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kinky-pen · 5 months ago

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Do you have any headcanons of the hosts, both SFW and NSFW?

(2/2) ...Actually, when I mean “NSFW” Headcanons for the hosts, don’t include Honey, obviously. Have a couple of random thoughts on all the hosts. Not too much for the SFW, as I recently answered something similar, but a couple of NSFW headcanons for each of them below the cut.

SFW Headcanons

Tamaki

Finally realised he was pansexual in his final year of university, which really should've come sooner. Had a whole, elaborate coming out party, during which Kyoya just yelled inarticulately and stormed off. That's when Tamaki found out his best friend had been in love with him since middle school. (Depending on what you ship - I ship everything - that would be when Tamaki and Kyoya got together)

Haruhi

Finally gets fancy tuna in university. It wasn't the hosts who bought it for her, however, but a classmate who was incredibly thankful for the tutoring Haruhi gave them. Yes, the hosts were all incredibly upset (showing it in their own ways), and it was just a massive headache for Haruhi in general. They did admit it was stupid of them after about a week, though, and apologised.

Kyoya

Started med school in an effort to catch up to his brothers. The subsequent mental breakdown was not worth it, and he dropped out. Took the rest of the year as a gap year and then took the usual business and finance degrees when he got back from his travels. (The new septum piercing was discarded not long after he got back, however, after too many comments from the twins and Akito.

Kaoru

His fashion design degree nearly killed him. He was living on ramen (because it was convenient) and energy drinks for so long, just working on his projects day and night. The other ex-hosts had to host an intervention and make him sleep. He woke up after being dead to the world for nearly 20 hours, and everyone (except med student Kyoya) thinking he'd slipped into a coma.

Hikaru

Conversely to his brother, Hikaru spent a lot of time in university going to parties, especially those held by the chem majors (iykyk). Had a lot of fun, made a lot of friends, and dragged Kaoru with him by his hair more often than he probably should've. It was good stress relief for the both of them, though.

Mori

Very popular at university, in both senses of the word. While Mori's not the type for too many trysts and one night stands, it didn't mean he didn't have a lot of offers. Had a couple of girlfriends, and a few boyfriends, during this time.

Hani

Buckled down during university, in terms of studying, but still retained quite a few of his childish traits. Usa-chan did frequently accompany him to lectures, and was a bit of a hit with the rest of the class. In fact, Usa-chan became the class mascot not too long into first term.

NSFW Headcanons

Tamaki

Versatile. Can go from a good boy whining but taking it like a champ one minute, only to switch up and use that charisma and princely desire to pull one over on his partner (consensually, ofc) the next moment.

It may have been a joke in the beach episode, but this boy is indeed into bondage! Restraints, blindfolds, harnesses. He doesn't mind if he's tying up his partner, or if he's the one being tied up!

When subbing, he loves puppy play. He's just a good boy who needs you to tell him he's a good boy, petting him and rubbing his tummy while giving him treats for being so perfect and precious (whether in a feedist scenario or not). Kinky, stop projecting ffs

Haruhi

A switch, but does prefer topping. You've got to be the right kind of top/dom to get her to step down, basically. I feel like Haruhi's love language is mainly acts of service, with a smattering of words of affirmation, combine beautifully to make a service top who knows what she's doing.

When in full dom mode, she loves total control of her sub. They do as she says, or she'll keep them "in suspense" until they cry. Could certainly be an excellent brat tamer for the right sub, but it depends if she can be bothered to have that much attitude aimed at her. I mainly see the brat tamer dynamic working for HikaHaru, rather than any other ships, though.

Wants to hear her partner come undone, but is happy to use a gag on them if they whimper loud enough for her to hear. Actually kind of enjoys the challenge of trying to make them so loud that the gag doesn't do much of anything.

Kyoya

Kyoya is a sub, a bottom (because they are not mutually exclusive) and a pillow prince, I'll take no criticism at this time, thank you. He just melts in so many kink scenarios where he's told what to do, from being pampered to being tortured. He'll try topping for the right person, if they really wanted him to, but it's much more likely that you'll have a surprisingly needy brat on your hands.

Blindfold him and tell him he's pretty. Worship him with your voice and hands, and make him feel like he's the most precious thing in the world. He'll start crying, I promise, and then you'll get to see cute tearstains on that lovely blindfold. (He loves the feeling of support while being so incredibly vulnerable, it's not something he's had much of before)

He's either so silent when he cums that some partners would barely notice (and proceed to just overstimulate him to the point of multiple orgasms - but he loves that), or the loudest goddamn sub ever. The quietest whimper, or the loudest fucking screaming and begging to cum, absolutely no in-between.

Kaoru

Surprisingly, prefers topping. His act with Hikaru had him as a power bottom (thank you ohshc manga for spelling that out plain as day). I highly doubt he'd want a sub dynamic with someone he actually wants a relationship with (whether romantic or purely sexual), as it'd just make him think of hosting with his brother (ew!)

Though, this boy is still a Hitachiin. Loves humiliation. Will be using your kinks against his partner in order to embarrass them (again, consensually). Think comments like "wow, can't you keep it together? We're practically in public", while doing everything he can to push his partner's buttons.

Kaoru will lick his partner dry when they're done, cleaning them up with nothing but his tongue. As long as he has time on his hands, at least. It's a talented tongue, and half the time it just starts another round off again. How bad, what a shame /s.

Hikaru

Says he's a top, but actually is a bratty power bottom (how the turn tables). He wants to be fucked hard, and if it's not to his liking then he will let his partner know. Teasing, jeering, everything. Loves making whoever he's with pissed off while their fucking him. It just makes it rougher, even more passionate, and he just wants his brains fucked out of his pretty little head.

Bullying kink. Some slight bimbo/stupification leanings, honestly. Wants someone to talk down to him like he's just too stupid to function. They'll get something sharp and snarled in response, but his eyes and erection are begging them to keep pushing. Call him every name under the sun, shove him around, step on his crotch. He'll fight it, duh, but it gets to the point where he's just too turned on and needy to continue, and then he can be fucked to his partner's content.

Wants multiple orgasms (most of the time), and what he wants, he gets. If his partner doesn't get him off enough times before stopping, he will just touch himself until he gets another one or two in. If his dom can't stop him first, that is.

Mori

Service top, gentle dom. If his partner wants him to be any degree of mean, there's going to be a lot of trial and error, as well as a lot of talking about it before hand. It's going to take a while to build up to Mori using his massive strength and such on his partner (but it'll be worth it when he gets there, trust me)

No restraints but his hands and weight. Well, maybe on request, but he wants to pin his partner down himself, using those big hands to pin their wrists, pressing his weight down on them so he can feel every buck and shudder. Why should he let some metal and scraps of fabric do what he takes pleasure in?

His voice goes so deep when he's on the edge of an orgasm, encouraging his partner to just keep going, so good, feels so nice. Deep and breathy, all at once. A quiet guy, but so pretty to hear. He also likes his partner being loud about their own pleasure, does like to try and make them beg a little. He just wants to know they're having a great time.

#dni if a minor or not kink positive - thank you #ouran high school host club #ohshc #tamaki suoh #kyoya ootori #haruhi fujioka #kaoru hitachiin #hikaru hitachiin #takashi morinozuka #mitsukuni haninozuka #not listing ships bc they aren't gone into detail with tbh

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odinsblog · 1 year ago

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“Jann Wenner, the founder of Rolling Stone magazine, has now found himself in hotdog water after an interview with New York Times writer David Marchese, where he revealed that the reason he did not include Black or female artists in his book is because they were not in his ‘zeitgeist,’ and he did not feel that female artists were ‘articulate enough on this intellectual level.’”

Jann Wenner is extremely inarticulate himself, but has been the gatekeeper of such things as who is or is not articulate enough for quoting or admiring for their contributions to Rock & Roll — a genre of music CREATED by Black people. And since he failed to mention any, lest we forget, people can be both Black and women simultaneously. (TERFs dni)

And just for clarity: Wenner exhibited the racism, sexism and tokenism that has probably held back many talented people throughout his very long career of picking winners and losers, and deciding who gets rewarded and who doesn’t in the music industry.

And one last thing: while I give the audio interviewer partial credit — not full credit — for pressing Wenner on his sexism and racism, I am imploring white people to unambiguously name and call things for what they really and truly are, in the moment.

PLEASE STOP CODDLING RACISTS AND MISOGYNISTS.

Coddling white fragility is not helpful, it’s harmful.

Unambiguously calling out racism is helpful, not harmful.

SN: Obviously the same goes for all the other isms too (Islamophobia, antisemitism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. etc.)

Don’t let members of the oppressor class trick you into thinking that call-out culture (aka, accountability) is a bad thing. It’s not.

Racist gatekeepers need to be embarrassed and called out. On a regular basis. When they’re young, people want to excuse their racism because of their youth. And then when they are old, people excuse their racism because, “Well that’s just the way they grew up,” and before you know it, some racist misogynistic asshole has lived their entire life without anyone ever seriously telling them that they’re racist. AND THEN we wonder why nothing is changing!

Instead of being concerned with hurting the feelings of a racist, maybe try being more concerned with the people who their racism will inevitably harm. Let’s try more of that please.

👉🏿 https://thehub.news/old-white-guy-hates-black-music-that-made-him-rich/

#jann wenner #rolling stone #racism #misogyny #rock and roll #gatekeepers #white fragility #the masters #rolling stone magazine #rock n roll

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emsgwenstan · 1 year ago

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bitterness and lipstick

larissa weems x reader (fluff)

summary: mortica is a bitch to say it bluntly, you and Larissa are married and put on a show for Mrs Addams more specifically. gomez is a poor bystander in the mess.

warnings: implied smut towards the end but not directly mentioned. just you giving tish a little of her own medicine.

You are resting alone in your shard bed scrolling on your phone, passing time until you need to get ready for duties and classes, Larissa already left to work in her adjoining office 2 hours ago, you hadn’t gone in to check on her or give her a routine kiss on the cheek and lips like usual, because you knew she had a very busy schedule today.

Last night You and Larissa had spoken about what she had on today and she was particularly nervous for the Addams’s arrival again, something to do with ways for Wednesday to have a positive behaviour change without making her feel like she’s trapped in a penitentiary, so she has no want to escape all the time. Of course you coaxed her into feeling less anxious to have a fitful sleep. however Larissa woke at 4am to start getting ready. you lay in bed watching her flit from closet, to vanity, to mirror, to the edge of the bed, only the walking robe and vanity illuminating little light to the large room. while she quietly mumbles to herself after hitting her knees and elbows on things because she can’t see, you rolled over to turn on a lamp by your side when she turned to you wide eyed. “darling I woke you I’m so sorry- I” she spoke, “no honey it’s fine. though you do realize you still have like three hours before you even need to get up.” You said sleepily. She checked her watch and slumped back into the bed flopping backward onto your lap, her long waves spilling all over the the covers.

Just lying there for a while running your fingers through her hair and lightly scratching her scalp her breathing became more regular as her heart slowed from racing. Your head was propped in your hand with your elbow securing you watching Larissa in a love filled gaze, moments like these are so domestic, so raw and wholesome and forever cherished. She broke the silence, “your staring, I can feel your eye’s penetrating me.” She smugly spoke, her eyes peeked open than closed again with a small smirk playing on her lips. “Oh I’m sorry I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to observe my beautiful, beloved wife- but oh well than I’ll just stop and go back to sleep since she woke me up…” you playfully nudging her off your thighs and rolled over covering yourself in the blankets, closing your eyes in mock sleep. “No I didn’t say stop, darling..” she was sitting on her knees shaking your shoulders, “my darling no don’t… I- please!” Larissa was half yelling, you gave in and tossed back the covers giggling like love drunk teenagers, letting Larissa fully engulf you, she lay her whole body on top of yours as if it were impossible for you to move from her entrapment.

“I love you my beautiful, gorgeous, darling.” She muttered into the space just below your ear. “And I you my dearest Ma chérie.” You softly spoke readjusting you head to kiss her nose than her forehead, eyelids, cheekbones and finally her lips, both feeling each other smiling into the kiss.

When it was time for Larissa to actually start getting ready you dragged her to the vanity and sat her on the stool taking her brush and starting the process of her daily up-do. Just as she was about to leave when she tucks her laptop under her arm and leans down slightly to give you her routine goodbye/see you soon kiss, and off she went to the next room.

Which brings you to the present, dragging yourself off the bed and traipsing to the bathroom, but before you made it there you could hear voices coming from Larissa’s office, obviously knowing who was in there, just her voice made your eyes roll, mortica and her ridiculous condescending voice and unfortunately inarticulate husband are both in the presence of your poor wife. Leaning close to the door to hear more of the conversation. “Yes we’ll Wednesday can be very fickle, as I'm sure you are aware, but I believe it’s nothing you cant handle Larissa…mhmm? if only you had help. I’m sure it gets very lonely for you, yes?” Said mortica. Your eyes snapped wide, full of rage. How could she say that to someone-anyone? Be so cruel in the most pathetic way? No one- no one speaks to your wife that way and gets away with it. “I don’t believe you’ve come all this way to talk about me Mrs Addams.” Larissa replied, knowing she hates the way she revokes first name basses, you slightly smirked knowing how she would have looked like when she said it. “No I don’t believe we did, but tell me how long has it been 10-15 years since you were with someone?” You could hear and just about feel the smugness dripping from her voice.

You had met the Addams’s before at a school reunion about 7 or so years back when just being apart of the staff to help host and instantly hatted the vile woman who’s only goal in life was to exert ‘power and superiority’ to others, but in a malicious manner. At that stage you and Larissa had been very close friends and that was the day you admitted to her that you liked her, a lot. *Larissa was shut down and ridiculed by mortica for choosing to continue her life at nevermore instead of leaving, you still remember the exact feelings of that moment, watching the conversation from afar and viewing Larissa’s face only to see her slip from the room with her head hung low. She went to the highest tower in the school where she usually went to be alone apart from her classroom, you knew that from seeing her in passing, she was sitting on the edge of the window looking at the stars with tears silently streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, that was very nasty.” You stated. She was startled and quickly wiped her face. “I can’t believe you saw that.” Larissa whispered. I stepped closer and grasped her face. “I haven’t a clue as to why she would be so harsh and vicious, I’ve never met such a mean woman. All I know is that I couldn’t ever be so inhumane to you… not when you are the soul reason to my happiness.” you said the last part as if it were a secret. Her face contorted to questioning, almost as if she we’re putting the puzzle together in her head. “Y-you? I… what?” You took a deep breath ready for rejection but it was worth it letting her know that she’s worthy and enough. “You Larissa Weems are the reason I get out of bed in the mornings, and have a smile on my face when I see you, because… Because I love you. With all my heart. I know you don’t feel the same but you need to be aware that there will always be someone who wants you, who respects, cares and loves you for all that you are and all that you do.” Larissa abruptly stood up grabbed your neck pulling you to her and kissed you so hard you were breathless once she pulled away*. Two years later you we’re married happily and making your ways up the ranks within to school together.

Coming up with the most brilliant idea of your existence or so you thought, you spun around and headed to the vanity, merrily plucking out Larissa's lipstick and applying it to your lips and kissing the back of your hand stamping the pigment on your neck, jaw, cheeks and corners of your mouth wiping away the the red from your hand and own lips. Back at the door waiting for yet another backhanded comment towards Larissa, it was your queue when mortica spoke again. “You know I think you and Gomez’s brother are a match, such a flattering man. What do you think Gomez?” Larissa convulsed on the spot. You opened the door wearing one of her sweaters and underwear. “Honey do you know where I put my- oh sorry I didn’t realize you had company.” You said, Larissa’s face was full of shock until she understood that this was a show, a show just for her. Larissa blushed and smirked at you, almost proud of the way your behaving. “I apologies, morning sweetheart… mrs Addams.” Dismissing Gomez all together, Mortica was dumfounded, her mouth hung agape and eyes wide, Mr Addams leaned toward his wife “I remember her.” He said finally catching up to the unraveling scene, mortica glared over her shoulder and gave him the look, he retracted immediately. You tossed a grin toward Larissa and retreated back into your bedroom.

Larissa sat still watching the closed door with a smile before returning to the conversation at hand. “So you were saying?” She spoke with her infamous head tilt and mock concern. You went back to the bathroom put on a full face of makeup taken off all the lipstick and put on a tight yet professional three-quarter-length sleeve black dress that ended at the knee, it hugged all the right places and accentuated Larissa’s most favorite parts, choosing black on behalf of showing up mortica and knowing you pull it off better. your hair pulled out of your face and your feet adorned with a pair of heels that are considerably high, you usually only wore for formal occasions, your not much shorter than Larissa, so the heels made you almost as tall as her, if you were going to do this you were going all the way. Lastly you put on one of Larissa’s gold chain’s, your bracelets and earrings before getting the Finishing touch, you engagement and wedding rings.

Waltzing back into the room you locked eyes with your beloved once more and stood at her side, laying your left hand on her shoulder. Morticas gaze went from the two of you to your hand, looking at the generously sized diamond and band, you could almost see a twitch to her eye. Larissa fully supporting this rouse she lifted her left hand, readjusted her necklace pendant with the diamond matching the one fixed on your finger and made out to absentmindedly stroke your own hand, morticas jaw clenched and eyes hardened at the sight of the matching wedding band and forced a smile, you had to stifle a laugh side eyeing Larissa, she merely took pleasure from the woman in front of her. “Well, I think we have a plan.” Larissa started, waiting for mortica’s acknowledgement but nothing. My my the mortica Addams rendered silent? No, could it be? And evil chuckle threatening to vibrate from your chest but never made it out. “Mrs addams are you quite alright? You look unfavorably… ill.” You said. “I…I-uhh no I’m fine. Does she have to be here while we are talking about our daughter?” She managed to ask Larissa, she raised her brows in disbelief, “who my wife? Well it’s just as much business of hers it is mine, considering she’s the deputy principal and one of your daughters teachers.” At this point mortica sat back in her chair and let out a huff in defeat.

After back and forth banter it was time to bid them farewell, to get rid of that horrid woman. They all stood in unison and shook hands as if closing a deal, Gomez first than mortica. “Always a pleasure mortica.” You said, and in return as an attempt to make you jealous? Revolted Maybe- she grabbed her husband and kissed him rather disgustingly, you and Larissa gave each other a look of ‘eww gross’. once the two stopped sucking each others faces off you turned to Larissa “well then, I have to go, I have a class in 10 minutes, but I’ll be seeing you… later.” You leaned in and gave her the most mind blowing kiss that she will for the rest of the day be thinking about. Pulling away you realised her lipstick was slightly smudged, but fixed it with your thumb before biting your bottom lip and turning to head to the door, before you left her reach she grasped your wrist and pulled you back flush to her front with a deadly look in her eye, she snaked her hand around your waist letting it rest on the small of your back leaning in whilst maintaining eye contact with mortica and whispering “thank you for your little game my love, it was greatly appreciated. Just know I’ll be returning the favour, what was it?��.. later?” Larissa tore her eyes away from mortica and smirked at you. “But of course, daring.” You retorted. Sliding out into the hallway you took one last quick look at them all, having a monotone expression for Gomez, a disgusted look plus an up and down scan of mortica and finally an award winning smile for your darling wife.

You are in for a very lively and interesting night.

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #principle weems #wednesday #larissa weems x y/n #larissa x reader

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fiercene0n · 3 months ago

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Did you think Five was ooc?

The only thing I feel ooc for five is the moment with the CIA and the fact that he didn't pay attention to his boss, who is also a member of the keepers. we don't know in what period he was recruited to them maybe just at the moment when the family went on the roadtrip, or earlier, it's not explained. (This may be lazy and stupid, but I can guess that Five didn't take the CIA seriously as a Commission, just as a weird hobby to distract himself from the fact that his life is really empty and he doesn't know what to do with it in peacetime).

I assumed he would try to separate himself from his family (I understand he's loyal to them and loves them, but everyone ended up splitting up at the end of season 3 and it feels like no one gave a shit about each other in the new timeline), but I didn't expect it to happen under these circumstances and so quickly/unreasonably. The last 2 episodes feel so fast and inarticulate due to trying to cram everything in, no wonder by the end the viewer can't get into the character arcs. I blame Netflix for this, I hate them.

His development can't be called the best or good, but I don't think it's terrible like many do. To me his story arc was +- in character. Maybe I missed more of his thoughts about what had happened to him in the meantime and what he was going to do about it, but as plot showed, Five wasn't the kind of guy who'd think about himself for very long. I know it could have been better, but I'm not the creator, I'm just a viewer with my opinion. If someone can come up with a better fix of his character cool, but I'm fine with what I have.

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anjelicawrites · 6 months ago

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They went together, one afternoon you had a PDA meeting: they wanted to surprise you!

NSFW and 18+ only please!

Warnings: piercings, mention of Aemond's disfiguring and chronic pain, nipple biting and sucking. dry humping.

Aemond had done painstakingly deep researches about the topic, researched all the piercings shops in town and bought everything he was going to need for aftercare. He had told himself he was just satiating the curiosity Osferth's words had ignited in him: he didn't need his nipples pierced. The idea was nice, and he would look hot, him simply researching meant nothing.

Osferth can't truly respond when Aemond asks to accompany him to his appointment; he can only make an inarticulate sound, Aemond has been fucking him nice and slow and deep for what it felt like hours, his hand a vice around Osferth's cock, and the latter was barely coherent at this point. After, when they are cuddling under the soft sheets, Osferth gently pinches Aemond's left nipple, making sure it is nice and pebbled.

"They will look so pretty, always protruding, begging to be sucked and played with." He says. "How we'll keep our hands of your chest is going to be a feat."

Against his thigh Aemond's cock twitches.

"Do you like the idea? Having your chest at our disposal all the time?"

There's a darkness in Osferth's tone that makes Aemond tired body tremble.

"Kessa. Yes." He moans.

The girls at the piercing shop are very welcoming, they show them the secluded area where they will work on Aemond's nipples and the sterile materials they're going to use. Once Aemond is sitting on the chair, Osferth perches himself on the stool one of the girls has put next to it.

"Are you still sure you want them done at the same time?" He asks. "Yes." "It's going to hurt."

Aemond smiles at that: all his life he has weighted all the suffering he has been through against having his neuritis flares. Nothing has ever been as bad, this? Piece of cake.

Osferth takes his hand and puts his forehead against his temple as the two piercers finish setting up all the materials. Aemond's body arches at the double pain; it's a flash that steals his breath away and makes him clench his hand around Osferth's; it's only a moment, then he relaxes back into the chair, not even noticing the tears streaming down his face.

"Between four to even twelve month?" You ask.

You're back from another hellish PTA meeting, you haven't even manage to change into something more comfortable that your loves drag you to the bedroom, to show you Aemond's chest. His nipples are both swollen, not overly so but enough to be felt and bright pink against the metal of the long barbells.

"Will you help me clean them, Gevie?" Aemond asks you. "Of course I will."

How are you supposed to keep his delicious chest alone for twelve months? He looks ripe for the taking!

Aemond can clean his piercings using the saline solution the piercers have sold him, he can soak the sterile gauze in it, when the swelling becomes too much and his nipples feel so warm; why should he do that on his own, when he has you and Osferth?

He's always had sensitive nipples, so much so you and Osferth have been able to make him come by nipple play only. He also knows that the piercings don't add on his sensitivity level, yet he feels the damp cotton swab more than he should: perhaps it's the swollen skin, but how is he supposed to justify the erection between his legs? He can barely stand still, Osferth is painstakingly cleaning his right nub, the black gloves on his hands only enhancing how long his fingers are, you're kneeling in front of him, sucking him off slowly, leisurely, licking his cock like you would a lollipop.

"Kostilus, please." He moans. "Be good, we need to make sure you don't get an infection." Osferth drawls in his ear. "How do you expect me to manage my oral fixation, now that I can't suck on your nipples?" You ask with your lips on his cockhead. "Let me finish here without coming and then we'll fuck you tight arse as a reward." Osferth tells him. "If you can't manage we'll have to put your cock in a cage for how long?" You ask, menacingly. "Uhm, let's say a couple of weeks? It should take that long for the trickiest part of the healing process to finish." Osferth murmurs against his throat.

Aemond has to force himself to breath slowly: he can't concentrate on his nipples, Osferth's slow motions only add to his desire, and your mouth! The best he's ever had is drawing him mad!

"Kostilus kesan sagon sȳz, please I'll be good." He moans. "Such a good boy." You murmur, before starting torturing his cock again.

Even when alone, cleaning his fresh piercings has his cock stand up ready to go, and he forces himself to wait for either of you, who will fuck him with your hands grabbing his pecs, making sure his healing nubs stand out, without actually touching them. Tease! Tease! Tease that you two are!

He has to wear looser shirts at work, under his suit jacket, yet he feels his nipples rub against the soft cotton, almost raw, and it becomes worse and worse, the more they heal: he needs, desperately, to have his chest played with, to feel your teeth and Osferth's pull and play with the barbells and the sensitive nipples. He's missed having your mouths and tongues play with them; you two teasing him don't help with his impatience to feel you two, finally, where he needs you two the most!

He might be just lucky, or perhaps is the blood of the dragon, either way he pops back to the piercing shop a little after four months, and the two piercers give him the thumbs up to change the barbells with rings, and to start having his chest played with, within reason. As he drives home a devious idea forms in his mind and he rushes to one of the alternative shops you usually go: all he needs he'll find there!

You arrive home at the same time Osferth does, which is a rarity. Even rarer is seeing Aemond's posh Mercedes already parked: he usually he's the one who arrives the latest at home.

"Aemond?" You call from the doorway. "Is everything OK?"

Silence is your only answer. On instinct Osferth puts himself in front of you: the door was locked, no signs of forced entry and the dogs are quiet (Santanico the cat is also), then why Aemond isn't answering?

Slowly he walks towards the living room, keeping you behind himself, ready to push you away from any form of danger; neither of you expect to see the spectacle right in front of your eyes: Aemond lounging on one of the armchairs, his long legs clad in tight leather trousers, spread wide, almost inviting you two to kneel between them. He is wearing a long sleeved, laced top that leaves nothing to the imagination; the intricate design only enhances the definition of his muscles and the delicious happy trail you and Osferth have kissed too many times to count. Next to you, you hear Osferth inhale and you follow his line of sight, to the two rings now adorning Aemond's nipples.

"Welcome back." He says, nonchalant, as if he's not lounging like a whore ready for the taking. "See something you like?"

Your bag falls on the floor, you're deaf to all the sounds around you, your mind focusing only on the delicious way the top moves on Aemond's perfect skin.

"You can... we can..." You say, at a loss for words. "Green light, but we need to go slow." He smirks.

In the distance you hear Osferth join you on the floor between Aemond's long legs. You see his hand reach for one nipple, his long fingers gently pinch it, Aemond's choked moan flies directly to your cunt.

"No weights, yet ah!" He moans when your index finger caresses his other nipple. "And, and... please! You can pull on them, just gently."

From where you're positioned, you can see the erection growing and pushing against the tight leather of his pants and you growl your hunger for him.

Gently you curl your lips around his nipple, and suck slowly, taking your time before you let your teeth pull tentatively at the ring; under you Aemond's back arches, a long moan rumbles when you keep teasing and pulling, your teeth gently biting the reddened areola.

"Need.. this off." He moans, trying to remove the lacy top. "Not yet."

You've forgotten about Osferth, whose fingers are still pinching the other nipple.

"It's itchy!" "You look too hot in it. Be good."

You hear Aemond's long moan of pleasure when Osferth's teeth latch on his other ring, to pull cautiously; against your tight you can feel Aemond's hips move, his cock swell into full hardness and you push against it, enhancing the friction.

Your mouth isn't idle either, you busy yourself with chasing Aemond's taste through the lacy shirt, sucking more boldly when high pitched moans leave his shapely lips.

"Iksan jāre naejot... Iksan jāre naejot! I'm going to... I'm going to!" He shouts, desperate.

You and Osferth redouble your efforts: sucking, pulling and biting, the lace drenched with your combined spits only adds to the constant teasing of his nipples; Aemond's body follows your combined lead blindly, his hips fucking your tight without control, too lost in the pleasure exploding in his chest. He babbles and trashes under your bodies, his orgasm so close it burns down his body to his trapped erection, his spine a perfect arch of desperation, it tenses and tenses, until he comes, his body limp under yours.

Osferth is lazily sucking on one nipple, enjoying the aftershock buzzing though Aemond's body; he can't help but smirk when he hears your voice.

"Again." You growl. "We need to make up for lost time."

OG!Poly taglist : @fan-goddess, @notyour-valentine, @aegonx

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

#answered #polyquestion

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becca-e-barnes · 2 years ago

Text

I've been really caught up in the thought of gentler, intimate sex recently and the thought of it almost slipping into body worship. I write a lot about men appreciating a feminine body but there's something so lovely in slowing down and truly taking time to appreciate the man you're being intimate with.

I think it’d so grounding to have slow, passionate sex with dbf!bucky. The type where even the pleasure of sex and mutual orgasms comes second to the pleasure of just feeling him.

Because I think being on top, almost just cockwarming him while you steal pleasure from the gentlest touches would be so rewarding. His dick inside you has you feeling pleasantly full but for now, you’ve parked all thoughts of paying it any attention.

Instead, your fingers glide through his hair, parting it with very little resistance. He’d let it get slightly longer recently but it suits him well, as do the few greys scattered through the roots. It feels soft and with each little graze of your fingernails against his scalp, he groans quietly, his hips rising slightly off the bed to press himself impossibly deeper inside you.

He thrives off touch and that’s all you want to give him. You want to touch him and never stop but as you tear your focus away from his hair, you let your hands wander lower. Your fingertips drift over his cheeks, the light dusting of stubble feels coarse under your touch but it’s certainly not unpleasant. Meeting his gaze makes your chest ache because you wonder how often the beautiful man under you sees himself the way you do.

He links his hands in yours, slotting your fingers together before bringing one of yours to his lips and kissing across your knuckles. You didn’t expect this tenderness but God, you need it, almost as much as he does.

“You’re beautiful.” No matter how many times you tell him, it never feels right. It's not the word you're looking for but saying nothing would feel like more of a crime than being inarticulate.

He chuckles quietly to himself and doesn’t say much, watching as you grind your hips, seemingly desperate to remind yourself of the fact his length has found a home in your body.

“You feel perfect.” Your voice is shaky, rational thought consumed by the feeling of pleasure thrumming through your veins once more. Your soft, wet cunt glides down on his length like you were made to fit together like this.

His strong hands land on your hips, guiding your rhythm, keeping you moving nice and slowly. In the meantime, your hands drift from his bare shoulders, down to the expanse of his chest. Your fingertips tease the tiny, soft curls of hair across the breadth of his chest but you’re entirely consumed by the heat of his body. He’s so warm and it’s a very pleasant reminder that you really are here with him. You have all the time in the world.

Reaching the centre of his chest, you feel the gentle thumping of his heart under the flat palm of your hand and for a moment, it all just feels so real. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right there in the room you share.

“Baby…” He groans, his voice low, arching his hips off the bed to fuck himself into you because you’ve been so distracted, you let your mind wander.

Fuck, that feels good. The tip of his dick nudges perfectly against your sweet spot, right where you need it and you feel yourself flutter in response.

“Good girl, just hold still. That's it. Good girl.” You do as you’re told, letting him thrust into you from below, losing himself in a way that you only want to encourage because it feels incredible for you too.

Your fingertips desperately try to dig into his chest and you notice how his skin dimples under your frantic touch. Every one of your thoughts are about this man in that moment. Nothing else crosses your mind and nothing else matters. You’re consumed by the smell of his aftershave, the heat of his body and the glide of his cock in and out of you.

“Touch yourself.” He encourages, his teeth gritted, holding back for your sake. He’d usually take the opportunity to touch you himself but this time he needs you to do it and you’re more than happy to. “Please, fuck, I’m so close.”

Hearing him broken like that makes you wetter than you thought possible. He’s always so stoic. He never loses control. He’s calm and reserved and admired for his composure but not when he’s inside you. You’re the only person who gets to hear how he sounds when his self-control slips away and it’s beyond rewarding.

Your fingers circle your own clit, rubbing yourself while Bucky continues to thrust up into you. He's so close to losing it. He's hanging on by a thread, promising to fill you, to stuff you full and make you a mother.

He knows you far too well and you're cumming within a few minutes, mindlessly riding out your orgasm on his dick. His need comes second for just a moment, pleasure making your body tighten and throb around his.

You vaguely register that he's cumming too, shortly after you do. You feel his hips stutter and then the telltale pulses of his cum into your body. He groans, holding your trembling thighs to keep you in place until he's given you everything he can.

#becca's thots #becca writes spice #dbf!bucky #a lil softer one I started writing before this week fell apart right in front of my eyes #I swear hormonal birth control is the root of all evil 🙃#It's probably fair to say I've cried more in the past week than I have in the past 4 years #WAS IT WORTH IT?? NO! (but was it justified? yes.)#and I cried in front of people which is gross #my 'fun girl who doesn't get upset' vibe is gone #but this week will be good #I'm making sure of it #and everyone else better have a good week too #I'm about to become light and happiness in human form

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landwriter · 2 years ago

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1589 got me feeling&rambling and I'm so sorry beforehand that I can't keep it short and simple, as would probably befit the thing. Feel free to ignore if not interesting to you, still you are the one that comes to mind when thinking about Hob being morally grey.

That scene is always so painful to watch, mostly because Hob is behaving like such a sorry fool. He has really decked himself out to impress his stranger and misses the mark so dramatically.

(Whereas Dream seemingly has not held back either - I mean it's easily his hottest look, you can't tell me he didn't mean to make a lasting impression. So much disappointment on both sides.)

Cringe Hob as part of the dark Hob spectrum, his self-importance/selfishness showing - of course it's not pure fun to watch, but I'm always so fascinated by that flicker of pain (foreshadowing shame) that comes right to the surface in all his put on show, just before he orders the lamb. The contrast makes for a very intense moment, imo. And I am wondering, has he really left all of this behind by 1889? Or is he simply more smooth by that time (that's what I'm getting from the show) ? In fanfics his flaws are mostly depicted as minor or serving a good end in modern times, he is always such a goodie by then (and I love him, of course). But can we imagine just a trace of more questionable/offputting Hob in the mix (if only on impulse) - to be clear, I have no idea how that would work. Or should we just be grateful that that lies behind him (it certainly makes for a much more likeable character and a nicer love story)?

(me force feeding myself more of the horrible stuff I just wanted to avoid looking at)

It's a beautiful contrast: opulence and insecurity. Success and asking still for validation. I have Thoughts on each meeting (please send me asks about them) - ostensibly the very first fannish thing I did for this show, and also in my adult life, was rewatch the meetings and pause constantly and take - oh holy Christ over 4,000 words of notes.

I propose Hob is not acting like a sorry fool. Sure, some bits are clearly played for comedy. Hob is selfish, self-important, and given to hedonism. He is concerned primarily with his own comfort and the personal pleasures of life. But I blame 1589 pretty solidly on Dream. In 1489, after being asked what his experience is like, he answers Dream with an inarticulate statement spoken by a true person who just Digs The Experience of Experiencing: it's 'fucking brilliant' and 'all changing'. Dream asks how, Hob literally looks around the room like a student who forgot an essay was due, and names chimneys and playing cards. Handkerchiefs. Simple things - still sensual things - but simple ones. Certainly no sociopolitical discourse here. What will you people think of next, says Dream, deeply sarcastic and visibly disinterested. And Dream also asks him: but what is Hob doing with his time? This, too, he is under-prepared to answer. Soldiering, banditry, bit of printing press work. Hardly enough to impress this supernatural lord, and Hob can tell.

When he is granted, explicitly, another 100 years by Dream, it is not only a relief, but I think a part of Hob squares its jaw in that moment and says: I'll show him - I'll show him what I can do in a century, I'll earn his pleased regard. Not necessarily because he's even, you know, madly in love at this point, but because he's in it for the living, does not intrinsically have great ambitions, but does have someone who has a) seemingly granted him this greatest gift and b) is unimpressed with what he's doing with it. And he's lost everyone he knew. Dream is now his oldest acquaintance, and wouldn't it be nice if he liked Hob?

He knows only the language of what impresses other men, and this is what he achieves. But to Dream, both Hob's socially-valued successes and his deeply personal ones are terrifically uninteresting. They are not New Dreams To Spur The Minds Of Men. There is no new story in a man seeking fortune and having a wife and a child he loves. He is ancient as the first dreaming thing, and he is Bored. He is, in fact, soured on this meeting from the outset, when he says "Hello, Hob," which on my watch struck me, apparently, as extremely bizarre and of having a real air of Hob being In Trouble. (The only other times Dream says his name are at the first, looming and omniscient, and in 1789, - 'I suggest you find yourself a different line of business, Robert Gadling'. He does not say it at their modern meeting.)

I mean - how would you impress someone? Someone who was interested in your deeds? Putting on a nice little dinner and catching them up on your life, talking about your family, seems a decent enough shout. It's not like you can ask him about his life, he won't offer information when asked and only sometimes will correct you if you venture your own guesses. (see also: 1889 foreshadowing) Hob is feeling proud and triumphant, feeling like he's come far. He is obviously a bit obnoxious about it, but I do think Dream shows off his flaws far more in 1589 than Hob does.

Hob's greatest sin, here, is trying to be liked. His greatest regret is almost certainly not the spread he put on, but the moment he was really, truly, earnest - not underscored even by a subsequent joke - the moment he declaims that this is what he had imagined Heaven to be like (safe enough to walk the streets; good food; good wine) - Life is so rich, he says - and Dream looks away to listen to Will Shaxberd, and we watch real time as Hob's expression collapses. He had leaned forward nearly out of his chair in enthusiasm, and now he shrinks back, reminded again of the dangers of earnestness: being alone in it. Being ignored. Better to make a joke of things, which is why he tells so many around Dream, especially after being more open - it's clearly a matter of habit. (It is also, incidentally, absolutely unappealing to Dream, who really and truly looks at him for the first time in 1689, when he is stripped of the social niceties of men and reigns nothing in.) He eats. He frets. He has had another century, and he has failed to impress the stranger.

The worst moment, I think, is that Dream does not renew their compact. He does not ask Hob if he still wishes to live, and Hob does not get the opportunity to say "Oh, yes." He was given this gift for one reason: the stranger was curious about his experiences. Does the stranger seem still curious about him now? I wonder, honestly, if Hob thought he would see another meeting.

Has he really left that all behind by 1889? No - you hear it in his own words, 'People are almost always better than you think they are.' - the earnesty, and then the joke - 'Not me, though, still the same as ever.' Except it's not really a joke, is it? Hob is saying to Dream, I know you don't think much of me, well, I don't pretend to think much of myself. He still wants Dream's validation, of course, he's just trying to earn it differently. (It goes poorly.) He's smoother, but also more frustrated, more fed up, more hungry for knowledge of his stranger; and I think that's such an interesting point in time for him. I think he leaves little behind, and what he does leave behind, he dreams of. He's changed so much and so little, and I think you could really go in whatever direction you want depicting that and be convincing.

I can't speak to the fanon on Hob's flaws because I don't read nearly as much as I wish I could. While I don't personally think 1589 Hob was actually that questionable or offputting - at least no more than most people would be in that situation - I would love to see a modern fic where has the same flaws he's always had, where they come up maybe different than they would have several centuries ago, but they absolutely exist, it does have plot consequences. Bonus points if he is not being offputting for the purposes of rescuing Dream from the fishbowl - if his flaws exist independent of his relationship with Dream altogether. Bonus bonus points if Hob is the one whose character development needs to be developed and Dream is in a better place than he is. If anyone has fic recs feel free to drop them in the comments!

P.S. 1589 Dream, wow, yes, for sure. 10/10 would babble and get walked out on

#the sandman #dreamling #century meetings #meta #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the amount of them just not understanding what the other person wants or is offering at first is incredible #1489 #1589 #an essay #i really do think the dynamics in the first few meetings are SO INTERESTING and precarious

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infiniteeight8 · 1 year ago

Note

ironstrange

body swap

😇

(The obvious place to go with this is their respective chronic pain, but… I didn’t feel like writing about pain. I don’t know where it went, but for this drabble no one is hurting! *handwave*)

Stephen knows immediately on waking that he’s not in his own body. You become very aware of how your body feels when astral projection is a habit. He climbs out of bed, grateful he’s wearing pajama pants, and goes to a mirror to see Tony Stark looking back at him. Stark’s body, anyway.

“Boss,” FRIDAY says at that moment, “you have a call from Doctor Strange.”

Oh, good. “Put him through.”

“Strange, you are way more ripped than I expected under those robes,” Stark says in Stephen’s voice.

Stephen sighs. “You couldn’t have respected my privacy?”

“Come on, I woke up and needed to piss! Are you going to tell me you didn’t look?”

“I haven’t taken your pants off,” Stephen says dryly.

Stark scoffs. “Don’t be a prude, Strange. I put work into that body, it deserves to be admired.”

Stephen takes another look in the mirror. It is a very nice body. “I’m surprised you’re not more concerned with getting back into it.” One hand drifts down to his waistband. Stark looked.

“Eh, you go through enough of this shit, your panic response just turns off,” Stark says. Stephen wavers, half listening, and then pulls the pants away from his body. “No one’s trying to kill me, I knew who to call, we’ll figure out the rest.”

Looking down, Stephen’s mouth goes dry. Fuck. “You should come over,” he says, still looking. Abruptly, he jerks his head up, letting the pajama pants snap back against his body. “So we can figure things out,” he explains, face blazing. Thank the Vishanti Stark can’t see him.

“Be there in a few,” Stark agrees. His voice drops into a teasing range. “And maybe I can give you a proper introduction to that body.”

An inarticulate noise escapes Stephen.

Stark just laughs.

#IronStrange #triple drabble

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thewhumpcaretaker · 5 months ago

Text

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝐼𝒳: 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝒶𝓁𝓁 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for beta reading this entire fic through to the end!!

TW: crying, being rude to a yak, altitude sickness, paralysis, suffocation, brief suicidal thoughts

Author's Note: This fic is now complete! Thank you so much for coming on this wild ride with me. I'm very grateful to everyone who read this fic and I hope it brought people some joy. Don't worry, this is not the end of my Vincent content - I'm considering writing a second part to the series at some point! I also have some drawings in mind, and I have a hoplesslydevoted (Vincent x Chidi) fic in the works.

Summary: John and Vincent struggle to descend the mountain in time to reach the landing site. But John's body is giving out.

Black smoke clung to the inside of John Wick’s lungs and a blinding yellow light advanced towards him, inches from his face before Vincent’s trembling arms pushed him back against the wall and he felt himself lifted. He was lifted almost too fast for Vincent’s wounded body to accomplish, such as must be possible only by an adrenaline frenzy. Vincent was swearing in French while trying to get him onto the saddle of the yak and John tried to help him but his muscles would not obey. The yak was almost as uncooperative. “Putain d'animal lâche [Fucking cowardly animal!]” He was laid face down across the saddle and just barely stayed aloft as she bucked in panic. He couldn’t see what was going on, but Vincent must be dragging on the leadrope. Calm her down, he wanted to say. But it was impossible to speak, and Vincent was probably too rattled to listen anyway.

It was just as well - they had no time to waste. The flames were at their heels, climbing along rugs and tapestries as they finally rushed the end of the tunnel, back through the darkness, through the fabric flap, and out into the snow. A faint indigo was all that remained of the day, and the cold had deepened to a point of instant pain. Vincent regained control of the yak long enough to pull John upright and lay him over the animal’s neck. “Allez, allez… [Come on, come on…]” Their hands were briefly in contact as Vincent knotted the fur around his palms to keep him from slipping again. Both of them were shivering desperately – it wouldn’t be long before Vincent started to lose control of his fingers as well. But for now he kissed John’s hand and held it tenderly against his lips for a long moment.

“Il avait tort, John, d'accord? Cet idiot n'a rien compris. Je ne aurais jamais – [He was wrong, John, okay? That idiot didn’t understand anything. I would never - ]” It was only by that lie that John knew for certain he had considered manipulating him, at least at one point. Perhaps in those first few days. Certainly before coming to his door - he’d already known that much. It’s okay, Vincent. I’m not angry. I’m so proud of you. He willed his fingers to move, to squeeze in return, but to no avail. Vincent was making anguished, inarticulate sounds against his hand.

At last, with difficulty, he recovered himself and coaxed the yak to begin walking. Things were fuzzy after that. Unconsciousness gave way to visions of moonlit peaks slowly rising as they descended, which gave way to unconsciousness again. Then a storm picked up, and there was no more light at all, only a sense of movement in the dark, a swirling, writhing space that seemed full of faceless demons. All the while, he felt a weight on top of his chest, crushing him almost to death. From time to time, Vincent’s hand rubbed his back and lingered over his heart, feeling for a beat and becoming agitated when he couldn’t find one, but John could barely feel it himself. How his mind could function at all in this state was beyond him. Time stretched interminably and he wished he could ask how long they had been walking. They only had so long to reach the landing site, and he had no idea where they were going.

Through the roaring wind and the veil of half consciousness, Vincent was speaking to him. “Vous ne pouvez pas mourir. Si tu meurs, je vais tout détruire, John. Vous devez être ici. Tu dois m'arrêter, tu m'entends ? Je vais tous les tuer. Les Continentaux seront écrasés dans la poussière et le sol sera salé. Je brûlerai les cendres de chaque membre de la Table et les enverrai directement en enfer, là où ils appartiennent, et j'en profiterai. [You can’t die. If you die, I’m going to destroy everything, John. You have to be here. You have to stop me, do you hear me? I’ll kill them all. The Continentals will be flattened right into the dust and the ground will be salted. I’ll burn the ashes of the ashes of every last member of the Table and send them straight to hell where they belong, and I’ll enjoy it.]”

It was like that the whole way. That, and the despair.

“Je suis si fatigué. Je pense que tout ce que je veux, c'est un peu de paix, et j'ai finalement réalisé que… Je l'espérais même pour la première fois de ma vie, et puis il est allé et a fait cette merde. Mon Dieu, comment en est-on arrivé là ? Même si nous arrivons au site d’atterrissage, comment allons-nous survivre maintenant ? Je ne sais même plus si j’en ai envie. Mais pour leur donner satisfaction… Mais pas comme ça, pas comme ça… [I’m so tired. I think all I want is some peace, and I finally realized that… I even hoped for it for the first time in my life, and then he went and pulled that shit. God, how has it come to this? Even if we get to the landing site, how will we survive now? I don’t even know if I want to anymore. But to give them the satisfaction… Just not like this, not like this…]”

Please keep fighting, Vincent. Keep walking. John calculated, distantly, how long it would take for frostbite to start claiming their fingers. His limbs were going numb and he could not tell whether it was from the drugging or the cold. I am so sorry that I couldn’t protect you. When you needed me, I failed. He kept having the thought that he wanted to be holding Vincent somewhere warm. Laying in bed all morning and just cradling one another. Sleeping through the day. Dreaming together, harming no one and harmed by no one, in a faintly sunlit darkness that ever sleeps behind white curtains. But then he thought of Vincent in his spirited moments of rebellion, of passionate destruction or artistic creation, and remembered once again that he would always prefer the waking devil to the sleeping angel. He had to see him in his glory once again. And if that meant violence was coming, then so be it.

The sun began to rise, bleeding red between the distant peaks and dyeing all the snow with blushing pink. Around that time, he realized that he could feel more of his body again. It was possible, with a very great effort, even to twitch. But every return of strength brought with it a deep oxygen-hunger, an ever-increasing fear of suffocation and the return of a burning sensation in his lungs. He did not have long.

It was around that time that Vincent stopped to bend down in the snow, suddenly gasping and then screeching about something. It took a moment before he could make out his words. “C'est la ligne! Nous avons trouvé la ligne, John! [It’s the line! We found the line, John!]” He bounced up to kiss John’s frozen cheek and set them moving much faster down this more definite path, finding a second wind. Good. Vincent, at least, would make it. He let himself slip into another faint.

The next time he awoke, there was something strapped to his face. And something wrapped tightly around his chest. It was difficult to say which one it was that made him finally able to breathe. The thing on his face was an oxygen mask, yes. But the thing around his chest was Vincent. Vincent, alive and warm, with bandaged hands tangled in his hair, refusing to let go for anything. He was struck with that thought that so often struck him when he lay in Helen’s arms: How can this be possible? By what grace, to one like me?

He opened his eyes to see only a darkness filled with warmth, and realize Vincent was bowed over him with their foreheads pressed together. They must be in the helicopter. Joy rushed through him. Would his voice finally function? He succeeded in making some strangled sound.

Vincent gasped and pulled back to look John in the eyes, before embracing him even more completely, as if to merge them together. His whole body shook with sobbing and John managed to lift a hand over his back in answer. “You’re – you’re awake. I’m so relieved. I really thought…”

He struggled to speak again, trying to say Vincent’s name, but the mask, on top of everything else, made it impossible. Vincent realized what was wrong and leaned over to talk to the pilot, asking if he could take it off now. In a few more minutes, he was free.

“Viince – Vincent…I’m so sorry…”

“You’re sorry?” He stared at John in disbelief and started laughing. “I love you so much, you incomprehensible fool.” He leaned down and kissed him hard, their teeth colliding. It was as hungry, as vicious, as any kiss from Vincent had ever been, but somehow more tender, more earnest, lingering against him open mouthed as if to savor the sensation of his lips.

John was out of breath when he pulled away, and just lay there gasping and coughing for a moment.

“You’re sorry,” Vincent repeated. “Look what’s happened to you because of me.”

John was still stuck on his earlier words. “I love you too.” He caught his breath and then continued. “I’m so, so proud of you. That was amazing, back there.”

Vincent looked up at the ceiling, trying to contain happy tears. “Mr. Wick…”

“What is it?”

Though glazed over and shining, his eyes danced with something so eager it could barely be restrained. “I want to burn it all down.”

“I know. I heard you on the way down.”

“I’m sorry for it.” He didn’t look sorry. “But I think I’m going to kill them all. The whole High Table.”

“Good.”

“I – what?”

“Good. We’ll burn it all down. And don’t say you’re sorry when you’re not.”

Vincent beamed, suddenly overcome with energy. He ran a hand up and down John’s torso like he wanted to climb inside his ribcage, and then buried himself against him, sighing with euphoria. “You are the most baffling person, John Wick. The only man who has ever made me feel seen in a way that doesn’t feel like agony. You have saved me. I really do owe you a life debt.”

John shook his head. “Reach inside my breast pocket.”

Though a little confused, Vincent did, and pulled out the marker. John forced his arms upward, stiff as they were, and took it. The metal clicked open, the pin pressed into his thumb, scarlet bloomed on the metal. A freely given rose.

“I want you…free. I’m so happy you’re free. I will not be another person who imprisons you with debts and expectations. I trust you. You’re a good man.”

He laughed. “Good? Don’t insult me.” But the look in his eyes became more desperate. “And don’t…trust me. Don’t free me. Don’t leave me to my own devices…” His hands balled into a fist on the front of John’s coat and his eyes fluttered closed at the difficulty of the words. “I…need you.” He was barely audible.

“Oh I will be here. I’ll help you, I’ll protect you from doing what we both know you’ll regret. But you’re good, even when you’re mad, even when you make mistakes. I want you to do…what you want to do. Express yourself. You’re so beautiful, Vincent. I never want to see you caged again.”

He laughed hollowly. “I look a mess.”

“Hey.” John cupped his face and, by wild praise, forced those dead eyes to flame up again. “I love you, my beautiful mess. I am looking at the leader of the revolution. Everyone will remember you. The world itself will kneel.”

In answer, Vincent slipped the High Table ring off his finger. He cracked open the door, setting the pilot screaming and an icy wind whipping over their bodies, stinging yet purified. And together, the marker and the ring tumbled into the rocky snowbanks so rarely touched by any living thing, to lie forsaken on the lonely top of the world.

-𝓕𝓲𝓷-

◃ Back

Image Sources: 1, 2

#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #john wick whumpee #angst #emotional whump #environmental whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #redemption arc #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers #completed fic

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no-side-us · 6 months ago

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The Invisible Man, Ch. 20 - At The House in Great Portland Street

The whole beginning section of this chapter is really just emphasizing what little attachments Griffin has left before he ultimately turns himself invisible.

"My mind was still on this research, and I did not lift a finger to save his character. I remember the funeral, the cheap hearse, the scant ceremony, the windy frost-bitten hillside, and the old college friend of his who read the service over him—a shabby, black, bent old man with a snivelling cold."

For one, his father's dead, not that Griffin seems to have cared about him anyways. He doesn't say any words nor does he put much care into organizing anything. The funeral is described as "cheap" and "scant," presumably because Griffin wasn't going to spend a majority of his new found money on his own research.

"I remember walking back to the empty house, through the place that had once been a village and was now patched and tinkered by the jerry builders into the ugly likeness of a town. Every way the roads ran out at last into the desecrated fields and ended in rubble heaps and rank wet weeds. I remember myself as a gaunt black figure, going along the slippery, shiny pavement, and the strange sense of detachment I felt from the squalid respectability, the sordid commercialism of the place."

Second, the village Griffin once recognized has been turned into the "ugly likeness of a town" by "jerry builders," people who apparently built cheap homes of poor quality for quick profits. I like the visual description of Griffin as a black figure on shiny pavement to highlight how much he doesn't fit into this new area.

“But going along the High Street, my old life came back to me for a space, for I met the girl I had known ten years since. Our eyes met." "Something moved me to turn back and talk to her. She was a very ordinary person."

I've always been curious by this seemingly ordinary girl Griffin once knew. It seems like the last gasp of Griffin's "old life," the very last thing that might make him feel something for the world around him. The fact he is the one who tries to talk to her makes me think Griffin also understands this a bit. Instead though, he just finds nothing.

"It was all like a dream, that visit to the old places. I did not feel then that I was lonely, that I had come out from the world into a desolate place. I appreciated my loss of sympathy, but I put it down to the general inanity of things. Re-entering my room seemed like the recovery of reality. There were the things I knew and loved. There stood the apparatus, the experiments arranged and waiting. And now there was scarcely a difficulty left, beyond the planning of details."

And finally Griffin enters the small world he does care about, with its experiments and apparatus. I love that one of the few things which brings Griffin joy is all the science and study and experimentation he does.

I don't have much else to say about the rest of this chapter that other people haven't already said, so here are some random thoughts:

“For a moment he gaped. Then he gave a sort of inarticulate cry, dropped candle and writ together, and went blundering down the dark passage to the stairs. I shut the door, locked it, and went to the looking-glass. Then I understood his terror.... My face was white—like white stone."

I don't really understand Griffin's reaction here because if he's an albino shouldn't that mean his face is already very white? I'm assuming that his face is now somehow even more white, or his albinism was more partial and now it's complete.

"Then I slipped up again with a box of matches, fired my heap of paper and rubbish, put the chairs and bedding thereby, led the gas to the affair, by means of an india-rubber tube, and waving a farewell to the room left it for the last time.”

I like that Griffin physically waves farewell to his room before he commits arson against it. Not only is it kind of cute, it also shows how much he cares about both it and all the work he did while he lived there. This is also in contrast to the line earlier during his father's funeral, where he "did not lift a finger" whereas here he'll lift his whole hand.

#the invisible man #invisible man #the invisible mail #hg wells

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kadavernagh · 5 months ago

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: Zane's beautiful house PARTIES: Regan, Zane, and Jade SUMMARY: Zane is a vampire. Regan is moving in with him. Jade has some thoughts about that. CONTENT: Medical blood

“I can start by just showing you your room?” And then maybe close the door behind her to take a moment to wonder how in the world he’d gotten himself into this situation.

It was an impressive estate for Oldtown, the two-story home that included an expansive front yard, even if it didn’t look particularly well tended to. Zane really lived here alone? And on a nurse’s salary? None of it mattered very much to Regan. Her criteria for a new place to live in were simple: she had not previously lived there, and she would not be alone when Farraige na Buanachta tried to vacuum her into its depths. The pit came for her in the dark; it came when she could not predict it like a death; it came with the undeniable force of a scream.

With a bag in each hand, Regan spurred herself down the front walkway before she started to feel the tar between her toes. This would fix it all.

She cautiously set the bags down on the front doorstep (they had her necessities: bones), and rang the bell. It was something Regan should have anticipated, the knife sliding under her epidermis and probing around beneath her skin the second Zane approached. It happened around Metzli, and Leila, so of course it happened around Zane, too. It wasn’t until she learned more from Jade that she had language to pair with it (however inexact and inarticulate that language was). Undead. Vampire.

And… oh, this was going to be a problem, wasn’t it? Not only the constant shaving of her flesh from this sensation, but the fact Jade was on the way with more of her things. Regan gulped, any eagerness in her eyes dimming at the realization as she looked at Zane. What could she say to back out now? No, this could be salvaged. “Hello. I’m here to move in, as discussed. Oh, uh, I own more than this, by the way,” she gestured to the bones, “my bone partner is bringing a car with the rest soon.” And Zane could not be there when Jade arrived. “Hey, why don’t you show me around? I can have her deposit my things here.” Regan nudged Zane inside his own house, hopping in after him. She paused. Then she stuck her arms back out and grabbed the bags, not willing to leave them behind. “Take your time. Show me every groove and furrow. Do you have any perfume? Cologne? We should put that on, both of us, as a bonding activity.” Though Regan doubted that would throw Jade off the scent.

—

There was a definite need for Zane to learn how to set boundaries. Not setting them had first led to an array of newly turned vampires showing up at his doorstep thanks to Emilio and now, a doctor that had seemed much too interested in him being a vampire was moving in. It should have been easy to tell her that he wasn’t looking for a permanent roommate, that the house was already occupied and most importantly, that Regan was… eccentric in a way that unnerved him a bit. But no, for Zane the easy way had been to crumple like a soggy piece of paper and let Regan move in.

It was probably a bad sign that she looked just as skeptical about this idea as he did when the door swung open. “Of course,” Zane replied on autopilot, even as his stomach twisted at the mention of ‘the rest’. How much was the rest? Was Doctor Kavanagh bringing the entire contents of an apartment? Before he could spiral into the thought, Regan was ushering him inside and asking about… perfume? To know the workings of her mind probably necessitated a very specific PhD but Zane was completely at a loss. “Strong smells kinda… give me a headache?” he tried, still stuck on the ‘bonding activity’ part of her reasoning. Zane knew very well that doctors tended to be odd but…

“I can start by just showing you your room?” And then maybe close the door behind her to take a moment to wonder how in the world he’d gotten himself into this situation.

—

Despite the ‘cadaveristic torpor’ of it all, Regan did truly like Zane. In her opinion, a bond had been forged between them when they defaced Halloween decorations together in the name of accuracy. If she could keep him away from Jade, this had the potential to work out. If only he moved a little faster. Regan was practically shuttling ahead of him as he took her through a sensibly decorated front hall that emptied into what was likely one of Oldtown’s biggest dying– living rooms. “I don’t care for it either. It covers up smells I appreciate much more. But we don’t have to wear it for long, only during… um, initiation. Orientation! This is like orientation? Did you have one of those when you went to–” Regan clipped the question. Why was she thinking about college? How many years had that been? It felt like she’d reached beyond Ireland’s fog and plucked someone else’s memory from the clear skies on the other side. “Forget that. Oh, my room? I don’t need that now. I will choose it later.”

Zane led her upstairs anyway, which seemed like an unusual way to begin a tour, but Regan wouldn’t judge. Jade might have done the same; she had no respect for linearity. As they passed by what looked like a bathroom, Regan stopped following Zane and veered into the room to poke around. That mirror was not going to last long. Neither was the shower pane. “Where is the cologne?” She asked Zane, once he realized he’d lost her, and turned back.

—

Yeah, his new roommate (how? why?) was definitely acting stranger than usual. Regan seemed nervous, really nervous, which didn’t fit with what Zane had seen of her so far. The way she’d handled the worker at the Halloween store, heck, even the way she’d handled moving herself in here had been decisive. Her being awkward just wasn’t sitting right. Was she regretting the decision to move in with a vampire, maybe? She’d known about all that beforehand so it didn’t make sense that she would have asked in the first place. Well, none of this made sense, especially not this hyperfixation on cologne. “We just played some name games and went over the syllabus?” he answered before she was rescinding that question entirely and moving onto choosing her own room. Oh, no.

Zane was vaguely aware that Regan was not paying attention as he pointed out rooms, trying to explain which were taken and where his own room was and great, she was gone. “Regan?” Worry colored his words - he hadn’t managed to prep all of the current inhabitants on this new development and it didn’t seem too out of character for Regan to pop into someone’s bedroom. Thankfully, she’d only diverged into the bathroom and Zane sighed, joining her in the doorway. “Next to the sink,” he answered, regretting it instantly. “But maybe we skip it for now?” It wasn’t surprising that his hesitant suggestion went ignored - if only he could bring some of his authority from work into his personal life. Maybe if he could, this whole nightmare could have been avoided and his eyes wouldn’t currently be burning from what was frankly an obscene amount of cologne. “I don’t think you’re supposed to use that much…”

—

The cloud covering the bathroom smelled of fresh citrus – the vague kind that various bottled scents employed, not quite orange, not quite lime. It tickled Regan’s nose, and it would have obscured any important scents during an autopsy (which made it a no-go in Regan’s book, even though she was no longer an ME). But it could work. It had to. Because– “Come here. You’re the one who needs it more than I.” Zane could wonder if Regan was calling him fragrant. She didn’t care. She sprayed the bottle near Zane’s face a few times, satisfied that the scent would cling to his pores, probably for the next several days.

“What else is it prudent for me to know? Is there a designated area in the yard where I should be leaving dead animals?” Regan set the bottle back on the bathroom counter with a gentle clack. “How about the garden? It will be well-fertilized.”

Her Jade senses were tingling. They were not as exact as her ability to detect death or other fae (or as literal), but she had developed a knack for predicting Jade’s proximity over time. She’d be here with the rest of Regan’s things, soon, and– Regan cast a glance at Zane, pressing her lips together. How long could she really expect to keep Jade from figuring this out? She’d be over all the time.

Regan inhaled a deep breath of cologne. Even through the remaining mist of the fragrance, she could feel Zane pulling at each tiny hair on her skin. Jade would be no different. This… this would not work. And she couldn’t put Zane at risk (risk?) just so she could have a decent, like-minded roommate. She was selfish, but not that selfish. Backing out now would be an insult to Zane’s hospitality, though, and she couldn’t tell him that he was the issue. So Regan would be the issue. She could be kind like that.

“New plan.” Regan clapped her hands together, louder than intended. “I think they should be inside, instead, the dead animals. Which one is your bedroom? I assume it is the biggest. There should be space in there, yes?” Her nose itched again. Her whole face tickled. Her sinuses. And– Regan sneezed, a high-pitched slice through the air that made the bathroom mirror crack right down the center. Maybe she hadn’t needed to say the bit about the dead animals after all.

—

At least he didn’t need to breathe. His eyes still hurt and the whole house would probably smell for days but Zane was trying really hard to focus on the positives right now. Like how he was positive that this had been a mistake and maybe Regan needed a psych eval? Was she having an early midlife crisis? With the job change and moving and whatever smell issue she was currently having, Zane really did wonder if she needed a different kind of healthcare professional than a nurse. “Thanks…”

Wiping some of the excess cologne off with the back of his hand, Zane struggled to keep up with the change of subject. “We don’t really get a lot of… dead animals but… sure, backyard sounds as good of a place as any. So, should we check out the rest of the house or-” He winced at the sudden clap and then again at the words that followed and somehow, this was getting worse. “Inside? My bedroom isn’t actually the biggest but I don’t think that’s a good idea, Regan, with the smell and the-”

That… wasn’t a normal sneeze. His brain felt rattled, a high pitch buzz lingering in his ears as Zane stared at the newly formed crack in the mirror. “What…” Even through the buzzing, Zane heard the tell-tale sign of gravel crunching under tires in the driveway. Sure, okay. One crisis at a time. See how much stuff Regan has brought over, then question Regan about how her sneezes seem supersonic. Then have a discussion about dead animals inside the house… Zane felt tired in a way he hadn’t felt since becoming undead. “I’ll go open the door for them,” he said hoarsely, moving to escape from the smog of cologne and the sight of the cracked bathroom mirror.

—

As the two of them stared at the cracked mirror– oops– it was quiet enough that Regan heard wheels crunching over gravel. That had to be Jade. And for the first time ever, she wished Jade wasn’t here right now. What was she going to assume about Zane? Zane, who dedicated his life to helping humans, just like Jade herself.

It was probably better to confess she had caused the cracked mirror now, rather than pretend it was a coincidence that it paired with her sneeze. She had (barely exercised) manners. She could apologize. And, right, having Zane agree this is a bad idea was the goal. So it all worked out. “Sorry! Always unfortunate when that happens. I have seasonal allergies. I recall you indicating you lack any emotional attachment with your lightbulbs, so that won’t be a problem, will it?” Jade was still a problem, though. Only right now. Not in any other context.

“You know what, maybe I should get the door. I like…doors.” Regan said to an empty bathroom. Oh. Bás síoraí. Regan rocketed down the staircase after Zane and a heavy trail of cologne, but he was already practically at the door (fast– he must have worked out a lot, or his nursely duties involved a lot of literal heavy lifting).

“Wait, don’t get the–” Door. That was already opening.

—

Being supportive was one of the things Jade was the GOAT of. Like, she was a self-proclaimed hype woman, so it was no shocker she was trying her best to help Regan navigate her new life as… banshee lite. (Regan might coin a better term). Jade wanted nothing more than for Regan to realize there were things other than banshee duty. That, just like Meztli, she could carve her own path too. Which, at the moment, included finding new roommates. Yup. Cause Regan wanted to get out of their… her cabin. And that was so cool and chill, and she was definitely not taking it personal. Like, duh, why would she wanna live with Jade (warm, great hair, amazing kisser) when she could choose a total stranger (cold, probably bald, better keep their mouth far, far away) instead? The latter obviously sounded way more adventurous anyway.

Jade would be supportive, she wanted her lady to thrive, so she offered to drive some of Regan’s stuff to her new apartment. It was kinda exciting, once she got over the whole…rejection of it all. (And did she ask Regan to live with her elsewhere instead? Not at all, why was that relevant?). Plus, she was hoping Regan’s roomie was at least interesting and cool. Jade was also looking forward to chatting them up, to make sure they treated Regan right. They better not give her funny looks just cause of her hobbies or interests. She needed Regan to be in the second best hands possible.

The taxidermied head she’d bought that guy on the internet stuck out from the first box Jade grabbed once she climbed out of the car. She didn’t even have to ring the doorbell to hear shuffling inside. Someone was already approaching to answer the door (interesting!). She peeked from over the box when the door swung open, the megawatt smile she had on her face slowly dying out. Hazel eyes flickered to the man standing in front of her, the roommate, and realized something wasn’t right. Actually, forget that, something was straight up wrong. And just… Jade’s spirits deflated when her skin thrummed in that telltale way. Now hold on a minute…

Why was Regan chilling with a vampire? Actually, scratch that, did she even know? She had to feel it too, right? “Um. Hello, um,” she stammered, and when had she ever used hello before? Mouth dry, she looked out for Regan, who was coming up behind the man. Jade’s eyebrows pinched in a way Regan would be able to identify. What’s going on? Maybe she didn’t actually feel it. She wouldn’t blame her, the smells coming out of the house were hitting Jade like a truck. Or anyway, maybe the whole Ireland vacay ruined Regan’s death radar. (A couple instances that contradicted her idea popped into her head). Her eyes darted back to the vampire. Nope, wait, she knew what happened. They like, probably arranged this over the internet, duh. And of course, he was helpless against Regan’s disarming charm. And Regan had been clueless to his nature. Yup. She liked that scenario. It was messy for sure, but like… there was a way out of it. Except… except what if, that was how this guy lured all his victims? Maybe he acted as a sweet himbo on the internet and then bam, secured his next blood bag.

Jade wanted to barge in, snatch Regan away and pretend this meeting never happened. Keep his filthy fangs away from her sweet blood. (Cause fae had sweet blood, alright? Not cause… she wasn’t into that) (Unless Regan…). Right, they’d get out of there and have a serious discussion about adding an undead filter next time she searched for roomies. And then, obviously, she’d return to end him. Some other time cause like, she’d left all her stakes in her other jacket and all. (She conveniently tried not to think of the emergency stake she carried in her belt). Great plan.

Jade didn’t move. And the box she was carrying didn’t weigh enough to make her uncomfortable (she was even planning on holding it with one hand, give Regan a little show. Not anymore!). So she stood there, blinking like an idiot. Regan wanted roomies, and she wanted to find herself, and she’d lost so much that Jade only wanted Regan to thrive and… there was a knot in her throat. Cause this felt like a lose-lose situation. She counted to five, a shaky exhale escaped her lips.

Was she gonna play dumb for the chance Regan secured a room in this admittedly very nice house? This was a vampire who could lose control at any moment. And Regan would be there with her naturally enticing neck, in immediate danger. But also… Well, Regan didn’t want to be in the cabin (with her) anymore so she didn’t wanna extend that torture… Jade’s eyes danced between the two people in front of her, unsure. Unsure was pretty much all she felt these days. Not that anybody had to know her business. “Wow… I think the fumes of that scent got into my brain cause like” she shook her head, pretending that had been the reason for her daze. “And I thought I liked citrus scents. Anyway, hi! I’m Jade,” and any smile of hers was a good smile, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that was definitely missing in this one.

—

Alright, so they were both odd. The nameless… what was the phrase Regan had used, bone partner? - was watching Zane like she’d been expecting someone completely different, the smile on her face visibly fading. Geez, alright. Was it maybe the cologne? Was that part of some inside joke, Regan messing with this woman by way of copious amounts of cologne? If so, Zane didn’t quite understand why he had to be dragged into it. “Hi,” he returned hesitantly, eyes shifting down to the dead eyed gaze looking up at him from the box in the newcomer’s hands.

Zane huffed out a laugh, spurred mostly by desperation over this situation, and that was a mistake because the aforementioned fumes attacked his senses again. “Yes, the cologne… That was… well, Regan can tell you what that’s about later. I’m honestly not really sure. Uh, come in.” Sidestepping to let Jade and her box of taxidermy enter, Zane craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of what had been brought along. Only things that seemed to fit in a normal car. Zane wouldn’t have been surprised to see an actual moving truck out in the driveway. One thing to be thankful for.

“So… yeah. I’m Zane. Regan’s new roommate. Apparently.”

—

Regan stumbled up behind Zane, her heart tripping over itself. She pushed her bags back outside on the doorstep. What was that about wishing Jade wasn’t here at the moment? Scratch that. Her body told her it had been a lie. Maybe it was Zane she didn’t want right here, except it was his house, which was problematic. Why was wanting so complicated? Couldn’t everything just be what it was? Fate-mandated? Once upon a time, she did not need to consider wanting, because it was questioning fate. Now she didn’t even know what to eat for breakfast because she questioned everything including her Greek yogurt.

“Hello!” Regan exhaled all of the breath remaining in her lungs and waited for Jade to say something (actually, had she overhead a hello from Jade before? weird). But Jade had confusion written all over her precious face like she got the wrong food order (as a recipient – Jade was an ace at delivery, obviously). Something was wrong. And Regan leaped toward the safe assumption that was not particularly safe: the cologne hadn’t worked. Jade knew what Zane was. And she knew Regan knew. That was what her eyes were asking, right? Why? How? What? “Um, this is Zane… he lives here. That is probably apparent.”

Jade was in… some kind of trace. A staring spell. Regan cocked her head. Did Jade get seizures? No, that would have come up between the ‘allergies’ and gastrointestinal issues, both induced by her parents. She sidled up to Jade, nudging her shoulder (gently) and setting a hand on the box to help, though she’d never known Jade to need help carrying anything. “Thanks for bringing things over,” she said, mostly fishing for a response of some kind more than the need to say anything. When Jade introduced herself Regan almost wished she hadn’t. She could hear it, that calculatedness behind her tone. Jade was mapping this out. She was planning. She was probably thinking about her crossbow, or maybe a short-ranged option, in case Zane… what? Attacked for no reason? “He works at the hospital,” Regan said pointedly, “he is a nurse.” And no threat. “Helping patients, saving lives? All in a day’s work for Zane. He is a hernia among men. Uh, hero. Upon discharge, his patients surely think ‘wow, that nurse seemed remarkably well-adjusted, even though he was a pushover.’ They probably tell their families about Zane. Who is a nurse. At the hospital.”

Any prejudices Jade held were melting away, Regan was certain! But she was still uneasy about this. She leaned in on Jade’s shoulder, happy to be near the taxidermy, too, and looked toward Zane like this was a completely normal exchange. “Aren’t you, Zane? A nurse? Do I have that right?”

Time to go.

“Jade, a stór, I was just telling Zane about how I break mirrors. Glass everywhere. I am terrible to live with.” Her eyes flashed toward Jade again, desperate for her to play along (was it playing, really?) and probably not for the reason Jade assumed. Regan thought she could have lived with Zane, but she didn’t think Jade could live with her living with Zane. And what would that mean for Za– no. She batted that line of thinking away; she was skilled at doing that. It didn’t matter. She was going to egress from this roommate situation. “And not only mirrors, you know. Do you have fine china? Get rid of it. Glass cups? That will not work. Once, my snoring broke a window.” There was more, but Zane already indicated not caring about his lightbulbs, and he could probably see in the dark, anyway.

“And what if I am allergic to your cologne? You use so much of it.”

—

Zane. The vampire’s name was Zane and Jade already wanted to forget about it. And actually, Regan almost made it possible, as she moved (or was pulled) into Jade’s gravity. There was a nudge, a hand reaching under the box, fingers brushing, and for a beat all Jade could feel and see was right in front of her. Citrus scent forgotten. Her eyes got lost in Regan’s, only dipping to her mouth when she heard the ‘thank you’. Then they sparkled, in anticipation. So… did she get a kiss, or? Nope! Cause Zane was still here, it turned out, as Regan so kindly decided to remind her. In his house or whatever. The small reverie between them popped abruptly, like a balloon, and the citrus wafted to her nose again. Zane.

Who… wait, he worked where? “The hospital… the…” she repeated like her ears were failing her. (Like that ever happened). Zane the vampire was a nurse. He worked at the hospital. You know, where people bled? Where there was a blood bank and… geez. Did this guy hide in plain sight, at a place with his own all-you-can-eat buffet? Oh, she hated this. Her belly agreed. It knotted in ways she’d forgotten. This was so sick and twisted. Alarms were definitely going off in Jade’s head now. “Oh wow, that’s like, so brave. Being a nurse, I’m guessing you love those night shifts, huh?” she blurted out to cover her racing thoughts. They were so loud, it wouldn’t surprise her if the guy could hear them with his enhanced hearing. Regan called Zane a hernia, which, everybody knew (of course), was one of the highest compliments Regan could offer. Wow. Despite what Jade had recently learned, Regan believed in him. So, like…how well did Regan know hunky Zane then? (That’s right, she could see the pecs) (She was a slayer, not blind). The ramble had felt so specific though, like Regan was trying to cover her bases. Trying to appease Jade without being upfront about it. Did she know? And still, went and agreed to meet up with him? And still wanted the room? (Over living with her bone partner?)

There was no time for the hurt Jade felt to travel from her heart to her eyes cause more words were coming. Regan was speaking, and despite everything, she would never ever wanna miss a word coming out of her favorite lips. (Mmm… nope. Second favorite). “You don’t sn…” Jade cut herself off, noticing the glint behind Regan’s eyes. Alrighty, she felt like a pancake, being flipped from side to side in the pan that was life. Wait so, Regan didn’t want this place? Was this… reverse psychology? Where she convinced herself she didn’t want something but she totally did? (It sure brought back some fond memories). But good grief, thinking was like, so overrated. Her head was starting to hurt. Okay, cool, cool, she was totally following now. The right corner of Regan’s mouth was twitching, which meant she didn’t approve of this place anymore, for whatever reason, and whew, she didn’t have to ask Jade twice for her to try to give her a hand. (Or a leg, or…)

“Right!” she nodded enthusiastically at Zane for the first time. “I’ve never met a worse roomie than her. Yup, that’s why I… I’ve been trying to kick her out of my place, you know?” she chortled, and, had she not been in front of a vampire, Jade would’ve slapped his muscular shoulder. Instead, she used her free hand for better things, like reaching for Regan’s waist. Her gaze immediately flickered to her side, finding Regan’s despite the taxidermied head trying to get in the way. “She’s so loud, trust me, I mean, who’d wanna live with… her?” and yup, they had a ton to discuss once they escaped Zane’s overbearing hospitality and his passion for citrus scents, but the uncertainty didn’t erase the smitten look on Jade’s face. Or didn’t stop the warmth spreading in her chest. Where was her kiss, actually. They were due for a kiss. They had been in the same room for more than two minutes, the math wasn’t mathing. “You’d get nothing done, lemme tell ya…” she licked her lips, tearing her gaze away from the prize and back to Zane. “Like, even if you don’t care about all the glass she’s gonna break, which, oh buddy, you should. If you’re a nurse, you need lots of time for work and stuff, don’t you? She’s not gonna make it happen for you. She’s super clingy. And, oh…yup! Her nose… so beautiful, but so sensitive. We don’t want allergies.”

—

What? No, seriously, what was happening? Zane tried to pick it apart one detail at a time - the weirdly charged tension between the two that made him want to leave his own home to give them privacy, the strange amount of attention Regan was drawing to his job, the way Jade seemed to not like him in the slightest and finally, the literal worst sales pitch for any roommate ever. Which Jade was now doubling down on and Zane’s headache felt equal parts due to the cologne and the whiplash of this situation. Even if he was the type of person to cut into conversations (he wasn’t) that wasn’t an option here - Zane was literally speechless.

The part about Regan, with an apparently beautiful nose, being clingy was the last bit of nonsense he could handle. “Okay! Alright, sorry, can we just-” Zane waved his hands, as if that might possibly make the whole situation magically end. “What is going on here? Like, actually, what is going on? Why is stuff breaking? What’s with the awful roommate stuff? Why did you get so intense about the cologne?” he demanded, mildly hysterical at this point, gaze moving from Jade to Regan, not caring which of them provided an explanation. “I want to help, Regan, I really do but this is just…” With a sigh of defeat, Zane retreated into the house with a shake of his head, the end point of his hospitality reached.

—

If Regan needed any further confirmation Jade knew what Zane was (she didn’t need it) then the comment about night shifts would have done it. Because ‘vampires’ liked the night, didn’t they? Like bats. Not that Zane appeared to have much in common with those little, flying mammals (though maybe his eyes were a little small).

Jade was practically grinding her distaste between her teeth. This was the type of anger that was hard for her to bite back, probably bridled only by confusion and Regan being right there. When Regan had asked how it felt for Jade, being around the not-quite-dead, she hadn’t described it as unpleasant. So… was Jade’s discomfort based only in distrust? She certainly hated learning that Zane worked at the hospital; Regan had thought it would make him out to be a positive example. Great rot, had she missed the mark, which was embarrassing considering she had a high-acuity mental map of all things Jade that she’d charted over the last year. She had failed to predict how negatively Jade was going to respond to this. How was that possible?

But Jade’s eyes twinkled like beautiful gleaming spleens when they met Regan’s. Were they on the same wavelength again? Regan felt like she’d fallen off a balance beam; it was difficult not to question all of her other assumptions. But… yes. The small huff meant Jade was preparing to say something important. Regan was going to be correct again. She had this. She could continue to tout her status as an expert on her bone partner, which was a point of pride rivaling her MD. She nudged herself closer to Jade, careful not to bump her and risk everything being dropped. That was another challenge, but they could overcome it (not the possibility of the box toppling over… the lack of bumping).

All was well again. Jade picked up on the act. And she was a stellar actress, right up there with Bill Nye (if he were to act). She could tell Zane that yes, things break frequently around Regan, and then Zane could decide he was emotionally attached to his lightbulbs after all, and she and Jade would go… back to the cabin? Regan hid her sinking frown.

It was good Jade was holding everything because Regan would have dropped it when Jade started talking.

Worse… roomie? Regan deflated entirely. Kick her out? Jade was following her lead, her act. Regan knew that. She was also aware that Jade had never come close to ‘kicking her out’; Regan was the one who was clawing to be somewhere else. But… those were words she had never anticipated hearing come from Jade’s mouth (which had never failed Regan before). Her arm flopped off the box, and she was only faintly aware of the hand around her waist. Even the taxidermied beaver head did little jostle her out of whatever this was. Something she hadn’t been panged by for a long time.

Who’d wanna live with… her?

Regan melted more, enough that maybe she should be put into one of those boxes, too. Did Jade really think she was clingy? Did she care about the glass? Had she been harboring this since her roommate’s figurines shattered? Maybe they had been Jade’s figurines the whole time and she lied out of politeness. “Yeah, um… clingy,” Regan agreed flatly to Zane, “like putrescine on a rug. And I do. Break everything. As I explained.” The beautiful nose comment slid right by her. Jade might have been unhappy about all the time Regan was spending on her laptop in the human simulation program. And– had she been too needy? Too obvious in her pining when Jade had late nights or busy days? What were the other problems? Because there had to be other ones. The raccoon she’d left by the stairs the other day? The wings? It always came back to the wings.

The cologne made nausea swirl in her belly now, appropriately acidic for a citrus scent. Jade’s scent – which normally brought blood to the surface of her cheeks – might have been enough to elicit nausea in its own right now, too. What is going on, Zane wanted to know. A reasonable question because Zane was reasonable. Regan wasn’t certain she knew either. She had missed so much. Did she know Jade at all?

Regan cleared her throat, putting some distance between her and Jade. “I am bad to live with, zero out of five scars on Yell,” she said slowly, “I am better to die with. So you should find a different roommate. A high quality one, such as yourself.” It was rare that Regan spoke this way – most self-depreciation never made it out of her skull. Now it screamed. “I am aimless, disfigured, and overconfident in my knowledge of those I reside with. I am nauseated and do not know why, because I am constantly confused. I am a leanbh.” Regan turned away, arms crossed, gaze grazing Jade’s for an unbearable second then shooting off into the distance.

Zane was gone. Even if she hadn’t heard the confident slam of the door, she would have felt those pinpricks receding into the house. Regan only tilted her head back when it sank in that it was over – she and Zane would not be roommates, because Jade would not have liked him. But there was something more there, wasn’t there? She had worried about Zane’s safety. The silence that followed grated on her almost as badly, because she and Jade should have been filling it. Jade never knew silence; Regan thought it an insult.

With a sigh, Regan turned back to Jade, her eyes dancing around to avoid direct contact. She busied herself with one of the bags of bones she’d intended to fill the house with.

“It, uh, smelled in there. Inhospitable.” You sure said that quickly.

“Thanks for playing along.” Was it playing?

“Anyway, we should move all of this back into the car.” You should, because I will break it.

“We return to the cabin, yes?”

No, the word rang through Regan’s skull, and she was not sure if she heard it in her own voice, or Jade’s.

#c zane #c jade #writing #medical blood tw

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bedlamsbard · 5 months ago

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About 700 words written today -- this scene is feeling a little unfocused, and I kind of feel like I need to go and walk around about it to work all of it out. Today has also just ended up being another very weird day -- I usually have a couple of extremely Weird weeks in summer (sometimes it lasts all of summer), and it's now, which is extremely inconvenient as I actually need to be functional. Am also doing the extremely stressful thing of having to get estimates for full service movers because I need to move cross-country in August. For further aggravation. Also I am trying to finish this dissertation but have absolutely no motivation or willpower to do so. Did finish watching S2 of Revenge, though, and now need to take a break from it.

Snippet from Of Home Near chapter 17.

Tony made an inarticulate gesture with one hand, grinding his teeth so hard that Steve could hear them, and finally said, “Is there literally anything that man said that was true? Literally anything? One thing?” Natasha glanced at Steve and he made a slight gesture in response, a quick I’ll tell you later that got a nod from her. “I don’t –” Steve said, and then had to stop, thinking. “I don’t know what he told you,” he said finally. “Since before today we’ve had a grand total of three conversations where Howard even came up, and the last time wasn’t exactly a conversation.” Tony blinked once, his lips parting slightly, and Bucky glanced aside. Rhodey looked mildly horrified, which Steve took to mean that Tony had told him what had happened in Siberia – or some version of it, at least. After a moment, Tony said, “That’s dirty pool, Rogers.” “That one’s the truth,” Steve said. “From me, anyway.” Tony blinked again, then looked at Natasha, who raised her eyebrows in response. “You met him,” Tony said. “What – what was he like?” “I liked him,” she said after a moment of hesitation. “He was a good friend. He – believed in what he was doing.” A muscle jumped in Tony’s jaw. “Yeah, I guess he did,” he said. “A little too much, hmm?” Steve rubbed his hands over his face, thinking a little longingly about going out onto the lawn and spending a couple minutes screaming. Only it would probably scare the aliens camped out there.

#daily fic snippet #iw time travel concept

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blackjackkent · 7 months ago

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Narrator: The device is strange, made of taut flesh and pockmarked metal. It waits for something.

"The zaith'isk," Lae'zel murmurs reverently at Rakha's side. "Vlaakith's purity, distilled. My duty. My right."

Does she sense, as Rakha does, that something is wrong here? Surely she must. But Lae'zel is clever and knows far more of the world than Rakha herself. She must be right, surely... they cannot have come all this way for nothing...

[INVESTIGATION] Examine the device.

Narrator: The device is an ingenious synthesis of illithid anatomy and metal alloys. It hums with psionic energy, hinting at paths into unknown minds and unseen planes.

"Stand aside," Lae'zel insists sharply. "My time has come."

Of course, what else can she do but agree? They came this far. An intuition without any basis is not reason enough to change the plan that has brought them this far...

"Go ahead, Lae'zel," she mutters. "You've earned it."

Lae'zel's back straightens and a relieved smile flashes onto her lips. "Praise Vlaakith," she murmurs. "Let it be done."

She moves with swift, confident steps to climb into the zaith'isk's metal seat. The doctor smiles, watching her.

"Sit, child. Let the zaith'isk end your suffering."

-----

"I don't like this," Wyll mutters next to Rakha. "That woman smiles like a jackal."

"If she removes the parasite," Rakha says curtly, "she may smile as she pleases."

Shadowheart, on Rakha's other side, is watching Lae'zel climb into the mechanism, her eyes narrowed with unreadable intensity. "And if she doesn't? What then?"

"Then I will tear out her throat," Rakha growls, very low.

Shadowheart snorts softly. "Well. Glad to hear we have a plan, at least."

-----

Lae'zel settles herself in the seat of the zaith'isk and peers up warily at its strange, taloned "mouth" as it closes around her.

"You must focus on the parasite at all times," the ghustil instructs. "The zaith'isk will do the rest."

Rakha sees Lae'zel nod, open her mouth as if to ask a question - and then the machine activates with a burst of intense white light like a supernova.

Lae'zel lets out a hoarse shriek and Rakha and the others stagger as agony crashes through them, as if cords of molten iron bind their brains together and have suddenly pulled taut.

Narrator: An unseen blade cleaves your mind in two. Impossible pain sears your bones and body in concert with Lae'zel's.

Narrator: [PERCEPTION] The zaith'isk's psionic forces batter Lae'zel's thoughts. There is no chance she will survive this unscathed.

For a moment the world feels whited out, silent, blinding, and there is nothing but the pain. Rakha staggers, clutches at her temple, trying desperately to ground herself in her body. Dimly she becomes aware of Lae'zel's voice - but the words it speaks are nonsense, a chant without meaning.

"Vlaakith tavki na'zin. Vlaakith tavki na'zin!"

"Yes, child!" the doctor calls in gleeful encouragement, her eyes locked on Lae'zel's form writhing within the machine. "Speak the Tla'ket! Meditate on its verses!"

Narrator: You feel Lae'zel's mind rip and rupture. Is this purification? Is *this* the cure?

Rakha's heart is thundering in her chest, the beast roaring in her skull at the assault of excruciating pain. She can't think, can't focus - there are no words, nothing left to her except the vague, inarticulate understanding that something is terribly wrong. Her mind reaches out where her words cannot, finding Lae'zel's, the connection still tight and strong between them.

[WISDOM] Call on your parasite. Show Lae'zel what she stands to lose.

(A/N: DC30. Literally unpassable without a Nat20. Uh oh. D: )

For a moment their minds connect. For a moment she is inside Lae'zel's thoughts, trying to pull her free - and then a new pain, a blow from Lae'zel herself, lashing outward, knocking Rakha back on her heels as if she's been kicked in the gut.

"OUT OF MY HEAD!" Lae'zel roars.

Rage litters the lingering strands of connection between them. You would deny me in all other things, but would invade in this of all moments? How dare you? HOW DARE YOU!

Rakha flinches, lets out a hoarse breath like a sob as the pain closes around her mind again. There is nothing left to her but confusion and fear and that terrible, terrible light...

Narrator: You share in Lae'zel's agony. Every cell within her bursts into a constellation of fragments, sorted and reassembled. Lae'zel will die if she remains.

"Yes, child!" she hears the doctor call, audibly thrilled by the way this is playing out. "Ch'mar zal'a Vlaakith! Call to your Queen!"

Lae'zel spasms in the machine, her fingers clawing in vague motions at her face. "My Queen, hear me!" she shrieks, full of mad and desperate devotion that masks equally mad and desperate terror.

Clutching his head, Wyll staggers next to Rakha and falls to his knees. "That thing's killing her!" he gasps out hoarsely. "Do something, damn it!"

(A/N: I know I'm the player character, but objectively this is kind of brutally funny. YOU do something, Wyll, if it's that important. XD )

Narrator: Your vision narrows. You sense myriad specters of githyanki past. This is their fate. This is their anguish.

Rakha feels a chill go through her gut. Everything clicks into place at once and for a moment the pain is replaced with a thrill of exultation that comes from beyond her own thoughts, from the beast of the dark urge in her. How many souls have died within this machine? How many minds have been torn asunder in its grip?

[WISDOM] Seek answers within the zaith'isk. What is this vision?

Narrator: Lae'zel's life is laid bare among those that came before. her thoughts are turned to silver thread and relayed to the Astral Sea. The voices of the dead cry out as one. The zaith'isk collects memories from the infected - and executes them. It is not for curing. It's for killing.

(A/N: Last time with Hector I had him in the device instead of Lae'zel. It's actually interesting - from this external perspective, Rakha is given a much more explicit explanation from the narrator of how fucked up this is than Hector received while he was inside it. Which makes a certain amount of sense, I guess.)

It all makes sense now - all the strange behavior of the other gith, the doctor's nonchalant pleasure in Lae'zel's torment, even Rakha's own intuitive fear. In fact only one piece is out of place - Lae'zel's own confidence.

Lae'zel, who Rakha has trusted so deeply as a beacon of knowledge, has been wrong from the very beginning.

The beast keens with pleasure in her head as she feels the killing power of this machine. So many dead, snapped necks and broken minds... let her be the next, let her spinal fluid drip puddles on the floor as the light burns her from the inside out...

For a moment, Rakha feels the beast's rage consume her. She has been misled to come here. It was all a mistake. A trap. She should destroy them, all of them, even Lae'zel caught in the machine's jaws. She should kill and kill and kill until there is nothing and no one left...

But Wyll is at her side, on his knees, broken and battered by the pain flooding them all. With one hand he grips spasmodically at her arm, holding on tightly.

Do something, damn it, he said...

[PERSUASION] "I've seen the truth, Lae'zel..." she rasps out, feeling as if she pushes the words one by one past a wall the beast and the agony have erected together in her mind. "This device doesn't cure. It kills."

Lae'zel's eyes open very wide and Rakha can see every facet of the pain in her face - physical pain, yes, but also betrayal and grief and animal terror. "What?!" she howls. "Tsk'va!" She struggles in the grip of the light around her...

And Rakha feels it, deep in her mind - the stir of the artifact, the guardian's presence flooding up through her and outwards into Lae'zel, gripping her, pulling her free. The light recedes almost imperceptibly, and the noise of the zaith'isk takes on a sudden rattling whine as if some key piece has come loose within it.

As if fired from a cannon, Lae'zel bursts forward out of the seat, staggering out onto the floor in front of the device. And then...

...the zaith'isk erupts.

The explosion knocks Rakha entirely off her feet and onto her back, all the breath blasted from her lungs. For a moment she lays there, stunned and silent. The pain is gone and even the beast has gone silent - but her own rage, the true rage that sits outside the dark urge, is not so easily silenced.

This was a trap. This was all wrong. This has all been wrong, from the very start.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #WELLP #THERE IT IS #this is such an intense scene and i love it

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