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simplyzeeka · 3 months ago

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Note: This is my first fanfic ever. With the way I've been earing these Terry Richmond fanfics up? This was bound to happen!

Warnings: MDNI!! Ts is nasty, Terry is nasty. Slighttt humiliation, slighttt choking, oral (f recieving), p in v... and just Terry Richmond y'all

Pairing: Doppleganger!Terry x black fem character (Drea)

Summary: With the rising population of doppleganger attacks in Yohnville, Drea is a little past worried when her boyfriend Terry doesn't make it home on time.

Do not repost, re-upload, steal or copy my work!!!

Doppled Distractions

“There have been three more reported deaths tonight, the cause seemingly being caused by the increasing population of doppelgangers in the town. Investigators and officers urge civilians to stay indoors and ensure all possible entrances are barricaded. The town's mayor is said to address this issue tomorrow morning.”

Drea shut the TV off, having heard enough that it caused exaggerated ringing in her ear. Her leg bounced up and down, her head in her hands while constantly looking towards the door.

Terry forgot his key before leaving for work, and while Drea usually does leave the door unlocked, however, there is a growing discomfort in doing that today especially after watching the news report. She was also worried about her boyfriend, the time was going on 11pm and he still wasn't back. Terry was never late.

“Where the hell are you, Terry?” She whispers to herself, her attention darting between the clock above the TV and the door. Contemplating on whether she should leave the door unlocked for him.

She's startled out of her thoughts by a pitched sound coming from her phone, one that has her running to find it, in hopes that it was Terry texting her, telling her he was on the way, that he was safe. Only to be disappointed to see it was a dumb Instagram notification. Who the fuck would be posting at this damn time, was unbeknownst to her, but she didn't do the honors to check, to frustrated at the situation in hand.

Drea opts for leaving the door unlocked, then retreats to their room where she got into bed and prayed that he would come back to her, in one piece.

The silent ‘click’ of the door was unheard by Drea as she was in deep slumber. Slow steps creak on the loose planks Terry had said he would fix but always forgot about.

With long legs, it didn't take long for him to reach the bedroom, the whirring of the ceiling fan drowned out Drea's soft snores. It was summertime in Yohnville, and the heat was so unbearable that cool night breezes did nothing to ease it.

Drea had long kicked the covers off of her, exposing the smooth skin of her thighs, arms and chest. A loose, lilac coloured silk nightgown was now bunched up around her waist as she layed on her stomach. Head covered in a bonnet since she got her braids done recently, Terry always loved her in braids.

She stirs at the feel of cold hands gliding up her legs followed by a dip of the bed. “Baby.” a gruff voice eases her out of her deep slumber although everything else was still a bit jumbled. He was back, and in one piece.

“T? That you?” She asked, although she already knew it was, could tell by how good he always smelled, like old wood and a hint of something sweet. Drea would often tell him that he smells like obsession.

“Yeah, sorry for coming back so late. There was a problem at the workshop.” He roughly responds, sounding exhausted almost. Drea sighs when the cold tip of his nose runs along her shoulder, to the length of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating fresh scent Drea naturally had.

“You could've texted me, or atleast called, T.” Drea sleepily complains, still a little out of it and his presence always left her a little dizzy, that scent.

“Hmm, I'm sure he's sorry baby.” Terry mumbles in the shell of her ear. The statement had Drea frowning, before she flips on her side and faces him. Gorgeous eyes, the prettiest she's ever seen. Fresh fade, neatly trimmed goatee and plump, thick lips. Definitely her Terry. “Huh?” She whispers for him to repeat, she must've still been sleepy.

“I said I'm very sorry mama.” He smiles, before pressing a soft peck on her lips. Drea hums at the contact and chases his lips when he pulls away, which has him chuckling. “Mhm, had me worried. You watch the news?” Drea smiles as she glides her fingers across his thick eyebrows. Damn he was so pretty, fine, handsome. All the words in the book.

“Don't worry ‘bout that, I'm here now.” Terry responds before softly flipping her on her back, hands running up the skin of her waist, raising her nightgown higher, to where it now ruffled around her chest.

Flimsy lace panties she had on, barely leaving much to the imagination, a wet patch right in the middle of them that the darkness of the room couldn't even hide. Terry always had her like that, looking at him was enough to have her wet and wanting.

“And I'm hungry as fuck, mama.” He adds, his fingers dancing under the bands of the thin material. Slowly, he pulls the garment down her thighs, his eyes trailing up the length of her body until they reach her eyes.

“You gon’ feed me baby?” He asks, taunting really as he tilts his head. Her panties now settled at her ankles. Drea pulls a foot out of one loop, her throat dry and her eyes hazed. “Only if you got the appetite.” She doesn't back down, because one thing Terry loved the most, is when she went band for band with him.

The laugh he lets out is an amused one. “Always got the appetite.” He mumbles before laying on his stomach and throwing her legs over his shoulders. He held her thighs to the side of his face, blowing on her sensitive bud as one would to a hot plate of food.

It was how he left soft pecks around her fluttering lips, purposefully missing the spots she wanted him most. Drea leans on her elbows so she could watch him, her head shaking at his teasing. “Don't play that today.” She orders softly, because why would you ask for food then play around it, he had better manners than that… Well Terry did at least.

He laughs, looks straight at Drea when he licks one, long stripe from her leaking hole to her now engorged clit. Drea shudders, the heat of his tongue being a large contract to the wind from the fan. She cages her bottom lip between her teeth, eye contact maintained as her hand brushes over his fade. “Mhm, keep goin’.” She urges softly, and by the look on her face, why wouldn't he be happy to oblige.

He ate her slowly at first, drawing out the softest of whimpers and the most enticing of moans. Slurping up the essence she so kindly lifted him. Drea tries to bury his face deeper into her pussy, but he smacks away her hand and hums in refusal. “You take what you get.” He mutters before diving right in.

And take she did, take she had no choice but to do, especially when he had her stomach laid on a pillow, legs bent and parted as he takes all that he needs.

“Shiiitt, I'm- fuckk I'm gonna cum.” Drea mewls as he drills into her relentlessly. Her jaw falls slack, the way his dick dug out her pussy had her eyes crossing in need. Something was different, yes sex with Terry always left her dumb, but something about the way he was fucking her now was carnal. He was fucking like he hated her, but the way he talked her through it? Yeah, something was definitely different.

“Yeah? All on this dick mama? What you waitin’ on, hmm? Let it go, just like that, cum on your dick.” He coaches her into it, commanding her nut out of her as he skillfully strokes into her, hands on her hips, forcing her to stay still because he didn't want her running, just wanted her to take.

Drea claws at the sheets in front of her, threatening to pull them completely off from the corners. “Oouu fuck! Right there, fuck you so deep, T.”

He kept jabbing at this new spot, one she didn't even know she had. Everything felt different, yet so good because Drea has never felt dick like this.

“Mhm, right where I'm ‘sposed to me. Gripping my shit so good, you were made for me, weren't you? Just for me, look at you. Pretty baby.”

Because how was Drea supposed to keep breathing when he spoke like that? She was already crazy enough about Terry, but after this? This will have her world fucked about him.

“Breathe mama, breathe through it. Can't be that dick dumb, baby. Tighten up.” He moans too. He's never been this… condescending, but fuck if it didn't make Drea cream all around him, that sentence sent her over the edge, “Fuckkk, I'm cummin’.”

He fucks her through it, had no choice but to with the way Drea gripped his dick. “Flip over, I wanna see your face.” He orders, slipping out of her. His mouth watering at the sight of her own nut dripping out of her.

Drea follows the order, flipping over her back, her head thrown back in exhaustion. He holds her legs up, pushing them to her chest and sliding his dick right back into her. “Oouu shittt, wait wait wait.” Drea whines as she places her hand on his stomach to deter his movements.

Was he thicker? Longer? Because fuck it felt like he was impaling her, his dick had her stuffed. The stretch felt so much more intense than usual, his dick was carving her pussy to fit him specifically, Drea was sure no one would compare to this.

“Move your hand and hold your legs.” He orders lowly, trying to get used to the tightness of her walls himself. Drea sucked his dick in as he slowly adjusted. She followed his order, as usual and held the back of her thighs while his hand sneaks to her neck, wrapping around before making her fuck him back.

“You feel me baby?” He asks while looking down at her. “Yess, yes I do baby.” She couldn't help but to moan out loudly, he rubbed past her spot so deliciously that giving him pussy wasn't nearly enough for gratitude. “Where you feel me at baby? Right here?” He taunts, his thumb pressing down on her stomach with every thrust and that had her instantly creaming.

Unable to speak, she nods her head as her eyes cross over. “Stop playin’ and use your words.”

Drea looks up at him with furrowed brows, his eyes looked so damn good. She loved his eyes, such a pretty colour. Still she shakes her head, he was balls deep inside her, taking her soul with every thrust and he expected her to be able to speak?

“You don't listen D. But it's okay baby, don't worry. We gon’ get you right.” He says before picking up the pace gaze stuck on hers. He moves his hand from her neck and holds her hips instead, bringing her onto his dick.

Drea closes her eyes and lets her head fall back onto the messy sheets. “Fuckkk. Oh my fuckin’- ung.” She gasps between short breaths.

By now there were tears falling down the side of her face. “That's right, look at how you gushin’. She love me, don't she?” His thumb grazes her clit before intentionally rubbing figure eights of the swollen bud. Drea nods and whispers out the softest of ‘yeses’ her throat allowed her to. “I know she do, baby. I know.” He coos at her with furrowed brows.

Drea's pussy was magical, would have anyone crazy about her just from the sight alone. Right now, he had to hold off from coming so many times, because her faces were worth it, the sounds she made. All of it was worth watching.

He slows down for a moment, tucks his arms under her legs and holds her waist tightly before pulling her up to his chest. The squeal she let out from the sudden movement had him laughing.

The pace starts up again and he musters all the strength he has to bounce her on his dick in a steady pace. With her bonnet long gone on the floor, Drea throws her head back, her hands around his neck.

“Fuck fuck fuckkk, I can't.” She shakes her head. Terry nods his head, his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks at her. “Yes you can mama, you doin’ so good. Takin’ this dick like a big girl. I see you big girl.” He praises, “Look at me baby, hmm. Please look at me.”

And she obliged, again, because he was fucking her so good, so so good that it's bloomed something more in her heart. Not only did his dick impale itself in her pussy but also in her soul. He was there for life now.

“There she is, pretty baby. You gon’ cum with me? Cum with your dick mama. I'm bout to nut, fill you with this shit. Cause it's yours, you hear me?”

Drea nods, “Fuckk, I hear you T, I hear youuu.”

“Fuckk, I'm close. Gon’ head and let it go baby. There you go. Good fucking pussy.” He says as he feels her wet him up, and he follows right after.

Painting her walls white as she squirts on his lap. Terry fucks his nut into her, engraving it in her pussy, because that's precisely where it belonged. “Good girl, you did so good. Easy baby.”

Drea had her head on his shoulder. Fucked out and tired. Her braids curtain her face as she tries to catch her breath. “You had a bad day at work or something?” She asks quietly with a laugh.

Terry laughs and shakes his head. “Somethin’ like that.” He responds and Drea hums. Sighing softly as he settles her down on her back on the bed. They would have to change the sheets before going back to sleep.

“Should have more bad days, cause what the fuck?” She whispers, causing him to laugh as he walks towards the bathroom and comes back after a while. “C’mon, bath time.” He mumbles as he picks her up again. “Sir, yes Sir.” Drea sighs as she allows herself to be carried.

What a shame she didn't notice his ink free skin, cause maybe then Drea would have seen that her Terry didn't make it home tonight.

Note: Maybe I went a bit overboard. A little messy but this is my first time so... idk chile. A little something for spooky month, hope you enjoyed🎃🎃🎃

#terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #black!fem!oc #terry richmond fanfiction #terry richmond smut #rebel ridge #freak nasty #fine as fuck #his eyes

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writersdrug · 1 year ago

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Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

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Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

-----

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

#konig x reader #konig x reader smut #konig cod #konig smut #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #ghost cod #cod #konig #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader

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toxicanonymity · 1 year ago

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Shooting Practice

1600 words, raider!Joel x f!reader

mood board by @milla-frenchy

A/N: FLASHBACK TO BEFORE YOU ESCAPE.. This isn't what I was working on 🚬🤡. WARNINGS: I8+ inner conflict, dubcon p in V (captivity), angst. plz suspend disbelief about shooting, etc. Raider Joel Master List, His trailer

FLASHBACK / IMAGINE

Between "Stash House" and "Failed Escape. "

Joel leaves you in his trailer sometimes if he isn't taking you on a raid. His trailer is nice compared to the stash house. Especially because his men aren't there, but it's also a little cleaner. You sense he’s a practical man. He doesn’t have things he doesn't need, aside from whiskey. He could sleep on the ground with nothing. The fact that his bed has sheets and a blanket–no, the fact that he even has a bed and lets you sleep in it–feels like a luxury. He doesn't just let you sleep in it. He holds you. It feels more protective than affectionate but you feel safe.

Joel only uses the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. When you come in the front door, you enter into the eating area, and turn left for the bathroom and bedroom. But if you turn to the right, there’s more. It’s a small galley kitchen. There’s a pantry full of ammunition and cabinets to your right, a utility closet, a closet, and then a room you’ve never seen Joel use.

In the living room, the carpet is scratched through in some places. It’s dusty. There’s an old forlorn sofa. The roof leaks on that end of the trailer. There’s a giant spot on the thin, blue, speckled carpet.The carpet is full of stains with various items scattered around. A dust buster. Two empty pet bowls in the corner, covered in cobwebs. There’s a TV/VCR combo and a radio. There are shelves with warped and faded books.

The first time you notice the children’s books, it makes your stomach turn. You ask Joel who used to live there. Hell if he knows, it was empty, the whole trailer park was. Most of the trailers are gutted, their insides destroyed by a fire. This one had been far enough away. You try not to think too much about who used to live there. You try spending time in the living room and it feels like your own space, but it's also spooky.

Joel has one of his men keeping an eye on you from down the hill, but it's for protection--to stop any of his men from going up there. You're allowed to go outside. When you have an opportunity, you explore the immediate area around the trailer– the top of the hill, and the woods. There isn’t much to see, and you don’t go far, afraid he’ll come back and think you’re trying to escape.

When you're hungry one afternoon, you try to forage for mushrooms in the woods. You find a collapsed, faded tent with a lump under it. Your gut tells you it’s a body. The next day, it’s in the same spot. You’re probably right. Joel always says it’s too dangerous, you shouldn’t go in the woods, and now you know why.

----------

One day, you’re feeling particularly restless, but you stay inside. When Joel gets home, he grabs ammunition from the pantry and is about to do target practice outside. You overhear him shooting when he does it.

“Can I watch,” you ask.

He glances at you skeptically, then mutters “yeah okay.”

You walk around back with him, the opposite side of the stash house, to the opposite ridge of the hill, facing the trailer park, with the woods on your left. There are shells of abandoned cars scattered behind the trailers.

The two trailers you’re looking at are marked up with spray paint, x’s, o’s, stick figures. One of the stick figures has a gaping hole in the head and smaller holes around it.

Joel sets up his rifle and gets down on his stomach, which gives you butterflies to watch. His triceps flex as he gets into position and his shapely lower body holds an interesting pose as he peers into the sight of his gun. He takes a shot and you don’t see where it goes.

“What’d you hit?”

Joel glances at you. “Trailer”

“Where?”

“See that guy with the hole in his head? went through that.”

You settle in to watch, legs folded to the side, fingers exploring a clover patch while he shoots. You pluck the little white flowers and consider making a crown out of them, but you would feel silly in front of Joel. You tear them to pieces instead with a lump in your throat.

Joel takes a few more shots, then asks, “wanna see?”

He scoots over and you swallow your emotions. You get on your stomach next to him. When you peer through the sight, you can see right through the trailer to the next one where he’s shot a large hole in the middle of an X. “wow,” you marvel. “all the way through?”

“yep”

“you’re really good at that.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Wouldn’t keep ya if I wasn’t. Someone’s gotta keep ya safe, sweet pea.”

You nod and give a small smile.At this point, you’re still unsure where you’re better off.

You get out of his way. He takes a couple more shots while you pensively look for four-leaf clovers.

There’s nothing waiting for you back home, but sometimes, the way Joel plucked you out of your life doesn’t sit right. You didn't get to choose.

—------

Joel lets you watch him most days when he does target practice, and one day he asks if you wanna try.

"Look, uh, you don't need to be usin' a gun like this okay?"

"yeah, I know."

"but if ya wanna try it, right here with me. . .I can show ya."

"really?" He showed you his pistol before but didn't offer you could shoot it.

Joel nods for you to come over. You've shot a pistol before, in your old life, but never a long gun. You lay on your stomach, trying to emulate his stance. He moves your legs into position for you and you can feel the air on your inner thighs as your dress bunches up near your hip on your right side.

Joel cages you to the ground with his body, laying his chest flat against your back. He puts your hands on the gun and keeps his hands over yours. “You’re gonna wanna look right here.” He points at the sight then returns the hand to yours. “And hold the gun real steady. It’s gonna jump back at ya.”

“Okay.”

“Ready? I'll squeeze it the first time”

“Yeah.”

He squeezes the trigger and his arm muscles flex against you as he fires. It goes straight through the hole to the x. With Joel holding it steady, it doesn't jump back. The next time, he lets you pull the trigger while he holds the gun steady. When he shifts his weight in between shots, you can feel him getting hard. Each time, he puts less and less of his strength into it until he thinks you’re ready to do it on your own. He gets up off you and watches.

You line up the shot and take it. The recoil startles you even though you knew it was coming. The bullet pings a blank spot on the trailer next to the stick figure’s neck. You’re disappointed but Joel says “Good girl, look at that.”

-------

He takes the gun from you and puts it aside. Then he cages you to the ground again. He lowers his hips and you feel the shape of his stiff cock through his thin jeans. “my gun looks good on ya,” he murmurs.

You’re still up on your elbows. He put his weight on one of his forearms and reaches his other hand under your arm to cup your breast. He rolls his hips into you and gropes you. You’re getting wet. He does it once more, and you sigh.

"Not here," he says. "too exposed."

He begins to push himself off, and you feel the cool air against your damp panties as he sits back on his knees between your legs. He mutters, “fuck" and defies himself by reaching between your legs. He slips a finger under the cotton and when he feels how wet you are, he inhales sharply then mumbles, “gotta be quick.” When you hear his zipper, a wave of arousal hits you.

He hovers over you resting on his forearm again. "relax, sweet pea." You put your arms down and rest your head on top of them. "want it here, right?" He presses on the damp spot.

"Yeah"

He pushes your panties to the side and nudges his tip into place. You're wet but not quite wet enough. He spits on his hand and adds saliva to his tip before returning it between your legs.

He lines himself up and shoves into you, his girth splitting you in two. Your body rushes to catch up but he doesn't allow much time to adjust. He slowly brings his cock back, then slams in with a grunt. Then he goes at a jackhammer pace, breathing vocally and railing into you until he moans "ohh, ah–" and slows his hips.

He plunges to the hilt and sighs in relief as he fills you with his cum. You whimper on the edge, almost there yourself, but you don't know how he'll react if you touch yourself, so you don't.

------

Maybe you'll have a moment to yourself later. Or maybe--you catch yourself wondering--maybe, he'll fuck you later and take his time. You shame yourself for the thought.

There's no mistaking what your body wants. It's always wanted him, but there's something that scares you now. You're beginning to fear it's not just your body anymore.

-----

Thank you for reading

she's afraid her desire/acceptance isn't just physical anymore

Next would be Failed Escape

the last line:

she's afraid her body belongs to him and not just herself

#joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller #tw dubcon #cw dubcon #joel miller smut #toxicanonymity ☠️

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twstjam · 1 year ago

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Lost Invitation (Part 2) - Respond, if you please

Sorry, I said half an hour, but blocking people took a bit longer than expected <3 Starting from now I'll be blocking everyone who likes Lost Invitation without reblogging it. If you reblog it onto a sideblog and I've blocked your main, do tell me or you might miss out on updates!!

Characters: Malleus Draconia, Meleanor Draconia, Levan Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver (brief), Sebek Zigvolt (mentioned), Yuu (mentioned) Word count: 4.6k (sorry, I got carried away writing the draconia fam lol) Summary: You're committed to helping Riddle Rosehearts and his card soldiers in a war against followers of the Jabberwock looking to usurp the rulers of Red and White. You're also in love with a stranger you met in the woods who wants you to run away with him. Whoever said that love and war weren't so different might've been onto something. In your experience, they're both equally difficult. Nobody ever said that you had to choose between one or the other though. Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Prince Malleus Draconia is not lonely.

He hasn't been since before he hatched, his mother had made sure of it. He has faded memories of dozing off to his mother's soft singing, listening to his father's long ramblings, and curling up in the safety of the right-hand general's presence.

After hatching, his mother had doted on him like any prince of the Briar Lands deserved to be. Her and Father had indulged his every whim and desire. The servants bowed and trembled before the wrath of a newly-born dragonling who, though only three feet long, snarled his grievances accompanied by licks of fire and brewing snowstorms. Lilia Vanrouge was the only one to not kneel so easily.

Malleus Draconia was a prince and a hatchling, but Lilia did not treat him as such. Lilia scolded him like he would Mother, a matured dragon, and only complimented or rewarded him when he earned it. Needless to say, he was not favored amongst the little prince's guardians… or so Lilia says as he laments on the times Malleus used to set his hair ablaze. It had enlightened Malleus as to why the general currently wears his hair so short as opposed to the portraits he'd seen, but the prince—as it is the nature of fleeting old memories—cannot vividly recall his caretaker's tales. They also struck him as incredibly odd and he concluded that as an infant he had been a foolish thing (despite his parents' insistence otherwise). After all, Lilia is his most favored caretaker. This favoritism had even led to Malleus seeking Lilia out when he had hidden himself away one day, giving the prince the honor of being the first to meet the general's adopted son.

Silver had been an enigma to him. How could a meek little human infant, a species which his mother mocked frequently for their weakness and stupidity, appeal to a hardened fae general? It was even stranger to him that Mother seemed to completely forget her disdain for humans when she saw the little bundle in Lilia's arms. Though he would never say it aloud, Malleus had felt betrayed when his mother had asked to hold the child and took him from Lilia eagerly.

This little… thing, could not even hold itself up or eat solid food, let alone seek it out itself. It was useless and weak and nothing like the fierce creature Malleus had been when he broke out of his shell. Or at least, that's what Malleus used to think.

Truly, Malleus must not have been as exceptional of an infant as his parents insist. Malleus had spent 20 years crawling, meanwhile Silver mastered walking on two legs in mere months. Instead of cawing and snarling, the child babbled and laughed, elicited smiles from those around him, made warmth swell in Malleus's chest when he called the prince's name for the first time. The boy had still been small, not even 5 years old, and yet he had been able to climb up Malleus's legs and sit on his lap when he had invited him to read with him.

Sebek exhibited similar speed in growth. Malleus had blinked, and suddenly the little halfling had risen from a screeching newt into a strong guard that rivaled his own grandfather. Sebek likes to shadow him, always quick to see to his every need and always eager to win his approval. It's overbearing at some points, but the boy is growing and learning and has come to put his loyalty to use for only matters worthy of it, learning from Lilia and Silver to not merely agree to Malleus's every breath.

The revelation for such a change brought all four of them closer. It's not rare to see the two young knights by the prince's side, the former general watching after them from not far off.

Suffice to say, Malleus Draconia is not lonely. Absolutely not.

As a matter of fact, he quite likes being alone; the peacefulness of isolation, the escape from his demanding responsibilities. He has to return to the castle at some point of course. He has duties to his kingdom, but no matter how brief, he takes the opportunity to have some time for himself. To have some time to indulge his desires instead of being Prince Malleus; to be away from the expectations of his subjects and parents and instead cater to only himself.

He never quite expected to meet someone searching for something similar. At the very least, not at the same place, and you continued to surprise him in ways he could have never imagined.

After all, who could have predicted that a revered dragon prince of the fae would fall in love with a human?

----

Perhaps to any other, days at Wild Rose Castle could be considered dull, either because of the dim lighting and black walls or the castle staff that always hurry by without a whisper of a breath and with bowed heads.

If one were to ask Malleus however, he would say that days at the castle are always hectic. It's a good day when the castle is serenely dark and gloomy, but on others…

"Your DISGRACE of an offspring is a pathetic sprite unworthy of my son! How DARE you even consider a courtship between them?!"

Lightning fills the throne room with a bright purple light. Three aristocrats yelp and scramble to avoid the strikes of lightning coming down from the ceiling. Princess Meleanor's glare is deadly as she lifts and aims her staff to bring down another volley of lightning.

"P-p-please forgive us for our transgressions, your excellency!" the patriarch weeps as his family collapses to the floor in frantic bows. From his throne, Malleus can see the family's young heir trembling with choked sobs. His mother isn't the least bit appeased, her glare hardening and her staff crackling with power.

"ENOUGH! I will not tolerate any more nonsense out your blabbering mouth! You have come into my home, insulted my son, and dirtied my floor!" Meleanor raises her staff with a furious snarl. The magic surrounding it strikes the ceiling and deflects into multiple bolts of lightning throughout the throne room. "GET OUT OF MY SIGHT AND DO NOT DARKEN MY DOORSTEP EVER AGAIN!"

The nobles scramble back onto their feet and skitter out with fearful screams. The wails of Malleus's attempted suitor echo through the halls of the castle until the doors slam shut behind them.

Meleanor raises her head proudly, huffing a satisfied plume of smoke out of her nostrils. Beside the sighing Lord Levan, Lilia Vanrouge has his head in his hands.

"What nerve, to ask permission for our Malleus's hand whilst showing such disrespectful behavior!" Meleanor spins around with a flare of her cloak and seats herself on her throne, one leg crossed over the other. "I should have incinerated that child where they stood!"

"I'm quite certain your outburst had spoken the message quite clearly, my lady," Lilia says with no small amount of disapproval.

"I agree with Lilia." Malleus's mother whirls around to face him with a betrayed expression on her face. "It is no fault of theirs that I failed to give my full attention to them. They had every right to call out my rude behavior."

Meleanor scowls and tosses her head again. "If you exhibit overly courteous behavior then those stuck-up aristocrats will become too comfortable to speak ill of you. As a dragon, you must present yourself as one!"

"That courteousness is the only reason the staff does not perish within breathing distance of him," Lilia argues. Meleanor shoots him a glare but he isn't deterred. "The poor boy already has issue forming relationships. Your volcanic temper is not doing him any favors."

"I will deal with those interested in the future king of the Briar Lands and my son however I wish! In case you have forgotten, I am your princess and his mother!"

"He is 178, he is not a hatchling, Meleanor!"

"Regardless of his age I have no intention of allowing him to be mistreated or his heart to be broken."

"At the expense of others?!"

"Yes!"

"Ah, there he goes."

Meleanor straightens up from how she had been bent over to glare at the short general and they both look over at Levan. They follow his gaze and briefly see Malleus's tail slipping out of the throne room.

"Darling!" Meleanor gathers her skirt to dash after her son. As Malleus makes his escape, Lilia groans and slumps over the arm of Levan's throne. His friend pats his back in sympathy.

"You really must do something about that wife of yours," Lilia grumbles. Levan laughs nervously, but there's also fondness in his eyes.

"She is simply doing what she thinks is best for our son."

"It isn't and you know it is!" Lilia huffs, craning his neck to glare up at the lord. The corvid fae smiles sweetly and leans towards him with his elbows resting on the armrest.

"Have I told you how much cuter you look when you're angry?"

Lilia sputters, face turning vibrant red. "Be serious!"

"I am serious," Levan hums as he reaches to tuck some hair behind Lilia's ear. The other general swats his hand away and he laughs at the flustered pout on the smaller fae's face. "I pity those nobles, truly I do, but like you and I, I have a feeling our Meleanor knows that our young prince is keeping a secret. So at the end of the day, there is no harm done, hm?"

Lilia gapes and blinks at Levan in bewilderment.

"He told you?"

Levan smiles secretively, a hint of mischievousness in his eyes. He must know as much as Lilia does then, and though he is relieved to know that his friend is supportive of Malleus's feelings, he still dreads the inevitable of Meleanor discovering it for herself. Meleanor is both temperamental and viciously protective of her child, especially since his life had been threatened after she laid his egg during the human invasion centuries ago. It's quite easy to imagine her most likely reaction to her son being interested in courting a human.

"He did. He also requested assistance from me." Levan looks up and his eyes brighten. "There it is now."

Levan waves his hand. Lilia's keen ears catch the sound of beating wings and he turns around to see a window opening. A raven flies into the throne room and settles on Levan's offered arm. The bird caws a greeting to Lilia before bowing its head to the lord.

"Welcome back, my friend," Levan coos as he strokes its wing. "What news do you bring from the Rose Queendom?"

Lilia perks up at mention of the Rose Queendom and looks at the bird with interest. The familiar makes a series of clicks and squawks. Lilia isn't the most fluent in corvid speak so he waits for Levan to translate, but when he looks to his friend, the other fae's smile has turned into an ominous frown.

"…It's not good news, I'm guessing."

----

Malleus typically finds comfort in isolation. It brings him the silence he requires to think and focus on both official and personal matters. Unfortunately though, for his current predicament, his most trusted method of comfort only seems to distress him more.

The conflict between the Rose and Lily Queendoms is taking it's toll on you. It's inevitable—He sees it a lot in Father and Lilia, how their gazes would sometimes look haunted by ghosts unseen to him even when doing the most mundane tasks —but that does not mean Malleus has to like it, or that either him or you should simply allow it to wear you down.

Sometimes, when he is speaking with you, you would get a faraway look in your eyes, lost in thought. During those moments the bags beneath your eyes look more prominent, your body thinner, your skin paler. You would apologise for losing track of the conversation and Malleus would excuse it, but within his chest a pit grew deeper and deeper, filling with irrational concern for you.

The desire to hoard and care for those most cherished to him isn't a foreign feeling to Malleus. He recalls that at a young age he would nest with his parents at night and steal Lilia and his father's weapons to stop them from leaving the castle for their duties. Now, he watches over Silver while he sleeps and sits at the water's edge when Sebek practices his swimming.

It is something normal for dragons to want their loved ones happy and safe, but the way he feels it with you is incomparable. He cares for you, (which had initially surprised him, to care for a strange human) there's no doubt about it, but more than anything else he wants to be the one to care for you, to ensure your safety. To take you away and tuck you inside his wings, to gift you all the luxuries you could ever need so that you would no longer be hurt or troubled.

And the strangest thing? He desires the same thing from you as well. For you to care for him, cherish him, want him, love him. For you to take his hand and let him whisk you away to somewhere the two of you could see and speak to each other every day, where you could sit and listen contentedly to him and him to you and help him with his woes like he wishes to help you with yours.

Confiding in Lilia had been what led him to realise his feelings for you. The older fae's recollection of his parents' courtship had been… concerning, but it reassured Malleus that his desires were not unusual and that, most importantly, his beloved caretaker accepted you.

It had taken more courage to approach Lord Levan, but he should have known that his understanding father would support him wholeheartedly. At Malleus's request, his father had sent one of his ravens to the Queendom and Malleus now spends almost every waking moment anxious for its return.

Telling his mother about you is… another matter entirely.

You were right that it wouldn't be wise to bring you into his home. He loves his mother, but like him, she possesses the nature of the dragon. She is caring, excessively so, and… incredibly protective, to say the least.

And to say that Malleus is fearful of her discovering his romantic feelings for you, a human—a race she loathes with her entire being—is an understatement.

You are fearless, perhaps a little foolish, but not saneless. She will chase you off as she has many others. The incident today was only one of many.

Regardless of his mother's ill manners and your reluctance to be with him, Malleus's heart does not stop yearning and yearn he does as he sits alone in his rose garden, innocent red rose in hand, plucking each poor petal after the other as his thoughts whirl around his mind uselessly.

Perhaps he should have been more insistent. Perhaps he should have taken you back anyway. Perhaps—

"Malleus?"

The click of his mother's heels on the garden's stone path grow louder with each approaching step. Meleanor appears beneath the rose arch to the gazebo and Malleus hurriedly brushes off the petals that have gathered on his lap.

"There you are. I have been looking for you, dear." Mother smiles as she walks up the steps of the gazebo, the long train of her skirt dragging behind her. She eyes the rose petals scattered around him. "What are you doing?"

"Ah. I am picking rose petals… for tea." His mother raises an eyebrow at his reluctant tone so he quickly diverts the topic. "Am I needed somewhere, Mother?"

"No, no." Meleanor sweeps up her cloak to that it isn't trampled beneath her when she takes a seat next to him. "I was merely worried." With gentle claws, she cradles Malleus's chin and lifts his gaze to hers. "I did not scare you, did I?"

"No—" Never, he wants to say. Even if she can summon the most destructive storms and move mountains with a snap of her fingers, Malleus can never be afraid of his mother, but the churning feelings in his gut lodges the words in his throat.

Malleus pulls away from her touch, looking away before he can see her frown. "I apologise, Mother. I exhibited behavior unbecoming of a prince in front of our visitors."

Instead of reprimanding him, his mother laughs. She's always so self-assured; with her magic, with her choices. It's one of the many things he admires but also envies about his mother. If only he can reach that point of confidence in his life much sooner.

"My silly little beast. There is nothing to apologise for," his mother coos, brushing a lock of hair out of his face with a careful talon. "You did no harm. After all, you have been so distracted because you already have your eye on someone, don't you?"

Malleus turns towards his mother, wide-eyed, and her eyes glitter with excitement as she grins.

"How did you—" Malleus stops himself. How is he supposed to tread this? "…Did Father tell you?"

Meleanor's smile falls. "No, but I am hurt you chose to tell him before me."

Malleus swallows. He laces his fingers together in an effort to make himself feel less unsteady. "How do you know, then?"

"Come now, you didn't think a mother would not be able to see that her son has fallen in love, did you?" Meleanor giggles behind her claws, eyes bright with eagerness. She leans in towards her son and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me, tell me; what are they like? How did you meet? And most importantly: When will I meet them?"

Malleus opens his mouth and pauses. What does he tell her? Every scale on his being is restless, eager at the presented opportunity to talk about you, but certainly, he cannot tell his mother about you. About your humanity. She would, as Lilia frequently describes it, erupt. He did not need that display from earlier in the throne room to know this well.

(He grew up all his life with it after all; His mother losing her head at every slight insult or threat towards him and striking it with bolts of lightning until it runs away screaming.)

Malleus does not fear his mother, let alone resent her, but he does rather often catch himself wondering what it would be like if she were not so hot-headed.

"They are…" Malleus quickly trails off as soon as the attempt begins. He glances at his mother warily. She is giving him her full attention. The support should be encouraging, but the dread within him only increases. "You cannot meet them."

His mother reels back as if he had shocked her with electricity. Her eyes widen and then narrow. Her brows furrow and her lips pull into a displeased pout.

"Whyever not? …Are you ashamed of me?"

"What? No, of course not!"

"Embarrassed, perhaps?"

"Far from it."

"Then do you fear that I would scare them off?"

"Yes— Ah, I mean—!" Malleus screws his mouth shut and looks away again. Meleanor chuckles in amusement.

"Silly beast," she tuts. Behind him, Malleus's tail thumps agitatedly and she twines her own around it to soothe him. "I am flattered that you think so highly of me, but I assure you that any mate worthy of you will not cower so easily before me."

Malleus wraps his tail around his mother's offered one, but his expression is one of scepticism. "How do you know for certain? Do you truly have so much faith in my choice of a partner?"

"Oh, of course not! You are still just a little beast after all," Meleanor teases with a light pinch to his cheek. "What I mean is that, whoever you choose, we shall know if they are truly the correct mate for you if they remain beside you regardless of any trials."

"Oh… I see…" Malleus lowers his head. He clasps his hands tightly together. He can still remember the phantom feeling of your own hands on them, of you pulling away from him. Of him watching your retreating back after once more rejecting his offer to take you away.

"Darling?" His mother places her hands on his and the memory fades away. "Is something the matter?"

"I… I want you to meet them, truly I do, but…" Your face flashes before his eyes again, with it your shy smile and your voice whispering,

"Someday."

Malleus gathers his resolve and faces his mother. "Not anytime soon, I fear."

His mother pouts again. "Oh, come now—!"

"I don't think they would fear you." There's no way to know for certain until you actually meet her, but it is something he's fairly confident in. "It is that… they are currently occupied and will not be able to make time to come to our lands in the near future."

Meleanor's eyes light up with newfound interest. "Oh? They are not of the Briar Fae?"

Malleus bites his lip anxiously. "Er, no. They are—"

A bird sings overhead. The two dragons on the gazebo lift their heads and see a silver-haired knight walk through the rose arch.

"Lady Meleanor, Lord Malleus." Silver dips into a quick bow and rises again. "I apologise for interrupting."

"Oh, Silver! What a pleasant surprise. Have you finished your training today? Come, come. It has been too long since we last spoke." Meleanor beckons to the young knight to sit next to her.

"Er, if I recall correctly, we spoke just this morning—!"

Meleanor doesn't let him hesitate for long. She crooks her finger and wisps of purple magic tug on his uniform until he's standing on the gazebo.

"I apologise profusely, my lady," Silver stammers as her magic fades off of his clothes. "But I'm afraid I cannot stay long, my father requests to see Lord Malleus—"

"Does he!" Meleanor's eyebrows are arched, her expression devious in a way both boys know does not hold good intentions for their respective fathers. "How fortunate, I was hoping to speak to him about Malleus."

"Mother—"

"Lady Meleanor—"

Before either boy could get a word in, magic begins to swirl around the princess's fingers and she chants, "Come, my eyes and ears, my wings and feet."

Magic swirls and shimmers around her. Beneath her feet, her shadow ripples, and a raven bursts out of it with a frantic caw.

"Now why are you in such a hurry?" Meleanor tuts, easily catching the bird out of the air before it could fly off. The bird squawks and flaps its one wing that hadn't managed to be caught in her hand. She directs a firm gaze on it and it freezes, letting a pathetic noise out of its beak. Malleus winces in sympathy.

"Where is my Right?" Meleanor looks down at her shadow, displeased, but quickly smiles again when she turns to Silver. "Give me a hand, dear."

With them pointing downwards, Meleanor pinches together the thumb and forefinger of her free hand. She makes a pulling motion and a squealing bat emerges out of Silver's shadow. It manages to escape the princess's grasp on it but only briefly before she catches it by its legs.

The bat squeaks and screams, no doubt profanities blasphemous when directed at the crown princess, but she is unfazed. Silver looks down at the poor creature apologetically as it clings to his uniform in an attempt to shake off the dragoness's claws.

"What is the matter with you? Stop behaving so childishly. Look, your son is being much more mature than you, how embarrassing." Meleanor forces the bat to let go of the boy and holds it upside down, continuing to be unfazed as it claws at her lace gloves angrily. "You should know better than to ignore a summons from your mistress."

She shakes the bat in a not-so-gentle manner and the animal grows in size and changes shape until Lilia is hanging by the ankles. The raven does the same, but Meleanor lets Levan go so he can perch on her arm more comfortably.

"—the matter with you! You absolutely insane princess!" Lilia yells once he's finally taken his two-legged form again.

"Yes, you're very adorable, dear," Meleanor says dismissively with a pinch to his nose. Lilia hisses at her, but despite his complaints there's no real heat to them and he calms down quickly. "Now, my loves, when were the two of you going to tell me that a secret someone has caught our Malleus's interest?"

"I sincerely apologise, darling," Levan says mournfully, and any amount of aggression in his wife's expression fades away when he pecks a kiss on her cheek. "but it was not our secret to tell."

"Alright, I suppose I can forgive that. I'm sorry, dears." Meleanor looks at her son and husband fondly but scowls when she turns to Lilia. "Not you."

Lilia sticks his tongue out at her without remorse. With difficulty, he twists around to address Silver. "You've found Malleus! Well done, my boy."

"Thank… you, Father."

"What is it that you wished to speak to me about?" Malleus asks, tilting his head in an effort to meet Lilia's eyes. The bat fae exchanges a look with the prince's father and then glances at the princess holding him captive.

"Perhaps we should wait until later—"

"Wonderful, since I wished to speak to both of you about a different matter." Meleanor's expression turns into a deceptively sweet one that immediately has Lilia's face souring. "My loves, would you tell Malleus that you also desperately wish to meet this secret potential mate of his?"

She flutters her eyelashes for good measure. Malleus sighs and shakes his head.

"Mother…"

"I know what you said, but perhaps with encouragement from all three of us we can twist a few rules…"

"Actually, my love, what we wish to discuss concerns this… person." Meleanor raises an inquisitive eyebrow at her husband sitting on her arm.

"What?" All eyes turn to Malleus. The prince suddenly rises from his seat, pupils thinned to slits. Leftover rose petals scatter to his feet. "Has something happened to them?"

"I apologise, Malleus, but Lilia is right." Levan casts a quick look towards Meleanor and Malleus understands immediately.

Meleanor looks frustratedly between her son and husband, unhappy at being the only one uninformed. "Now what is this about? Why are you so reluctant to speak of this person within my presence?"

Lilia purses his lips, determined to not say a thing, meanwhile Levan looks towards his son again meaningfully.

Malleus takes a breath.

"It is what I have been meaning to tell you. Mother…" Malleus glances at Silver standing to the side, at attention. "Silver is a human."

Meleanor blinks. She looks at Silver, back at Malleus, and then bursts into laughter.

"But of course he is, silly beast!"

Malleus attempts to continue, but she doesn't stop laughing like it's the most hilarious joke she's heard in a century. He looks to his father helplessly. Levan gives him an encouraging smile but the doubt that twitches the edges of his lips isn't very reassuring. Meanwhile, Lilia sighs exasperatedly and Silver frowns in confusion.

"Well, Mother…" Meleanor keeps laughing and the longer the seconds tick by the more his confidence falters. Perhaps… If he says it now, she won't hear and she can remain in ignorant bliss. "This person I am in love with is a human as well."

The laughter stops so abruptly that the deadly silence sounds as loud as a crash of thunder.

"What."

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleyuu #meleanor draconia #levan draconia #lilia vanrouge #silver vanrouge #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #malleus draconia x you #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia x mc

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monkie-kid-oc-showdown · 3 months ago

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Zǐsè de (紫色的) (zoo-doe-da is basically the pronunciation) (she/her)

The monkey on her head is her pet named Macaroon.

(Small bit of background)

Zise de is technically a celestial being (due to both her parents being one) zise de was raised by Macaque however, because of drama between her parents and her mom leaving zise de with a different family for the better. She eventually ends up being raised by Macaque! Zise de has shadow manipulation powers she inherited from her mother, which is also another reason why Macaque was interested in raising Zise De when he found her! She is also best friends with MK but not that close with his other friends due to being very shy and introverted and having trust issues. Major trust issues!

Other things about Zise de:

Zise de is 16ish years old during season 5

Zise de prefers to stay at home unless someone (MK) invites her to something or when she gets REALLLLYY lonely.

Her favorite food is tortilla shells and apple sauce Her powers are shadow manipulation (just to restate that! :3 ) Zise de is skilled in fighting because Macaque taught her how to fight growing up

She currently lives in a treehouse she built

Xiāo Húdié (@keykittygirl)

Species : Xian Li

Age : 12 years old

Has the eyes of the color violet who's seen as precious by the kidnappers, but seen as a freak by her peers and caretaker...

Living in the part of the city who's not that really tolerable toward demons of all kinds...

But at least one caretaker love her with her life like she does to the other kids...

But as time goes she keep wondering why...

And what happened before she was found on that river...

The morning of her twelfth birthday opening the door toward the answer...

As the night before a strange thrump has plaguing her soul till she out of light...

It happened not long after she obtained the spear that her lovely caretaker claim has been hers since she first find her...

And it's feel like it stirring something in her...

Something that has long forgotten...

As she thought she just tired and need sleep to calm herself down...

But instead of those strange feelings fading away it only get worse...

Nightmare along with a feeling of something start to shatter plaguing her all night...

And in the morning...

The tiredness caused her to wake up later than she used to...

Feeling something is odd about herself...

Something fluffy brushing around her legs...

And the noise around her has increased in loud...

But she's to weary to care...

But an average bullying make her realize what different...

A pair of fluffy ears over her head and a long fluffy tail tucking out from her simple nightgown...

But it's not her alone who realize...

The others...

They see it...

The look in their eyes...

The scream...

The constant yelling of abomination, monster, freak, and others...

It hurts more than it used to...

All she can do was just run...

And keep running to the point she almost got in an accident...

But luckily, that unfortunate moment has lead her to meet the Monkie kid and the Dragon girl or as they prefer MK and Mei...

Hope start to spark in her heart...

Maybe...

Just maybe...

They can help her find the answer...

#Zǐsè de #Xiāo Húdié #Lmk #Lmk oc

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angeliqueiguess · 2 months ago

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Hidden Notes (mk.l)

001. Welcome

The apartment was smaller than Y/n had imagined.

The kind of small that made you question if you’d measured your furniture correctly or if you’d need to get rid of half your belongings just to make it livable. It had the unmistakable feel of a place that had been lived in before, maybe even loved at some point, though time had worn it down.

The wooden floors creaked with every step, the kind of creak that no amount of rugs could ever disguise. The ceiling had faint water stains and patches of peeling paint, as though it had weathered more than just the years. The walls, bare and slightly scuffed, seemed to echo her footsteps in welcome, as though they recognized that someone new had arrived.

It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was hers. And that was what mattered.

Y/n set the last box down on the floor with a thud, groaning softly as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

The sunlight streamed through the lone window, scattering warm, golden streaks across the room. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to give the space a fleeting charm, enough to make the imperfections seem like they might be endearing someday. She let her eyes wander over the empty room, letting her mind play with possibilities. She could see where the couch would go, the corner where she’d create a reading nook, and the walls where she’d hang her art.

For now, though, all she could do was sigh and start unpacking. The process was slow, almost meditative. She moved carefully, as though unpacking her belongings might also help her unpack her thoughts. String lights came out first, hung in an uneven line along the wall closest to the window. They weren’t perfect, but they made the room feel warmer already.

Next came a stack of books, which she set neatly in a corner that she mentally marked as the future home of a bookshelf she didn’t yet own. One box, labeled “Kitchen Stuff,” sat untouched in a far corner. Cooking could wait. Right now, all that mattered was making the space feel less like an empty shell and more like her own.

As she shuffled around, placing things here and there, something caught her attention. Near one of the corners of the room, a piece of wallpaper was peeling away from the wall. It wasn’t unusual—this place clearly hadn’t seen a renovation in years—but something about it felt like an invitation.

Curiosity piqued, Y/n knelt down and gave the edge a gentle tug. To her surprise, the wallpaper peeled off easily, almost like it had been waiting for her to do it. Beneath it was a layer of cracked plaster, but her eyes were drawn to something else—a small object wedged in the narrow gap between the plaster and the wall.

“What the…fuck?”

She reached out, carefully pulling it free. It was a bundle of papers, yellowed with age and tied with a faded red ribbon. The edges were frayed, and the ribbon looked like it might disintegrate if she pulled too hard. Her first instinct was to leave it alone, but curiosity quickly won over caution. Slowly, she untied the ribbon, her fingers trembling slightly as she unfolded the top sheet.

The handwriting was uneven, like it had been scrawled in a hurry, but it was still legible. The words stopped her in her tracks:

"I don’t know where this path will take me, but I have to try. Maybe these words will find someone who understands."

A chill ran down her spine. She read the sentence again, letting the weight of the words sink in. It felt oddly personal, as though the writer had intended for someone—anyone—to discover it one day.

She flipped through the rest of the pages, each one filled with fragments of thoughts and sketches. There were rough, unfinished verses that could’ve been song lyrics or poems, all of them circling themes of escape, longing, and hope.

Some pages had small, hurried sketches of landscapes she didn’t recognize—mountains, winding roads, a lighthouse standing alone against a dark sky. Others were filled with notes that seemed like reminders to the writer themselves, scribbled lines like “Keep going” or “It’s never too late to start over.”

One page, in particular, stood out to her. Written in bold, deliberate handwriting were the words:

"Even in darkness, light finds a way."

For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, those words hit her deeply. They carried a strange kind of weight, like they were meant for her at this very moment. She looked around the apartment again, taking in the cracks, the creaks, the imperfections. It no longer felt like an empty, lifeless space. Someone had lived here. Someone had left a piece of themselves behind.

“Who were you?” she murmured to the silent room, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carefully, she folded the papers and set them on the kitchen counter. She’d come back to them later, she decided. For now, she had a new task. The wall where she’d peeled back the wallpaper needed fresh paint, and the apartment needed something else—new energy, life, a fresh start.

As she moved through the space, picking up supplies and envisioning her next steps, a question lingered at the back of her mind.

Who had written those words? And why had they hidden them here, waiting to be found?

She glanced at the papers again, feeling an odd connection to whoever had left them behind. The apartment, small and imperfect as it was, no longer felt like just a place to live. It felt like it had a story—one she was now a part of. And for the first time since she’d stepped through the door, Y/n didn’t feel so alone.

next // masterlist

taglist: @thegracerammy @kittydollzz

credits: @strangergraphics (dividers)

#mark imagines #lee mark #marklee #mark #mark lee #nct #nct127 #nctdream #nctimagines #nct mark #mark lee imagines #nct127 mark #nct dream mark #mark nct dream #7d #7dream #dreamscape

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quibbs126 · 2 months ago

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So I have some more vague ideas of the stupid Transformers AU thing from last night

I think originally it was going to just fade away, but last night I decided I might as well rewatch the original FNAF timeline videos since Part 3 made me realize I didn’t entirely remember what was going on, and so the mentality came back to my brain at 3 or 4 in the morning because I accidentally woke up too early

Anyways, on to random stupid ideas

So Orion is some strange entity, and quite honestly even Primus doesn’t really know what he is, even though he’s pretty sure he created it. Fortunately Orion’s full cosmic horror seems to be locked away due to currently having a mortal shell. Orion just sort of popped out of the ground in the middle of nowhere

Also for some reason my brain gave me this idea that Orion has this ability to basically become a corpse for a few hours while he just chills out in some weird spirit form. I think my brain borrowed it from a concept I had seen around for Aligned continuity’s Thirteen

Also Orion is under the impression that he has amnesia, and is unaware of his weird cosmic status. He wants to know who he is but there’s problems in finding that information, as will be detailed later

After popping out from the ground, he sort of wandered until finding himself at the mines D-16 worked in, and stumbling in there unaware of anything really happening around him

D-16 heard weird noises in his sector and went to check it out, only to find Orion in some equipment and they both sort of freaked out at the sight of each other, D might have punched him out of reflex and shock, and Orion accidentally went corpse mode

D-16 now thinks he just accidentally killed this bot, which is made worse when he gets a good look at him and is 99% sure he is a higher class bot, on account of him being much smaller than the miners and having bright colors (which here would be like a symbol of class, duller/monochrome colors means you’re likely on the bottom rungs), and then later when he hears he has an actual name instead of a number. And if someone discovers he killed a higher class bot, he is at the very least getting fired and sent to prison, which he doesn’t want, so he hides the body so no one finds it and plans to dump it after his shift is over where he won’t be traced back to him

But later when he’s doing so, Orion reactivates and gives D-16 another huge scare, but this time he doesn’t attack because he realizes he probably shouldn’t try to repeat history, thinking maybe he was just mistaken the first time (despite him definitely looking dead)

He tries to figure out who Orion is so he can try and get him sent home (while apologizing for the whole situation), but Orion doesn’t know since he doesn’t really have any memories. D thinks he must have amnesia so he tries to smuggle him back somewhere until they can figure out what to do

Meanwhile Orion thinks he’s just made a friend

D first just tries sending him on a train to Iacon, but Orion refuses to leave without D, not understanding that he’s not really allowed to leave, and sneaks off the train to stay with him. He then tries to get information on Orion since he knows his name, though getting access to a database as a lowly miner is incredibly difficult, but he has no luck there since apparently Orion Pax doesn’t exist. Though he figures it may just be an issue of them having a limited database. And by this point going up to the guards isn’t gonna work because now he’ll be arrested for “kidnapping” a higher class bot

Basically the setup here is Orion hanging out with D-16 in the mines, with Orion trying to make his new friend happy, as he seems constantly stressed and generally miserable with his lot in life, while D-16 is trying to figure out who Orion is and how to get him back home without getting arrested

D admittedly grows to like the company of Orion, as he seems unaware of any sort of class difference between them and just genuinely wants to be his friend and be nice, but he also can’t deny that Orion’s unawareness makes his life a living nightmare now and things would probably be easier for the both of them if he just got back home

Orion also has this instinctual hatred for the government that he doesn’t quite understand (still a very corrupt Cybertron here), but will act upon. D-16 agrees that the government sucks, but hopes Orion doesn’t get into too much trouble defying it. Because he’ll be the one suffering the consequences

D-16 and the other miners are probably cogless, but they’re much bigger than the miners in TF One, with this D being closer to Megatron’s size. I’m not sure if Orion can transform or not though, but I do have a mental image of D just folding him up into a cube or something, harmlessly as he can easily pop out of it

I also don’t know how Optimus and Megatron come out of this scenario. Best I can say is that Orion unintentionally starts driving D-16 crazy as he finds no leads on who Orion Pax is, and becomes more and more convinced he isn’t actually real, or that he actually did kill him that first day and everything since has just been hallucinations and delusions. But I don’t know about Optimus since becoming Optimus probably means he can no longer be this chaotic little eldritch gremlin thing

And I think that’s about it. Now I have to go study for a quiz and probably start on that short story I have due tonight

#I don’t know if anyone will care for this #but here it is #I probably won’t do much with it since again it’s just a silly little thing #transformers #transformers au #orion pax #d 16 #random stuff

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javiersprincess · 2 years ago

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𝚬𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝚶𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝚶𝐔𝐍𝐆.

tags: 18+ minors dni, stepcest, fingering, squirting, corruption, virginity, infidelity, overstimulation, mention of m! receiving oral but does NOT happen...ayato calls himself your father and calls you his daughter because he’s a freak!! mot actually related. age gap mentioned, arranged marriage.

synopsis: i’m starving, darling. let me put my lips to something. let me wrap my teeth around the world - when your mother marries a man one year your senior you begin something that will last an eternity.

When you return, you find out your mother was to marry the Yashiro Commissioner, Kamisato Ayato and that your families were to be joined - you only took the news with a stiff smile and a nod to your head. With the passing of your father, the relationship between you and your mother dissipated into something sour and mist-like. She wasn’t always like this, maybe your father was the only thing in the world that could make her happy but when he left this world it seems so did the person she was once, all that was left is the vapid and vain shell of a woman you’ve never met before.

This world gives and this world takes, it took your father away and gave you the beginnings of the next phase of your life.

One where you have to call a man one year your senior father, who married a woman only enough to be his mother. The wedding ceremony was fast and happened in a blur, something so unlike the rest of the world created by Inazuman customs and it’s only when you move into the Kamisato estate is when you finally have a moment with your stepfather and mother. It appears Lord Kamisato has set his foot down to have quality time as a family. His little sister, Lady Ayaka is a beacon of shining purity just like what the rumors say and her company is pleasant to put it lightly. Thoma is kind, and understanding of what this feels like, familiar with the experience of acclimating to this specific household.

Dinner is a meal most familiar to you, warm towels for your hands - tea with pickled vegetables is served first before the heavier courses of rice and meats, for now, your miso soup grows cold as you just stare at the murky contents that reflect your mind. Only your mother is eating her meal as if this was the conclusion of a normal day, and you find that Ayato also leaves his food untouched. Tentatively, your eyes rise from the cutlery on the table to meet his - and you find it hard to look away. The young Lord Kamistato has always been heard to be handsome, it is the whisper that leaves every heiress and matchmaker’s lips but you find that such remarks fade to nothing when in the presence of such beauty in the flesh. His eyes are the same soft violet of the lightning Her Excellency controls and the mole on his lip is like an inverted moon, the mark calling your eyes among the white skin of his glass skin.

Your eyes widen, flinching on your cushion when his eyes flickered to your mother's look to what’s before him and then they look up at yours.

You are seen.

How terrifying is that?

A small smile graces his face, blooming like a sakura petal and it feels like you’ve seen spring for the first time in your life. He says your name, it sounds poetic when he speaks the characters that make up the sacred name you were given at your birth. He makes conversation with you, and you find yourself smiling while actually eating - he asks about your studies, what cultural affairs you’ve mastered, and which season you like best. You fail to see how your mother watches this exchange, eyes narrowed in a venomous stare at how you quietly laugh at his quips and wit. Dinner comes and goes, all the way the coldness your mother regards you does not thaw or melt - it’s as if her heart has frozen since the day her husband was buried and nothing could change the everlasting winter that lived within her body.

It is like this when the dinner ends and she leaves first, leaving her plates there for Thoma to clean up and she stalks to her shared room with the Lord of the House and Ayato frowns, for once looking like his age and no longer like the master everyone expects him to be since the loss of his own parents. The atmosphere that was once pleasant, and almost happy faded the moment your mother stepped away from the dining room, and now the air is tense with all things unsaid.

“I’m sorry about her, my mother…she - she has not been the same since my father’s death. Please don’t hold this against her.” You say, voice quiet and polite in the way you’ve been taught to speak since you could walk. Ayato turns to look at you, and you shiver in your seat again as you are trapped by those lovely eyes once again. Is this what a butterfly on a corkboard feels like? You find his gaze terrifying as it is lovely.

“It’s quite alright, I hope you don’t mind me speaking plainly but this was an advantageous match for me. I have no intentions of loving your mother, like the way your father did. I do not think there will ever be another man for your mother that could fill the hole of a husband as he could.” He explains, wiping his mouth with a napkin in the smooth and pristine way men of his class only could and you find yourself nodding.

“You would be correct in that assumption. She was changed much by the loss of my father and I understand this was arranged, all that I can ask is that you take care of her to the best of your abilities. I pray that is not too much to ask.” You say, inclining your head to show your respect to him, both as the husband to your mother and as the master of your new home. You can’t see how this makes him ball his fists under the table, knuckles growing white at your soft and delicate speech. Your mother was known for her ways, grief made her lose all her wits, and many men find her not to be a respectable match despite the wealth she carries both from her own blood and that of her previous husband. It is because of how she carries herself it has made many men, many fine suitors turn their eyes away from you despite how well of a match you would make for another man. Mayhaps that is why he took this match, you now being…his daughter in the legal sense could make you find a good match, and take you away from your mother and her wretchedness.

He blames his sympathy for women on his little sister, finds much of her traits that people love in you, and wants to sponsor your own growth so you may grow into a finer woman than you already are.

“Of course, and please do understand that I will take care of you in any capacity. I understand that me being your father may be uncomfortable for you but I do believe that every young woman should have a male figure that she could rely on entirely. I will do my best to fill such a role for you in the most respectful capacity. I do not wish to replace your father, I just want you to know I am here for you in any way you would like me to be.” He explains, rising from his position as head of the table and reaching out a hand to help you rise from your own seat.

He lets you fit your arm into the crook of his elbow and begins to lead you away from the dining room and to the bed chambers part of the manor and he nods when he sees Thoma once again taking the cutlery away. Ayato finds it difficult to walk faster, your company is so sweet it reminds him of the red bean mochi his mother made for him on his 12th birthday before she grew too frail to see him for his 13th. Your perfume fills his senses on the last turn to your new room, it sweetly makes its way past his cheek when you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and he finds his eyes tracing the line of your neck as you turn to bid him goodnight with a smile.

You step into your room, and the shoji board slides shut marking the end to a moment he truly wished was a moment more eternal. He makes to turn and makes his way to his own bed chambers he shares with your mother, and the towering castle of Tenshukaku is all he sees. In a moment of pure weakness as he will call this moment when morning comes and he prays - prays to his god that is most closest onto heaven and prays that you could be his rather than the woman in his bed.

The night does not go well for you, despite being dressed in your favorite sleeping yukata - the fabric of soft and loose against your body and does nothing to aid you in sleeping tonight. You think of your mother, of your father, and of Ayato. You fall into a trance of almost sleep and almost awake, every time you nod off you would wake to the image of your mother shouting at you and how Ayato smiled at you. Sitting up from your futon you sigh, bringing your hands to your face and shaking your head as the all too familiar stinging in your eyes makes embarrassment fill you from the inside out.

The only thing that soothes you in times like these was a stroll through the gardens of your home, counting the petals of the tsubaki when they are in bloom but this isn’t your home and you don’t know if there will be tsubaki petals to count when you arrive to the beautiful gardens you saw when you had first arrived. The moon is full, high in the sky, and through the shoji boards that make up your window you can see the branches of the tree in the gardens move in the gentle wind almost as if it waves you, beseeching you to see the garden in all its glory and who are you to deny what is asked of you? The manor looks different in the dark than in the light of day, no candles are here to guide you but the moon and you find yourself on the porch looking out at the blue flowers that glow in the night with a soft small.

The natural beauty of the world always soothes you in a way nothing else can and it can be seen in the smile you wear as bright and as high as the moon in the sky that watches over you. You are so entranced you don’t hear the footsteps on the tatami mats behind you nor the steps on the wood paneling until you hear the voice that has haunted you tonight since dinner started.

“You shouldn’t be here so late at night,” Ayato says, voice low and firm, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks you over. Your hair is down, no longer done in the style you had it in the day and you have forgone the beautifully designed kimono instead you wear a plain white yukata made for sleeping. He finds how cruelly unfair it is that you are ethereal in this state of undress - there is a lump in his throat, your eyes shine in the light of the moon and he finds that he wants you more than he has wanted anything else before. You look back at him over your shoulder, your smile falling at how the man that has haunted you stands before you in all his otherworldly beauty and your throat aches with all that is inside you begging to be freed.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I always come out to the garden when that happens.” You apologize, hands folded in your lap as you direct your eyes to fall where it is your hands are situated. Ayato’s eyes trace your figure that is bathed most intimately by the light of the moon with the same heat of the lightning that forks through the Inazuman sky and sighs deep from within. This is a joke, a cruel twist of fate that must be punishment for either his actions or that of his ancestors - that he wants you as the ocean waves want for the shores but can’t have you but must keep you close by the title of family.

“You must not do this again, the Kamisato family has many rivals. Doing this without a guard would prove to be lethal for you.” He lectures, sounding every bit of the elder brother he is, and though he speaks of dangerous, dark things you can’t help but feel at ease with him so near. Ayato is a pillar - in the realm of a beautiful dream that is this nation, a pillar in his house’s affairs, and now he is a pillar to your family. It should trouble you how easily you trust this man that was a stranger a week ago but now you find yourself wanting for him the way fire begs for wood to burn.

“You are right, forgive my lack of foresight my lord. It won’t happen again.” You apologize, head bowing in your admittance and Ayato is not a man strong enough to not watch how your neck moves, sakura petal eyes tracing down your decolletage that is revealed by the open folds of your yukata. He takes his eyes away from the action heavily as if he has stones in his heart at the idea of not having you before him. Nudging with his head he tells you to go back inside, you only catch the mole on his lip in the light of the moon as you rise from your seat on the porch. You make your way across, until you are beside him and you freeze when you catch the scent of sakura and cypress - soft and floral but still cuts through the soft scents of the garden in which you stand.

You once heard of a story in the far regions of the Mondstat, of a snake that tempts a woman to sin the garden of the Anemo Archon and you wonder if that was not just a story but a warning. Lord Kamisato - Ayato, he requested that you call him that is so, is before you and he is as beautiful as a pearl, shining in the palm of your hand; bringing you to him like a moth to a flame.

Mayhaps the snake in the story is you - the weaker parts of you, that relish in your desire and spit on your chastity. Here, in the garden face to face with a piece of you that you aren’t familiar with and a man that brings her into the real world, you find yourself unable to leave as you drown in between the sakura petals and the cypress leaves. Ayato spoke of the danger from rival clans but really doesn’t he know he is more dangerous than any poison or assassin? With a single look, a single word, and a single passing of his perfume he leaves you in shambles, and everything about your life is swallowed by the flames and you can think about wanting him.

From his princely build to the way his hair falls and his eyes shine, he is what you most want at this moment - maybe all you will ever want for the rest of eternity. At festivals Lady Ayaka most often speaks the words most familiar to all Inazumans - We pray to our god, may all our dreams endure forever. In the past, you’d find such sentiments noble but now you can’t help but find them cruel, this must not endure - the heartbreak on your mother, the shame you both would be at the hands of should sapling bud and bloom into a flower you could never take back.

No, this must not go on from the moment you leave the garden. So why is it that you can not make the last step? You can’t leave this place, standing at his side and gazing up at him with all the wonder of first love.

“You need to go back,” Ayato says, his voice heavy when he says your name, “please go back to your chambers.” He urges, eyes locked on the shape of your lips and he curses himself for thinking about tracing the cupid bows of your lips with his tongue.

“I can’t.” Your voice wavers, shy and scared of what you are about to admit - speaking of the things that only exist in your heart makes them real and you can’t help thinking of all the repercussions this would bring if you say what is in your heart.

“Why can’t you?” Ayato asks, hand clenched in a fist and he knows the answer despite it wishing it would be anything else but the truth he knows. The Lord Kamisato is not good at dealing with the truth, all his matters are worked with the materials that lie in the shadows - deceit, manipulation, and veiled threats. All that is around you is but an illusion, only trust what is before you to be true and he desperately wishes you could be anywhere else but before him, as it is what makes the sentiment in your heart to be true.

“The same reason you came here, for me.” You say and it is like the lightning and thunder of his god have struck him down from his place in heaven to the earth. Ayato swallows, heavy and thick and he turns his gaze to look you in the eye. Oh, how lovely you are in the moonlight and Ayato does not curse himself when he thinks about how lovely you would look bathed in the candlelight laying under him in the bedding of his futon.

“Can you fault me? How do I look away now that I have seen you?” He speaks so softly you have a hard time remembering that he runs the darker underbelly of the Yashiro Commission's affairs along with the other commanders - they are the sword that Her Excellency wields in her nation and to keep the peace you can only shudder to think about what dark deals transpire in the shadows of your country.

“I feel the same, something changed tonight. I know it is for you too.” You say and it’s the best you can manage - words such as I love you, I want you, You should be mine instead of my mothers are too dangerous as if they are coated in a poison that would stop your heart should they escape your lips.

“Yes. There has been a change.” Ayato chokes out, his own admission heavy but finds whatever noble words he wanted to say do not come out. Instead, they die, turning to dust on his tongue leaving him parched for a thirst that can only be satisfied by you - your essence in him, surrounding him in a way that only the most intimate of lovers know of. All nobility leaves his lean body with each step he takes toward you, sheds off like snakeskin as he lets his hands cup your face and he finds that sin tastes of you. You gasp at the gentle touch of his kiss, the first one in life by a man and you find yourself accepting it, and the vain, vapid part of you that you have tried so hard to rein in explodes within yourself as you let your hands tremble and clutch at his own robe.

Something small and soft, an ember grows into a wildfire as his tongue swipes at your lips for entrance and your gasping mouth concedes naively as you moan into his own mouth when takes your tongue to suck on. Ayato is a teasing kisser - sucking and nipping and tracing the curves of your teeth to leave you gasping hotly at the foreign experiences that make you break out into goosebumps under the night sky in the garden.

When he breaks away because the gods have cursed him by needing to breathe and not being able to sustain himself off of you completely, he follows each movement away with a peek at your flushed mouth. Pressing his forehead to yours he looks into your eyes, hazed and dimmed with the rush he gave you; he twitches at the thought of that being your first kiss and that tonight, if you let him he will be your first everything. You are sweeter in your affections, pressing fleeting kisses to his lips and brushing your nose to his chin as he pants back his breath, his hands still cupping your cheeks. His thumb rubs at the soft skin and he laughs under his breath quietly at the observation he makes at the moment.

“Your skin - it’s soft, like mochi.” Ayato comments, voice soft and deep, coated in desire as he presses kiss after kiss on your soft cheeks that you giggle at their plushness. You quickly shush yourself and take a quick look around.

“The guards won’t be here if that’s what you are concerning yourself with.” He says, turning his face to whisper into your ear - pressing a gentle peck against the gentle shell and humming amusedly when you gasped at the ticklish sensation. His hands have long since abandoned their hold on your face and you only squirm in their descendent as one settles at the swell of your breast. You gasp, your own soft hands coming to clutch at his wrist when Ayato lets out a pleased hum at the weight of your breast in the palm of his hand, thumb swiping at where the visible pebble of your nipple in the thin fabric.

“Have you ever been with anyone else before me tonight?” Ayato asks his voice smooth as a river and it might be from how he’s touching you, groping you with expert hands that leave you muddled and but you can only give him a soft little “what?” to his question. Ayato’s other hand soon settles itself on the curve of your hip that can’t be seen from the form of your yukata so when it is found - it leaves you trembling when his fingers trail over the curvature, even going as far to make them dig into the plush of your backside.

“I’m asking - sweet little thing if a man other than me has ever been where I am? Has a man kissed you as I have, touched you here,” he is interrupted by the harsh squeeze on your breast that makes you whine,” or there.” Ayato finishes off with a hard squeeze and light tap against your flank that makes you gasp and wilt in his hold.

“No- no one has ever- been where you are before.” You hastily say, voice high and thin as you stutter when his hands grow more and more demanding. Whining when Ayato looks into your eyes and nods when his hand goes under the folds of your yukata, your pure skin shining in the moonlight. You are soft like tsubaki petals and sweet like mochi, Ayato thinks - virginal is the word to describe you from the heat in your cheeks and the doe eyes you give him. He can see your chest in full, enticing and calling for his attention which is received in quick tugs of your tight nipples that make you gasp. Squirming against his touch, you are open to the hot open mouth kisses he places against your neck.

“No marks - please,” You gasp out, your voice withering at his ministrations and you are given a soft nod from him. His hand that was busy pawing your ass has made its way to your front, where the tie of your yukata waited to be undone by his expert hands.

“We can’t have anyone know you were with your new stepfather like this can we?” He teases, hand undoing the knot, finding its way through the silken fabric and pressing against the undergarments you wear. Stuttering at how his fingers press unto the now damp gusset of your panties, you whine into his ear.

“Don’t - don’t call yourself that right now. It’s-,” you are interrupted by the soft moan you let out when his fingers roll against the flushed pearl of your clit in your panties that only grow to be soaked at his slow ministrations. Ayato is experienced and cruel in how he plucks at your strings as if he was the finest koto player in all of the world and you, his instrument.

“It’s what my dear? It appears you’ve lost your thought.” He teases, voice dark like sin and you shudder when it is poured by a kiss at your neck and his fingers making their way past the barrier of your soaked underwear to touch your bare cunt for the first time. They swipe at your folds, collecting the clear nectar you leak so sweetly for him as he waits for you to speak again.

“It’s perverse.” You speak but it comes out like a whine, voice pitched by the haze of lust and you are helpless to how he keeps his fingers at your folds, mapping out the petals of your own flower that blooms so prettily for him. When one goes inside for the first time you squeak at the intrusion, your own hands coming to clutch at his arm as his finger is curled and pumped inside of you.

“Ah, yes it is but you see dearest,” Ayato tilts his head at you with something darker than mischief dancing in his violet eyes, “that is all more reason to call myself such a title - I fear I have quite the penchant for all things perverse.” Anything you want to say next dies on your lips as the second finger makes its way inside of you, joining the first one in how it curls against the spongy spot on your walls that he found with his expert touch. You gasp and shake as you slick his fingers more and more, to the point you wonder if what it is you two are doing can be heard from on the other side of the manor.

You hate yourself for how you feel your cunt clench around him, slick now dripping onto the wood floor beneath you like drops of rain. His thumb aligns itself with your clit and it’s as if one had bottled the lightning that most commonly dances in the sky into your body and only now do you notice how it sings in your veins. Such is the manner of pleasure, one could assume.

Ayato has brought your face to his, violet eyes that will forever haunt gaze at the “o” of your mouth and the scrunch of your brow and he knows what is about to happen to you. The sea of pleasure crashes at your ankles and he will be the one to take you to its depths.

“Go ahead, pretty thing, fall apart for me - for your father.” You feel the saltwater of pleasure crashing onto you, it sinks into your bones - deep into the marrow that slips into each drop of blood that pumps into your heart. One of his hands, you don’t know which one comes to your mouth and steals every moan and cry you let out. It is too much pleasure, too much shock and you don’t have it in yourself to be quiet when everything feels too good for you right now. Ayato does not still his fingers, keeps them focused on the bundle of your nerves intent on making you spill across his fingers in ways that you’ve never done - not for anyone, including yourself.

When you whine against his hand, his palm as warm as the sun he only chuckles softly - the sound sends something hot into your blood and in your sore stomach as the band that had snapped rewinds again and it feels so good it aches.

“Pretty thing, I want something from you and I will have it - give your father what he wants. Be good for me.” It is as if the thunder god had struck you herself as light flashes across your eyes when the shut - squeezed tight as tears from your eyes and tears from your cunt slide out. Ayato - your stepfather’s hand is coated in your slick that shines like the petals in Chinju Forest in the light of the moon. You feel weak as if Ayato was a vampire, a demon that had sucked the life out of you and left you as nothing but a shell. The night does not end - when the Lord of the house himself sees you as you are before him, unclothed and washed in sin how could he ever look elsewhere? How else is he supposed to send you on your way with a satisfied cunt while his cock pulses in his own robes?

It is a mercy that he won’t have to, it seems.

Not when he sees you languidly tying your robe loosely, enough so it closes at your legs but open enough he can see your heaving breasts and tight nipples. When he wets his lips he thinks about them in his mouth and how cute you sound when you squeal from having them played with. His mind goes to a complete blank when he sees you drop to your knees, pressing your knees to the wood that was now tainted with drops of your cum - nudging your face to where the tails of the tie around his waist fall.

The hot bulge of his cock can be felt, and Ayato moans softly when you press the shape of your lips to the imprint. His hand that once quieted you, quieted him in turn and he murmured softly into the heated night air as he let another hand run through your loose hair.

“Now where did you learn this - this is what pleasure women do, did you know that?” He asks a teasing question meant to fluster you at the mention of such a salacious occupation.

“It’s also something that wives do.” You say back, voice muffled by the fabric of his robe and he half chuckles half moans at the tease of your breath against his neglected cock that seems determined to break free of the confines of the fabric.

“Oh? Is that what you want from me - is being my daughter not enough? I never would have mistaken you for a greedy woman.” You whine pitifully - face warm when he mentions what it is that binds you together.

“Stop calling me that when we are like this - it’s a cruel joke.” You say, allowing yourself to be manipulated by him until you realize that you are no longer on your knees but rising to your feet, and pushing yourself in the direction of your chambers.

“Why are you sending me away? You still haven’t-”

“I know, and I won’t, at least not tonight.” Ayato cuts you off, voice firm as he watches you stumble with shaky legs like a newborn fawn. You’ve clutched the opening of your yukata closer to yourself, it reeks of sex and sweat, and things better left unsaid. You tremble as you stand and Ayato finds himself back at your side as he puts a hand on your waist to keep you steady.

“Why?” You ask and he finds it most amusing how your voice has now grown timid, it’s sweet almost and he has always delighted in sweet things.

“Because you aren’t a whore, or my wife - I won’t fuck your cunt or your face like one. You are a lady and I will fuck you one like another time and in another place.” He announces, voice unwavering as he keeps on the right path of sending you to your chambers. It’s later than it once was and the chill will soon take you now that you are not partaking in any strenuous activities - you are open to being taken by it.

“You want to do this again?” You ask, voice as soft as an owl’s wing and Ayato can’t help but coo at you - such an innocent little thing he has in his grasp. How will he be able to focus on other matters with you in his home? He has no idea but he has always found a thrill in the sadistic game of wanting what’s right before you.

“Dearest now that I have had you, I fear there is no one else I could want. So let’s do our best to enjoy it while it lasts.” He teases and he pushes you forward, into the halls that lead to your bed and you find yourself looking back at the man that in a single night has you in his web. Ayato smiles at you, and you fear something wicked this way comes.

“Get some rest, daughter dearest. I’ll see you in the morning.” with a shiver running down the notches of your too-delicate spine, you run back to your chambers and find that sleep takes you in her arms much more openly than before.

And when you wake up and sit across the periwinkle-haired man you find that the night before was not a dream but rather the reality upon which eternity is built on.

#lamb.writes #tw:stepcest #ayato smut #ayato kamisato smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #tw: infidelity

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thedeviltohisangel · 8 months ago

Note

I LOVE CASS AND BUCKY AND THE INJURY PROMPTS. It’s really fulfilling my need for hurt/comfort.

What about 23 and/or 29 from the list for when they are getting liberated from the camps when Cass is injured?

Also, I’ve absolutely loved the fics we’ve gotten to see of them reuniting in the camp and the failed escape attempt. Will we get a chapter focused on the times we haven’t seen? Love your writing!

INJURY BLURB PROMPT ERA

(thank you, lovey! yes, the plan will be chapters/interludes/blurbs to fill in all the gaps. you can ask me about them in my inbox or DMs literally anytime)

23 can be found here!

29. “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

what is cass up to while john is hanging the flag? why, i am so glad you asked...

tw: depictions of a fight, death

While the men were watching the fire crackle and enjoying the small semblance of warmth that it offered, Cass was watching the Germans. She was keeping track of the paths they walked from building to building. The numbers they travelled in. Where the ones with documents went, how long they were there and what they left with.

"How's the hip?" John asked as he stood by the log she was sitting on by herself. She had been quiet for far too long for his comfort. When she didn't answer, "Captain?"

"What?" She spared him a glance then went right back to counting their steps in her head. "My hip? It's stiff but not painful."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were thinking spooky thoughts."

"I'm curious. That's all." His eyes went to her fingers which were acting as a metronome against her thigh. She was more than curious. She was plotting. John wanted to beg her against it. Remind her that their goal wasn't documents for the OSS or reacquainting her with Gestapo interrogation techniques. But the words sounded hollow even in his own mind. Not after all the trouble he had caused himself.

"Good." Cass doesn't remember the conversation between them ever feeling as forced as it did now. Even the first time she had met him. She hated to think that things had felt more natural when they thought she was dying. That it was easier to talk to her husband when she was bleeding out and writhing with pain. Now they were just shells of the human emotion that had driven her here in the first place. "I'll be right over there." He pointed towards a group of men and she nodded.

"Ok. I'll be here." If she had the energy, she might cry over the loss of John Egan. If the world hadn't beaten her into submission and kicked a little extra dirt on her for good measure. "Two strides to the left in-" The hum of a plane engine paused her final check of the movements of the German officer.

"That's a P-51!" She heard the confirmation ripple through the crowd and the plane ripped through the skin, putting a few holes in the towers as it did. A smile spread across her face as they all cheered. Maybe this was the harbinger of the end she had been hoping for.

"It's coming back!" She had no time to react before something hard slammed against her and knocked her to the ground with a grunt. After the moment of surprise, her nose hit the skin of his neck and his natural scent soothed any confusion in her mind. Cass closed her eyes and breathed him in and let everything around them fade away. If he was only going to love and protect her this one last time...she wanted to soak in every second.

"Were you hit? I'm sorry I wasn't quicker, my love, I-" The term of endearment fell from his lips without deliberate thought. He had been too distracted by the elation of the first pass of the Mustang to get to her quickly enough to shield her from the second.

"You haven't called me that in so long," she whispered as she looked up at him from where her back was against the dirt. John could see his reflection in her glassy eyes. He sat up and moved off of her in the hopes distance would clear his head. And he heard the stampede of men behind him before he saw them, hands pushing at his arms and urging him towards the center of the camps where the last of the German forces we huddled.

"Cass? Cass?" he called as he spun in a circle to try and find her again. He grabbed the first lapel he could. "The woman I was just with. You see where she went?" The man shrugged.

"Sorry, Major. Maybe she got trampled." He shoved him away and tried to move back the way he had come.

"Cass!" His voice sounded rough to his own ears as he called her name again and again with no glimpse of her spritely form anywhere. Eventually, the crowd was becoming too much as they engaged their German guards and the tide of the camp turned firmly in the direction of the Allied forces.

For some reason, he was having trouble breathing as he looked up at the Nazi flag and wanted nothing more than to rip it down. No matter how angry he was with her. No matter how certain he was that the nail was in the coffin on their marriage. No matter how she made him feel love and despair in equal parts, the end of the war was something he wanted to share with her. He wanted her in his arms when this is all over. Wanted her to feel the way his heart was beating back to normal. Back to the way it was when he as a kid in Wisconsin. John just wanted to be happy with his wife. Even if only for a second. Even if only for one last time.

"Exactly as I fucking thought," Cass murmured as she had finally made her way to the building that she had guessed held the pieces of paper she was looking for. The tables in the building were covered in maps and official letters and morsels of information. She wanted all of it.

"Little petal. Come for one last goodbye?" The officer had lost some weight during the march but she would recognize the man who took the most joy in beating her anywhere.

"Come to try and kill me one last time?"

"Not until I get the taste of you I am owed." He lunged towards her, Cass ducking and rolling the side before kicking out her leg and aiming for the side of his knee. He crumpled with a yelp but recovered quickly enough to grab a fistful of her hair drag her towards him.

"You fucking pig!" She used both hands to reach for his wrist and gritted her teeth as she twisted until she heard something pop and he released her with a scream. With a newfound determination, Cass stood and stalked towards him, her boot kicking his gun away as he reached for it and crushing the bones of his fingers under their sole.

"No, please!" he cried.

"You fucking bastards want to take everything from me!" She dropped to her knees over his torso. "Started a war and took my brothers away from me!" Her knuckles burned as the recoiled from his nose. "Fucking smiled as you tried to break me over and over and over again!" She thinks it was blood splattering across her face. "And then you took the best thing that ever happened to me and you caged him and you beat him and are going to make it so I fucking lose him!" Her scream would be described as animalistic if anyone had overheard it as the man lay still underneath her. His face unrecognizable and her knuckles torn to shreds. He sputtered once and she drew her arm back again when she was pulled back against a chest and held steady.

"He's not going to hurt you anymore, Cass, he's not going to hurt you anymore. I've got you." She wept into his chest as he rocked her gently, his hand brushing through her hair and his lips pressing soothing kisses to her forehead. "There you go, my sweet love. Get it all out." After awhile, her cries reduced to hiccups and she felt a peace settle over her against his chest.

"How much of that did you see?"

"Enough." Her hand shook as she gripped at the front of his jacket. “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

"Just my hand and the back of my head. I promise." John held her hand tenderly against his heart, cradling her wrist like it was as delicate as an egg, his other arm wrapping around her waist to help her stand. Their bodies stayed pressed together as he reached for a handkerchief on the table and wrapped her hand tightly, kissing it softly once he was finished.

"That'll have to do while we get out of here." He jutted his chin towards the table of papers. "You get everything you need?" Instead, Cass looked down at the German.

"Yes. I think so." On cue, his hand twitched as he groaned. In a moment of mercy, Cass sighed and reached for his abandoned gun on the floor. John's finger wrapping through her own stopped her.

"You don't need any more nightmares, Cass." His thumb traced over her bottom lip. "He one of the ones who hurt you?"

"The one who enjoyed it the most," she answered as his fingers moved to twirl her hair that was falling from her braid around his fingers.

"Wait for me outside. I'll only be a moment."

She didn't even flinch at the gunshot.

#john egan #masters of the air #john egan fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #mota #john egan x oc #answered #cass and bucky

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hollygl125 · 2 months ago

Text

On the background of one Dr. Gilbert Grissom (a few further thoughts):

This is a note from my first story on my two favourite science nerds, and I’ve been meaning for a while to put it up here on Tumblr as meta. I’ve also added some additional thoughts at the bottom.

I’m sure almost anyone reading this probably has their own thoughts on Gil Grissom and his background, so I wanted to expand a little on what my thoughts on Grissom were when writing this, beyond what fit into the narrative. (I guess I should give a spoiler alert on this, but I assume anyone reading this has seen to the end of the first season of CSI: Vegas; consider that your spoiler alert for my comments in the last paragraph.)

Growing up in the era he did, and seeing his parents’ marriage when he was a young child (his mother later claimed she and Grissom’s father had never spent a night apart when he, her late husband, was still alive), I imagine a young Gil had at one time vaguely expected he would grow up, get married, and have the stereotypical nuclear family—because he would have thought that was just what one did.

Toward the end of his doctoral studies (which he apparently completes at the age of 22, though I don’t know if that’s after his August birthday in 1978 or before it in 1979), when he’s finally around enough people his own age, he meets a girl who likes him and who is nice to him, and he starts dating her, and he thinks himself in love—he just doesn’t know any better.

There’s no spark, but Grissom doesn’t recognize that. He’s also really into his studies and his other scientific pursuits, and they always take priority—science takes the pot. When the relationship with the girl ends, he isn’t upset. He still generally imagines some future family life for himself, though, because, again, that’s just what one does.

After his relationship with the girl ends, he tries to date occasionally, but his heart is never in it, and he’s very much just going through the motions. He doesn’t have any trouble getting dates if he wants them because, hello, he’s young Billy Petersen, and he’s a stone-cold hottie. He doesn’t even have to ask girls out. The liberated ladies of the 1970s (and on) are asking him out. Still, there’s never any spark on his side, but he doesn’t really get that; he still doesn’t know any better.

Plus, the science and now his job still always take priority; he loves them both. This is a self-perpetuating phenomenon because, as the things that really interest him take priority, his attempts at dating and anything even resembling a relationship (and I don’t imagine there being any other relationships of note, nothing longer than a couple of months, maybe, at maximum—and even then with him barely seeing the women) do not go well.

As a result, even more Grissom prioritizes science and work. So then the dating and any attempts at relationships go even worse; he’s really not into them, and his heart is still never in it; ultimately, they make him feel sad and disconnected from humanity. At the same time, due to all the horrendous things he sees on the job, his opinion of humanity is plummeting.

As this continues, he begins to think there is something wrong with him; he sees something inherently lacking in himself and how he is with other people, if he tries to get too close to them. He builds walls: barriers between himself and other people, barriers between himself and the rest of the world, barriers between himself and humanity.

Grissom’s earlier vague ideas of an eventual marriage and possible family fade out completely. He otherwise remains good-natured but detached. He fears being known. A shell grows around his heart. He still very occasionally goes out on a date or a few dates and maybe very, very, very rarely goes home with a woman, but at that point it’s all just to prove to himself that he’s made the right decisions and he’s not missing out on anything; it still leaves him feeling sad and even more disconnected. Things stay like this for quite some time.

Then, nearly twenty years into this process, after he is (in his own mind) truly a confirmed bachelor for life, he meets this young woman. Her beauty and her brilliance and her wit (I think he’d find her witty, given how much they seem to speak the same language and operate on the same wavelength) and all her other charms all hit him basically at once, almost simultaneously. For the first time in his life, he feels a spark, and she feels it, too. For the first time, he really cares about beauty.

But by this point Grissom has put up all these walls and grown this shell, and he’s fully convinced of his own ineptitude in relationships. So he has absolutely no f***ing clue what to do about it—this spark, this woman, this beauty. He feels like he’d be this inexperienced teenager trying to court the woman, because he’s never done any of this properly; he’s never actually cared about a woman like this before. He’s convinced that he would ruin any serious romantic relationship with the woman, that he’s just not good enough for her. And, the longer he knows her, the more convinced of her goodness he is.

For over seven years, Grissom has no real clue what to do. But then really, even though he seems to learn for a while, we could say that for seventeen and a half years he still doesn’t completely get it; he still has this underlying insecurity about his own suitability for love and relationships and marriage; he still thinks he’s not good enough for the woman. In the end, though, I think he gets it. He is fully obsessed with his wife (in the best possible way), and I honestly don’t think he gives a f*** about much other than her.

Now, if perhaps you want a reminder of the hotness of a young (’80s) WP, this is my favourite GIF. I also recommend you check him out as Richard Chance in To Live and Die in L.A., Russell Murdock (seriously, the DILFiest of all DILFs) in Amazing Grace and Chuck, and Stud Cantrell in Long Gone.

(This note complements what I describe in the third chapter of my first story, so I’d recommend checking that out If you’re interested in reading more!)

I have to admit that my ideas on Grissom’s background really were a “necessity is the mother of invention” kind of thing. I needed him to have a backstory that fit with my understanding of him from canon but that also got me where I needed to go in terms of the story I wanted to tell about him and Sara and their first meeting.

But I will also admit that I have very much drunk my own Kool-Aid on this matter; what was once an invention for storytelling purposes has very much become my own headcanon. The more I’ve thought about it, the more it makes sense to me. If Grissom had never even tried to be in a relationship, to date, etc. before Sara came along, he wouldn’t have been so resistant to it all. He wouldn’t have been so convinced of his own unsuitability, his own inferiority, his own unlovability. For that shell to have grown around his heart, something else has to have happened. He has to have gone through the motions. He has to have at least tried to put himself out there. He has to have tried and failed at least a little bit.

Anyway, that’s my opinion; your thinking may vary! 💛

#gsr #otp: gsr #sara x grissom #grissom x sara #gil grissom #sara sidle #💛: survivors in the night #survivors in the night: a las vegas love story #how is he so hot???#he’s so handsome here #my thoughts and feelings on the two lovely science nerds

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sergeantsporks · 8 months ago

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writing request: something about Camila's perspective of the BI maybe? I really like how you write her.

When Luz had called Camila—well, gotten stuck in some sort of in-between portal, but the end result had been the same—she had described the Boiling Isles to Camila. And Camila had been struck by how mature Luz’s description had been—it had seemed so grounded, so realistic. Nothing like the flowery prose she expected from her daughter. Entering a fantasy world should have sounded like fairies and rainbows coming from Luz; in a way, Camila had been proud of her for telling it how it was.

Now she was certain Luz hadn’t changed at all, and that HAD been the sugar-coated, fairies-and-rainbows version of the Isles.

The place where they’d come out of the portal hadn’t been so bad. The red trees and grass had been strange, to be sure, but they’d held an eerie sort of beauty. And watching the kids unleash their full potential had been breathtaking. But the rest of the Isles?

Camila leaned against the wall of Hexside with a sigh. Luz had somehow neglected, in all of her descriptions, to mention that the Isles were one giant floating corpse. Sure, she’d heard the term “titan’s blood” thrown around enough times while the kids tried to build their door, but she’d just assumed it was metaphorical.

Although, come to think of it, wasn’t gasoline just the pressed, decayed bodies of dinosaurs? And what was sand if not bits of shell fragments from long-dead sea creatures? Fine. The ground itself being a giant corpse wasn’t such a big deal. She could handle that. The massive carnivorous plants that had snapped at Amity in the woods before Willow had calmed them down? Well, they were really just massive Venus flytraps, weren’t they? The… eyeball lamppost…

Camila shuddered. She didn’t have a good point of reference for that.

“’scuse me.”

A gelatinous blob slid past her, leaving a steaming trail of mucous behind them that seemed to eat into the floor.

A high-pitched whine escaped Camila’s throat, but she patted her face. No, she told herself, you are a guest in their dimension. It is rude to stare.

She could see why Luz liked this place so much. It was strange, and not the sort of cute, quirky strange that most people liked, but the dangerous, ugly sort of strange that tended to scare people off. Camila hummed to herself, a small smile creeping onto her face. Exactly the kind of place Luz would feel at home. She could see little parts of Luz everywhere—the pink flesh like when she turned her eyelids inside out, the cobbled-together creatures, and, of course, the magic. Luz had always had it—sure, not in the literal way that the witches here did, where they could snap their fingers and make a plant grow, but the spark, her creativity… it was magic all on its own.

Camila’s smile faded at the thought of Luz’s words to her. She planned to leave the Isles forever. Camila knew that was the promise she’d asked for in a fit of desperation, to stay in the human realm, but if she could take those words back, she would do it again and again and again. Sure, the Isles were dangerous, and strange, and if you’d asked Camila a few months ago when Luz had first come home, she would have said that she never wanted her daughter stepping foot here ever again.

But that would have been months ago.

Camila had seen Luz’s friends, had been living with them for the last few months. They were dangerous, she couldn’t deny that. Anyone who could do the things those kids could was dangerous. But they were also kind, and funny, and smart, and god, they were kids. Camila could picture them going to a regular school in the human realm as easily as she could imagine Luz, and it made her heart hurt to think of what could have been had Luz found kids like them sooner.

So, yes. She thought her daughter deserved to stay with her friends. But even if they built a portal that her friends could come through and visit every day, even if every single one of Luz’s friends decided to move permanently into the human realm, Camila would still want to take back her promise.

Belos had seemed to scrape the light from her daughter’s eyes. She’d seen it the moment Luz had come home. At first, she’d told herself it was nothing, that she was just tired from her ordeal. But that light didn’t come back, not really. She saw the heavy ache lift from Luz, the way she sometimes felt the heavy ache of Manny’s absence lift when she saw Luz smile, but it never left completely.

Coming here… despite the mess, despite the danger, Camila saw a little light return to Luz. Everything she met, Camila saw some of that weight disappear, like every eyeball and strange creature was a friend she got to meet after a long time apart. Belos had told her some terrible things, had blamed her for so much. But the Isles seemed to soothe some of that pain. Even as Luz told Camila that she was leaving the demon realm behind forever, her eyes drank in every detail, begging it not to go.

And when Camila looked at the Isles through those eyes, through her daughter’s eyes…

It was beautiful.

#toh #the owl house #camila noceda #toh fanfiction #my writing #writing requests

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amaryllis-sagitta · 1 month ago

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You might have posts about this already but I was wondering what your take on bringing down the Veil vs keeping it was?

I used to be pro-keep the Veil in Trespasser bc it was unclear what exactly would happen to the other races. But DAV makes it sounds like it'd be demons and Blight doing the damage and like, even with the Veil up it's been a problem? Taking the Veil down might actually be a way to finally resolve the issue? At the same time I get the mythological aspect (for Solavellan) of the Dreadwolf trapping himself + the Herald of Andraste joining the Maker but what about Thedas? And if Solas' lifeforce sustains the Veil and maybe makes it harder for demons to cross and manages to stop the Blight from leaking... what about the trapped spirits? But also Solas is clinging to a culture that has been long dead so keeping the Veil up = him moving on from the past???

Idk rn I haven't done deep enough lore analysis to manage to know where I stand, so I'm curious about your take on it is

This one is a doozy because there are sooo many factors

I'd like to approach this question from several angles:

What is the Veil really and what does it do?

What drives Solas to take it down?

What are the possible consequences of Solas taking it down?

What does the Veilguard do with the questions 1-3?

What is the Veil?

Early Chantry & Tevinter sources (from DAO mostly) claim that the Fade is purely spiritual in nature, and the Veil is a universal, nonspacial boundary between realms. There was a Codex in DAI I think that hinted the Veil is purely an epistemic boundary between states of consciousness. However, the events in DAI disprove these claims since the Inquisitor is taken to the "Raw Fade", a section of the Fade where one can travel physically; thus confirming the Magister Sidereal story about physical traversal into the Fade. Solas recognizes the Raw Fade as a section particularly "close" to the Black City (bearing in mind that the topography of the Fade is warped, so that the Black City is the epicenter seen from every "location" in the Fade).

Following this, it seems that the Veil is an all-encompassing boundary within the world, that separates sections of both the spiritual and the physical world at the same time. A long time ago there was an amazing lore theory that the Veil is like an interaction of wavelengths.

What I write in the following paragraph is my synthetic conjecture from the lore up to Trespasser: the Fade is like an egg (sic), with the Black City being the yolk, the spirit essence being the white, and the Veil being the shell. Solas's intention, as revealed in DATV, was to build a barrier around the Evanuris -- but something very different happened. As a result, it seems that the spirit essence got grabbed and squished around the Black City by that very barrier, creating the weird topology of the modern Fade.

There were many theories concerning the very structure of the world - some claimed the "one world" was vertically aligned between the skies and the earth, there was a thorus theory and non-Euclidean theories... what is sufficient for now is speculation that "when the world was one", the Crossroads and possibly the spirit realm too were placed in the physical sky, and that the Veil closed off a layer of that sky along with the Black City (there was a lot of speculation based on myths and stuff like the Inquisitor in DAI "falling upwards" through the rift to justify this).

It is not entirely clear to me whether Solas foresaw that his move would deprive practically half the world of its spiritual infusion, and as it follows, its "primal magic" and all that resulted from it. He quite likely didn't. The arc including DATV consequently portrays Solas as a character full of catastrophic mistakes and collaterals, as a foil to the Executors teased as masterminds of the keikaku doori.

Until the Magisters Sidereal, something held the Black City contained within itself. Solas reveals in DATV that the Magisters Sidereal breached the prison he made for the Evanuris, and because of that, the Blight contained in the Black City started leaking into the Fade and the physical world.

But there is more to it. Here's another piece that is purely my speculation: the Blight is just one of the ways the Void manifests itself in the world, and the Black City should be primarily considered a place of the Void. In fact, I uphold that the Void is a "productive negative" to the everything that's covered by the allegories of light & earth in Thedosian lore. Another way the "voidening" of the world can be observed, metaphysically speaking, is the deprivation of virtue, and that includes spirits turning into demons. The fact that a powerful Nightmare Demon has its lair in the Raw Fade might prove that whatever is in the Black City has a corrupting influence on the spirits as well - it either attracts demons by virtue of holding a memory of the Magisters Sidereal, or it proactively infuses spirits with evil, so to speak.

If my speculation makes sense, this would be a deeper, hidden pretext to want Fade spirits to disperse further away from the Black City, actually.

So, why does Solas want to take the Veil down? What does he think he will accomplish?

We get several layers of explanation in this matter. In DAI, he sarcastically mentions

"[He has no ideas] Not unless we collapse the Veil and bring the Fade here so I can casually reshape reality."

This jab with the low approval Inquisitor is noticed as foreshadowing, but not as often used when arguing what Solas's true goal is. Commonly, the discourse happens about the post-credit scene and Trespasser, where he puts more emphasis on "his people needing him", on elves losing their magic and immortality.

This is a point of contention in the fandom but personally, I do not entirely agree with a common claim that the sociopolitical layer of it all is his main motivation. Yes, he does look down on the mortals of Thedas and distances himself personally from modern elves. Yes, he needs convincing that post-Veil mortals deserve recognition in their appropriate metaphysical condition. Yes, only a year before DAI he killed/ "tranquilized" his best friend who claimed that mortal elves like Briala deserve a chance. Yes, he goes Farquaad on several occasions, acknowledging that taking the Veil down will likely have many casualties. Personally, I view this partly as a result of Solas's severe dissociation from corporeal existence that results from him regretting having joined the world, his long slumber and his confusion after millennia of absence.

What he really needs from the "un-Veiling" is the return of the primal magic and the Fade spirits "down under". The juxtaposition between him and Elgar'nan serves to show the difference between Elgar'nan as a full-fledged egotistical tyrant with an endless desire for worship and control, and Solas as a deeply opinionated and stubborn idealist who will use manipulation and violence when things don't go the way he thinks they should (or the way Mythal desires...). Despite similarly big egoes and a similar sense of self-righteousness, Solas holds a genuine attachment to some humanitarian ideals that drive him to incite his rebellion, advocate negative freedom and equity, and free slaves also in the post-Veil physical world.

Other than that, the confirmation of the spirit origin theory means that by "his people", Solas means Fade spirits arm in arm with the elvhen who formed bodies. It is confirmed by notes from Vir Dirthara that the two races maintained fraternal relationships after the manifestation of the elvhen.

This, of course, carries catastrophic consequences. As far as Trespasser goes, these are very vaguely hinted; but what is certain, many people will not survive. The phrase he says in Trespasser is

"I will save the elven people. Even if this world must die."

"[...] the return of my people means the end of yours."

In The Dread Wolf Take You, he tells Charter:

"I have no choice. What I am doing will save this world, and those like you -- the elves who still remain -- may even find it better, when it's done." [P. Weekes, The Dread Wolf Take You, Tevinter Nights, Titan Books & BioWare 2020, p. 506]

So, at that point, he believes at least some elves will survive the catastrophe, but they will transform into a different people. As for other races - I don't think he really knows, so he assumes the worst, because every time he meddled with the fabric of reality, things went to absolute shit. He is really misleading with his equivocations here - as demonstrated, he uses "death" literally when it comes to potential casualties, but his intentions seem more aligned with the transitional and transformative metonymy of "death", especially when he speaks about the world at large.

Then, in DATV, he claims what he seeks is "restoration", which has a double meaning too - it's a change towards what had already been, but also -- healing. He repeats the phrase about the Veil being a wound that can't be allowed to prevail because through it, the organism is weakened and exposed to further injury and infection. And the broader context of DATV hints that this threat for Thedas isn't the Blight that came from within the world, but something external, yet unexplored.

In Metaphysics of Thedas, I have thought about what "this world" means in the context of the culminating scene of Tevinter Nights. Allow me to just self-plagiarize:

"The first time Fen'Harel mentions "this world", he means the destruction of the Veil and the post-Veil world order. But the second time, he mentions saving "this world"; he must mean something different. I think that, once we break that equivocation down, then the "world" in the second sentence means greater stakes, "all creation", just as he mentioned when he chastized the participants of the Mortalitasi's ritual. If there is any truth to this warning from Fen'Harel, the current order of the world is on a crash course towards collapse unless a demigod corrects his mistake." [source]

In the context of The Dread Wolf Take You and the secret ending of DATV, it likely has something to do with the Executors and "The Devouring Storm" that the Evanuris also fought. In that full context, taking the Veil down was built up as something Solas views as necessary in order to fend a greater danger off -- perhaps mistakenly, perhaps there was a different way to achieve it (as hinted by Callback from Tevinter Nights). Based on pre-DATV media, there is a way to see a setup for the Inquisitor and Varric to dissuade Solas, or maybe even to agree with his motives to a degree.

Still, the "death of the world" is as radical as it gets, and I firmy believe it starts from the metaphysical order, thought the most igniting and the most emphasized about it is the potential loss of life on the Waking side, and Solas's readiness to accept casualties results from him foreseeing the sheer amount of chaos a catastrophe of this scale will cause, and the upheaval that will follow, rather than fully calculated and deliberate killing. The difference lies in intentions and not necessarily in results, which to many will not be much of an argument. Applied ethics would grasp it through the doctrine of a double effect. The principle goes this way: An action, brought about for a purpose viewed as unequivocally good, has a catastrophic side effect. The said catastrophic effect can sometimes be more permissible if it was "merely foreseen" and not used as a means to an end.

This, I believe, is the way Solas justifies himself: the destruction of the post-Veil world order (so, the deaths, the destruction of infrastructure and societies) is not something he deliberately wants to do in order to restore the spirits and ubiquitous magic to the Waking world. It is something he "merely foresees" as a likely consequence, and what drives him is the preservation of "all creation", possibly.

What also matters is that he brings the Veil down the way he wants, in a controlled manner - which is why the ancient devices from DAI actually strengthened the Veil, and Solas frowned upon a thought of the Wardens killing the remaining Archdemons in their sleeps and thus making the remaining Evanuris expire abruptly - which would make the Veil degrade outside Solas's control and possibly even make the Black City burst open and unleash all the tainted bullshit, that would have destroyed the pre-Veil world had Solas not contained it.

And this is where we arrive to the most confusing part:

What does DATV do with that story arc?

Well, Veilguard unambiguously links Solas's plan with "drowning the world in demons" and going full Farquaad on the population of Thedas, and Rook gets multiple opportunities to either rant about how fake he is when he presents his perspective, or to psychoanalyze Solas with an intention of outsmarting or defeating him in the end. Throughout the game, we can see Fade rifts opening again everywhere, albeit they only seem to serve game mechanics, and they... seal themselves as soon as the enemy waves expire? The factor of gradual degradation that was hinted in the context of the Veil before (even when we activated the blasted Veil strengthening orbs, one of whom even Lucanis & Illario found during The Wigmaker Job) isn't showed very clearly here imo -- neither has it transformed into rapid degradation that would change the situation significantly.

Then, no matter what ending we choose, he ends up with the Veil bound to his lifeforce, and apparently also fully healed because... he isn't tainted? Because the Evanuris are out of the picture, so the taint is weaker and less aggressive now and nature is healing? I cannot lie, this conclusion sounds like a plot hole resulting from the need to funnel down the plot by its end. The nuance of the Veil situation might have been written off becuse it legitimately warranted a branching choice that, perhaps, sounded too Mass Effect 3: Defeat Solas and Keep the Veil Up, informed by DATV default state, Cooperate with Solas and Take the Veil Down, or Find a Middle Ground that acknowledges both sides and and make Solas deliver on his multiple promises to "minimize the damage".

Personally, I wish we had seen the Veil go down in the end, even as a branching scenario -- partly because it would have been a bold move, partly because it was teased in tidbits like Kordillus Drakon's prophecy of the Maker's return and Sandal's moment of prophecy from DA 2. It sounded like a worthy culmination to this series' apocalyptic themes, and a more organically tragic way to wrap up that part of the setting and leave a nearly clean slate for a ton of new worldbuilding.

#solas #dread wolf #dragon age meta #da meta #the veil #the fade #metaphysics of thedas #by magister asinius vivellius #ask #featured

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dent-de-leon · 1 year ago

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Thinking about how Lucien wasn't able to sleep for months and months. How night after night, he kept trying to find respite, but the Somnovem never once let him rest. "Oh! You thought you were free! That's pretty cute. That's hilarious, actually...No, you're the Nonagon. That's forever. That lasts well beyond death, my friend."

Molly/Lucien being a dreamer in every life. A romantic. Lucien clinging to the fantasy that, "Once upon a time, there was a happy family." Molly watching all his dreams turn to nightmares of a screaming city, watching him slowly slip away from everything he knew and loved. "You don't dream of her anymore." "No, I only dream of them now."

And then when Molly is finally reborn, when finally he has the chance to sleep, he dreams so deep and vividly. He doesn't even wake until Jester casts Greater Restoration on him, and when she does, he bolts awake still reeling from what he'd seen. Like he's still lost in a dream--a lovely, happy dream.

"Oh...I was having the nicest dream...There was. Oh. There was a circus. And--ah, and this beautiful woman, in a--a red coat. And she was telling me secrets, showing me how to keep secrets. I...And oh, there was a--that sad angel, and--and there were adventures, and I was...we went everywhere, and saw..."

When Caleb asks, "What's your name?" he can't even answer at first, because he's still lingering on the warm memory of a distant dream. "I felt--I felt kingly. I felt very regal. Kingly...Sorry, what?" He sounds like he's still drifting in the memory of it. Like he regrets it when everything starts to slip through his fingertips in the light of day. "These faces aren't meaning anything...They're already fading...Is that me...?"

His first sleep since Lucien took the body, his first dream since Molly closed his eyes for the last time. And at the very least, it's a lovely dream. (It also breaks my heart that Kingsley dreams of Lestera that first night, just like how Lucien used to dream of Brevyn before the Somnovem.) But it seems Kingsley doesn't often have that luxury:

"Every now and then, your mind occasionally begins to recall memories through an occasional nightmare. Flashes of blurred memory, and time spent locked with another--familiar, yet revolving, revolting--place. The shell of loathing inescapable interior, looking out from your prison, pushing against your invisible binds. When your heart found the strength, giving all that you are to help those who gave you purpose in return. It was worth it. It was worth it."

"Yet on a rare occasion, that odd memory continues to return. That moment you gave yourself and broke your prison. The warm catharsis of letting go. And the strange black chains that wove through the city, now broken. The sound of them shattering between worlds, shaking you in that liminal space. The angry, unknowable, primal, ancient cry that you can never forget."

The fact that Kingsley is still tormented by nightmares of the city's end--and that it seems he always will be. The way Taliesin says, "And perhaps those chains will find some quiet in piracy." Like the pirate life is just something he threw himself into as an escape.

How King dreams so peacefully and happily of his life as Molly. How Lucien's folly still haunts him in nightmares over and over.

I really hope we get to see Kingsley in the Apogee Solstice with the rest of the Nein. And I hope he's been having better dreams--

#mollymauk #kingsley tealeaf #lucien tavelle #head in my hands...lucien wasnt able to dream for months #and then king has one very good dream remembering his time as molly #before hes tormented by the same nightmare of the city over and over--#this tief deserves so much rest and good dreams after everything #and since moonweaver often sends her worshippers messages in dreams #i hope she gives him a reprieve from the nightmares when she can--

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saintsir4n · 1 year ago

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BONUS CHAPTER

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF WAR, DEATH AND PTSD

1918

THOMAS Shelby's breath got caught in his throat when he saw... them. Despite his soul being split between life and death, his heart remained in Small Heath, in the clutches of two people who looked at him like he wasn't the same man. He wasn't, he and the rest of the Birmingham Riffles were already dead, and seeing his daughter pull away from Eden's grasp and run between the crowds of people and her uncles who were wrapped up in the hugs from the family, he dropped his duffle bag as soon as she threw her arms around him, he finally caught his breath.

"Daddy!" she cried into the crook of his neck. She recognised him despite the sombre look in his eyes, "It's you, from the pictures and stories."

He didn't let go of the little girl, feeling the liveliness and joy radiating off of her, warming his undead heart. Her croaky voice brought tears to his eyes. Pulling away, her arms never moved from his neck, but her legs settled around his waist.

"'Ello," he uttered in awe.

Inara's smile grew wider by the second, taking in his hollow cheeks, raven hair and pale blue eyes that mirrored hers. Tommy couldn't believe it, no description from any letter did his daughter justice, she was something else, she was the very pull he needed to keep fighting in France. He didn't think he would be able to love someone more than Eden and here she was, half him, half her.

The beauty marks dotted around her innocent face were what got him, just like my Edie, my pretty girl.

He would protect her with his life and that vow he would never break.

"'Ello Tommy," Eden reached him after being almost knocked over by John and Arthur. Jeremiah made sure to thank her for the role she played in his son's life while he was away. The three men spent their time off to the side, greeting the rest of the family, doting over the new additions and pointing out the differences they could all see.

"Mummy it's Daddy," Inara squealed, laughing at the two, wondering why they were just staring at each other, shell-shocked and stunned beyond belief.

All the details they tried to take in before they parted all those years back, had changed ever so slightly, they were the same, and they were different. Eden appeared far more vigilant and attentive, partially due to the little girl in his arms, she had to change. Her hair; in its natural state, settled above her neck, whilst his was shaven around the sides, just like she'd last seen.

But it was the eyes, all in the eyes, they never lied.

She could see that he wasn't there, her Tommy was trapped, part of him died back in those trenches if not all. Trapped between life and death. Some made it back, others didn't, but those who survived didn't really, part of them still entangled by the mud and the patting of the shovels.

He could see that his Eden morphed into someone else, far less reactive and impulsive.

They both simultaneously pulled out their lucky charms, his horseshoe and her necklace, it brought a crooked smile to his face but failed to meet his empty eyes. There were times in the mud, the bullets and miles of death when he thought his luck would run out, his time was finished and life seconds from ending, where Eden would fade from his memory, but she was also stuck in his mind, pulling him out of the hole he dug himself. Each time he touched the horseshoe, he thought of his little girl, and she was enough, the motivation she gave him was enough, enough to survive. The necklace draped around her neck has pushed her to prevail, through the lonely nights, sleepless ones, the ones where she cried herself to sleep thinking of all she lost.

The rings they wore bound them for life, but what life would they live now? The only place to go was up.

"I promised we'd meet again, didn't I?" Was the first thing he uttered to his fiancé.

You didn't come back, not really. He knew what she wanted to say, but instead, she rushed over, placing a hand on his face, Inara watched their interaction with an innocent smile.

"You did," Eden finally smiled.

Tommy's lips connected with Eden's, arms wrapping around her waist and it was like everything was slowly coming back together, like two missing puzzle pieces. Neither had looked at another soul since they'd parted, sure they were French girls who threw themselves at him, just like there were men who glanced Eden's way, but they paid no mind to the attention, just fixated on the future flashing through their minds and ongoing battles they were facing.

"My girls," he muttered against her lips.

"Like my dress daddy?" Inara paid no attention to the kiss, slightly wrapped up in the toy horse in her hands, which caught Tommy's attention, it made him stiffen, knowing who had bought it for his daughter, "Wore it for you Daddy, it's pretty."

"I can see that," he didn't hesitate to respond, trying to be as engaged with his daughter as much as possible.

"Pretty like mummy and me," Eden blushed at her words.

Tommy turned to his fiancé, and his crooked smile, morphed into a grin, "It is, very pretty," Inara stared, hanging onto his every word, wondering what he would say next. That's when he knew he had to be better, protect her from the world around them and the demons that taunted his mind, "I wish you could've met me before the war," he whispered to her, but Eden could hear.

"You're 'ere now," Inara didn't stop beaming as she spoke.

"I am, that I am," he agreed with her then took Eden's hand in his.

It wasn't long before the rest of the family swarmed the trio, chuckling and cheering amongst themselves, shocked by the similarities that the little girl shared with Tommy, just like everyone was stunned by how John's twins were the spitting image of Martha, God rest her soul. More hugs were given, and cries of joy were heard and sad tears were shed, blessings were said, but unfortunately, the soldiers couldn't take much in.

Instead, they couldn't help but think back to the times when smoke meant a cigarette had been lit and not that a bomb had been blown. When balloons popping didn't sound like gunshots, but that was a lifetime ago.

Everything changed, they'd changed and now they'd returned.

The war might've finished back in France, but it was only starting in Small Heath.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THE END

a/n:

i hope you all enjoyed this short story, i started planning it a couple of months ago. i loved writing about these different characters, especially eden. for some reason i found her to be more challenging to write because she is a very emotional person (and i am one too) but i also tend to write characters that are dissimilar to me to an extent. although you can see in the epilogue and this chapter that the four years did a lot to her and she hardened up, not because she wanted to, but because she had to manage and raise a baby.

even in this final chapter, writing the interaction between inara and tommy was sad in my opinion, we all know how closed off and vacant he became because of the war, even with how he was with charlie, he wasn't much of a dad in the end, (i lowkey blame that on the death of ruby and polly and grace even though i wasn't her biggest fan). i believe if i wrote inara throughout the show, she would see a side to tommy she would grow to hate but also learn to work with. that little girl would be his karma, considering eden was forced to grow up mentally, whilst inara would mimic her past behaviour. tommy loves his girls and vows to protect and love them but also always be loyal to them, so it would be interesting to see.

before anyone asks, i have thought about writing the rest of the show, however, that would take a lot out of me, considering its six seasons worth of planning and truthfully i doubt eden would stay with tommy after the shit he pulls in canon, even the things i'd thought about adding it would possibly break her, so i won't be writing the show, but i have thought of ideas to put on tumblr.

thank you for reading guys and follow my tiktok, tumblr and watch out for any conversation posts on my wall.

- liv

#wattpad #fanfic #black reader #black girl #edendawkins #eden dawkins #tommyshelby and edendawkins #tommyshelbystory #tommy shelby fanfic #tommyshelby x blackreader #tommyshelbyxedendawkins #1918 #peakyblinders fic #thegreatwar

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