blue even for me, often I’m not willing to share my spaces but something about him seemed different. Maybe it was because he was a vaulty, their whole shtick was being harmless and wanting to help right?

Hey y'all! this is the first chapter in a series that I'm gonna be doing about Norm post-season 1, hope y'all like it :]

#fanfic #norm maclean x reader #norm maclean x gender neutral reader #norm maclean x gn reader #norm maclean fanfiction #fallout x reader #fallout tv series

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scuttlingcrab · 6 months ago

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The Great Hunt

In Search of a Hammer

I recently discovered some rare dialogue where Raphael returns the Orphic Hammer to Tav if they “misplaced it.” Hilarious and perfect. Naturally, I had to write about Raphael finding out about Tav’s incompetence and jumping through hoops to return it to them before the last battle.

Summary: Raphael learns from Korrilla that Tav foolishly sold the Orphic Hammer in an attempt to earn some last minute gold. Raphael hunts down the Hammer before his dreams are destroyed forever.

Notes: This will be in 3 parts! Part 2 is now here: An Absolute Waste of Time. Part 3 is coming soon! ��

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via keylana-dragon)

Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat.

The gentle rapping on the door of the Devil’s Den was enough to disturb Raphael, to pull him from his current train of thought. He pursed his lips, letting out a stream of hot air from his scrunched nose like a vexed dragon. There was only one who knocked in such an irritating, irregular rhythm; always with a slight air of caution, as if they were already apologising for the sin they’ve yet to commit. Why must these damned creatures insist on such blatant trepidation in his presence? With all the interruptions as of late, he would’ve preferred at least a shred of authority with their actions.

“What is it this time, Korrilla?” Raphael snapped, slowly closing the diary he had been scribbling in. “You are becoming more irksome than a gaggle of babbling children.”

There was a long pause before the door to his suite creaked open, allowing in the sounds of rushed, heavy footsteps. The atmosphere in the room immediately shifted as Korrilla waited behind Raphael, his skin prickling as he sensed the tides turning.

In all the years of service to Raphael, Korrilla only entered the room in such an undignified manner when there was a problem. The last time she barged into his quarters, disrupting a rendezvous with a client that had been years in the making; she announced that the Crown of Karsus had been stolen from Mephistopheles’ vault.

Raphael interlaced his fingers atop the rosewood desk, squeezing his hands together as he waited for what felt like aeons for Korrilla to give her explanation.

“Speak!” He barked, his words violently cutting through the silence. “You of all creatures should know that time is of the essence.”

Korrilla coughed in surprise at the sudden outburst, nervously clearing her throat as she took a step forward.

“Right, I uh. Well, see… You’re not going to like this…”

“Do not tell me my dear father has finally decided to pay me a visit?”

“Well… no, it’s not that bad, but…” She hesitated, her voice quivering.

Raphael straightened his back, twisting like an owl so he could glare at Korrilla. She winced at the action, as if he had struck her.

“I’m afraid that, um… that little mouse, your favourite client? They’ve sold the Orphic Hammer.”

“They did what?!”

“Needed the coin apparently. I tried to stop them, even went to the s–”

Raphael slowly turned away from Korrilla, loosening his hands. He placed his palms on the desk, digging his nails into the rosewood. The tips of his fingers glowed red as the piece of furniture burst into flames.

––

Mamzell Amira stood behind her counter near the entrance of Sharess’ Caress, leaning against a small bookshelf. She had her arms crossed, squeezing them just enough against her chest to show a healthy amount of cleavage.

Her prized house of pleasure was bustling, the busiest it had been in years, and all thanks to Lord Gortash’s recent coronation. She could just about hear the sound of gold ringing in the pockets of lustful customers as they crammed into her establishment, wanting a taste of what Sharess’ Caress had to offer. Her accounts would indeed be plentiful after that day alone, helping her relieve a few more debts that had been stacking up as of late.

Mamzell’s gaze drifted back to the young half-elf in front of her, who could still not meet her eyes without blushing. She had been stuck in a conversation with him for the last hour, trying to coax him out of that shiny shell of his. The boy had a handsome face and dark eyes that told her a different story, one of a raging beast lurking beneath the surface of that sheepish disposition. He had a lot of potential and she knew the perfect pairing for him…

Out of nowhere the entire building shook frantically, as if the walls trembled in fear. The room became silent as everyone waited for the tremors to end, but they only got worse. Another earthquake? And so soon? But no… deep shouts reverberated through the ceiling, getting louder and louder, causing the windows to shatter and the lights to flicker sporadically. She could just about recognise that voice… No matter, whoever that was, they better leave a generous tip.

“As I was saying, sweetling; my expertly trained courtesans can elicit all sorts of reactions from lucky patrons...”

——

The Devil’s Den was ablaze. The wooden ceiling groaned as it continued to warp from the blistering heat. Thick flames consumed everything as it moved across the suite, making its way towards Korrilla.

Korrilla crawled in the direction of the door, desperately trying to escape the inferno. Raphael stood in the centre of the room, hellfire bursting from his body like an erupting volcano. He shed his mortal skin, sneering viciously at Korrilla.

“Mamzell Amira isn’t going to like this…” Korrilla shouted over the turbulent flames, concealing her mouth from the smoke with the sleeve of her dress.

“I’ll be damned what that wretched woman thinks, you insipid creature! She is bound to me regardless, so let her clean up this mess after I’m finished with you. In fact, I will burn this entire pathetic city to the ground. The Illithids will have nothing to claim but charred bones and ruins by the time they arrive.”

The ceiling fell behind Raphael, bringing a wine rack down with it. A large blast of embers continued to swirl around the Devil as wine bottles met the flames, exploding like fireworks.

“Raphael, we need to get o–”

“Where did they sell it? Tell me at once!”

“B-Beehives' General Goods… in the Lower City.”

Raphael roared, flapping his wings and causing the fire to grow more ferocious, mirroring his temper. Of all the shops Tav could’ve approached, they had stooped so low as to sell it there. To one of the dullest, most idiotic merchants Raphael had encountered in the last century. If that imbecile desperately needed the coin, why didn’t they approach Raphael? Had he not offered them salvation? A way out of their impending fate? He had made it so easy, so effortless for them! All they needed to do was free Orpheus from those damned infernal bindings. He should have made it more of a challenge, maybe then they would’ve stuck to the script.

The Devil lashed his tail, destroying what was left of the blackened desk and tearing up the remaining floorboards in the process. How could he have allowed himself to be so daft, to leave such an important part of his plan to mere mortals? If he failed now, when he was so close to the Crown, to his destiny, he would be known as the laughing stock of the Hells. The bards would make a mockery of him in song for all eternity. Raphael’s worst nightmare.

Around him, the Devil’s Den and his dreams crumbled, turning to ash. No. No! He would not let that happen. There was still time to make amends.

“Gird your loins, Korrilla.” Raphael bellowed.

“Wait, what? You can’t be–”

Raphael snapped his fingers, immediately sending Korrilla away to another plane. Temporarily banished. He didn’t care where he sent her, he just knew that if he had to look at that face for another second, he feared what he might do to her. The dwarf would prove useful in the days ahead and yes, she did meddle in his affairs from time-to-time, but she was a loyal servant. A strong warlock. She could survive anything.

He’d find her later, for another scolding and a proper debrief, once the Hammer was back in the hands of that trying little mouse.

——

Oliver Tefoco prided himself in the Beehive General Goods. Somehow he still managed to keep his little shop afloat, even after the Absolute targeted the city’s main gates, putting the business in jeopardy. Oliver never thought he could run it by himself, not without his beloved wife, Kroyce, at his side. He had sent his wife and children away when the cultists attacked the city. And all for the best, really, who knew if and when they’d strike again. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been truly alone; without the sounds of his wife’s idle chatter or his children’s laughter as they ran up and down those rickety old stairs. It was all too quiet now. Gods, he sure missed Kroyce, constant nagging and all...

The merchant stiffened, immediately rising from his chair behind the counter, as if Kroyce might walk in at any moment. Perhaps he should tidy things up, just in case. It was getting a wee bit dusty in there and besides, there had been no other guests since that dishevelled group of adventurers visited him hours ago. Selling him that strange hammer, he had never seen one quite like it in all his years as a merchant.

He might as well keep himself busy. It’s what Kryoce would do.

Oliver ventured into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a rag and wooden bucket filled with water.

“Right…” Oliver muttered to himself, dabbing the rag in liquid. “Better get going.”

Oliver started his task by cleaning the shelves behind the counter, removing the contents from each level. Bottles of wine, potions, books and more books; he had practically everything. Perhaps too many things, maybe he should sell some bits and bobs at the next market.

As he began clearing away the cobwebs, a strong scent of sulphur abruptly filled the room. The air felt heavy against his thin frame, and he found himself struggling to breathe. He paused, dropping the rag in the bucket. Did he leave the stove on? No, can’t be right. He didn’t remember…

The merchant turned around and was unexpectedly face-to-face with a tall, dark haired man. Oliver let out a high pitched scream, nearly falling over backwards.

The stranger loomed over Oliver, his eyes a peculiar golden colour, resembling the flickering flames of a candle. As Oliver stared back at the man, he noticed his skin sizzled, hissing like an overflowing kettle. How long had that man been standing there? He would have to check on that blasted door chime, that’s the second time this week it decided to stop working.

Oliver licked his lips, trying to swallow but realised his mouth was uncomfortably dry. His tongue stuck to the top of his hard palate. Sweat cascaded down his forehead, making his beard a soggy, droopy mess.

“H-hello, my good sir! How may I help an esteemed guest such as yo–”

“I am looking for a hammer.” The man’s voice was deep, intoxicating.

“A h-hammer, you say? Why, I have plenty. Hammers for building, s-smithing –”

“No, no…” The man slowly raised his finger, shaking it side-to-side. Oliver could’ve sworn he saw a spark fly from those fingertips. “This is no ordinary hammer.”

“I-I only have ordinary goods, sir. P-please if you are not satisfied, might I also offer you some light nibbles, perhaps? Or maybe some potions to cure any–” Oliver started going through the rest of his usual spiel in an attempt to calm his nerves.

“You will listen to me.” The stranger growled in response, taking a step towards Oliver. “Someone came into your shop today, selling you a hammer, did they not?”

Oliver’s mouth hung open in confusion and he scratched his head, staring at the man in front of him. The stranger's face turned into a terrifying scowl as Oliver continued to gape. There was something familiar in his face, the way he talked, moved, those fancy clothes… Where had he heard that voice before? And those eyes…

“Did they not?” The man said again, his tone rising.

“Uh, yes? Hold on…”

The stranger perked up slightly, but his eyes remained stern. He edged closer to Oliver.

“A funny dwarf woman came in here earlier,” Oliver continued, “asking the same type of questions. But I will tell you the same thing I told her. I am not giving away any information. No sir. Those are my rules–”

“Where is the hammer?” The man's voice rumbled through his chest. The room was sweltering and Oliver leaned against the wall for support, feeling woozy. He sniffed the air, smelling something new, something burning. Smoke rose from the feet of the stranger.

“L-listen here, sir.. I mean no trouble, but I don’t do business with thugs. If that woman is going to send her goons after me, well–”

Oliver never considered himself a brave man. He practically avoided conflict his whole life, save for that one time he punched a man in the face, due to a misunderstanding. He often thought about what he’d do if he was ever threatened, he had no idea how to hold a sword and knew just the basic fundamentals of magic. Despite that, he felt pretty confident he could take on that stranger. No matter how weird he smelled, or how the ground caught fire where he stepped. Just an illusion, that’s what Kryoce would say.

The stranger raised his hand, and Oliver put up his fists, preparing to counter whatever attack came his way. The man pressed his thumb and middle finger together and Oliver gasped. Long black nails protruded from his fingertips, reminding Oliver of... claws.

The man snapped his fingers and Oliver suddenly found the world around him very, very big.

——

It was impossible for Raphael to keep calm as he tore through the Beehive General Goods. He had turned the entire residence upside down as he searched for the Hammer, plundering the top floors and basement like some sort of petty thief. He ripped through the walls and floorboards in the off chance the merchant hid the Hammer there.

The Devil knew what merchants were capable of. He had dealt with many in his career, and they were always hiding something, withholding important information if it might make them just an extra bit of coin. There was nothing of value in that so-called shop anyways. Rubbish, the lot of it. And still, no Hammer to be found.

Raphael had been reckless, he would never dare show his cambion form outside of the usual safe houses. It was dangerous to do so in Baldur’s Gate, but he had no other choice. Time was running further away from him the more he dawdled, searching for the Hammer. Raphael would be the least of that merchant’s worries, let alone the entirety of Faerûn, if Tav didn’t have the Hammer soon.

The sound of glass breaking pulled Raphael away from his internal monologue. A large rat darted across the floor, running back and forth in a rapid attempt to find a hole to hide in. Raphael grinned as he knelt down, picking up the creature by its tail. It dangled in his fingers, squirming.

“My dear, dear merchant. Are you ready to give me an answer? Or do you prefer being a slimy little rat? I would say, this look suits you quite well. Although, it would be bad for business, don’t you think?”

Raphael squeezed the rat’s tail tighter and it screeched.

“Good. Now, let’s try this again. Where is the Hammer?”

To be continued…

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starryytales · 2 months ago

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Manipulative Ragatha pt 2.

OH GOD WHAT AM I DOING-

Well. It's time to earn my weekly loaf of bread from @starryyskies. This will be the first piece of fanfiction I've ever uploaded publicly to the internet. I hope you all enjoy, and if not: please don't tell my boss or she'll feed me hardtack with no water. So without further ado, I give you a somewhat continuation of the comic...

“Good grief! So the husband was a soul who needed a body, the monster was an angel, and you were both dragged off to Hell!?! And you were possessed!?! But I thought Caine couldn’t control our minds!”

Ragatha’s steadily increasing volume made Pomni reflexively inch backwards from her as the two were walking away from Kinger’s “impenetrable fortress.” They had just completed the Mildenhall Adventure, and were sharing their versions of the event with each other.

The rag-doll’s posture changed in an instant when she saw Pomni pull away.

“Ah-! Sorry about yelling,” she sheepishly apologized with a smile. “That’s just… Wow. I really didn’t think Caine could do that.”

“W-well, he didn’t. Kind of. Iiii… Was, well, trapped. In-- in my body, I mean. I could see and feel everything, but I couldn’t… You know, stop myself.” Pomni hugged herself as she remembered the spirits invading her body and painfully wresting control of it away from her. It was like she had drank molten metal, which reformed under her skin as needles trying to push their way out of her flesh. She shivered as the phantom sensation of her skin being pushed from her bones reared itself again.

Ragatha dared to place a hand on her shoulder, and the surprise touch made Pomni jolt physically and mentally, bringing her back to the moment with a silent gasp.

“Sorry again-!” Ragatha quickly retracted her hand, but Pomni put her own on the worrying rag-doll’s arm and gently squeezed it with a thankful expression.

“No, thank you. I just… That was rough. To put it lightly.”

“God. I am so sorry, Pomni. I mean, I love a spot of horror but if I had known it would have been that bad I’d have done more to keep you on the ‘easy’ path.”

The two women continued their back and forth about the adventure as they walked, with Ragatha growing increasingly more upset at what Caine had put Pomni (and to a lesser extent, Kinger) through. Towards the end of her tale Pomni told her about Kinger’s story, and about his wife, and the lesson he wanted to impart onto the young woman.

Pomni was interrupted by a loud, undignified sniffle from her rag-doll companion. She looked up to see Ragatha doing her best to control her emotions, and she was failing. Ragatha’s single “normal” eye was filled to bursting with tears as her chest heaved, each breath threatening to break the dam she had hastily constructed to stop herself from bawling.

“I’m okay-!” She squeaked, before rubbing her eyes clear with her wrists. Ragatha cleared her throat as she began rubbing her arm in an effort to calm herself down. The two had made it roughly to the entrance of the hallway their rooms were located in, and they walked in silence for a few more moments before Ragatha spoke up again.

“Hey, Pomni… A-about what Kinger told you. About feeling unloved. I...-” whatever gumption Ragatha had to bring it up quickly vanished as she looked away from Pomni, a flash of unaddressed hurt glistening in her eye. “-Ah… You know what? Forget I said anything. I’m just really, really happy you changed your mind about me.”

Pomni felt the sharp sting of guilt like a knife in her spine. She had apologized for not appreciating Ragatha’s efforts, but realized she had already done what Kinger warned her against doing. Between abandoning Ragatha on her first day, and bristling at or dismissing everything she had to say on the second, it was no wonder she might have been harboring worry about Pomni not liking her. Or worse.

“Ragatha,” Pomni began, her voice quiet, almost furtively so. Ragatha looked back at her, apprehension plastered on her face. “I’m sorry. I really am. In fact, I kind of feel like a real [%$#!]. I know you were just trying to help, and I should have… Been better.”

Ragatha’s expression softened as she sighed quietly in relief. Grinning, she relaxed her posture and waved off Pomni’s concern.

“Hey, water under the bridge. Really. Like I said my first few days here were pretty rough, too. So I do get where you're coming from."

Pomni returned the grin with one of her own, though it was smaller and more bashful. “Thanks. Um... That said, is there anyway I could, I don’t know, make it up to you? Somehow?”

Externally, Ragatha remained calm, cool, and collected. Her face remained a warm smile, and her eyes remained soft and understanding. Internally, however… She began to feel the first gaps in Pomni’s armor and was ecstatic.It was time to start slowly pulling her closer. Making her comfortable.

Ragatha tilted her head in faux thought and hummed.

"Weeell... I don't know about 'making up' anything, but you missed a really nice tea time. I doubt I can make anything as good as Mrs. Mildenhall, but I was going to make some dinner and tea to go with it. It'd be great to have you! I was thinking maybe making meatloaf or pasta, maybe even salmon cakes-"

Pomni perked up at the word ‘salmon,’ and the sudden interest did not escape Ragatha’s notice. Still, she had to carry on if she wanted to get the jester closer.

“-I could put on a movie after we’re done, we could slip into some cozy pajamas-”

“Wait, pajamas, what?” Pomni had been tripped up by the last statement, and Ragatha pounced on the confusion.

"Oh, right! It's been a bit of a whirlwind since you arrived so I haven't had the chance to tell you, but Caine lets us change outfits when we're 'backstage'. I-... Know you're not happy with your body, but maybe dressing in something a bit moooore... 'Normal' will help you feel a bit better about it. We'll work on getting you some clothes for in the future, but in the mean time you could borrow a few of my bigger shirts!"

Pomni blinked dumbly as she tried to digest the information. Her outfit felt welded to her skin, but she could have taken it off… At least in her room? … Did Ragatha say something about a movie?

“Wait, what was that about a movie as well? Pajamas, a movie… This is starting to sound like a lot more than just dinner.”

Ragatha mentally chastised herself for rapid-firing these more intimate thoughts at the perceptive jester, and briefly scrambled to recover gracefully.

"Ah... I, uh, suppose you're right. I did kind of jump right from dinner to 'girl's night,' haha... Sorry." Ragatha began to hug her arm as she is wont to do when uncomfortable. "I just got excited. You don't have to spend anymore time than dinner with me if you don't want to. I'd really like your company though."

Pomni weighed her options quietly. On the one hand, salmon. Real food not made by a psychopathic bubble minion. On the other, she had only really just come around to Ragatha. And the other woman’s eagerness to dive right in to friendship was a lot for her… Then Pomni’s stabbing guilt came roaring back.

I already made her feel like I hated her when all she did was try to make things easier on me… I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? I get something to eat and maybe a tacky, oversize shirt and understand her a bit more? She pondered, tapping her fingers together in thought briefly before refocusing on Ragatha.

“You mentioned maybe having salmon?”

Ragatha would have to thank Caine for once. His over zealous need to know everything about his humans and inability to not divulge informationfinally proved useful. Ragatha nodded at the question.

“Just a little recipe I remember. Do you like salmon?”

Pomni straightened up as the prospect of getting to enjoy a variation of her favorite meal became more and more real. For the first time since arriving in the circus, she was excited over something. It was as close to a home-cooked meal as she could get, and it would be something she absolutely loved.

“It’s my favorite! Er, well, I think I’ve had salmon cakes. But I mean salmon in general-”

“Great!” Ragatha interrupted, “we’ll have that before the movie! Come on, I’ll get it started right away!” With that, Ragatha carefully placed her hand on Pomni’s back and nudged her towards her room’s door…

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

Pomni groaned contentedly as she pushed away the empty plate in front of her. She must have eaten five or six of the delightfully crispy cakes Ragatha made. For being nothing but virtual sensations, she felt very, very full. The kind of full that makes one catlike- which is to say: in desperate need of a nice place to nap. Ragatha collected the plate from in front of the drowsy woman and giggled.

“Wow! That was the fastest, and most, anyone’s ever eaten my cooking!”

Pomni slowly climbed off the chair and smiled at her, holding her stomach as if she were full to bursting from the delicious feast.

“That was absolutely incredible, Ragatha. Thank you! I didn’t know how badly I had needed a good meal like that.”

Ragatha turned away from the sink she deposited the plates in to face Pomni with a small, bashful smile on her lightly blushing face.

“D’aww, thank you, Pomni! That really means a lot to me… Anyway, now that dinner is settled, I’m going to step over to the closet and change real quick for movie night..!”

Ragatha practically skips to the closet within the tiny room and opens the door with an excited flourish. Pomni idly glances to the old style TV, wondering what they would even be able to watch that won’t get Caine screaming at them.

“Hey, Ragatha-”

Pomni’s question died in her throat as she looked back at her hostess. Ragatha was standing at the closet doorway completely nude. Her dress was heaped in a pile at her feet as she searched excitedly for what she was going to wear. Pomni’s face turned a molten shade of crimson as her mind absorbed every curve Ragatha had. She knew she shouldn’t watch, but Ragatha didn’t seem to mind, or notice for that matter.

Pomni thanked her lucky stars she was only seeing Ragatha from the side as the rag-doll yanked some well worn pajamas out. Ragatha then dropped those clothes, reached back into the closet, grabbed two faded shirts and turned to face Pomni.

“Ooh, these were some of my favorites. They’re still cute though! What do you think, Pomni? Do you like blue or pink more?”

Ragatha was holding the shirts in such a way that each one blocked half her chest, but Pomni couldn’t stop her gaze flicking southward briefly where the shirts did not cover.

Of course it’s the same color as her head. And it’s heart-shaped because OF COURSE IT IS SHE’S A DOLL- Pomni’s mind was racing and her mouth was left on auto pilot.

“Blue???” Pomni belted as her mind had its metaphorical legs swept out from under it. Ragatha nodded and yelled “catch!” And flung the shirt at her. In her distracted state, the large shirt fell onto her head like a net. Pomni frantically and valiantly fought against the restraints of the old fabric, and when she was victorious she pulled her head free...

To be greeted with the sight Ragatha’s rear end bouncing gently as the doll loosed a frustrated, annoyed huff. She was half bent over, pulling up her pajama bottoms and she needed just a bit more effort to get them over her-

I’m going to have a heart attack. The poor, flustered Pomni had a death grip on the shirt that did not loosen until Ragatha, with one final hop, slid the too-small pajamas all the way up.

“Phew! There we go.” Ragatha turned back around to face Pomni, who was just as rattled as she wanted her to be.

“Well? Try it on, Pomni! If it doesn’t work, I have others you can try too.”

Pomni, no longer hypnotized and seconds from melting, finally managed to form a coherent thought. She was nervous, to say the least. She never enjoyed changing with other people in the slightest… But it’s not like Ragatha could leave the room. She’d have to change again and Pomni wasn’t sure she could survive something that intense again so soon.

"R-Ragatha... Could you look away? I know we're both women and you didn't have... any issue changing in front of me, but-"

“Say no more, Pomni! I understand completely!” Ragatha cheerfully exclaimed as she sat down on the love seat in front of the old TV. She then brought a hand up to cover her normal eye and cocked her head away, leaving the button eye to face Pomni.

“Um…”

“I can’t see out of the button, Pomni. I know it expresses and changes shape and all of that other fun stuff, but, really, it’s all darkness on that side. Just tell me when you’re done.”

Ragatha’s heart began to thump excitedly as she watched Pomni slowly relax. She believed it. Ragatha thought excitedly. The jester was as gullible as she was sweet. She coolly crossed her legs as Pomni awkwardly fumbled with her clothing. Her outfit was, for all intense and purposes, just a leotard with puffy balls of fabric on the limb holes to “cover” more of her. She observed as Pomni seemed to fumble with a button of some kind on her back, before the whole thing just fell off her thin body, making the jester quietly gasp in shock.

She was every bit as beautiful as Ragatha hoped, and Ragatha struggled to maintain the illusion of blindness as Pomni knelt over to pick up the shirt she had dropped. There was a hungry pit inside of her that needed the jester more than she could ever know, but for now Ragatha managed to stave off anything too overt.

“Everything okay over there?” Ragatha asked as sweetly as she could. Pomni quickly throws the shirt on, and just as Ragatha had predicted: it looked more like a dress on the smaller woman.

“Y-yeah, it’s a bit big on me, but… It does feel kind of nice to wear something else.”

Ragatha uncovered her good eye and looked at her. She was ready to swoon at the sight of the adorable little jester wearing her old shirt. Like a flag on a captured fortress, she mused before smiling.

“Oh, you look great! Tell you what, you can keep that one. Now, come on over and sit! We’ll be watching The Goonies!” She said, fervently patting the space next to her on the furniture.

Pomni, her embarrassment starting to fade, made to join Ragatha on the love-seat. Both women silently assured themselves they had indeed made the right call this night.

#fanfic #tadc #minors dni #minors do not interact #tw nswf #suggestive #tadc ragatha #tadc pomni #buttonblossom #pomni x ragatha #ragapom #manipulative ragatha

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tricitymonsters · 1 month ago

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DAY 17 - Stuck in a Wall

Akello x Reader

Content Warnings: slime tentacle sex, overstimulation, anal, dirty talk, sex with clothes on, biology isn’t real

Maybe you’re a little too old to go climbing all over the city late at night. Maybe that’s why you’re snared in a humiliating predicament like a stupid prey animal caught in a trap. Sprinting up that rotten old staircase in that abandoned duplex had been, it seems, the worst possible thing you could have chosen to do tonight- Your bodyweight thundering up them had been too much and one of the stairs had crumbled to splinters beneath your feet. Now your legs are dangling beneath you several feet off the ground while your upper body remains firmly lodged in the staircase. You’ve already tried squirming, struggling, and kicking but nothing yet has availed you an escape to this horrifyingly humiliating predicament.

“I told you splitting up was a bad idea.”

Your head snaps up to find Akello looking up at you from the bottom of the steps.

“I can handle some stuff on my own,” you fire back earnestly.

“But not rotten stairs, apparently,” he says cooly. He’s not mad, you can tell by the slight quirk to his full lips, and in fact the way he crosses his arms and moves to get a better look at you hints that he may be enjoying this.

Something touches your leg just then and it makes you flinch in revulsion and the gasp you let out is loud in the abandoned building. “There’s something below me! What is-”

But Akello only chuckles and you realize that he’s directing a slime appendage to rise off the lower floor and wend its way up your leg, coiling slowly higher.

“Akello what are you doing!?”

“I’m taking a tiny little reward as my thank you for being your knight in shining armor. I’ll get you out in a second, baby.” he says calmly, though that slightly entertained quirk to his lips only gets more pronounced.

The tentacle is thickening steadily, now feeling like a sturdy limb wrapping around my waist though I immediately start squirming when the tapered end of it starts to push at the waistband of my pants.

“Akello!”

But the last syllable of his name strangles as I make a shocked, undignified noise. My clothes aren’t enough to keep the tentacle out and it slides frictionlessly across hot skin until it can press between my flanks. It reshapes itself at Akello’s whim- molding to my body, thickening in some places, and in others-

It’s now pressed all the way between my thighs, though I realize faintly that it has two distinct ends now. The first is pressing at the front of my pants, filling the fabric awkwardly as it presses against me as though searching. Understanding hits me like a blow to the face and my whole body jolts like i’ve been electrocuted when I feel the end shift into a concave shape suitable for sucking. And suck it does.

It envelopes me, undulating steadily to increase pressure and all my nerves light up at once. The heat that hits me hits with the weight of a speeding freight train and all I can do is gasp stupidly, mouth agape, and vaguely look at Akello with distant, confused eyes. He just watches, pleased. The appendage is still shifting, finding room between my tense flesh and my clothes to swell and expand until I feel it press against my tight little asshole.

The thing sucking on me gives a tight pull and my spine arches helplessly. I’m already at risk of cumming and Akello can tell. The thing nudging my entrance is small enough to take and without really meaning to, I relax enough to let it penetrate me.

Immediately the dual stimulation is too much and my body moves in confused, whorish throes without my input while Akello works me over effortlessly. I cum almost instantly but the orgasm doesn’t really stop. The low throbbing and pulsing just… keeps going with every thrust.

The instant I feel like I can take it, he ups the ante and the thing inside me swells larger, until its girth is filling me to the brim and it’s heavy weight is crushing up against that bundle of nerves inside me.

Then it starts fucking me. Hard.

I jerk again, clawing at the ground and moaning loudly while I get fucked so hard I can’t think. Akello clicks his tongue. “You have such a cute ‘Getting Fucked Stupid’ face. Poor baby.”

I stare at him open mouthed for a couple second, unable to react, unable to think, unable to do anything but hang there and get absolutely destroyed by rapid fire heaven/hell of double stimulation. And thought I’ve been in this suspension of pseudo-climax for full minutes now, impossibly, I can feel a fresh orgasm building. I’m going to cum so hard that there’s not a single other thought behind my blank eyes as I get dragged up to the precipice. Only that I’m a being of pure need right then incapable of anything but cumming exactly when and how Akello makes me.

#IM STILL GOING #rough weekend and then i needed a recovery day but i'm still pushing #lets see how far i get #tcmkinktober #akello

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gravehags · 5 months ago

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Secondo taking you over his knee for being such a naughty girl and distracting him all day

Love that old man sm

“You did this to yourself, agnellino.”

In an instant your world turns upside down as you’re hauled across Papa Emeritus II’s lap, an undignified squeak coming out of you. He’s right, you did do this to yourself. You’d worn your lowest cut habit that day, sashaying around his office while he held terse phone calls, eyes ever on the sway of your hips. Your cheeks flush as he raises the hem of your skirt over your ass.

“Bare, too? Not only is she a little tease, she’s a little whore, hmm?

“Yes, Papa,” you murmur, and delight when you feel the twitch of his cock against your belly. He’s slowly rolling up his sleeves, and you crane your neck to look at the strong forearms dusted with dark hair.

“Shall I leave my gloves on, sorella?”

“Whatever pleases you most, Papa.”

You can tell from the low growl that comes out of him that that was the right answer and you lower your head to hide your grin as he removes the leather gloves from his hands. When he places a bare palm on the spot where your thigh meets your ass, you gasp.

“Bella piccola cosa,” he breathes, inching his long fingers to your core. When he dips a fingertip into the wet heat of you, you whimper.

“Be sweet for me, agnellino and then, perhaps, I shall reward you. But for now…count for me, sì? Alle dieci?”

You brace yourself as best you can while precariously balanced in his lap.

“Uno.”

The first slap to the globe of your ass almost sends you flying. You’re gasping for breath and you wonder how you’re going to make it through the next one.

“Sorella?”

“D-Due.”

Smack. He hits the other cheek this time and your arousal simmers in your belly.

“Tre.”

When he strikes you this time your hips rut forward against his leg and you hear him let out a sinister little chuckle above you.

“Quattro.”

His smack lands on your haunches this time, making you whine from the sting.

“Cinque.”

You bite your lip to stifle the moan that is forced out of you.

“S-Sei.”

This time the moan breaks through and he laughs to himself once more. Every jolt of your body grinds your clit against his hard thigh and he knows it.

“Four more agnellino, don’t tell me you’re tapping out.”

“Sette,” you grit out.

When he strikes you this time you take a moment to arch your back and look up at him.

“Otto,” you whimper, mouth falling open in a pant. You can tell from the way his jaw loosens and his tongue dips out to wet his lips he’s enjoying the show.

“Nove,” you moan, and he strikes you as your hips rotate in tight little circles against his thigh. He’s breathing heavy now, eyes on your bare flesh and cock hard against your belly.

“Dieci,” you breathe and the final smack is easily the weakest one of the evening as he rushes to lift you off his lap and bend you over his desk. You barely have a moment to wiggle your reddened ass enticingly when he’s got his cock out and prodding at your entrance.

“Piccola puttana mia,” he growls, pushing into you roughly, “You love this, don’t you? Always so hungry for my cock so you spend all day driving me to distraction.”

His hips snap against yours in a punishing pace and you wouldn’t have it any other way. When he slides his fingers into your hair and pulls back so your body is arched, you let out a keening moan of his name.

“That’s right, piccola troia,” he pants, fucking the breath from your lungs. “Take this cock you want so badly, huh? Diavoletta mia…ah…”

He’s hitting a spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back as he fucks you ruthlessly against the mahogany.

“Fuck, Secondo,” you whine, hips bucking backwards to meet his thrusts. “Just like that, give it to me honey. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—ah!”

His hand abandons your scalp to reach around and yank your low cut habit down and push up your bra, exposing your breasts. He roughly rolls your stiff nipple between his fingers and chuckles in your ear.

“What if someone came in now, huh? Saw you bent over for me like a bitch in heat, tits out? Ah cazzo, you look so beautiful like this. All—ah—for me. Mine.”

“Yours,” you whimper, and he gives the bud between his fingers a sharp pinch that makes your clit throb, “Yours, I’m yours, sono tuo, Papa.”

The use of his title has him groaning and you begin to clench around him as you feel your release upon you.

“Gonna cum,” you whine, “G-Gonna cum all over this big cock, gonna—ah!”

Your cunt spasms around him wildly as your arms wobble and threaten to collapse. He sees this and pulls you against him, even as he lets out a broken moan in your ear and he empties himself inside you. The two of you pant in the silence of his office, his forehead pressed to your shoulder. When he finally pulls away, you feel a rush of his seed slide out of you and hit the rug. Secondo sits back in his chair to enjoy the show, hands gently palming your ass.

“Let’s get up to my rooms and get some cream on this, huh? Brava ragazza…thank you for indulging me.”

You chuff out a laugh and lower your habit, moving towards him on unsteady legs before sitting in his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. He’ll be tender tonight applying the ointment to your chapped flesh. You wonder if you can find an even lower cut habit to wear next time.

#papa emeritus ii #secondo #secondo emeritus #secondo x reader

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madarasgirl · 10 months ago

Text

A Night for Hunting Ch.15 -A New Home

T/W: Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, soft yandere, romance, Hellsing cast, mild sexual content, somnophilia, ‘blood drinking,’ depressed vampire @alastorhazbin On AO3 Words: 4989

Happy New Year! I have good vibes about this upcoming year already. Looking back, this account is now one year old! Crazy how everything I wrote under this name was done within the last year. I do think there is improvement between now and what I first wrote. Hopefully I will continue to get better as I write more this year!

The manor and its adjacent towers were constructed in the Victorian style. There was only one main building, but it was massive, with hundreds of windows lining a mansion of at least three stories tall. From outside, there may have been another top floor. Perhaps the sole purpose of this upper level was simply to grant greater ceiling height to the foyer or another central room, which seemed an aesthetic the wealthy aspired to.

You continued to gawp at the scale of the place. It had seemed as if the forest stretched on forever when the manor suddenly came into view from behind a gargantuan fence. The coiffered lawn hugged a paved path on either side, ending elegantly in a line of manicured spruce trees.

You swallowed as you entered the foyer and stepped closer to Alucard. The entrance was every bit as stately as this building’s exterior, but your observations of the decor were cut short by an older gentleman who came to greet you. Silver cuff links adorned a neatly pressed dress shirt and the muted violet vest complimented his slacks well. Wisps of bangs escaped a shaggy ponytail, swaying as he dipped his head.

“Alucard,” he acknowledged the vampire before turning to you and you stiffened as he bent into a slight bow with an arm over his chest. “Young Miss, welcome to Hellsing.” He spoke with a polished lilt.

Your eyes widened and you almost flinched at the clipped words. You were not expecting anyone to bow to you, not even the posh butler. As quick to fluster as you were, you barely managed to squeak out a reply. “Y-yes! Thank you!”

The corners of the old man’s crow feet crinkled around slate grey eyes with the cordial smile. “You may call me ‘Walter.’ I am the Hellsing family’s butler.” He extended an arm towards you with the palm up and you snatched it up to shake.

“Nice to meet you too!” You stammered, clutching the worn hand between both of yours as you introduced yourself.

For a beat, no one spoke, but Walter’s teeth were now showing through the smile.

“Your jacket, Young Miss?” He clarified.

Of course he meant your jacket. This man was clearly a proper member of the English upper society. You nearly buried your burning face in your hands as the other man took your outerwear after you removed it, feeling Alucard mocking you while you decided to ignore him.

“If you would follow me,” the butler said as he turned on his heel and strode through the foyer, disappearing down a hall.

Multiple corridors passed by. This was no ordinary mansion. It was the headquarters of a secret organization that hunted vampires and ghouls for generations. How in the world was this vast organization and the existence of such creatures kept confidential? Perhaps ‘agreeing’ to stay here with Alucard was a mistake. What were you doing here? You had no business poking around with hunts for the undead.

Hold your head high, little one. You belong here as much as anyone.

How that could be was beyond you. You weren’t strong or dangerous like the few guards you glimpsed. Neither were you as sophisticated as the butler or the other members of staff you came across thus far. It was as if even the serving staff were selected for decorum. You looked as uncomfortable and undignified as you felt to be standing where you were. Your steps faltered and you let yourself fall behind, your eyes tracking Alucard’s retreating back up ahead with longing, knowing it would be unwise to seek his touch in the midst of watching eyes.

Rumbling laughter echoed as his touch brushed your mind once again. You are a human within a human organization. It is the police girl and I who are out of place, silly child.

His voice jolted you from your reveries and you rushed to catch up. You prayed Alucard was correct as you were ushered up a grand set of stairs in solid oak and into another room, forcefully straightening your back with the meek hope of projecting poise you did not feel.

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

The stout door fell shut behind you, and with it went the last of your freedom. Your gaze fell on the lone figure by a sprawling wooden desk where a stoic blonde woman sat with her mouth hidden behind intertwined fingers. She wore men’s attire, complete with a cravat and cross at her throat. The outfit suited her demeanor well. The light reflected off her glasses and when the glint passed, you caught the brilliant calculating stare of crystal blue.

You immediately knew you were being evaluated. You let out a breath as the nervous weight returned, coiling heavily in your stomach and your gaze nearly fell from hers. Shifting your weight to your other foot, your fingers twitched as you fought the urge to stick your hands in your pockets.

You only remembered to keep breathing when Walter put a closed fist to his lips and cleared his throat.

“You are looking at Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, head of the Hellsing Organization.” Walter swept forward and bent at the hips in a formal bow to address his master, then retreated into the shadows of the room. You could barely see the man once he settled against the wall by Integra’s side.

You didn’t meet Sir Hellsing’s gaze again for fear of appearing overly bold, but lowered your head in greeting. You licked your lips and nibbled the inside of the bottom, still trying desperately not to let out too many indications of your anxiety. It felt like you were being stripped bare. This was Alucard’s master. Her presence was just as commanding and words wouldn’t come to your now parched throat.

Long moments passed in silence as your heart hammered away. There was no slouch in your posture nor restless bounce to your feet. You would not allow yourself to present yourself in such a slovenly manner. Though you were under no physical threat, you may as well have been on trial at a cross examination.

Your silent judge took out a cigar and spoke at last.

“So this is the woman occupying my servant's time. And who inspired him to steal my jet for a night,” the master of the castle uttered casually with a raised brow and an unreadable grin.

Walter stepped up to her side to light the cigar she dangled between her lips and she exhaled with a plume of smoke. The spicy aromas of tobacco and leather filled your nose. Sir Hellsing took another extended draw with her eyes closed before letting it out. The ghostly fumes trailed into the air in lazy tendrils and gradually vanished.

You too wanted to disappear under the scrutiny of so many intimidating people, but her words caught your attention.

You shot Alucard a dirty look. He stole it? But of course he did. It was exactly like how you came home one night to an empty apartment. The bat bastard had collected all your stuff for 'safekeeping' and announced it was time for you to move in with him. What about your human rights?! The asshole next to you cackled boorishly and appeared much too pleased with himself.

“Shut up about that! It isn’t funny!” You snapped at him before remembering yourself too late as you looked back at Sir Integra with mortification. “I mean–”

Surprise passed fleetingly by the other woman’s face until it was replaced by the faintest hint of a smile. “At ease,” she waved you off as the damn vampire interrupted.

“Delightfully feisty, is she not, Master?”

"Alucard, the circumstances may be amusing to you, but do not forget that I gave you leave to bring a civilian here. Hellsing’s purpose is no trifling matter.” The woman reprimanded the vampire before her gaze settled on you. “You are his responsibility. However, you will undergo basic training. Do not make me rescind this demonstration of goodwill."

Your heart plummeted at the mention of training, knowing you would struggle under the tutelage of anyone who hunted monsters for a living. But you were permitted to stay with Alucard (even if you complained a lot). Not knowing what response was most appropriate, you stood even straighter at attention with your chin tilted up slightly. This was a military compound afterall.

“Yes ma’am!” You shouted, though you felt no confidence from the declaration.

Her lips twitched as her expression softened a touch. Steel blue eyes continued to appraise you, yet the severe furrow to her brows eased. Her fingers drummed across the desk. Unexpectedly, she gave you her blessings.

"Take care of him. He is little more than a sobbing child," she stated.

Huh? Who was this woman to insult him so? You looked to Alucard, but the said vampire didn’t seem offended. Rather, he was grinning from ear to ear, appearing very pleased he was permitted to keep you. You were utterly confused by their dynamic.

“I expect as much from the woman who earned my wayward servant’s affections. You may leave.” She dismissed you.

Your vampire turned, hiding you from prying eyes and murmuring words only meant for you. "This is now your home, little dove." He caressed the crown of your head as you stared at him with huge eyes filled with uncertainty. His eyes snapped to a younger blonde girl standing by the wall who you did not notice prior and she stumbled awkwardly to attention with a salute.

“Ah, y-yes, Master!”

You left the chamber accompanied by a young changeling and the warmth of her sire’s gaze lingering on your back.

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

Seras, the relatively new fledgling, was your tour guide. A part of you still wanted to dislike her, but she was just too sweet. It was nice to have someone normal to talk to who didn’t make you feel like you were strapped to a dissection table.

“Soooo…you came here with Master?!” She ventured after half an hour of meaningless banter and showing you around the training grounds.

“Yes I did.” You were uncomfortable with the prospects of having to explain your relationship to anyone since you've never had to, but the feeling was particularly intense with Alucard's changeling.

“How did you meet?” She asked while turning back to you with a chipper smile.

Gosh, this was getting so awkward you almost wanted to scratch your own head.

“...We ran into each other one night after I was done at work…” Your thoughts raced. Could she smell the half-truth? Seras seemed naive and kind of cute, but she remained a stranger you just met. How much could you tell her? How much did she already know?

“Oh! I hope you were okay! Master would insult me if I did something like that,” she casted her eyes to the side and pouted, nearly deflating with her attestation.

You chortled with laughter, empathising with the young girl as you stated with a vacant stare, “He laughs at me all the time.”

At that she cheered up and the tension in your thoughts released as the two of you found some common ground while venting about Alucard’s indiscretions.

You walked side-by-side. The blonde vampiress rambled on as she took you through the main features of the manor. Hall after hall passed as she led you between each room you would need.

Wainscotting, coffered ceilings, gilded crown moulding, crystal chandeliers, plush carpets, rare marble tiles. Every lavish upgrade you could think of, you saw somewhere in the residence without it appearing gaudy. It was stunning, but…strangely gloomy. And just like the way Shangri-la was not you, you were a fish out of water here as well. The feeling only grew stronger the further you went. You scoffed at Alucard’s assertion that you belonged here, sorely missing the warm coziness of a home that was no longer yours.

As you toured the premises with Seras, it became apparent that there were way fewer servants of the kind you expected, the ones who would help run an estate of this size. Sure there were cleaners and workers in the kitchen and the manor was tasteful and clean. But oddly, it was soldiers who made up the bulk of the visible staff.

You and Seras passed another patrol as she showed you to your bedroom on the second floor.

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

You bid her goodnight and sighed with relief when you were at last afforded the luxury of privacy.

Your jacket hung in an open closet. All your belongings were there in the room, packed into boxes in a neat corner. That was the entirety of it? Your possessions were certainly humble when juxtaposed into a room as spacious as this. After exploring your storage options, you began the tedious work of unpacking.

A wealth of information was delivered to you today. You were reeling from whiplash. Even if Alucard previously broached the topic of moving in, the abrupt relocation into this organization was overwhelming.

Your new ‘home’ was beautiful, yet…everything about it was dreadfully formal and you got the sense that this compound operated under a rigid hierarchy and set of rules.

This was no simple rich person's playground and getting used to this authoritarian setting was going to be beyond difficult. You tossed around in bed as your thoughts wandered. Did your place here depend entirely on Alucard and Integra’s favour? You knew your vampire would not allow you to be mistreated, yet you did not know your standing without Alucard by your side nor what was expected of you. What would become of you?

They said it would be easier if you slowly transitioned to a nocturnal lifestyle if you were to live here, but you were exhausted by everything you saw. As you rolled into the soft satin sheets to try and sleep, you sighed. The opulence that was present even in your new bedroom was entirely foreign.

Everywhere you went, the people you encountered were pleasant, but the stares and whispers followed closely on your tails. They knew. Everyone knew you came with Alucard and of the sudden delivery of a stranger’s belongings before you were brought here. And guessing your relationship was no challenge.

You had barely seen Alucard since you arrived. Instead you were escorted from one oversized room to the next as Seras stuffed your head with random facts you’d need to know. As you were thrown flailing headfirst into the world of the supernatural (which you didn’t wholly ask for), the simmering doubt bubbled into a seething boil.

They said Alucard stayed in the basement. Some familiarity would be much appreciated right now. Would you be in trouble? You wanted to see him more than anything to know that everything will be okay. To sit in his lap and stare into the sunset as he soothed away your fears with the lull in his words and gentle touch.

You stayed on your toes to muffle unnecessary noise as you slipped out of your room and traced your path back to a hidden entrance in an unassuming hallway, which was where Seras told you he stayed during your tour.

With careful hands, you pulled at the door, which didn’t budge until you put your weight behind it and yanked. You winced at the unoiled creak that groaned louder than thunder in the silence.

It was a staircase.

You saw only as far as four steps down before it became pitch black. You walked in anyways and closed the door behind you so no one would be privy to you sneaking around.

You couldn't see anything. There was no moonlight or wall lights. Just the nothingness that swallowed you whole as you shut yourself in.

Alucard. You called him.

No reply.

He must be here. His signature was ubiquitous, a welcome oppression that gave density to the air you inhaled. You felt around blindly, and softly, softly, in the shadows, one tentative step at a time, you made it to the bottom of the stairs while remaining close to the wall. Your fingers brushed a plaque and you traced the letters tentatively.

...T-O-R…TORTURE?

Surely that must be wrong. Unease rippled through your mind as you gulped. You hugged yourself and rubbed your ears. Without the whisper of your steps, the silence became deafening as well. With nothing to see or hear, you stood alone in a void, but he was here. You knew it in your soul.

You stayed put to try letting your eyes adjust to the lack of light, but even that was hopeless. You couldn’t even differentiate if your eyes were open or closed. This was the kind of place where spidery demons of legend ambush their prey from the shadows. There was an almost imperceptible draft blowing past you and the air felt wet. Your nose curled with revulsion as you imagined what this place must look like.

The darkness and silence and moldy dampness gave you the creeps, but this was his lair. Monsters and whatnot may lurk in this world, but the scariest of them all…was your lover. You were invincible here. Nothing could harm you.

You let out an audible breath to remind yourself that you have only temporarily lost your senses. Sightless, you kept shuffling along, staying close to the walls to help guide your way. Whether this place was cramped, you could not tell, not even if it was a hallway or an open cavern. Your flesh prickled into chicken skin from the eeriness.

While everyone else stayed in the lavish manor above, Alucard lived here?

Minor interactions from the day welled up and you recounted how uneasy others were around him. Were you once the same? Realization dawned and your chest squeezed tight. He gave his services to this organization, but they treated him like…a monster to be caged, ostracized, and feared. Your lips pressed together in a taut line as you picked up the pace to rush to your vampire.

You ran out of wall to follow. You must have arrived at a turn. Or it could be a wall ending within a spacious room.

Alucard? You reached for him in your mind.

Still he did not answer. You stumbled over your feet and dithered where you were. Perhaps coming here uninvited was a bad idea, but before you could decide which direction to walk next, you heard him.

This is no place for a sweet human like yourself. Turn back.

"Why bring me all the way here only to turn me away now?"

Speaking out loud was equivalent to screaming into the abyss, shattering the engulfing silence. It reverberated and your words echoed off into the distance for you to voice your question over and over. "You invited me to live with you. I came to Hellsing for you. I chose to be here with you."

A pregnant pause after your words faded. When there was nothing for several more moments and you were about to march forward blindly anyways, he answered.

Very well. Come to me, he whispered.

Alucard lit the way. Hundreds of thousands of eyes opened along the stones, guiding the path to him. You now saw you were in a long corridor, the end of which was not visible.

You followed his macabre lead, feeling his pull more as you neared, a tyrannical energy that grew more potent with each step. The blanket of power was so welcome.

He had such a flair for theatrics. He could just come out and greet you like a good host. Chuckling bounced around your head.

There is no fun in that, little one.

You snorted, but sobered up as you studied your newly visible surroundings. The basement was not yet finished. It was bleak and indeed dank with mildew. Something dripped in the distance.

Alucard lives here? This was no home. This repugnant hole in the ground was more like…a dungeon.

”How unseemly for a lady to come seeking a monster’s company at night,” the vampire murmured, pressing behind your back with his hands wrapped around your waist. You gasped at the unexpected presence, then sighed in relief and leaned back into him.

"You aren't a monster," you said softly while reaching back to pull him against you by the thighs. It was true that you hadn’t truly thought of him as one in a very long time. His chest rumbled from purring as he nuzzled into the side of your head. “Your home is so lonely.” You pushed your forehead to his as he continued to nudge against you, closing your eyes to breathe him in as a wave of sadness washed over your senses.

As you basked in his solid presence behind you, the darkness lost its foreboding. You were now wrapped in the safe blanket of night. His darkness, which hid and protected you, unweaved the intricate web ensnaring you with fear. He disappeared as you made your way into a clearing, but your fright was already banished. Knowing Alucard was right here with you gave you peace of mind.

Meagre torches came on one by one and you followed the garish light that made you squint. Everywhere your eyes fell, empty blood bags were illuminated by each consecutive lamp alighting, leading to a massive throne that occupied the middle of the room. There Alucard sat in solitude with his chin on a fist. Blood splattered the floor where the drained packets lay.

“I have been famished lately,” he rumbled, his bangs shielding one gleaming eye from view.

“What’s new? Do you always gorge yourself like this? Such a messy eater.” You replied with a cringe, then looked away from the littered floor. “I couldn't sleep, so I decided to pay you a visit.”

The King smiled a toothy grin and extended a hand to you. “Come here, little one.”

Tiptoeing gingerly around the blood sacks, you reached the King, who pulled you into his lap. As you leaned against him, your tension from the day melted away from the physical contact and you yawned.

You lay your head on Alucard’s shoulder, then peered up at him through lidded eyes.

“A lot of things happened today,” you mumbled.

“...”

“I was shown so many rooms and told so many things, I doubt I’d even remember all of it, especially the arbitrary rules. I’m sure I’d get lost though.”

“...”

“There’s a hallway with these classical paintings, the ones with the fancy gold frames. They look like they might be originals! It was really weird how they were all just a bit tilted though. Is that something rich people just do for rich people's reasons?”

You were rambling. He must already know the random trivia when it came to this mansion, but you continued to blab about the various things you were shown in the Hellsing manor as your lover quietly listened to you unload. Your heart quivered, the stress from the move at last catching up.

"...Why me, Alucard?" You whispered against his chest as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

"You are a fool if you must ask."

He plucked you from his lap and took you through another room, where you spotted a palatial bed to the side, fit for a king, but he brought you to his coffin instead. It was an enormous wooden box, glossy black with engraving that you couldn’t discern in the poor lighting. The lid floated off by itself and you peeked inside.

It looked like a velvet mattress padded with cushioning on the sides. If it weren’t for the knowledge that it was a coffin, it wouldn’t be too bizarre at all. You glanced over and saw Alucard looking at you as if he was waiting for you to freak out. You got in instead.

It was surprisingly spacious inside, until Alucard joined and crowded you. Clearly these were made for single occupation! The lid closed and darkness engulfed you. This was supposed to be creepy, but you found yourself remarkably unbothered as the vampire rearranged the two of you until he was under you with the silken fabric of his cravat against your face.

No heartbeat. The dead silence of his chest was well-known to you. Up so close to the one you wanted most the entire time you were here, you began to drift.

That you braved the dark to seek him for comfort gave Alucard great pleasure. Now locked in with him, there was no way to escape the coffin unless he allowed it. He let his mind wander. A balm to his battered soul, that was what you were.

“My Darling, if there ever comes a time you are in danger and I am absent, hide in this coffin. It will provide you with some measure of protection.”

You mumbled something in reply and burrowed into him, but your vampire wasn’t ready to let you fade away.

His hands roamed your body, his erection pressed taut against your stomach. He dragged you up by the armpits as you squealed until his lips met yours. Smooth lips tugged at you and you groggily let him in, distantly wondering what you would do if copper filled his mouth.

It didn’t. He tasted, as always, of vintage wine, and you melted into him with the yearning of a day spilling over. Suckling his tongue, you shyly brought his hands from your back to your chest and pressed his fingertips into the fat pads there. He was happy to massage you, making you squirm when he rolled and pinched your peaks.

Through a closed-eye grin, you giggled, "You’re freezing, but I'll keep you warm when you sleep from now on."

The vampire's cock twitched. Vibrant orangey-yellow irises narrowed slightly before swirling with affection as he squeezed you to his chest with extra limbs.

You slipped towards sleep with a smile on your face. At last, while you lay in a cramped wooden box underground on top of a living corpse, you were comfortable to be where you were.

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

Pain.

You gasped. The shocking sensation seared your nerves, yet you found it impossible to remove yourself from the terrible feeling. It passed immediately as the pain numbed, then melded into pleasure unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Your mind went blank as another wave rolled through simultaneously with a distant pull at your neck. Have you gone mad? If people abused drugs for ecstasy such as this, you too would go delirious from addiction.

Blood feeds blood.

Your body jolted feebly under a weight that would not give way, forcing you to remain immobile and endure the electrified sparks up your spine.

Alucard.

His teeth sank deep into your throat as he took that lengthy drag. Your essence funnelled into him while you spun, intoxicated from desire.

Blood calls blood.

Excruciatingly enticing.

You tilted your head to grant him access to your soul.

Blood is, and blood was,

You didn’t even wince this time as slick pooled from blazing loins and your back arched. More. You needed more.

He was inside you. Thick and delicious and somehow you were accommodating him despite his immense size, the siren-song of his whispers in your ears, rending your existence apart with sultry thoughts and promises of eternity.

And blood shall ever be.

He was pounding you into the plush cushions of a coffin. Making you whole. An angel found her wings.

Daughter of the Night.

Pain and pleasure were the same. Coherent thought escaped as you became one. The only certainty was that this was meant to be–

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

The Bird of Hermes is My Name

Eating My Wings to Keep Me Tame

You woke with a start panting, sweat clinging to your brows and soaking your back. You were indeed lying on plush cushions and still inside the coffin with your crotch soaked in juice. There was suddenly so much room?

No, you were not alone. Alucard was on top of you as a weighted blanket of shadow. His hand was tight on your mound.

"Such indelicate fantasies you hold, my Dear."

You may have been in absolute darkness, but you heard the smirk in his voice. A giant eye opened, hovering where you assumed the coffin’s lid was, examining you with a wild gaze as invisible hands palmed your body. Your sopping pussy throbbed as she recalled the dream.

"Ha! As if! You put those delusions in my head!"

The vampire chuckled at the retort.

It felt so real. You could almost feel his phantom teeth in your vein and your lifeblood leaving the warm confines of your vessel to mingle with his. You could almost feel him moving through you, filling you. You shuddered with craving for that completeness again.

But what was that?

You grasped through the haze searching for something you didn't know. All you had were fragments of a barely remembered dream that made no sense.

The coffin lid lifted and you drank in the new air.

His shadow rippled and slid around you as if he was your sleeping bag. “Perhaps I went too far. Back to sleep, Dear. There are long days ahead of you.”

You chucked it down to Alucard being Alucard and putting strange ideas in your mind. His eye was so red and lustrous, almost like a prized ruby, though it shimmered even without light. You shifted however much you could and relaxed. It really had been a long day and night. You were so drained, you knew you would fall asleep the moment your eyes closed. Your confusion dissipated as you settled and it was apparent you could barely move in his embrace.

Alucard wrapped you snugly. Reassuringly.

For the first time since coming to Hellsing, you felt a sense of belonging within the claustrophobic confines of a vampire's coffin, something akin to being at home.

You slept like a newborn until midday.

Yours.

~To Be Continued~

Next chapter: Just Another Day in Paradise -------------------- Notes: (Please read)

A modified version of this chapter (with a sort of “happily ever after”) was originally intended to be the end of this story. But after a reader asked about whether Millennium will feature, I think yes, since the relationship between Alucard and his Reader would be incomplete without delving into some of Hellsing’s enemies. And so this fic continues again haha.

Now that we will be covering canon events and the main cast is finally featured, I’m honestly full of trepidation. Whereas when it was only Alu and Reader, I felt I was allowed to do whatever I wanted (to some extent). With Millennium coming into the picture also brings the issue of handling triggering/sensitive content. I am super scared I’ll screw up the story from here on out. There is an outline for most of the upcoming chapters, but the story will not be fully canon-compliant. Rather, it will only be inspired by canon events and I will take some liberties with how vampire things work.

But know that the story gets darker and the rating will change to “Explicit” (possibly even DD:DNE due to the chapters with Millennium). Please heed the tags and warnings when the time comes.

I hope you guys don’t mind the references to other popular media and works, of which there are a number throughout this fanfic. Fantasy is my favourite genre and my favourite author (Brandon Sanderson) loves to incorporate references to his other books within his epic fantasy world, where all of the different planets are linked by common origins, magic principles (even if the magic systems themselves differ), and an unseen war between their gods spanning millennia. The storylines and characters are starting to collide in Sanderson’s “Cosmere.” Whenever I spot some of these ‘Easter eggs,’ I feel so self-satisfied and like I’m such a good fan. I hope you smile too if you see one of my references to a song/movie/novel/play/anime/musical/etc.

P.S. You sweet summer child. You don’t bring up “human rights” with Vlad the Impaler :D

#alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard hellsing #alucard fanfiction #alucard #hellsing alucard #hellsing ultimate #my comfort vampire #vampire romance #hellsing ova #hellsing fanfiction #hellsing fandom

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marlynnofmany · 1 year ago

Text

A Worthy Sacrifice

Going on a food run for this spaceship usually didn’t end up in a debate over whose body parts are more expendable. Never, as a matter of fact. Today was the first. And it could have easily been our last.

The trip had such a peaceful start, too. Along with the usual supplies that we paid real money for, Captain Sunlight sent a handful of us to pick up a local delicacy: some plant. I honestly missed the name. I was more interested in the location — inside a vast cave complex with shafts of light filtering in from above, and multiple lakes of poison to make the perfect growing environment. Or maybe they were acid lakes. At any rate, extremely dangerous, and completely at odds with the lovely sun-dappled scenery and brightly colored plantlife.

I stood with some trepidation at the edge of the cave maze, holding an empty bag and wondering if there was maybe an entrance somewhere big enough for a hoverbike. Beside me, the hulking forms of the Frillian twins were similarly hesitant. You can’t punch an acid lake, after all, or lift weights at it.

Down closer to ground level, Mur just looked annoyed. “It’s fine,” he said, flipping a blue-black tentacle forward. “The locals pick these plants daily.” His own bag was on a dinky little hoversled that followed him like a flying puppy, leash and all. The sled also held a couple pairs of pruning shears in case the stems gave us trouble. Mur could have ridden on the sled himself, pushing off the ground like a squid-shaped kid on a snow disk, but that would have been undignified. Strongarms are proud of that tentacle-walking, after all.

And apparently they’re not phased by giant lakes of acid.

“If you say so,” I told him. “Lead the way.”

He did, grumbling. I followed, taking care not to trip over the sled, while Blip and Blop stood tall and brought up the rear.

The entrance tunnel was small, alongside many others, and a few turned out to lead to the same big cavern. My first impression was warmth. I regretted wearing a sweater, thin and utilitarian though it was. I took it off as we walked, tying it around my waist, glad that I at least had my hair tied back in its usual long braid. I didn’t need any extra sweat about my neck today.

Once the sweater was secure, I was free to appreciate the scenery. It really was pretty. The walls were a wash of reds and golds, with multiple types of greenery sprouting from every level surface and a few that weren’t. The lake far below was an evil purple, fading to the innocent blue of tropical seas at the edges. A solid fence lined the cliff edge, which I appreciated.

The wall behind us was awash in climbing vines with dangling blueberry-looking things that sure would be convenient if they were the plants we were here for.

No such luck. Those were on the far side. Lots of them. A vast jungle of treelike things, most of which were bent under the weight of head-sized yellow fruit. As I watched, one particularly spindly trunk lost its biggest fruit to gravity, and sprung upwards to fling the smaller ones away in a comical fashion. I could almost hear the splats against the cave wall.

“Well, they sure look ripe,” I said.

Mur wasn’t interested. “Where’s the— Oh, there it is. We took the wrong door. C’mon.” He slapped away along the path beside that fence, over to where a single large hover platform waited like a ferry.

We were just getting on, with me trying to hide my misgivings and the Frillians doing the same, when a chorus of more slapping tentacle-steps approached at speed.

“Wait!” commanded the large reddish Strongarm in the lead, who was colored much like the cavern walls. She was also shaped more like an octopus than a squid, as was the green one behind her. The beige-gray one had a pointy squid head like Mur.

Mur waited. He’d already figured out the controls for the platform, and he stood there in silence while I clutched the railing with the Frillians, and the newcomers climbed on.

With nods all around, Mur pressed a button to close the gate. Then he removed the lid of the fancy pottery jar big enough for a child to hide inside — I’d assumed somebody had left it behind — and he scooped out a bunch of those blueberry things. As I watched in curiosity, he opened a different lid, this one over a part of the control console that stuck out, baring a dark tunnel like an ominous toilet bowl.

He threw the berries in. The platform’s engine started.

Mur steered us out over the deadly lake, engines humming happily, throwing clusters of berries in every so often. I exchanged looks with the Frillians. The other Strongarms didn’t look impressed.

“Are those fuel berries?” I asked.

“Only for this engine,” Mur said, tapping a sign. “It takes anything organic. Nice of the locals to make sure there’s always a full pot here. There is a note here to refill what we use if possible, and I think we definitely should, but I’m sure that not everyone does.”

The red Strongarm made a flapping noise that I recognized as the equivalent of a snort. Yeah, she probably wouldn’t stick around to do her part.

(And remember that bit about “anything organic”? If you recall how I started this little anecdote, this is where you’ll start to get concerned.)

There was only a moderate level of worry in the air at that point, though. We hadn’t fallen in yet and the rails seemed sturdy, if sparse, and the jungle was approaching at a reasonable pace. The slight breeze even made the temperature pleasant.

When Mur docked the platform headfirst and opened a gate on the other side, I was the first one off among the trees. Picking the yellow fruits turned out to be a great time, especially the way they kept accidentally flying through the air. They were about as heavy as cantaloupes, but with such rubbery outsides that it was like they were made for high-impact comedy. I did my best to pick each tree thoroughly, hanging onto the bent trunk with one hand before letting go. I’d started by taking a single fruit from each tree, but that had not worked.

Blip and Blop had the most efficient strategy: one held a bag and the other shook a tree like they were taking its lunch money. Mur just climbed the lowest trunks and plucked everything he found. One way or another, we filled our bags quickly and met back at the platform.

The strangers were a little slower, but again, we waited politely. Soon enough, we were on the way across the lake that lurked distantly below like malevolent grape jam.

I was just thinking that it had been a while since I’d had a proper PB&J when the trouble happened.

The Strongarms, standing on one side of the platform with their sacks of fruit, produced blasters and demanded ours.

(Yes, Strongarms keep things hidden among their tentacles. Yes, it’s just as gross as it sounds.)

Anyway, they must have taken our politeness and healthy fear of death for the signs of a bunch of pushovers, and wow they were wrong about that.

Blip and Blop swung their sacks of fruit in unison while I dove to one side and Mur took the other. You’d think we did this sort of thing all the time. In reality, there were only so many directions to go in a fenced-in battleground like this.

The would-be bandits were too busy dodging the sacks to aim their blasters properly, though they tried. One shot Blip’s bag of fruit, making her even more angry as yellow globes bounced everywhere. One nearly singed my ear, but didn’t get a second shot when I roundhouse kicked him in the squiddy head.

The other one, the leader, was wrestling Mur, and her shot went right through the center of the berry pot, shattering it and sending the platform’s fuel in every direction.

I mentioned that the railings weren’t exactly close together. And that these looked like blueberries: the little round things. My point is, they rolled. With great talent and speed. Right off the sides and down into that terrifying lake, leaving only a few behind.

“Look what you did!” Mur yelled, wrestling harder.

Blop made an undignified squeak of concern, then tried to find an angle he could help from. He ended up stepping firmly on a red tentacle and pinning the blaster to the floor.

His sister, meanwhile, was slamming an alien cantaloupe against the green guy, whose own weapon was stuck inside a different fruit, making its leisurely way down towards the lake.

The gray dude was out cold, which was a surprise to me. I guess Strongarms are easy to concuss, I thought as I made sure his blaster was safe on our side of the platform. I’d considered throwing it over the side as well, but figured we might want it to keep them in line once they woke up. I sure wasn’t planning on giving it back, though.

Crunch went the third blaster, Ow went the Strongarm holding it, and “Stay down, you arm-dragging limp grub!” went Mur. The red Strongarm stayed down.

So. We won the fight. But we only had a scattered few berries left to fuel the platform, and it had coasted to a stop in what looked to me like the exact stinkin’ center of this terrible, poisonous lake.

Blop looked worried. “Now what?” he asked Mur.

“These?” Blip suggested, holding a yellow fruit out toward the intake.

“No!” Mur shouted, startling everyone. He blocked her path. “Those break the engine. Didn’t you read the sign?”

I glanced at the defeated Strongarms. “I think only you read the sign,” I told him.

“Well, it’s very clear!” he exclaimed, waving dark tentacles like he wanted to tear out hair that he didn’t have. “Only other organics!”

Blip set the fruit down. “What do we have?” she asked, checking her pockets. “I’ve got two shrimp sticks and one of those seednuts that Paint likes.”

We all took stock, coming up with a whole lot of nothing. The unconscious Strongarms woke, and submitted to sitting in the corner with their leader, injured and embarrassed and also not in possession of any spare fuel.

“Let’s at least see how far the berries take us,” Mur said grimly, picking up the nearest.

We gathered all that we could find, and it took us a little way. Pocket snacks and whatnot took us a bit farther. We considered clothes (most were artificial), the fruit-carrying bags (same), and even treating the toilet-looking thing in appropriate but mortifying ways.

As we got increasingly desperate, we were still far from shore.

“Pretty sure this is real leather,” Mur said as he dropped in the leash for his tiny hoversled. “That will take us … not far enough.”

We were sort of close, kind of. Relatively speaking.

“The captain will come looking if we’re gone long enough,” Blop said.

“She doesn’t know which tunnel we took,” Mur reminded him. “Searching could take days.”

“Won’t the locals find us?” Blip asked.

The red Strongarm sneered. “They just finished a work cycle, and it’s a regular holiday. You think we’d try to rob you if they could come in at any moment?”

Both Frillians groaned.

Mur scowled. “Yes, very smart. See where that got you!” Moving slowly for added drama, he picked up a pair of shears from his sled. “Who wants to volunteer something organic?”

There were desperate pleas at that, and stonefaced silence from Mur that I hoped was acting.

“What about them?” the leader said, pointing wildly at the Frillians. “Surely they don’t need all those frills!”

Blip and Blop regarded her with identical shocked expressions. “Yes we do!”

“Well, we need our arms! You think that wouldn’t hurt to cut off?”

The yelling escalated while something very obvious occurred to me. I stepped over to Mur and flopped the braid over my shoulder. “Do you think this would be enough?”

The Strongarms shut up immediately. And they stayed silent while Mur calculated, so silent that I started to wonder.

They answered my question before I could ask it.

“You would volunteer that?” asked the red one quietly.

Ohhh, they think it’s a tentacle covered in hair, I realized. Have they not met a human before? Never mind; let’s see if Mur plays along.

“Yes,” I said solemnly, instead of going “Yeah” like I usually would. “If this is the only way to save all of us, then I will gladly make that sacrifice.” I looked over at Blip and Blop, who were elbowing each other but keeping mum. Good.

Mur ushered me toward the intake with all the grandeur of a high-society attendant. “If you would permit me to do the honors,” he said, “I will be quick.”

So I stood in front of the thing with my back to it so the wide-eyed bandits couldn’t see, told Mur to cut just below the hair tie, and held up my sweater ready to wrap it around my head like a bandage.

Yes, I did feel silly. But the bandits deserved a bit of shame and secondhand anguish. Besides, I’d been wanting to try a short haircut for ages, but never found the right time to chop it all off.

This is definitely the right time, I thought. “Go ahead.”

Mur snipped through the braid with one clean cut — hooray for sharp shears — and I collapsed with an anguished expression and some artful whimpers. Blip helped tie the sweater “bandage,” while Blop shielded us from view and stared down the Strongarms. I didn’t see Mur drop the braid into the intake, since my view was somewhat limited, but I felt the engine kick on with a most welcome hum.

I really hope that was enough, I thought as I lay there with my arms about my head. It’ll suck if we have to snip this down to a buzz cut. That’ll be hard to keep up the act through. And I really don’t want hair THAT short.

But when the engine finally went quiet, it was to a cheer from the Frillians. We were close enough to jump.

Or, more accurately, close enough for Blip to fling Mur across the gap with one of my socks to gather berries in. Mur was a terrible shot when he threw it back, but enough berries reached us that we were able to close the distance.

I pulled the blaster from my waistband and nudged it over the side before I forgot. It was too small for the Frillians to use anyway.

Plus, we didn’t need it. By the sound of her voice, the lead Strongarm had been so humbled by my sacrifice that she might have been considering a career change.

She even offered their collections of fruit, and the other two didn’t object.

Mur accepted graciously. I managed to turn my chuckling into pained noises as strong Frillian arms lifted me. I didn’t uncover my head to look. By the sounds of it, the many fruits were being balanced on Mur’s sled and the shoulders of whichever Frillian wasn’t carrying me.

“Farewell,” Mur said haughtily. “Make better choices in the future.”

We left the cavern to the sound of the ex-bandits promising to do so.

I have no idea if they’ll really go straight, but wouldn’t it be hilarious if they did?

Once we were out of sight, Blip put me down and took her share of the fruit bags. I claimed one too. I felt much lighter without the braid. And the threat of impending death.

I looked at my crewmates cheerfully. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Not without significant backup,” Mur agreed.

“Or more spare headfur!” Blop said.

“I’ve definitely spared enough for one day.” I freed a hand to pull out the hair tie, marveling at how simple a process it was now.

My crewmates all told me I looked incredibly strange with short hair about my face like that.

I told them to wait until I picked a final hairstyle, and I described hair gel to them.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #the Token Human #writeblr #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #and other such tags #science fiction #short stories #stories that are short but not as short as they were supposed to be #seriously why is it so long #anyways!#enjoy #the next one will probably be shorter

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kaiisinventions · 5 months ago

Text

Rainforest Lullabies

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:

“Alright. What’s wrong?” he inquired as though it were routine, voice low in effort to keep the lovely peace going. He hoped discreetly enough, he glanced over Cyno, checking for any signs of injury. No discoloration, no beads nor trickles of pungent crimson. Good. “… long day,” Cyno mumbled, voice lost majorly in his shoulder. Tighnari sighed through his nose. At least he wasn’t hurt.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:��ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:

chars: Cyno (he/him) & Tighnari (he/him)

tags: comfort, no angst, no smut, cynonari

warnings: none, just a sleepy cyno

wordcount: 1,050

ao3 link | masterlist

a/n: first fic post woaaaa! fic under cut contains color-coded dialogue. if you struggle to read w/ different colors, i recommend reading the fic on ao3 instead. enjoy my sleep-deprived self-indulgent not-proofread ramblings stemming from finally doing cyno's part 1 story quest ♡

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:

Dying sunlight danced through the cracks of the window, the sill laced with branches cut to perfection and masked with weakly fluttering leaves. Dusk light fell upon the pages, fresh ink shimmering with each elegant stroke of a feather-tipped pen. Tighnari always thought himself lucky to be blessed with such serenity, all in the comfort of his own home. Much to his own pleasure, the tranquility of these gentle summer days were shared with Cyno, for he’d taken residence in the forest village for the sake of one of his investigations. Tighnari suspected Cyno had completed what he’d needed days ago, based on how he rarely ever departed from the ville these days, but Tighnari far from complained. No, he was quite willing to have Cyno as his guest a while longer.

Dare he say missed the general, after all. It was far too little they saw each other.

Speaking of the devil himself, outside the forest ranger’s bedroom came dragging, heavily weighted bare feet against the wooden floors. Leaves, the ones used as makeshift curtain doors, rustled with disturbance as something – somebody – staggered on through without care. Tighnari did not have to look up to know whose presence loomed in the shadow-cast entrance, nor did he have to look up to know who slumped undignified over the chair back against him, strong arms coiling tight around him as though Tighnari were the Mahamatra's lifeline. A low groan was lost in the fabric of his hoodie, and Tighnari’s ears twitched as a frown of sympathy fell upon his tanned complexion. No matter how heavily Cyno weighed on him, it was all trivial when put with his own concern.

They sat in a pure silence for a time, Tighnari’s pen continuing its steady stream of fine calligraphy. Several times, he had to remind himself to write clearly, without his typical flair – this was for Collei, after all. Subconsciously, his unoccupied hand reached upwards, slinking into Cyno’s hair to attempt at soothing him. Instantly, some of that tension eased. “Alright. What’s wrong?” he inquired as though it were routine, voice low in effort to keep the lovely peace going. He hoped discreetly enough, he glanced over Cyno, checking for any signs of injury. No discoloration, no beads nor trickles of pungent crimson. Good.

“… long day,” Cyno mumbled, voice lost majorly in his shoulder. Tighnari sighed through his nose. At least he wasn’t hurt.

“Same here. Stay there as long as you need – not like I’m going anywhere.” The invitation was met with a nod Tighnari only felt, not saw. His next statement was not met with so much acceptance. “But maybe you should sit first. No point in exhausting yourself by standing more than you already have.” It wasn’t like Cyno had to walk that far – the ‘chair’ was more like a bench, no need for him to drag over another chair or whatever Cyno’s reluctance and tightening grip may stem from.

Eventually – several hesitant seconds Tighnari didn’t bother to count later - he’d peeled himself off his fox friend, two heavy steps – if you could even call the way he dragged himself like a corpse that – all he needed before he slumped down with even lesser grace, andddddd… buried himself straight back into Tighnari’s shoulder. Tighnari would have been amused- no, he definitely was, just also concerned with such a drained state. Even then, he couldn’t bite back a comment. “There you go. Isn’t that better?” he lightly teased, once again putting his arm around Cyno. Something akin to a reluctant, stubborn grumble left Cyno’s throat.

And then, silence. A pure sound, one rested upon them as a warm blanket. Coos and distant chirps of flocks outside synced with the trills and buzz of insects, a symphonic lullaby ongoing faintly as he wrote away. Though Tighnari hardly focused on it, he could tell through the steady relaxation of the general’s body that he wouldn’t be awake much longer. If he even still was, on that note. Ah, so be it. Tighnari wasn’t going anywhere, anyway…

He'd never outwardly admit to it, at least never in front of the man himself, but it was lovely to see such a tough, headstrong man such as Cyno finally let down his guard. How it alleviated his worries, not just watching but feeling how the permanent tension in his shoulders eased and sank.

How strangely… endearing.

Late into the night, no more did the sun illuminate the pages. It seemed the whole world was asleep save for the fox, even the crickets fell hush. Tighnari had to resort instead to a lamp, where gentle green lights twinkled within. Much like fireflies. I wonder what Cyno would think of fireflies, the thought suddenly occurred. Had Cyno ever seen fireflies? Had the Mahamatra seen their luminous lights amid the tall grass, been in the center as they performed in the dark of midnight? It wasn’t as though Tighnari could ask – much to his amazement, Cyno was still out like a light. Fast asleep, cozy right where he was. Maybe I’ll take him to see them one of these days, maybe tomorrow night. He made a mental note to ask Collei if she’d found any on her recent patrol.

For now, though, his attention returned to the present. It wasn’t often Cyno slept for so long – Tighnari grew used to always seeing him stir every few hours, even his subconscious alert always for danger. He didn’t do so as much when with the forest ranger, though… curious. Oh well. Quietly, he shut his notebook.

With caution as to not awake him, Tighnari hooked an arm under Cyno’s knees, the other wrapped around his back. Effortlessly, he scooped up Cyno, rising to his feet to lightly tread his way over to a curtained bed. There, he set Cyno down, stepping back only to pause. Pause, and watch with a fuzzy, blooming warmth in his heart as he sleepily buried himself into the pillows. Undisturbed, unaware of the movement.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Cyno’s forehead, the desert scent lingering still even after his time in the rainforest. Hardly a reaction.

“Goodnight, Cyno. Sweet dreams.”

Just as Tighnari turned away, he could’ve sworn in the corner of his eyes, Cyno’s lips upturned into a dreamy smile.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ::･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:

#cynonari #cyno x tighnari #cyno #tighnari #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #writers on tumblr #genshin fluff #☆。* | kaii's fics #☆。* | gi fics #first post real #would prefer comments on the ao3 link #but idm on here

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