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lettersfromcats · 1 year ago

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August movies!!

hi doreen !!!

ive decided to watch at least one film a day this month for no reason, but i have been having fun. since i don't use letterbox to give proper reviews i thought it'd be fun to start documenting my thoughts on each one for the month :) (ratings based on intuition alone) (this will take a while/ in progress)

-the cabin in the woods: 6/10 i really wanted to like this cause i liked the vibes and it seemed right up my alley- i love a horror comedy; but i found myself really bored halfway through. i do like the premise but i think the characters were a bit too archetype-y for me, which i get is the point. i still found it enjoyable and i would watch it again- just probably with other people, i think it's a group watch film.

-the virgin suicides: 9/10 i'm using this to work through some of my watchlist and this was on there for a while, we talked about watching it and i was not disappointed. the exploration of grief from the peripherals really struck me as well as the depiction of girlhood. i understand the criticism of the girls stories being told by the boys but to me the film seemed very self-aware and deliberate in that depiction (and i do love an unreliable narrator). the utter foreboding that hung over the mystical haze of memory throughout the film was enchanting and i mean the cinematography and soundtrack, impeccable. i can't move on without mentioning the symbolism of the elm trees, it's as if a literary technique was designed specifically to get me to like a film. the elm in itself has such interesting mythos and history which maybe wasn't deliberate beyond the obvious symbols in the film, but still is really interesting, for example, in norse mythology, the first woman was made from an elm and in america elms became a symbol of war and liberation during the revolution.

-girl, interrupted: 10/10 started with simon and garfunkle and still got better. incredible performances from any lesbians idea of a stacked cast and jared leto dies at war so win-win. the depictions of illness while i can't say are flawless, never feel like the intentions are wholly mocking- (though i obviously can't speak for everyone) and are devastating when brought to focus. and there's a homoerotic friendship so i was always gonna like it.

-purple hearts: 0/10 i dont even want to talk about it, i was watching it ironically and i couldn't even bring myself to have fun. the politics are beyond confused and seem to boil down to a centrist mush of love everyone despite their flaws (racism) and war's okay if the soldiers are big pouty white men. the romance was even rushed i don't know how anyone enjoyed it.

-the lighthouse: 8/10 exactly my type of artsy bullshit, robert pattinson and willam defoe shine in this weird, gross, claustrophobic, anxious masterpiece and i was having a great time. so much and so little happened but the delirious descent into madness was wonderful and a little bit gay so score.

-saw: 10/10 i finally watched it and as i predicted am obsessed, i just love a horror that is just a little ridiculous. i want to keep billy in a cage and feed him carrot sticks, (is he an animatronic or a puppet? how does he cycle???) jigsaws motivations make no sense and honestly good from him, i'd go batshit crazy if i were him too. the editing is so 2000s i can't stop thinking about it. the bathroom trap is where i want to go when i die. the horror was a lot less visceral than i was expecting; i think the contained nature of the traps really just creates such tension, especially between the characters stuck together, which is so compelling to me. the reverse bear trap is crazy i love it and what lesbian horror fan isn't a little in love with amanda. im so glad i hadn't had the twist spoiled for me because oh my god. also score slapped: hello zepp.

-old: 4/10 so silly i think more rich people should pay out of pocket to make bad films unintentionally. i watched with my siblings and i love nothing more than tearing apart this sort of thing with a captive audience who have to find me funny or be bored.

-extra ordinary: 8/10 i didn't know this was Irish until it started and what a pleasant surprise it all was. such a fun watch i really enjoyed it. the supernatural elements were the good side of corny and the romance was cheesy but heartfelt, with quintessentially irish humour just a really easy to watch, fun little film.

-piggy: 7/10 i really enjoyed this despite the not-great dub i was watching. i like how the bullied girl revenge trope was subverted and saras character felt very real, her reactions to events came off as very genuine and the suspension throughout is pulled off really well. i do get the criticisms of it being a drawn-out short cause i did find it a little slow at times but not having seen the short i didn't find the plot at all diminished. i liked the aspect of detachment from the killings emphasized by none of them being on camera while the emotional impact remained as well as the almost haunting presence of the killer and his intentions.

-the florida project: 9/10 another one that's been collecting dust on my watchlist for a while now i was absolutely enchanted by every aspect of it. the honest depiction of childhood and a very american poverty was striking. the gorgeous use of colours brought the vibrance of childhood back even in the dilapidated americana of it all. the acting really shone, willam defoe slayed of course but the kids are what make it special. and that final shot.

-we're all going to the worlds fair: 8/10 such an interesting film, nothing has ever quite captured the echoing loneliness that existence on the internet can create like this before. i loved the aspect of the accidental acting in search of connection, to me the lead-caseys-personal experience reads as completely honest without necessarily pointing to the spooky aspects being beyond her own mind. the film's atmosphere remains evenly eerie throughout, actually spooking me a little at times. the incredible, universal isolation of each character was really well portrayed with no conversations taking place without some barrier (a screen, a door) and i loved the framing of the fair itself, especially in contrast to the bleak monotonous world of empty snowed-in woodland and soulless frosty towns that casey occupies. the lead actress did such a good job portraying casey and her shifting identity and breakdowns. the director's transness cannot be ignored and the film as an allegory for dysphoria works so well. all this set to the droning instrumentals of alex g creates such a foreboding ambiance i couldn't help but love. definitely one of my favourite watches so far.

-shiva baby: 8/10 oh boy so stressful but also really fun. im starting to really like rachel sennott, looking forward to seeing more of her in stuff soon; speaking of bottoms looks like it's gonna be so good.

-red, white and royal blue: look, we know this is not my kind of thing, i get why people like it but for me this one especially with the indescribably weird political message is just not good, i didn't like the book and i don't like the film. gay people should have cheesy bad films though so its fine.

-when harry met sally: 9/10 this is one of those films i always thought i'd get round to eventually and i was suprised how much i liked it. really really cute, made me believe in love again or something. meg ryans hair was stunning also.

-marry my dead body: 7/10 i definitely enjoyed watching this but if i was being haunted by a twink drastic things would happen and they would not be good. i liked the characters well enough and the mafia(?) plot was fun, action sequences were okay and i'll be charmed by most ghost plots plus a kooky grandparent? great film recipe.

-juno: 10/10 knew i'd love this and boy did i! everything about it was just so charming, the dialogue and mannerisms of the characters (except jason batemans who was so so scary), the soundtrack, the aesthetics and did i mention the soundtrack!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love kimya dawson so much. just a wonderful little film.

-submarine: 8/10 i'm a fan of richard ayode but i think this is his only directorial work of his i've seen and i have to say i really enjoyed it. the cinematography was really cool, i liked the use of symmetry and colour, especially the assigning a colour to each character, that's my shit; stand-out shot for me was the dream sequence over the dam drain thing- i love a water motif used to represent inner turmoil of a character- olivers basically kendall roy if logan was welsh instead of scottish. i know people love the score but i never got into the artic monkeys cause i'm not a huge fan of alex turners voice so a series of songs written and performed by the man didn't exactly stand out to me, but they seemed lyrically cool. i love the awkward stilted dialogue and the oddity of the main characters, they're not exactly likeable but that for me doesn't detract from the film. also his dad was a freak called lloyd and i love him.

-bound: 10/10 i mean what can i say, it's a lesbian crime thriller and if you don't think im gonna love that you're crazy. the plot is really compelling and corky and violet are an even more compelling. i enjoyed it. (also add this to my list of really good films made in 1996)

-bombshell: 2/10 lazy liberal feminism, i watched for margot and kate

-bones and all: 10/10 cannibalism in media <3<3<3 i also really enjoy a bit of Southern Gothic in my films so this was always gonna be a hit with me, even if i had to look past timothys presence. from the start the atmosphere is intense, the rural desolate setting, the immediate social and then literal isolation of maren really keeps the foreboding building only broken by the sudden violence. cannibalism works so well here as queer coding (and everywhere else, don't get me started). the weird balance of such realistic settings and this unchangeable almost supernatural aspect of biological 'survival cannibalism' is so interesting; and the romance element of the film worked really well for me.

-werewolves within: 6/10 a fun little horror comedy, i thought i would like it more but the humour wasn't quite my thing, a little millenial maybe. i still enjoyed it and it was a nice film to watch with my mam.

-as above, so below: 7/10 subpar acting and script writing made up for by such a good concept, Dantes Inferno as the catacombs absolutely slayed, and i was actually pretty spooked a couple times which doesn't usually happen to me beyond overreacting to jumpscares, which while im on the subject the jumpscares here were really well done, didn't feel lazy to me at all. it does need to be said that it really feels like they had a good concept but needed to work the script and plot more, the horror could use some backup from a better-written storyline and better justification for the character's endings.

-primal fear: 8/10 young edward norton was a real standout here. definitely an interesting legal mystery thriller, i think the twist would probably be more impactful back in 1996 (good year for film), it felt a little played out at this point but still very well done.

-slums of beverly hills: 7/10 i love a good coming-of-age and also natasha lyonne so i definitely enjoyed this. don't love the way some topics were glossed over but what can you do.

-fifty shades of grey: bad.

-vampires suck: 6/10 a funny little parody, mentioned the black eyed peas.

-weird: the al yankovic story: 7/10 daniel radcliff as a freak strikes again. definitely my favourite musician biopic i've seen so far. charming in its ridiculousness.

-ginger snaps: 9/10 a coming of age horror which conflates the begining of puberty to the transformation of warewolfism. i really appreciated the body horror elements as a cronenberg fan and i just think the horror was done really well. the two main characters were played so well and it was quite funny at times. i liked the interpretation of lycanthropy as a disease and the route of cure the characters used. would definitely recommend!

-insidious: 5/10 while i didn't find it especially scary i think the horror was well done and the plot was actually quite interesting! astral projection is quite a unique look at a ghost story and i loved that it was a person being haunted not a house, it was a good subversion. i did watch for leigh whannell and he made such a fun supporting character among some pretty meh main characters. definetely not a bad film!

-no hard feelings: 6/10 so fun! im so glad more stuff like this is coming out again and i mean jennifer lawrence slayed so hard. weird how people are such prudes about female nudity still, it wasn't like she was being overly sexualised in the scene but people are making such a huge deal out of it, i thought it made for a funny moment. i really enjoyed the characters and their relationship felt very real and cute! also depicted modern teenagers as very scary which i approve of.

-ghost world: 8/10 a really interesting look at two girls stuck in limbo between high school and adulthood. i really liked the depiction of enid avidly avoiding confronting moving on and how she inadvertently hurts everyone around her by being so casually selfish and how shes contrasted by rebecca (also scar jo slayed here gave absoloutely nothing, such a good character). the aesthetics of the film were really fun, with the delapedated city really highlighting the girls and also how fun the costuming was. steve buscemi also had a standout performance in which he was an awkward freak and a pretentious asshole about music! what a slay.

i really enjoyed doing this, it kind of forced me to actually engage in the media i was consuming past the casual level i usually find myself on. and it sure beat watching tiktok for six hours before bed.

#kate #mediaposting

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lakesbian · 3 months ago

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@socksemoji i barely go here i'm just imagining him typing this out in a delirious haze at like 5 am. the words sound cool together but i can't imagine connecting it to what i've seen u post from twig so far

deeply real commentary

Fray was in the mix. She was here, and she was throwing her wrenches into the works of a plan so vast it threatened to collapse under its own weight. Fray- well, we had no idea what she wanted. But she was dangerous, she was devastating in her own right, and the moves she made were such that there was almost always collateral damage. To things, to people, and especially to plans. The plans she had set into motion, that we hadn’t seen the end of. They would continue to grow and reach out and by petty measures and by vast scales, they would throw us into disarray, much like Avis had so casually done. It was what qualified her as architect of the second of my three gods to slay. Conspiracy.

this is eliciting my "what the fuck are you talking about" bewilderment smile. Wildbow what are you talking about. What do you think you're doing here.

#twig time #iota's immersive twig read

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years ago

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it takes two

desc: when you make a stupid mistake, you can feel a shift in your friendships with your two best mates. so what better way to take care of things than to not mention anything to either of them at all? that is, until you’re bursting at the seams and need to get the story out, one way or another.

word count: 5.6k

warning(s): mentions and consumption of alcoholic beverages

A/N: something a little different. i still hope you all enjoy :) took me freaking forever to write this oi veigh. notes: my requests are still currently closed, i am merely working through the ones in my inbox. i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any platforms.

taglist: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darlingdetails @laneygthememequeen @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @feffffffy@acciotwinz @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @shadowsinger11 @sleep-i-ness @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbystrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro @valwritesx @heavenlymidnight @hannolannno @msmimimerton @oh-for-merlins-sake @hufflepuff5972 @pigwidgexn @sarcasticallywitty15 @breadqueen95 | message me if you’d like to be added or removed!

“Fred! Bloody hell, can’t you let me win just once?”

The common room was vibrating with chattering students. Across the table from you sat Fred with a rather smug look painted onto his face as if to say, Won again! You huffed dramatically; you’d been trying this entire term to beat him in a game of exploding snap and had yet to do so. You sulkily sank back into the couch and folded your arms across your chest, all while Fred just sat across from you and laughed. Just then, George plopped down next to you and thrust a goblet that was filled to the brim into your hands.

“Are you giving me this because I’ve lost to your git of a brother for the millionth time this year and need some reconciling?” You lowered your voice and your eyes to the goblet, the insides of it swirling with Gryffindor-deep crimson reds and oranges, the liquid that would course through your veins like a rapid fire.

“What’re you on about?” George asked, a sly smile creeping onto his face, “that’s butterbeer.”

You knew by the colour alone and the sheer burn in the back of your throat when you swallowed that it was definitely not butterbeer. Your eyes began to water at the sting. “Mhmm,”

“To answer your question, Y/N,” Fred dragged your name out a little bit longer than you would have liked, but he just adored teasing you, didn’t he? You narrowed your eyes at him as he relaxed back into the armchair, bringing the goblet of firewhisky to his lips, “no, I can’t let you win just once, I reckon. That wouldn’t be fair.” He then took a too-big-to-handle gulp, and began to cough from the burn of the alcohol.

“Fred, I swear to Merlin, could you be any less subtle, you idiot?” George sneered at his twin, grabbing for the goblet which Fred held above his head. George just sighed. “Can’t let the prefects see I’ve snuck this in.”

You giggled and shoved him. “Oh, you mean, your brother?”

The three of you peered across the common room to see Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny chatting away, Ron and Hermione’s shiny Prefects badges glistening on their robes. You shoved George playfully when he began to laugh.

“What? Ron wouldn’t tell. He’s too scared of us. It’s Hermione I’m worried about.”

You clinked your goblet with his and then with Fred’s and wiggled your eyebrows at the both of them. “Well then, boys, best make sure she doesn’t see, yeah?”

The three of you threw back more gulps and you reckoned it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but the buzz of the party was making you abandon all logical thoughts.

You jumped up in surprise to find yourself still in your uniform from yesterday, but somehow tucked comfortably underneath the covers in your four poster. There were two perfect seconds where everything was fine and wonderful and lovely, until the haze above you lifted and you felt the very obnoxious thumping in your head when you turned toward your window and the sunlight nearly blinded you. Groaning, you pulled the covers back over your eyes and stayed in the dark until one of your mates began to yell that you were going to be late for breakfast.

You changed into new robes and tried to tame the wild animal that was your hair, but it was really no use, so you settled for pulling it back without accentuating your migraine. Sullenly, you dragged yourself away from bed, through the portrait hole, and down the steps toward the Great Hall.

It was all coming back in fuzzy little increments, wasn’t it? Last night. You grimaced when you remembered dancing and singing and playing exploding snap and giggling like mad all evening, like a little schoolgirl. The room had been buzzing with excited students and everyone was thoroughly enjoying their Sunday evening, despite the fact that Monday morning lessons loomed in the distance. Everything seemed to be better after some firewhisky, right? Blimey. The firewhisky. No wonder you had such an awful headache! That’s the last time you’d ever listen to Fred and George and -- oi. Bloody hell. Fred and George.

You were hit not only with another sharp pain through your skill, but with the overwhelming sensation of what exactly had happened. The truth. The painful, blinding, can’t-even-pretend-it-didn’t-happen truth.

And the truth was, of course, that you’d been so overpowered by your own giddiness mixed with the alcohol that you’d promptly danced the evening straight away and fell asleep uncomfortably in the armchair next to the fire quite early in the evening. One of them, one of the twins -- and which one, you didn’t know -- had taken it upon themselves to carry you from the common room and up to your dormitory before placing you safely in bed, all before you’d been too delirious to realize that you’d pulled him forward and kissed him. KISSED him.

But who was him exactly?

Your heart jumped into your throat, eager to escape, and you stopped short right in front of the Great Hall. How could you face them now? You didn’t even bloody know which one you’d embarrassed yourself in front of! Though, surely the one had told the other, so you reckoned you’d embarrassed yourself in front of them both at this point.

And then you saw him -- he had half of his body slung over the Gryffindor table, trying desperately to grab for the last bit of bacon Ron seemed to have snatched up. He flicked his red hair out of his eyes and took the final piece of toast off of Ron’s plate in an attempt to get his brother back for stealing the bacon from under his nose. And then a bright smile split his face as he sat back down, clearly satisfied with himself, and you knew right then and there that it had been him.

You’d kissed Fred, in a drunken, delirious state.

Your stomach grumbled. You knew that you desperately needed to eat, but you turned swiftly on your heel, away from the Great Hall, away from him, away from the mess that awaited you as you ignored it all and made way for the kitchens instead.

-- -

You felt as though you were walking on eggshells. You were conscious of every grin, every flutter of your eyelashes, every wave, every movement of your own so as not to come off a certain way.

There was no way you’d be able to avoid the two of them without rising suspicion, so you told yourself you’d go on as normal and only think or speak on the entire ordeal if one of them brought it up. It was proving rather difficult though, to not think on it at least. But it had been a week and thankfully, neither of them had brought it up to you. Fred and George continuously sent you winks across classrooms and teased you mercilessly, but this was nothing new; however, each and every time they said your name with an upward inflection, a question perched on their lips, you felt your heart constrict a little.

Why was this having such an effect on you? It’s not like you fancied Fred, or either one of them, for that matter.

But the butterflies that danced around in your stomach each and every time you saw him made you question everything you thought you knew about your heart. Were you only feeling this wave of nervousness because of the kiss-that-shouldn’t-have-been, or because you were actually developing feelings for him? And if you were developing feelings for him, were they genuine, or were they only because you’d kissed him? Or perhaps, maybe the kiss meant nothing in that it was simply just a kiss, a drunken, silly mistake. OI VEIGH. You internally scolded yourself for thinking in circles.

One particularly bad day, you’d been gawking. There was no other way of describing what you’d been doing. You were straight up staring, but not in an “I love you, let’s get married” type of way, but rather, “I need to look at you for a moment to see if these feelings I’m feeling are real or I’m just kidding myself” way. Of course, Fred couldn’t tell the difference, so when he caught you watching him attempt to cut bits of gurdyroot into five equal pieces, he smirked at you and asked, “Like what you see?”

You coughed in surprise on the air you were breathing and sat up a bit straighter. “Just watching your technique,” you blurted out, which didn’t sound any less pathetic, you reckoned. You just couldn’t wait to get out of the dungeons and back to the common room to stick your nose in a book and escape to someone else’s world for a bit.

But blimey, this was driving you mad. You hadn’t told anyone of this little adventure, had you? You thought about possibly consulting Ginny, though discussing the idea of you snogging one of her brothers probably wouldn’t be high on her priority list. Then you thought perhaps Hermione, who was always of a sound mind, but then you’d have to admit to the firewhisky and that wouldn’t benefit anyone. Then the possibility of Harry caught your attention, because he was always getting himself into conundrums, wasn’t he? He was probably an expert on damage control about now. Though when it came to romance, he was kind of awkward, so perhaps he wasn’t the best person to consult either.

You were nearly bursting at the seams with this story -- you just needed to get it off of your chest, you needed to be told that you weren’t crazy and that it was totally okay to be questioning these things you were feeling. But you hadn’t had enough time to find an appropriate confidant, which resulted in you spilling your guts to the absolute worst.

“I kissed him!”

In a moment of horror, your eyes widened and you brought your hands to your mouth in surprise, because you couldn’t believe you’d just said the words out loud. All it had been this whole time was a thought, right? Perhaps even a dream. Maybe you’d been imagining it the entire time. But now, saying it out loud, you realized that what had happened that evening was as real as the befuddled boy standing across from you.

Poor George arched an eyebrow and pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, you could tell. You began to shake your head and lift a finger, but he just took a step forward, his eyes softened now, as if to say, It’ll be alright, you know. “Wait, Y/N --”

“Erm --” you were finding it really difficult to string together coherent sentences, because you weren’t exactly sure what you’d like to say. I may or may not be mad for your brother? I kissed him that one time when I was delirious and he hasn’t said anything and now I’m confused? So instead, you opted for, “Can we just -- go ahead and forget I’ve ever said anything?”

The grounds were absolutely bloody freezing -- the snow was coming down quite heavily now, everything already covered in a blanket of white, and you watched George shiver as he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. Yet you felt as if your entire soul was on fire.

You noticed though, that he didn’t look surprised; Fred must’ve told him. You felt crimson red flush your cheeks and you so very much wanted to bury yourself underneath the covers of your bed in your dorm. Unfortunately for you, though, you had lessons soon. “Fred’s told you already, hasn’t he?”

“No, no, he didn’t,” George replied, eager to make sure you knew the truth.

“Reckon you think I’m out of my bloody mind, don’t you?”

“I thought that long before this whole debacle.”

You punched him square in the arm and he recoiled jokingly. “Ha haaaa,” you told him before dropping your head into your hands and groaning. When you finally had the courage to lift your head, you met George’s gaze and watched as the wind rustled his hair and snowflakes landed all over his robes. He peered at you sympathetically. “Can we just... please don’t tell Fred you know anything. If he hasn’t told you, I reckon he’s trying to repress it -- you know, kind of like a nightmare you don’t wish to remember!” George snorted at your attempt at making fun of yourself. “Or -- I dunno, maybe you could help me figure out how to broach the subject with him -- or maybe --”

George placed gentle hands onto your shoulders. “Oi, you really haven’t a clue what you’d like to do about this, d’you?”

You shook your head embarrassingly and started to groan again.

“Tell you what,” George said, gesturing for you two to head back inside the castle, “you think on it, and if you need any help, let me know. Once you come to a decision, I’ll help you execute a plan, and for the time being, this stays between us. Deal?”

For the first time in nearly a week, you felt somewhat better. You took a rather deep breath and let the cold, winter air fill your lungs before exhaling and letting your muscles de-tense. Your heart fluttered at his kindness, and the tenderness in his eyes as he watched you. “Thanks, George, I appreciate it.”

Then you picked up a huge wad of snow and threw it straight at him until he was pummeling you, too.

-- -

He winked at you just as you rolled your eyes and walked across the classroom and plopped yourself in the seat beside his. He smirked a bit, as if to say, Fancy meeting you here.

You glanced up toward the ceiling for no reason other than to not look directly at him for a moment. With your heart thundering dramatically in your chest, you internally sent out a plea to the universe, who apparently found it rather funny to pair you and Fred together in nearly every single lesson. What’ve I done to deserve this type of internal agony?

“Wow, together again,” Fred teased as he pulled out his spellbook from his bag. Then he threaded his brows together and thought for a moment, as if he was concentrating his hardest on a scientific discovery, “Don’t you find it kind of odd that we’ve been paired together in nearly every class? I mean, blimey, it’s as if our professors are trying to get the two of us to date or something.”

A lump appeared in your throat at the word date, and you swallowed to try and dislodge it. “Yeah,” you replied breathlessly, a nervous laugh escaping you, “odd.”

A few weeks ago, you would’ve been delighted to have been paired with Fred. Not because you were in love with him or anything, but because he was one of your best mates, wasn’t he? And now, as you inched as far away as you possibly could from him without looking suspicious, you felt a shift in your friendship -- a crack, if you will, that, as the days went on and you became more and more uncomfortable around him because of the secret you held close to you, seemed to be growing larger and the distance between you both bigger.

You had to admit, though, the two of you were pretty great together. Not in that way, but just as partners, as equals. As friends. Which is what you’d always been. Fred had this way about him that made even the most dreadful of lessons seem lighter, and you reckoned you could do far worse than having him as your partner. You wouldn’t want to be paired with a dreadful Slytherin in Potions now, would you? You made a mental note to thank the universe later and take back what you said about the agony thing.

“Right,” Fred began one afternoon as the two of you swiftly made your way up from the dungeons to the common room, “so I reckon we should probably meet sometime soon so we can get started on this dreadful assignment for Snape, so I’ll just cancel with Lee and George. What d’you say? This weekend?”

Your breath got caught in your throat when you realized that Fred wanted to cancel plans with his best mates to spend time with you, albeit, working on assignment for Snape. But it wasn’t due for a week! “Fred, you don’t have to do that --”

George appeared around the corner and waved at the two of you before making his way through the seat of students. Meanwhile, Fred just waved you off. “Nonsense. It’s no big deal. Not trying to get away from me, are you?” He smirked at you.

“Of course not,” you replied. George appeared in front of you both, immediately engaging Fred in some conversation that you were sure was centered around some type of mischief they were looking to get into, but the blood pounding in your ears seemed to drown everything out around you.

You hated this. There was no getting around it. Why had you stupidly kissed Fred? Why was your subconscious trying to make you fall in love when you had other pressing matters, like exams and things? And why had the universe caused this wedge between you and your two best friends in the entire world?

Fingers snapped in front of your eyes and everything came back into focus. George laughed breathlessly, “You alright? Zoned out there for a moment,”

“Not dreaming about working on that assignment with me, are you? Have got a few more days until then, I’m afraid.” Fred teased. You swallowed and watched as George’s eyes shifted from his brother’s to yours.

You were able to produce somewhat of a laugh and punched Fred in the arm, a little two hard, because the boys just peered from one another to you, with confused types of grins on their faces. “Hilarious, Freddie. I’ve -- I’ve just remembered that I’ve got another assignment to finish up, so I’m going to head to the library -- but I’ll see you both later!”

And before either of the twins could convince you to come with them back to the common room to take a break, you sped off toward the library, trying with all of your might to catch your breath that seemed to have been stolen away.

-- -

You vowed after that night in the library that you were not going to let Fred get to you, no matter what. You told yourself to stay calm and grounded and to push aside whatever happened. To focus on what was in front of you. There was absolutely no point in getting worked up when it had obviously meant nothing to him, for he still hadn’t mentioned it. Who knows? Perhaps you’d also apologized in your delirious state, and he played it off. You just needed to move forward. And if your feelings were true, and it was meant to be, it would happen, wouldn’t it? The two of you.

You’d done a surprisingly good job of keeping your promise to yourself.

You found yourself falling back into your old routine. Each and every time Fred teased you or sent a wink your way, you merely rolled your eyes, reminding yourself that this was his normal behaviour and that there was absolutely no reason for you to read into it. He didn’t act overly flirty, he didn’t try and hold your hand or hug you or anything -- in fact, now that you were less focused on the entire ordeal, you came to realize that he was showing no signs that anything had happened at all.

You were busy in the common room, flipping furiously through a copy of the Daily Prophet, when the twins dropped their belongings and fell onto the couch across from you.

Without looking up, you could feel them both smirking at you. “I am not engaging in any type of firewhisky-related activity with you two again,” you told them straightforwardly.

“Why,” Fred teased, “because you’re worried about doing something you’ll regret again?”

Your heart nearly stopped beating at those few words. You froze and lifted your head; Fred was peering at you as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and George was looking back and forth between the two of you, looking as though he was ready to jump in with something if you needed him too.

“W-what d’you mean?” you asked tentatively, though you weren’t sure you wanted him to answer.

This was it, you reckoned. He was going to bring it up and then it’ll be out there in the open for the three of you to mull over; you’ll become awkward and uncomfortable around them both and that’ll be the new normal. Absolutely bloody fabulous.

Fred shrugged, as if it were obvious. “Your one woman show was quite the entertainment, you know.”

Oh. That you remembered. You breathed a deep sigh of relief, but then realized as the twins began to laugh that you weren’t exactly off the hook. It wasn’t the kiss they’d been discussing, but you reckoned that singing obnoxiously in the common room was probably just as embarrassing.

“No matter,” Fred said, “We haven’t even got any on us. Now if you’d both excuse me, I’ve got to go and ask that lovely lady out on a date. She’s been rejecting me for weeks, but I know she’ll come round.” He straightened his tie as if he were off to a business meeting and stood up, sending you and George bright grins before he went off to the other end of the common room to where Angelina was sitting reading a book. “Wish me luck.”

You watched with furrowed brows as Fred waltzed over to her, looking positively chuffed and confident, his aura of confidence engulfing the room entirely. He sat down next to her and you felt your heart begin to thunder against your ribcage; you realized now that you wanted to know the answer to Fred’s proposal probably more so than he did. And when, inevitably, Angelina rolled her eyes in a teasing sort of way but nodded her head in agreement as her eyes sparkled, you were surprised at the feelings swirling in your stomach.

It wasn’t sadness, or heartbreak, or confusion at all.

What you felt, in actuality, was relief.

You knew deep down that you didn’t love him, and thank Merlin he didn’t love you, too.

When he pulled Angelina to her feet and guided her toward the portrait hole, he looked over toward you and George and sent a wink as he bit down on his bottom lip, and for the first time in weeks, the eye roll you sent him back was genuine, and you finally felt as though you had your best mate back.

Once Fred was gone and completely out of earshot, you jumped up excitedly and began to shake George by the shoulders. “Blimey, woman, what has gotten into you?” he asked through a laugh.

“George, don’t you see?” you pleaded with him. “Clearly, whatever the bloody hell came over me doesn’t matter to Fred, because he’s sought out Ange instead! And it doesn’t matter to me either -- all those feelings I thought I had were merely because I was a nervous wreck due to the mistake I’d made. It was all in my head, wasn’t it? The feelings, I mean,” you rushed to continue when you noticed George’s confused features, “or whatever they were. Reckon I can just forget about that kiss now.” You sank comfortably into the couch, feeling as though a huge weight had finally been lifted off of your shoulders after having carried it around for bloody months, and you picked up your copy of the Daily Prophet again, reading giddily.

George leaned forward in the armchair, pressing his elbows into his knees. “You’re just going to forget about the entire thing?”

“Well, I don’t see why I’ve got to harp on it anymore, you know? Besides, I’ve got so many other things to focus on,” you told him before folding up your news clipping and setting it down on the table. “Speaking of all those things I need to do, I’d like to avoid them for the evening. What d’you say we break curfew and head down to the Quidditch pitch? I’d really like to give you a run for your money, Weasley.”

You noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes, and he was up and back from the boys dormitory with his broomstick before you could second guess yourself. You felt yourself blush when he said, “Whatever makes you happy. But I’ve got to warn you, I’m absolutely going to crush you out there.”

You pulled a thick scarf around your neck and scoffed before hopping through the portrait hole. “In your dreams, mate.”

-- -

You both landed dramatically on the couch after spending far too much time out in the cold. You wondered if your nose and ears were going to turn permanently red, and you rubbed your hands together as you inched closer toward the fire.

“You may have gotten me that time,” you told George, who was slowly sipping his steaming hot tea, “but it’s only because I’ve had an off few weeks. Now that everything’s back to normal though, I’ll be able to kick your arse just like you deserve.”

“Easy there,” he replied, and though his voice was soft, it echoed throughout the desolate common room, “don’t go getting any ideas. Haven’t you heard that Fred and I are the greatest beaters Gryffindor has ever seen?”

You actually snorted. “Right, okay, sure -- whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You realized then just how tired you actually were. You sank back into the couch and closed your eyes for just a moment; if you gave yourself a few minutes, you knew that you’d be absolutely out cold and probably snoring. You giggled a bit at the thought -- it’s no wonder Fred didn’t fall in love with you!

You heard George laugh a little too, and his voice was quiet in your ears. “Come on, Y/N, it’s nearly one -- let’s get to bed.”

And then you bolted forward, just like you had the morning after drinking all of that firewhisky. Realization hit you like a ton of bricks; next to you, George froze, a bit confused by your jolt, and you just peered at him, reliving it all over again.

Come on then, let’s get you to bed, Y/N.

It was the way he said your name, both that evening and tonight, filled with such tenderness and care that you’d be able to recognize it anywhere, easily pick it out of a lineup. You wouldn’t forget it for as long as you lived.

George threaded his brows together and shook his head slightly, as if to say, Are you alright?

And before you could let yourself figure out a better way of doing this, you breathed out, “It was you.”

His features twisted from confusion to nervousness, and then to relief. His face was flushed red, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold air or the fact that he was remembering, and reliving it all with you.

It was George that you’d kissed that night, not Fred.

It was evident that he didn’t know what to say. He parted his lips, as if he were going to open his mouth and speak, but nothing happened. You laughed a bit at how bloody stupid you’d been, and then grinned sympathetically at him. “It was you, the whole time.”

You wondered how you’d missed it, how you’d assumed it was Fred. And then, as George tentatively inched forward and placed his hand on top of yours, that all those feelings of butterflies and nervousness and heart-stopping moments hadn’t been because of Fred at all.

Whenever Fred had said something cheeky and your heart began to race, it was only because you’d caught George peering at you first.

When you stumbled over your words that time in a lesson, when Fred had jokingly told you that he thought your professors were trying to get you two to date, it was only because your head and heart subconsciously yearned for his twin instead.

And when your heart had started to race that day on the snow-covered grounds, at the idea of telling Fred anything at all, it was actually because of the tenderness in George’s eyes as he promised to not say a word to anyone.

“Why -- why didn’t you say anything?” you asked him.

It was so odd to see him so nervous; he and Fred were the most confident people in the bloody world, weren’t they? George sucked in a breath and you felt yourself tighten the grip around his hands as he spoke his own truth. “I dunno... you were so tired that night and so I figured it was just a mistake. But then you got all weird around us and so I figured perhaps not. Then you went and thought it was Fred and confided in me that one day... I just didn’t want to scare you away. You were so upset and confused and I didn’t want to worsen it. I figured you’d come to the realization on your own -- or, I hoped you would.”

You bit down on your lip and continued to laugh; you had felt so embarrassed by the idea of telling Fred when you thought it was him, but with George, it felt okay.

“Look,” he continued, squeezing your hands, “I’m not really sure where you’re at right now -- I mean, blimey, we’ve been best mates for years, haven’t we? If you’d like to forget the entire thing and go back to normal, then I -- I can do that.” He paused for a moment to consider the look in your eyes. He sucked in another breath, as if more oxygen in his lungs would give him the courage to continue. “I just... I don’t know if I want to.”

He was lucky then, because you didn’t know if you wanted to either. Perhaps it wasn’t the firewhisky that made you abandon all rational -- perhaps it was George and the way he made you feel -- because you pushed aside all what if’s and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you before gently brushing your lips over his. His surprise lasted about two seconds before he melted into you completely, and it was as if the feeling of his lips moving slowly against yours brought back all recognition from that night. Of course it had been him -- the faint taste of cinnamon and vanilla transported you right back.

When you broke apart, you both hovered close to one another for a moment before looking at one another and beginning to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire ordeal. You pressed your lips together and said, “Normal’s overrated anyway, isn’t it?” He nodded and brought your hands to his lips. “Go to Hogsmeade with me.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow,” you told him straightforwardly, “I’ve been dying to head into Zonko’s. Then let’s grab lunch and a drink at the pub. No firewhisky, though." You both laughed.

He smirked at you and you watched as the fire reflected in his eyes burned brighter. “Did you just ask me out on a date?”

“That depends,” you replied, somehow feeling even more confident than before, “are you going to say yes?”

“Of course I’m going to say yes.”

You pulled him to his feet and he pulled you into an embrace; you wondered again how you’d gone on so bloody long not realizing it had been him who you’d kissed. You thought about apologizing for it, though you just squeezed your eyes shut and leaned your head against his chest, and you realized that he’d somehow be able to hear all of the unspoken words inside of you. Thank you for being so kind about all of this, you’d say. He pulled you tighter toward him and he pressed a kiss to your hair. I care about you too much not to be anything but that.

You both stepped apart. Awkwardly, you began to fumble with the strings on your sweater and George ran a hand nervously through his hair. This was going to be so strange, wasn’t it? Dating your best friend. Though as odd as the prospect seemed, you thought for a moment why you two hadn’t been doing this the entire time.

“Erm, so, tomorrow,” George stumbled a bit, walking with you toward the steps up to the girls’ dormitory. “Lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, feeling overly giddy as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Tomorrow.”

Just as you were both headed up to your respective dormitories, George turned and said your name and stopped you. “Yeah?” you asked.

He shook his head slightly and furrowed his brows. “You know I’m only joking, right? It was Fred that night.”

Hot, bubbly panic took you over at those words, but then the git began to laugh hysterically and so you tossed a throw pillow directly at him and it hit him square in the head. For Merlin’s sake, these two you were going to drive you bloody mad.

“In that case, I won’t be seeing you for lunch tomorrow,” you called in a sing-song type of voice before heading up the steps.

You were right at the door of your dormitory when you heard George laughing still. “Aw, come on Y/N, I know that’s not true. You find me far too irresistible. I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”

You bit down on your lip to suppress a giggle. You’d have been really bloody angry had he not been so right about the irresistible thing.

“I’ll be sure to bring Fred along, too.”

“Weasley!”

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley reader insert #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #weasley twins fanfic #weasley twins fanfiction #weasley twins imagi #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp imagine #weasley twins imagines #george weasley imagines

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nitewrighter · 4 years ago

Note

First Meeting of Genji and Tracer maybe?

I haven’t forgotten all the kiss prompts but I wanted to gear-shift to something a little more punchy!

-------

“I don’t know about this…” Genji mindlessly brushed his fingers along the handle of Ryū-Ichimonji as he walked down the hall, “I’ve never really thought of myself as a teacher...”

“You said you wanted to get off the bench,” Reyes walked alongside him, both hands in the mono-pocket of his hoodie. He had a way of carrying himself that made it easy for the eye to scan past him, despite being head of Blackwatch, but Genji drew the eye, bare skin and metal, and stark black, white and red prosthetics, and so in their walk virtually all Overwatch staff in the hallway gave them an unnaturally wide berth, first a natural reaction to Genji’s appearance, then a flinching recognition of Reyes. “This is the best Jack and I can do for you,” Reyes went on, “Besides, she was in the RAF before this, so it’s not like she’s coming into this with no combat knowledge.”

‘The best Jack and I can do for you,’ Genji glanced away from Reyes, his eyes narrowing in thought, So you show Jack one hand with me, while keeping the other behind your back with McCree. I’m the ‘accountability’ agent, but McCree and Moira... they’re still Blackwatch. They’re still working. His ‘real’ agents. Genji wondered where McCree was now. Was it an ‘errand’ this time or a ‘vacation?’ It wasn’t as if it was sanctioned by Jack either way, but it wasn’t like Jack would look too closely or question it so long as the cyborg ninja was accounted for.

“Hey,” Reyes spoke and Genji was forced to pull himself out of his bristling silence, “Being a part of Overwatch isn’t just cutting through shit with a sword. You have to show you can work with people, and not just Blackwatch.” Reyes gave a short snort, “Though, let’s be real, saying you worked with Blackwatch is a bit of a stretch.”

Genji kept his eyes fixed away sullenly. “So she’s not the only one learning, here,” he mused.

“Now you’re getting it,” said Reyes, smiling.

“You don’t know when Blackwatch’s suspension is ending, do you?” Genji’s voice was level but it wiped the smile from Reyes’s face in an instant.

“Can’t say that I do,” Reyes flicked his own eyes forward, down the hall, “But that doesn’t mean I’m sitting on my hands, Shimada. You can believe me when I say I’m working on ways to get you back out there, because Talon’s only going to get bolder while we’re wrapping ourselves in red tape. But you have to show me, Jack, and all these UN pearl-clutchers you can adapt. Do you understand?”

“Mm,” Genji gave a single nod as they exited two automatic doors out to the training area, where a cluster of training bots where doddering around in various directions.

“Had ‘em cue up your usual warm-up,” said Reyes, putting his hands on his hips, “Think benchwarming got you soft?”

Genji gave a short scoff before drawing Ryū-Ichimonji from his back, but Reyes could hear the smile in his breath beneath his faceplate.

----

“Wow... Blackwatch!” Tracer’s eyes were wide as Mercy and Winston stood next to her in the elevator, “I heard all about the--I mean, everyone heard about Venice but--blimey! Are we sure it’s all right?”

“We’re approaching this as a sort of... rehabilitation from suspension,” said Mercy, “And don’t worry, I’m very well-acquainted with your future teacher and I can assure you that Genji Shimada holds himself to a very high standard as an agent.”

“I know that but....I don’t know if I’m cut out for any of that ninja stuff,” Trace glanced down at the chronal accelerator glowing in her chest, “This thing doesn’t exactly make it ea--easy to sneak around.” A brief ripple of glowing blue chronal feedback bloomed around her on the word ‘easy’ and her shoulders bunched up self-consciously, “Sometimes I don’t know if I can pull off that... speed-up thing I did back with the prototypes...”

“The accelerator reacts to your nervous system,” Winston chimed in, “We can worry about safely discharging the chronal distortion later, but it’s perfectly safe and stable as it is right now! All you need to worry about is keeping a cool head!”

“Cool head,” Tracer said firmly, “Right.”

“But if anything feels wrong you should tell us immediately,” Mercy quickly added.

“Gotcha, gotcha,” said Tracer, nodding. The three of them stood in a nervous, excited silence for a few seconds.

“Is he nice?” Tracer asked, looking at Mercy, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can deal with the ‘tough love’ types, but I guess I’m just not really sure what to expect with all this Blackwatch stuff...”

“Oh he’s wonderful,” said Mercy beaming as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, “And I think, while both your situations are very unique, he’ll definitely understand what you’re going through. He’s basically had to re-learn how to coordinate his body, too!”

Tracer’s shoulders slumped with some reassurance as they stepped out into the open air of the training area, “Well that’s a relief,” she said, with a lopsided smile.

“Oh yes. He’ll be a great teacher. He’s patient, and attentive, and really quite funny once you get to know him, and he’s very---”

Mercy was cut off by a snarling, roaring, cybernetically warbling scream as a red, white, and black blur rushed past them on the training grounds. Tracer, Winston, and Mercy watched in some combination of awe and terror as Genji Shimada tore through a batch of training bots like a hurricane.

“Very--um...” Mercy’s words turned halting as Genji dove and slid under one bot and became a whirlwind of blades and kicks, slicing up the training bots closing in on him, before sending the poor training bot he had dived under into the air then springing into the air himself. His wires whipped around him as he twisted in the air, sending the training bot flying back with a kick that made it shatter against a wall.

“Very--” Mercy tried to regain her composure and speak quickly but winced as she was cut off again by the screech and clatter of metal, the loud scream of a broken vocal box on one of the training bots as Genji jammed both sword and wakizashi into it before ripping it outward and rendering the training bot an explosion of broken metal parts. Mercy looked sharply over to Tracer, whose mouth was hanging open in a petrified gawk.

“He’s very...” Mercy was trying to eke words out of herself as Genji sliced off the head of one training bot with his sword then stabbed it through with his wakizashi before pivoting and smashing another training bot’s head with the skewered head of its compatriot. “...enthusiastic?”

Genji’s breaths were ragged and his forearms were quaking with how hard his hands were gripping his sword and wakizashi, surrounded by the sparking broken bits of training bots, his shoulders rising and falling with his breaths. Tracer, Winston, and Mercy all flinched to attention at the sound of clapping next to them and looked to their right to see Gabriel Reyes stick his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistle shrilly before clapping some more.

“Attaboy, Genji! Still got it!” Reyes called out to Genji and Genji seemed to pull himself out of a blood-drunk haze (or at least the robot-destroying equivalent of a blood-drunk haze), looking over his shoulder and then flinching to awkward attention himself as he noticed Reyes was now accompanied by Mercy, the gorilla, and... the newbie.

His student.

Who looked about ready to either throw up or piss herself or both from what she had just seen him do.

Reyes was still clapping and smiling obnoxiously, Genji awkwardly lifted his wakizashi (smaller sword was less threatening, right?) and gave a small wave.

“Uh... yo,” he said.

“Er--excellent form, Genji!” Mercy raised her voice so he could hear her but it came out as a squawk, her desperation to try and diffuse the situation obvious in every intonation, “Very... efficient!” She had that ‘everything is going wrong but for the love of god be strong, Angela’ deliriously forced smile on her face, which he had seen both at 3 AM in the lab and at press conferences going down in flames.

“Thank you?” said Genji, sheathing both his sword and moving to walk toward them but then stumbling over a piece of broken training bot. He quickly recovered, straightened himself up to full height and walked briskly over to them before giving a stiff bow.

“So glad you could join us, Oxton,” said Reyes, turning to look at Tracer, his hands on his hips.

“Reyes?” Mercy’s voice was steel wire-tight, “May we speak?”

“Sure, Ange, what--” Reyes started but Mercy grabbed him by the loose sleeve of the hoodie and practically dragged him through the doors of the training area’s control room.

“Wait, shouldn’t we--” Tracer started feebly after them but the steel doors of the room slammed behind them. Tracer, Genji, and Winston all vaguely made out the muffled sounds of Mercy yelling at Reyes on the other side of the doors.

“What were you thinking?! What was that?!”

“What are you yelling at me for? I just thought he should get a little warmed up and the newbie should get some idea of--”

“Some idea of what?! We’ve only barely scratched the surface of the effects the chronal disassociation is having on her physical abilities and you’re throwing up these warzones like---”

“Hey, I just set up his usual training bot session, Doc, you got a problem with Genji’s style, you take that up with him--”

“I don’t have a problem with Genji’s ‘style’--! I--Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing---! Is this some other play?! Are you--”

Winston cleared his throat. “We should probably...”

“Right..” said Tracer a little sheepishly.

The three of them edged away from the steel doors. Genji glanced over at Tracer, who didn’t seem to know whether to even look at him as they walked themselves out of earshot of the argument.

“So you’re the new recruit from the flight program,” said Genji, folding his arms and trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Ah...y-yeah!” Tracer blurted out. She cleared her throat and stuck her hand out, “Lena Oxton! Callsign Tracer! Reporting for du--” blue light suddenly flared brightly around her from the glowing object on her chest and she seemed to catch herself, clearing her throat, “er... reporting for duty,” she said extending her hand again, which had somehow jerked back to her side with the blue glow.

Genji moved to extend his organic hand, found that that would be awkward with the hand Tracer had chosen to shake with, then hesitantly extended his prosthetic. She shook his hand so hard it jostled up his whole arm before she caught herself and withdrew her hands to her side, clearing her throat.

“Ah so that’s...” Genji started.

“Yeah it’s a thing,” said Tracer, glancing down.

“Well...” Genji gestured up and down himself, “This... is also a thing.”

“I can see that,” said Tracer with a bit of a nervous giggle. They both gave a glance to Winston.

“Oh!” Winston perked up and started unconsciously signing as he spoke, “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Winston. I’ll be on the science team overseeing Tracer’s condition with the chronal accelerator. Along with Doctor Ziegler. So we’ll be watching while you’re training together!”

“I see,” said Genji, “And you’re...”

“From the moon,” said Winston.

“From the moon,” Genji repeated, both of them silently agreeing that they didn’t have to go into the ‘gorilla’ part of things. He glanced back at Tracer. “Look--” Genji started but then caught himself, “I--if I scared you back there...”

“You didn’t scare me!” Tracer blurted out.

Both Genji and Winston gave her steady looks and Tracer stiffened her shoulders slightly, “I mean... y’know it’s... nothing I can’t handle. Really!” she put her hands on her hips and huffed, “You’re pretty tame compared to some of the things I’ve seen,” she said. She was trying to inject an adventurous sense of swagger into her voice, but her youth undermined a lot of that.

Genji tilted his head slightly, studying her, and she made eye contact but didn’t sustain it for too long. He was used to that at this point. The red eyes were off-putting for a lot of people, but then his eyes flicked to Winston, then down at the chronal accelerator glowing in Tracer’s chest. There was something simultaneously familiar and alienating standing in their presence, and hearing the faint muffled sounds of Ziegler and Reyes arguing on the other side of the door, there was a spark of kinship between the three of them. Three people who wouldn’t have any place in the world without Overwatch.

“So how do we start?” said Tracer.

“Start?” said Genji, “Now?”

“Well, Doctor Z said you already went through all this stuff to re-learn coordination with all your...” Tracer gestured up and down at him, “Whatnot. And I figure, the sooner for me, the better, right? So lesson one, Teach! Let’s hear it!”

“Uh...” Genji rubbed the back of his head.

“Perhaps you could begin with assessment?” Winston suggested, “Establish what level of combat training Tracer should start with?”

The fastest way to do that is sparring, Genji thought and he got a horrifying mental image of Ziegler and Reyes emerging from their argument in the control room only to walk in on him punching Morrison’s beloved time-hopping newbie in the face.

“The first step to training is.... establishing the training space!” Genji blurted out. He vaguely remembered some lectures from his Shimada clan trainers indicating something similar, but the force that propelled those words from his mouth were more of the ‘70% panic’ variety.

“Establishing the training ground?” Tracer tilted her head.

“You can’t train in a cluttered space,” Genji pointed at the countless broken bits of training bots strewn across the training grounds, “You can start by cleaning those up.”

“...isn’t that your mess?” said Tracer.

“Who’s the teacher here?” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Right! Of course! Sorry!” said Tracer with a sharp salute before zipping off in a blue streak. Genji flinched hard at how inhumanly fast she moved and she seemed to catch herself as well, skidding to a halt on her heels. “Winston!” she called out excitedly, “Did you see that!? I did the thing! I did the speedy thing again!! I didn’t even think about it!! You’re such a good teacher, Genji!”

“I know,” said Genji, trying to look off stoically as Tracer zipped around the training grounds, picking up broken training bot bits and laughing between flashes of blue light.

“...you don’t know what ‘the speedy thing’ is, do you?” said Winston, very quietly.

“No,” Genji replied, also very quietly.

“You’re making this up as you go along,” Winston said flatly.

“It’s called ‘adapting,’” said Genji. He could still feel Winston’s eyes on him, skeptical. “I can adapt,” Genji said, mostly to himself as Tracer threw a bunch of training bot parts into a recycling bin with a loud clatter.

#overwatch #overwatch fic #genji shimada #tracer #angela ziegler

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forsakenoathkeeper · 4 years ago

Text

I Am Alive (chapter 9/?)

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Please support me on AO3 & thanks for reading ♥

"Welcome home, Connor," the feminine voice of his robotic door attendant greeted him.

When he stepped in, Connor could smell raspberry dish soap emanating from the kitchen. When he walked around the corner, he could see you hunched over the sink, just barely finishing up the dishes. The drain gurgled as it emptied the soapy water.

He wasn't expecting you to still be awake. You were wearing a loose T shirt, that did little to hide your lack of a bra, and loose-fitting shorts. It made him happy to see you looking right at home, in his apartment.

Connor approached the kitchen carefully and started to undo his tie. Your eyes landed on his face and flickered down to his hands that were loosening the material around his neck.

Just like that-

-a match was lit.

You jerked your gaze away from him and started for the hallway. Connor met you there, caught you by the bicep and gave you a little tug. You didn't resist and let him gently push you against the wall, back flush against the smooth surface.

Connor looked down at your expecting eyes, standing close enough that your chests were almost touching. You were still silent, waiting for him to make a move or say something. He stared into your eyes for a moment, searching for disdain, distrust, anything to deter him.

You looked curious, expecting, maybe a little annoyed with him.

You had called this an apology, or something akin to it, last time. He wanted to do the same.

Connor dropped his tie on the floor and, to your surprise, he followed, slowly lowering to his knees, kneeling before you.

From the floor, Connor looked up at you with a pause, perhaps giving you a chance to tell him to stop. When you didn't, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your clothed tummy. You gasped, despite the fact that it was, relatively speaking, an innocent touch.

Connor placed his hands on the hem of your shirt, pushing it up a little. He bestowed your abdomen with another kiss, this time against your bare skin. You couldn't back another sound, the faintest murmur of a gasp. His lips were soft, and it didn't help that he was being unnecessarily gentle.

He shifted his fingertips to your shorts and looked up at you again, waiting for protest.

He had barely touched you, but the sight of him on his knees in front of you, eyes hazed over with lust, and a silent promise for what was to come, had you panting already through parted lips. You could feel your clit throb between your legs.

The android tugged on your shorts and slid them down to your knees, where they were trapped for a second before gravity pulled them the rest of the way and they pooled at your feet. Connor stared, awestruck at the sight of your bare sex, surprised to find you weren't wearing underwear.

Had you been waiting for him? Hoping he would come home and find you like this? Or maybe it was just comfortable like this. But, Connor liked to believe it was the former.

The android lifted one of your legs and propped your thigh on his shoulder before leaning in and pressing a kiss into the soft folds of your sex.

You shuddered. "Connor-"

He pressed another kiss, and another, and another. They were loving, sickeningly sweet. You couldn't help but feel like they were apologetic. He kept kissing, maneuvering around to reach your pearl, your entrance, and either side of your labia. He carried on for a minute or so, until his patience waned.

You cried out when his tongue licked a devilish stripe from the very bottom of your slit, trailing up until landing on your pearl. Your hands came down, fingers burying in his hair. Connor lapped at your clitoris a few times before lowering to snag on your entrance.

His tongue entered your cavern with the type of dexterity that no human tongue could be capable of. He leaned in as close as he could get to your sex, mouth suctioned around your entrance, cheeks buried in your thighs, and began fucking you with his tongue.

"Oh - fuck - Connor!" you cried out, head falling back and thumping against the wall.

You never quite got over the texturing on his tongue. You doubted you ever would. It was just the right amount of roughness to put you on edge. The android was able to pump it in and out of you without any lapse in precision.

Connor slid his hand from your thigh to your lower back to stabilize you and ensure you wouldn't fall down. His other hand fumbled with his belt. You heard the noise like a loud echo in your ears, followed by his zipper. When you tilted your head down, you could see his shoulder moving in an all telling gesture.

"Are you t-touch-" you stammered breathlessly. "Oh f-fu-ck, Connor."

Part of you wanted to exit your body so you could see - see him on his knees to taste your sex while he wrapped his fingers around his swollen cock and pumped it in unison with the thrusts of his tongue.

This was hardly punishing for the android. He loved tasting you, anywhere, all over, be it the inside of your mouth or the inside of your cunt. His tongue was made to analyze. Your DNA would flutter in his mind again and again, like refreshing a page.

He could pick up other things - things you likely didn't want to hear about. You were well hydrated and were likely going to ovulate in a few days, for example.

The android loved the way your walls trembled when he reached that perfect spot and poked at it just right. It was strange to think that something like that existed inside you - that he could touch it and make you undulate with pleasure.

Connor kept his hand moving over his cock at a steady pace, gripping himself with just enough tension to enjoy it. His own hand was nothing compared to your touch, but it eased his tension, and you seemed to enjoy the knowledge that he was doing this to himself.

He couldn't quite explain why he loved this: the warmth of your sex radiating onto his cheeks, your taste heavy on his tongue, your thighs trembling by his ears. He wasn't made to want. But, he did. He wanted you, so badly that it sometimes frightened him.

"Okay - okay - that's enough," you panted, moving your hands from his hair to tug at his jacket, pulling it at his shoulders.

However, Connor didn't quite feel compelled to listen to you. He kept going. It took you a few seconds to realize he wasn't acknowledging your request.

"P-please," you whimpered, pulling pathetically at his coat. "I want-..."

Connor realized that he liked that sound and, again, didn't stop.

Your hands scrambled at his shoulders, useless to stop him.

"Con-" you whimpered again. "Stop. I want you - please."

The android's hand stopped pumping himself and slid down to the base to grip himself roughly, an unconscious reflex, trying to calm himself.

He liked that way more than he should have - the way you sounded right now, the begging. His eyes parted slowly and flickered up to look up at you from between your legs.

You were staring down at him, mouth hanging open, cheeks red, hair falling into your face. There was something telling in his eyes that told you to keep going. His LED was shimmering gold against his temple.

"I-" you whimpered. You swallowed roughly. His tongue never stopped. "Please - I want you to-... to..." Your head fell to the side, cheek gently thumping the wall beside you. Despite the fact that you had once pleaded with him to voice all his desires to you, in that moment, you found it difficult to do the same.

"-shove your cock in me."

The android's LED trembled red for a second and he closed his eyes.

Fuck-

-yes.

Connor pulled back and licked your essence off his lips. You carefully removed your thigh from his shoulder, sighing for he finally, finally stopped.

He remained on his knees for a moment, still stroking his cock leisurely. You could see he was smearing lubricant, could hear the wet noises it made, and you moaned shamelessly at the sight and sound.

He looked up at you with a faintly mischievous gaze, hazy with lust, but patient. He looked gorgeous like this - too gorgeous for you to think properly: hair a mess from your greedy fingers, cock hanging out of pants, hard and weeping against his own palm. His eyes were-

-eating you alive.

You pulled on his coat again, and Connor rose to his feet, releasing his cock. "Fuck me - fuck me," you pleaded, simultaneously trying to hook your leg on his hip and grab at his cock with a greedy hand.

Connor gasped when you grabbed greedily at his cock. He nearly collapsed on top of you, his hands falling against the wall behind you. They landed with a thud on either side of you, startling you slightly. Not out of fear, but delirious excitement.

"Like this - right here - f-fuck, Connor - please," you babbled on, breathing heavy against his cheeks and trying to bring your waist to his.

He was going to - he wanted to for fucks sake - but he loved hearing you beg for it as if he wouldn't if you didn't.

Somehow, Connor knew he would never get over this: the way your eyes lit up with passion, the obscene words that fell from your lips, when you wanted him, when you wanted him inside you, when you wanted him to claim you so obscenely.

Again, it was startling, that he was capable of such raw want, that he could abandon sense and reason to chase something so truly human.

You were trying to pull his hips down with your leg. It was difficult with the height difference. Connor seemed eager to accommodate and knelt down slightly to lift you up. As soon as you were in the air, you wrapped your legs around his waist and felt your back hit the wall again. Your hands digging into his shoulders.

His tip breached your walls and Connor froze up. You moaned, accidentally jerking your head forward and smacking it against his chin.

"Oh - shit - sorry," you whined. Connor stared down at you, unfazed by the headbutt.

"It's okay," he murmured, voice low, hoarse... dangerous. His LED was blazing red as he resisted the urge to shove his cock into that velvety heat and fuck you into oblivion. Some part of him, even in this state of mind, still longed to be a gentleman.

You inhaled sharply and looked up at him on confusion. His eyes bore so strongly into yours, hungry, pleading.

"Yes - yes," you breathed, giving him the consent he so desperately needed.

Connor inched his hips forward, groaning quietly at the sopping wet heat that enveloped him. He was so close he could feel your breath like little puffs of air against his cheeks. He watched your face contort as he claimed your core.

"Ooohhh," you sighed, head falling back into the wall when he finally filled you to the hilt.

Connor's eyes flickered down to your exposed throat and he had to restrain himself.

He wanted to-

-bite your neck.

The android began rolling his hips, grinding into you more so than properly thrusting into you. This was new - this position, this angle. No one had taken you like this before. You wondered if Connor would like hearing that.

"No one-" you began, struggling to catch your breath as Connor's cock filled all the right places. Your swallowed dryly. "-has - like this - ahh -gainst a wall," you continued. "-C-Connor-!"

The android, spurred on by your words, abandoned all patience and started fucking you properly, with just a bit more force than was necessary, half-out, and all the way back in, hips smacking together obscenely. You moaned approvingly, dragging your nails down the back of his neck.

He leaned in, forehead falling against the side of your skull. You could feel his breath against your temple, the hot expulsion of his overworked processors.

Some dark presence inside him liked you like this: pinned against a wall and helpless to resist his advances. He liked it even more knowing that you liked it, that you wanted him to do this to you.

He moaned, voice box distorting, coming out staticky. You liked it when he got that way: so lost to pleasure that his systems began to fail to work properly: the machine and the man tearing at the seams.

You clawed your hands up his back and along the back of his neck. His cock pistoned in and out of you with enough force to knock some air out of you. With each moan, you huffed out an unsteady breath like you were being punched.

"I want-" Connor began, the words fumbling from his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Y-yes, Con-nor?" you huffed out when he failed to finish his sentence. "Please?" you added on hopefully.

The android hissed out a staticky noise. "-b-bite you," Connor finished hesitantly.

You tilted your head back, granting him access, and moaned. "N-no hickies," you panted.

Fuck - yes - he could do that - he could handle that.

Connor lurched forward and latched his teeth onto your throat. The way you screamed rattled him to the core. Panic shot through him. Was he too rough? Did he hurt you? But, then, he felt your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you moaned.

"Ohhh, Connor-"

The android understood the implications of marks - they were unprofessional, associated with hormonal teenagers, not respectable adults. Wanting to respect your wishes, he was careful, mindful of how hard he bit you.

His teeth were never stopping, biting down on every inch of your neck, from the underside of your jaw to where your throat met your shoulder.

He didn't have nerves in his teeth. He didn't need to. They were unnecessary for speech because his voice box did all the work. He obviously didn't need to eat. They were just for aesthetic purposes.

But, this-

-this felt good.

Your flesh, soft and warm, compliant between his canines. When he bit down on the vein between your neck and shoulder, he could feel the blood pumping excitedly. You seemed to like it, too, moaning, whimpering, groaning, and all other such noises every time he dug back in.

Fuck, why didn't he think of this sooner?

Connor lapped his tongue along your pulse, scanner reading faint traces of sweat and a brand of body lotion. His lips burned a trail up your neck to nibble at the spot behind your ear before biting down on the lobe, gently catching your earring.

"Harder," you whimpered pathetically.

Yes-

"Ahhnn - 'm coming!" you mewled against his temple, breath hot and throat dry.

"Please don't stop - Connor, please," you sobbed, even though the android showed no signs of stopping. He fucked you through it, unrelenting.

Your dominant hand clawed down his back, nails dragging along the thick fabric of his coat. He could feel you tightening, walls spasming and thighs trembling. Your heels dug into his lower back. He could hold you up effortlessly on his own; but, he used the wall to prop you up and aid the pace he had set.

He hadn't even realized he had dissipated the skin on his hands, where he gripped your waist - all to get as close to you as he possibly could. He could feel the hammering of your heart, the whooshing of oxygen in your lungs, your muscles spasming all throughout your body.

Connor barely felt the buildup. His orgasm hit him like a truck going full speed. He moaned loudly into your ear, muscles tightening all over. He pinned you tightly against the wall, pummeling into you as pleasure overtook him.

"Con-" you whimpered, startling to feel overwhelmed as your orgasm died down. You could feel his back muscles trembling beneath your hands and heard staticky sounds fumble off his lips. "Yes," you moaned approvingly. "Come for me..."

He didn't have to breathe, but Connor was panting like a dog, sucking in air as a natural reflex to cool his inner systems. You could feel his exhaust like burning hot air against the skin of your neck.

His thrusting slowly subsided and he went still. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, still hard. It hurt a little; he was pinned so tightly against you, hips crushed together, skin pressed tight.

"P-put me down?" you mumbled, tapping his shoulder.

Connor twitched at your request, like he had suddenly been woken. It was moments like these that you appreciated his LED, a blaring, bright indicator that he hadn't fucked himself into unconsciousness.

He carefully slid you off his cock, allowing you to untangle your legs from his waist and place your feet on the floor.

You stole a glance down and decided you really liked him like this: collar free without the tie to restrain it, shirt bunched up at the waist, pants undone and sagging on his hips, cock sticking out of the hole in his boxers, fully erect and glistening with your combined fluids.

Your eyes shifted up that gorgeous, freckled face. He looked flushed, cheeks red with an artificial blush.

You leaned up to take his lips in a gentle kiss. Connor reciprocated enthusiastically, kissing you back hungrily. He took control of the tempo, mouth moving against yours passionately, taking and taking.

Your arms slid over his shoulders and you moaned approvingly. You lost track of time, kissing him in the hallway, with his cock hanging out and your shorts on the floor, a sticky mess between your thighs.

Carefully, you peeled your lips back, freeing your mouth from his. Connor looked ravenous, hungry eyes staring you down almost predatorily.

He was still hard.

Noticing a trend, you wondered if you were creating a monster: a powerful android that could not easily be satisfied.

Connor looked tense, muscles tight, fingers flexing where they rested at your waist. Pent up and frustrated, he was almost jittery. He wasn't done with you yet.

You took his hand and uttered breathlessly, "come here."

Connor followed you closely as you lead him to the bedroom.

You pulled your shirt over your head and dropped it onto the floor before carefully crawling onto the bed. For a second, you wondered if this was a good idea before deciding to throw caution to the wind.

Connor expected you to roll over and beckon to him; however, you settled on the center of the bed, on your knees, ass in the air, chest and face pressed into the sheets, arms spread out above your head. He almost wondered if something was wrong, until he saw the way you turned your cheek to look back at him.

Oh-

Like this?

-fuck.

Posed like this, the natural curves of your body couldn't hide your sex from his greedy eyes. Your netherlips were parted, exposing your wet, weeping cunt. He even paused to admire the pink, puckered rim of your asshole and decided that, yes, you were cute there, too.

The android swallowed loudly and carefully crawled onto the bed and settled into the space behind you. You moaned shamelessly when his hands tentatively touched your hips.

"Do you like me like this?" you asked. It was supposed to come out seductive and naughty. Instead, it sounded shy, but eager.

Connor briefly considered the possibility that he was malfunctioning to a critical degree, considering he completely failed to properly process an answer to your question. There was something he was still, very strongly aware of: he could easily hurt you if he wasn't careful.

The android didn't answer you with words, but pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance. He watched like he was possessed as his phallus disappeared inside your body. You whimpered quietly at the intrusion, but didn't shy away from it. Inch by inch, and suddenly his hips met yours and he was nuzzled deep.

You felt tight around him, so tight that he briefly feared he was hurting you. From where he could see your cheek pressed into the sheets, eyes closed delicately and mouth hanging open, that didn't seem to be the case.

Connor's eyes trailed down the delicate curves of your spine, up to the back of your neck, tinted red with arousal.

You were so warm and sopping wet, like molten lava around him. The android's cock throbbed, with so much vigor that it made you gasp.

His hands held your hips carefully, thumbs digging into the meat of your waist, fingers slid around the bone around the front, careful to not grip you somewhere potentially painful.

"Are you okay?" you uttered into the sheets, turning your head to try and catch a glimpse of him. Connor's LED was bright in the dim light of his bedroom, like a star through the darkness of space.

It was deep red.

He realized that you were concerned because he hadn't been moving. He was basking in the moment, the tops of his thighs nuzzled tightly against the backs of yours. You, sprawled out before him in such an animalistic way.

"I-" Connor cleared his throat loudly. "Yes."

You kept one arm sprawled out on the bed above you. Your other arm maneuvered around and reached for him. Connor hadn't even bothered undressing. When your fingers grabbed at his thigh and felt the material of his pants, you moaned shamelessly.

You could feel his belt digging into your skin, the zipper on his pants a minor annoyance, as well. It felt dirty. You felt dirty.

"Y-you can move," you said quietly, feeling so small beneath him.

He started moving, slow rolls of his hips. You didn't seem to be in pain; but, the vice-like grip you had around him was startling. It was likely the result of your orgasm. Maybe, he had moved in too quickly, and needed to give you more time to calm down?

That thought died when you started angling your hips back and meeting him. It was almost too much, sometimes it felt like he was too much. But everything, fucking everything, was too good to give up-

-the drag of his cock along your walls, the way his hips nuzzled against your backside, his hands gripping your hips with a sort of gentle possessiveness.

He was restraining himself.

You wanted him to let go.

"Connor-" you hummed his name into the sheets.

There was something you wanted him to do to you, something crude and inappropriate and wrong and dirty and every other delicious thing.

"You came - hnn - home late," you said quietly.

"Y-yes," he said, agreeing. He was still moving his hips, taking you slowly.

"Is it because of - hah - what I said?"

"I thought you wanted space," Connor replied quietly.

"I was ma- ahh - mad. I'm sorry. I didn't m-mean it," you explained, huffs of air escaping you each time he slid back home. Your hand was still gripping his pant leg. You reached up and tried to touch his hip and pull him in harder.

"I understand," Connor replied gently, sincere. One of his hands released your waist and took hold of your hand. At this angle, it wasn't exactly a chaste hand holding. He was holding more of your wrist than your hand.

He was making this really fucking difficult.

"You can be mad at me," you offered pathetically, a whimper into the sheets.

"I'm not," he replied, almost insistent.

"Connor-" you whined, needy and frustrated and almost hurting. "I want you to be mad at me."

He looked down at you, confused. You looked frustrated, jaw tight and cheeks tinted dark pink. He couldn't fathom why you would want that.

"Please-" you almost cried, jerking your hips back to meet his thrust.

Connor realized, regrettably, that he wasn't doing this right. You were frustrated because he was going to slow.

He started picking up the pace, just a little bit and carefully added to that momentum until you let out a shameless moan.

Connor didn't like analyzing in moments like this. It made him feel too much like a machine. But, he did this time: the position you had put yourself in, your words, the way you reached back for him desperately.

You wanted him to be mad? But why-

Oh.

The android was only faintly aware of the fact that his hips had stopped moving. He was already on the verge of overheating, according to the warnings he had silenced some time ago. But, this new information was almost enough to have his thirium boil.

Maybe his findings were wrong-

Connor was still learning, after all-

"You want me to punish you?" Connor asked, lowly, nervous, like he was unsure of his discovery.

You gasped, loudly, and he stiffened, briefly fearing he was wrong. He didn't want to scare you or hurt you. He was well aware of the fact that he was bigger and stronger than you. Connor liked to think of you as his partner, his equal; but, often times, the power disparity between you became transparent-

"Yes," you answered, a whimper, a plea, a heavy breath.

You couldn't see Connor's face. But, you could see the light from his LED. The red light was bleeding onto his skin.

"Unless you don't-"

Your words were interrupted by a smack that echoed around the room. You squeaked at the brief sting and went silent. Of all the things you expected Connor to do, that was not one of them.

Connor even surprised himself, deciding immediately that he liked that. He liked the way your flesh gave to his touch, the startled noise it forced from your lips, the utterly depraved look on your face, and how it made him feel.

-in control.

-of you.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, intending to sound sincere. It sounded almost rude.

"I-..." you stuttered.

He did it again, the skin of his palm colliding with your behind, mindful of how much force he was exerting. The sound of your flesh and your startled yelp mingled beautifully. The way your walls spasmed around him did not go unmissed.

Yes. This is what you wanted.

Connor started to move his hips again, almost like he couldn't control himself. You moaned shamelessly, fingers grabbing fistfuls of the bedsheets. The pace he set wasn't brutal, but it was enough to keep you huffing in breaths of air.

Another smack echoed around the room and you gasped at the sting.

"Con-" his name cut off when he spanked you again.

-and again.

"Connor-"

-and again.

The way you said his name was sinful, dripping with lust and forced out of your throat in a dry gasp.

Your juices were seeping into his boxers and pants, not that he had the will to care. Your startled yelps had devolved into moans and whines. You buried your face in the sheets, trying to keep your knees stable.

Connor wiggled around behind you, shifting around to find a better angle. When you shifted in an effort to help, his hand came down on your upper back and pushed you back onto the bed, forcing you to be still. You moaned shamelessly at the touch.

"Let me," he panted out. He tugged you back a little, nudged your knees a little closer together, adjusting the way he was angled behind you. "Let me take care of you," he added on hoarsely.

When he slid back in, he found it, the spot he was looking for. You practically screamed, muffling the sound with the sheets.

This time, he did set a brutal pace, fucking into you like his life depended on it.

"Fuck," Connor hissed, the curse catching you off guard and drawing a moan from your lips. "Is this good?" he asked, sounding so out of it.

When you didn't answer fast enough, his hand collided with your behind, a little harder than he had the previous times.

You cried out, "yes! Don't sto-" Your words dissolved into nonsense when his hand reached out and dipped between your folds, finding your pearl. He stroked you feverishly, trying to push you to the edge he was reaching rapidly.

"Connor," you sobbed, orgasm taking you by surprise.

He had given up restraint in that moment, thrusts rocking your whole body. He was throbbing inside you, and you realized he was coming. Just like last time, his orgasm pulled robotic noises from him: human moans fading into a low hum, static bleeding through.

He didn't stop until he was confident he had rode you through the entirety of your orgasm, and you were spent, teetering on sore, whimpering pathetically at his intrusions.

Connor stilled, his hands on your hips, the only thing holding you up. He fell forward, bracing one of his hands on the bed. As his grip weakened, you slid off your knees. Connor followed, struggling to not collapse on top of you.

You could feel his exhaust against your bare shoulder. He was puffing it out in normal breaths, simultaneously trying to take in cooler air.

The android carefully lowered his torso. You felt the buttons of his undershirt and the thick button of his coat touch the bare skin of your back. His face fell into the space where your neck met your shoulder.

"Was that good?" he asked slowly, between breaths.

He didn't have lungs. So, despite the puffs of air coming from his mouth, Connor's chest didn't move against you in the expected way. But, you could feel the vibrations of his thirium pump regulator against his sternum. It didn't behave that way normally. His thirium was pumping faster to account for the pleasure receptors being set off in his processor.

He wasn't human; but, you liked these subtle reminders that he was indeed very much alive.

"I should be asking you that," you uttered into the sheets. "You indulged me."

"I wanted to... do that, I mean," Connor confessed quietly, sounding embarrassed.

"Good," you breathed out like a sigh.

Connor nuzzled his face into the space behind your ear, his lips senselessly nudging against whatever skin he could reach.

"What about you?" you asked, tilting your head back to encourage him. "Was it good?"

"Yes. Yes, it was," Connor replied hoarsely into your skin. "I hope you'll let me do it again..."

"Spank me?" you asked with a soft laugh. "I sure hope you will."

You could feel the smile against the skin behind your ear.

It was Connor who got up first, after a few more minutes of indulgence. You rolled over onto your back and watched him strip. You stood up just as he finished and waddled into the bathroom to soak a washcloth and clean up.

As you were ringing out the cloth to hang it up to dry, you felt a hand smooth over your backside, startling you.

"It's red," he commented, almost apologetically. But, there was something undeniably proud in his tone.

"Oh," you hummed, feeling your face flush a little. You angled your neck back to look up at him. He was standing behind you, looking down at your behind. When he felt your eyes land on him, Connor looked up to meet your gaze.

He looked so innocent, freckled cheeks wrinkled from his small smile and brown eyes taking you in warmly. Connor was not the image of a man who had just brought you to a screaming orgasm twice. He looked like he had just gotten back from taking you out to dinner.

It was as equally adorable as it was infuriating.

"Bed time," you hummed, returning to the bed, cleaned up, hair brushed, teeth brushed, and completely naked.

Connor joined you, silencing your protest before it began. "Just until you fall asleep," he promised. He was doing this for your sake, so that you felt warm and comforted and safe. He didn't need sleep. But, he did like laying with you.

"Okay..." you replied softly, rotating your torso to face him. You leaned up, looking at him expectedly. Connor met you halfway, sharing a wet kiss that you parted from noisily. He dived in for another, and another. You hummed into the third one, and Connor finally decided he was satisfied.

You turned your cheek into the pillow as the android slid into the spot behind you. Connor aligned himself carefully, head on the pillow beside yours, legs tangled, arm curled up against your chest.

He still felt really warm. It concerned you a little.

"Are your temperatures returning to normal?" you asked, putting on your nurse voice.

"Yes."

"Thirium pump levels normal?"

"Yes," he replied again, starting to sound amused.

"-and your regulator?"

Connor thought it over for 1.48 seconds. "...regulating."

You snorted, very unladylike. Connor smiled, proud he got that reaction out of you.

"Good," you replied, content, satiated.

As Connor waited for you to fall asleep, he decided to listen to another song. This one, much like the last, swarmed him with the emotions. He felt a sort of pang in his heart that he didn't know music could give him. He ended up staying in bed with you longer than anticipated.

♫ ♪ “Riding the horizon, falling into you Feel the vessel tighten, I feel you pull me through A new world is breaking, your heart is unveiling Breaking into pieces... In the gravity of you” ♪ ♫

#connor x reader #deviant connor #deviant connor x reader #dbh fanfic #rk800 x reader #rk800 smut #connor smut

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xlady-saya · 4 years ago

Text

slurred [drabble]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: They're not the type of people to give up control, but with each other they're willing to bend the rules.

Tags: rated m, tipsy andreil, too much fluff and cheesiness

Read on ao3!

“Waaaait,” Neil slurs, putting too much emphasis on the last letter. He grabs Andrew’s sleeve and stares at it a little too long, like the creases of pleather will aid him in speech. His brow furrows, eyes blinking away the haze of alcohol as best he can. It doesn't necessarily work; Andrew is nothing but a man of his word.

He'd mixed Neil's drinks well.

Andrew doesn’t consider himself easily amused, except for when it comes to Neil. He can admit that now, begrudgingly, but he doesn’t let the smile he’s fighting reveal itself as Neil tries to form words. It probably fails, because Neil is looking up at him again, wide eyed like Andrew handed him the world.

Mm, weird comparison. Andrew's barely tipsy, if at all, but having a drunk Neil in his lap is almost secondhand. It makes his head swim, pulling it every which way.

For once, he can't find room to mind.

Neil shakes his head, puffing out his cheeks while he pokes Andrew's barely-there smile. “Just wait.”

He does indeed wait.

Andrew hums, resting his forehead on Neil's. He does it a little too hard, knocking against him. What's going on in there?

Drunk Neil is more of an enigma than regular Neil, but still just as interesting.

They do this now...sometimes.

They're not comfortable drinking in excess around anyone else, but around each other they've started the tradition of stealing away to the Columbia house to indulge in ways they normally wouldn't.

Calling it ‘comfortable’ might be a strong word for it.

Andrew's eyes drift over to the door while Neil's lips brush his sloppily, side-tracked. He returns it, since that's what these weekends are for. Indulgence.

His tongue licks into Neil's mouth, soaking up the taste of whiskey and trying to convince himself that's the only reason he hums into it. Like it's not all Neil, with his body buzzing against his and still thinking, thinking.

Distracting, but still, Andrew's vigilant. The dresser in his room is pressed against the door, sealing them in, sealing threats out. The windows are shut, his knives are nearby, but he never bothers with his armbands during nights like this.

Neil stays too close for that to be an option, too unwilling to leave Andrew's warmth, and...Andrew doesn't want him to.

And it's the most amusing thing, how he's come to that point, how he's been at that point for so long yet it still feels like a novelty.

The full body urge to deny is barely there.

For some ludicrous reason, his protectiveness surges, and he pulls Neil farther into his lap. Neil's yelp dissolves clumsily into a hiccup, which Andrew greedily swallows. Neil's cheeks are too warm, stained red from his flush, and the soft smacks of their lips are a decent accompaniment to the creak of the bedframe.

Andrew's back presses into the headboard, drawing out more sounds from the wood as his muscles tense in anticipation that won't be fulfilled.

He doesn't drink a lot, partly because he hates being out of control, and partly because it makes him vulnerable. He always makes sure everything is secure when they do this, and there's always boundaries for both their sakes.

In the back of his mind, he knows he allows this, wants this, because Neil is important. The unfortunate flip side of that is...Neil is important.

And real.

And extra vulnerable like this.

Yet, Neil pays it no mind. It's not that he's unaware of it, the dangers of being inebriated. It's why he never allowed himself in the past. But here he considers it worth it, welcome. He trusts Andrew, so it's--

"Hmm, nice," Neil babbles intelligently, pulling away half an inch. Andrew can feel his breath against his lips, and wills himself to not dive back in.

Their boundaries are simple for these nights: no sex, no matter how much they discuss it prior. Andrew trusts Neil to say no when he's sober, not any other time. He would never risk it. But the kissing is welcome, the trail of hands anywhere above the waist is encouraged unless Andrew says otherwise.

And within those boundaries, Neil is as handsy as ever.

Neil becomes fixated on the stretch of the fabric around Andrew's shoulders, squinting until his fingertips press down against the muscle he's looking for. It was giving Andrew trouble earlier in the week.

For someone so toasted, Neil can be terrifyingly aware.

"Am I still waiting?" Andrew asks, and as if the words are a reminder that oh yes, Andrew indeed has a mouth, Neil tries to lean in for another kiss. Andrew stops him, just in time. "Neil."

"That is me."

"Your question?" Andrew huffs out, hand going to Neil's nape to steady him, the roughness of split ends so familiar to his fingertips. He uses his grip to move Neil's head, like a puppeteer, making him nod.

Dummy.

Neil shakes him off with a snort, before he's finally blessed with his eureka moment. "Oh! Did you crush on anyone while in juvie? I don't--I don' think I've asked you that one."

It shouldn't sound so revolutionary, but after so many years, there's not many questions Neil hasn't asked him.

Andrew rolls his eyes, pushing Neil over until he flops onto the bedspread. As tipsy as he is, even he knows trying to sit up is a bad idea, and waits for Andrew join him.

"Seriously?" Andrew scolds, leaning down so he can be beside his disaster. He pulls down Neil's shirt to cover up the strip of revealed skin, telling himself not to fixate on it. "I've never had a crush."

The need to get off? An appreciation for hot men? Sure. No crushes.

Infuriatingly, Neil grins up at him like the cheshire cat himself. "Except on meeee."

Andrew tries to tilt Neil's face away from him, but it springs back automatically, grin wider and wider.

He tries twice before giving up.

Andrew can't fight the urge anymore, as dangerous as the position is. He drapes himself over Neil, bracketing the striker's head between his elbows, and Neil's legs instinctually wrap around Andrew's hips.

They both freeze. Neil at least has the decency to look sheepish, though there's that fire lurking in his gaze, mixed with the delirium and adoration Andrew often can't stomach. Deadly; nothing good comes from that look, precisely because when sober Neil gives him that look Andrew ends up abandoning all other tasks.

But this is not sober Neil.

Despite that, Andrew isn't worried, or antsy. Neil won't cross the boundaries they laid out, no matter how close they get, no matter how much their bodies want it.

There's something exhilarating about that, about knowing they can toe the line without fear of hurting each other. Andrew has never handed someone that trust before Neil, and has certainly never had it handed to him to such an extent.

It's more intoxicating than liquor, than nicotine in his lungs.

"Hey," Neil asks, wriggling in place. Even with the content of his words, his smile turns soft, and Andrew feels Neil's thighs press against his hips tighter. "Wanna do it?"

Andrew throws him an unamused expression, and Neil's laugh is broken up by hiccups. Andrew's glad he cut him off when he did; Neil smells too much like all of Andrew's addictions. Alcohol, cigarettes, and an unidentifiable scent that's a combination of both of them. Neil's shampoo, Andrew's leather jacket...

"I didn't say let's do it, I asked if you wanted to," Neil points out, pulling Andrew down to kiss him. Of course, Andrew picks up the distinction.

It's still annoying.

Andrew lets all of his weight fall down on Neil as he returns the kiss, bucking his hips only once before removing himself entirely. Neil seems less than displeased, body moving slowly until he fits right against Andrew's chest. He knows the drill, knows when it's time to sleep so Andrew can nurse their hangovers in the morning.

Andrew's arm finds his waist easily. Safer, still connected.

Andrew does still have some work to do, he supposes, because only when his face is pressed into Neil's neck, where those glowing blue eyes can't pull him apart, does the word come easy.

"Yes."

And Andrew's not sure what they're talking about anymore, if they're talking about anything important or coherent at all. He's not even sure they're talking about sex.

Neil's brain is untrustworthy like this; Andrew never knows what he's thinking.

All he knows is that Neil sighs back into him, hand finding his.

"Alright, mmm then...tomorrow," Neil stretches out the 'w' this time, giddy with it as he giggles, and Andrew huffs a laugh along with it. "If you still wanna."

And as drowsy as he is, he gets a drop of clarity. Let's do this day all over again, together.

'If you still want me, and I still want you. As long as both those things are true.'

Delirious, the words rhyme and repeat over and over. A mix of things swirl in his head, some ugly, some doubting. But through the fog, Andrew is truly becoming hopeless.

Because at least on his side of things, he can't imagine those things ever not being true.

Andrew's ease grows, pressing itself into Neil like he can transfer it. He has something to blame it on, the alcohol making his limbs heavy, relaxed. But Neil's never been fooled before, and no matter how many times they do this, Neil never forgets anything.

That's alright too, he supposes.

"Ask me tomorrow," he breathes, and regards the door one last time. Locked.

Ask. Because he doesn't mind repeating it.

Neil hums, a sleep spell for the both of them, and Andrew allows himself a pat on the back.

Yes, he mixed both their drinks well, but they're not the reason for this feeling.

If that concerned him before, he lets himself be relieved it doesn't now.

#andreil #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

Text

Monsters and Magic

TITLE: Monsters and Magic

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 87/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a vampire who helps the Avengers defeat an evil seethe of other vampires, and Loki befriends you after you end up in their custody

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

The shock broke in an instant and your legs buckled as your blood spilled and the pain registered. Loki caught you and eased you to the ground. You couldn’t think past the pain, gasping for air as your blood spilled and spilled. You tried to stay still, but it was so hard with now much everything hurt, how the world span. How shock made time move strangely and gave you images of the scene around you in snippets.

Thor shifted at the sound of the gun, moving to protect Tom and Chris, trusting you and Loki to protect yourselves.

Loki’s hands went to your chest, his magic green around them as he tried desperately to heal you. His hands were soaked with your blood as he worked. The pain eased a little and your breathing cleared so you were able to focus better on what was going on.

A man stepped out of the crowd, some large gun you couldn’t identify the type of in his hands. He was wearing body armor, clearly thinking himself capable of surviving a conflict with the gods. He gave Loki a look of absolute hate, rage mixed with pain etched in the man’s features. He addressed Loki directly, drawing Loki’s gaze away from you, though he continued pouring power into healing your wound. “My wife died in the alien invasion you caused. She died in my arms and there was nothing I could do to save her. Now you will feel my pain as your wife dies in yours,” the man snarled at Loki with such malice and hate. It didn’t matter to him that you and Loki weren’t married. You were dating and that was enough.

Rage and fear burned in the man’s eyes as he glared at Loki, glared at you. He blamed and condemned you just for dating Loki. Loki glanced between you and the man, trying to decide whether to kill the man who had harmed you or focus on what healing he could. Healing wasn’t one of Loki’s specialties, and more than a cut or bruise was extremely difficult for him to do at best. He couldn’t leave you while his magic was the only thing keeping you alive, no matter how much he wanted to kill the man who had harmed you. “You will regret that,” Loki snarled.

Thor surged forward, Mjolnir in his hand. The civilians were safe, so he could help Loki. “I’ve got him. Take care of her,” he told Loki as he went to safely disarm and subdue the man.

Loki turned his attention back to you, trusting Thor to deal with the idiot who had shot you. “It’s alright, dearheart. I’ve got you. Everything will be fine,” he tried to reassure both you and himself as he worked on trying desperately to heal you.

The man with the gun dropped it immediately when facing Thor. He really just wanted to watch you and Loki suffer.

Asshole.

You hoped there were be a special place in Helheim for him.

“Loki?” You gasped. It was hard to see him through the haze in your eyes, but you managed to give him a reassuring smile.

“I’m here darling. Don’t worry,” Loki soothed. He pushed his healing magic as far as it would go. He would push past his limits, past exhaustion, to give you every ounce of strength he could. He managed to vanish the bullet from inside you, instead of having to rip it back out, which caused much less damage.

“I love you,” you told Loki softly, feeling a familiar sensation of fading away. You’d felt that before when you died, when you were turned.

Loki gripped one of your hands tightly in his as he threw his healing magic into you. “Stay with me, kitten. You have to!” Loki told you, panic in his voice as he tried to hold you to the living realms.

There was a flash of green light and suddenly another pair of hands were on your chest, glowing just as green as Loki’s. You tried to focus on who it was who was now kneeling next to you. “Let go now, little Loki, I will heal her. You’ve done your job,” your mother told him gently. You’d recognize her voice anywhere, but she shouldn’t have been there. There was no reason for her to have known to come. You couldn’t say you were upset though, besides Frigga, she had been the strong healer in all of Asgard.

Loki stood shakily, exhausted to his bones, but relinquished the duty of healing you to one who was trained for it. Loki had been well beyond his skills and abilities to try to heal such a massive wound. He had barely been keeping you alive. At that point, only rage and desperation were keeping him on his feet.

You couldn’t help a small mew as your Loki left you, delirious with pain.

Tom did something incredibly gentlemanly, and a bit surprising for a civilian. He knelt on the blood soaked ground beside you. He took your hand in his, acting as your substitute Loki to keep you calm while your mother healed you. He looked similar enough to your Loki for the deception and spoke softly and soothingly while your mother worked.

Thor had the gunman pinned under Mjolnir, the gun well out of reach. He had started to move back to you to help Loki. Loki had stood before he could. “Her mother is healing her,” Loki hadn’t questioned how your mother knew to be there, he just accepted it. He glared at the gunman, rage sparking around him. “I have other matters to deal with,” he said and moved to confront the man under Mjonlir.

Thor nodded and moved automatically to stand with his brother to address the gunman. To support his brother in dealing with the man who had tried to kill you.

“You were supposed to suffer like I had!” The gunman protested from under the hammer.

Loki grinned menacingly, darkly. “I have suffered enough by others hands. My lady has done nothing to deserve your wrath,” he informed the man as magic sparked around him. “Do not think I will not kill you for trying to take away one of the only things in any of the nine realms that means anything to me,” Loki told him coldly, ice forming around his feet in his cold rage.

“And my wife had done nothing to deserve your wrath! Neither had I! She died in my arms during that attack! You were supposed to suffer the same fate!” The man protested, pissed that his plan had been thwarted.

Loki’s rage only grew. “I had no control during that attack! You cannot fault a man who had no say of his own actions,” he didn’t bother telling this moron that he had actually worked behind the scenes and behind the mind control to get the Avengers to assemble and defeat him to keep the stone from Thanos. “That weapon you saw me use had me under its control too. I had no say in what I was doing. I was a puppet to someone else’s plans,”

The man scoffed in disbelief. “It was your hands and by your actions that all those people died,”

“Because I had no other choice!” Loki snarled “My life was not mine to control during that battle. I was being used! I am sorry for your loss but I was just a pawn, used by someone else!” Loki had thought this was all behind him, especially after the movie had explained things to the people, had told them of his torture and mind control.

The gunman was too full of rage and grief to think clearly. Especially since his plan was killing Loki’s ‘wife’ in recompense. “Best say goodbye to your wife. That bullet went straight through her heart,” the gunman replied cruelly.

Loki smirked in reply. “You underestimate the power of Asgardian healers. A stray bullet did little, especially after her mother and I both treated her,” he turned his back on the man and returned to you and your mother. “How is she?” He asked softly, nodding to Tom in thanks for keeping you calm.

“With a little rest she’ll be just fine,” your mother replied with a notably malicious smirk. Your blood had stopped flowing and while your heart was weak, it would heal.

Loki raised an eyebrow. “What is that look for?” He asked suspiciously. He was right to be wary of the ladies of Asgard.

“You surely do not expect a lady of Asgard to sit idly by when faced with her daughters attacker, do you, highness?” She asked in reply, her voice far too innocent and sweet.

You managed to sit up and were cradled in Tom’s arms with his suit jacket around you shoulders to keep you warm. You were still loopy and out of it, but alive and relatively well.

Loki summoned a dagger and presented it to your mother. “I would not dream of it. A gift, as thank you for helping my love. I know she is your daughter, but I still want to thank you for what you’ve done,”

“Both of you, this is not the place. There are too many witnesses. Let us bring him to the tower to face justice,” Thor urged, being quite reasonable and non-oafish for once. He knew better than to have the mortals witness the gunman’s brutal execution. He also knew there would be an execution.

Lokis sighed. “I hate it when you’re right, brother,” he grumbled. He moved to help you out of Tom’s arms and into his own. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, relieved you were well enough to stand. “I’d be happy to teleport all of us to the tower. Brother, would you mind grabbing our guest?” He asked, too politely. He was hiding his rage under the veneer of court politeness.

“I know you do, but it does seem to happen so rarely that I cherish the moments that I am right and you are wrong,” Thor teased, even as he plucked Mjolnir off the man and lifted him off the ground, dragging him to Loki and the others.

You were fighting to stay awake and leaned on Loki, not very aware of what was going on around you. You did manage to give Tom his jacket back. Or promise him a new one since his was drenched in blood. You weren’t quite sure on that point. “Loki?” You asked him again, your voice a soft mew.

“Do you want us to come with you?” Tom asked for himself and the other actors. He wasn’t sure of Loki’s plans.

“If you wish to come, you may. It is your choice, but I must get my kitten home to be looked over and to rest,” Loki replied. He wouldn’t stop the mortals, but wasn’t really inviting them either. “Though I’m not sure you will be seeing much more of us tonight. We have things we must attend to. But you many join us if you want to,”

Tom nodded his understanding. “We’ll stay here and answer the police’s questions,” Tom offered more helpfully. The actors would be very good at answering questions from the police and giving statements.

Loki nodded his acceptance before he turned his gaze back to your group. “Ready?” They all nodded, except for the gunman, who was being held too tightly by Thor. Seconds later, you were all back at the tower. “Brother, would you show our guest to the containment cells? I must take Kitten to Lady Natasha to be looked over. Do not start interrogation without me,” Loki trusted that you would be safe with Nat and she could keep an eye on you while he and your mother were busy.

Loki scooped you up in his arms to carry you to the medley while Thor nodded and started dragging the gunman to the containment cells. You laid your head on Loki’s shoulder. “Noodle?”

“It’s alright, kitten. You’re safe now,” he told you gently and kissed your forehead. “You’re safe and alive,”

That was all that mattered at that particular moment.

The man who shot you was likely not to be alive very much longer.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #monsters and magic #nekoamamori #chapter 87

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zahra-kha · 4 years ago

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Dear Diary 19

I’m finally well enough to write in here! So last Plume was...interesting! In a few different ways.

Miss Leih had the stage set up to be icy. I’m guessing she may have had something to do with that, since the ceiling looked so deadly with all the icicles. All in all it was gorgeous though! It was called mistlefoe! Signups were closed and we were given mistletoes to throw or hang over whoever we wanted to go up on stage to fight. It was a lot of fun! Plus, we got to pick out random weapons for people to fight with. Depending on what we threw out, they’d either be something normal or fun!

I’d like to think people enjoyed themselves, I know I did!

Things did get tense towards the middle when Zhao fought Matteo. I guess for whatever reason he normally doesn’t fight since he loses himself and starts trying to eat people.

So...that’s a thing he does I guess.

And while his friends were there, I guess neither of them thought to tell the healer he can’t be healed with aether or he’ll die? They sure didn’t waste their time laying into Erith about how much they thought he was shit for going over to attempt to do what he’s been hired to do(Not to mention I was begging him to heal Matteo, Erith hadn’t done anything yet. I don’t regret it, because I’d want Erith to heal anyone he could, but it’s aggravating that they laid into Erith for it). I guess Matteo also decided to omit that information before he went up stage too.

Well, whatever, I guess. Logic aside, they caused such a ruckus about it Quin got pissed off and stepped up (for good reasons, I’m sorry I had to get in your face, Quin!), Erith left, and I had to step in and bounce since Vel was out for the eve. Even Leih had to step in and kick them both out for good. I think Matteo is gone too. With that huge rucks that was thrown, it’s for the best, I feel.

After that it calmed down a lot, mostly because a lot of folks left, but also because we were half way through the eve. It was good to see my friends fight up on stage even though it was random, although I was sad I wasn’t able to pay much attention to Trystan’s fight.

Hector showed up, he’s a guy I met at this new FC I joined. I don’t know him very well but he seems nice enough. I get the impression he’s kind of flirty from what I was hearing with him chatting with others on the side. Clearly the others had some impressions, since they were teasing me the moment he left the first time. I know it was just teasing but I’m really not into him like that. I wouldn’t mind becoming friends though! I still have to get him that book.

Anyway, I was matched up with Discordia and it was an intense fight! I think she’s one of those ones who gets a little too into it once she gets going. That in itself was interesting and different from other fighters I’ve encountered. There are some who lose themselves in the moment, like Discordia, some who can’t control themselves, like Matteo, I guess, and some who are especially calculating until presented with something so wild they have to rely on instincts. I think I fall somewhere in-between on the last one.

I think Discordia abandoned all thoughts of using the normal weapon she’d been given and brought out her own (not that we were forcing people to use the weapons we gave them), which was a flame thrower. That made fighting on the stage tricky. It was a good fight but in the end she caught me unaware and my whole world was engulfed in fire and crimson.

I don’t quite remember what happened after. Things went in and out and it’s fuzzy. I think Trystan carried me to a room. I was swimming in unimaginable pain so honestly, I was pretty delirious and everything felt dreamy through the haze.

After I was healed up enough I managed to find a way home and a healer tended to my other burns. I was told Gail healed my legs, which were pretty messed up. I’m really grateful to her, because...well, without my legs I’m not much of a dancer, am I?

Still, it was an amazing fight. I’d go against Discordia again. It was an amazing challenge, very unexpected, and in its own way, thrilling and fun. Discordia seemed to really enjoy herself as well? I think? All the cackling seems to suggest so.

The other healer I was able to get healed the rest of the burns, although I’ve got some light scarring. There’s definitely light scarring but it looks like skin discoloration now. I don’t mind it! Battle scars! You can really tell if you look at my legs, but my arms, stomach, and some small patches of my chest took some hits too. It’s not really noticeable unless I’m in the light but I’m hoping with some lotions and TLC some of it will fade in time. And if not, I don’t mind. I’m still going to wear cute outfits even with the scarring.

After I was cleared to have made a mostly full recovery I went back out to help with investigating those leve quests! We ventured out to a place I’ve never been before, Dravania. It’s really cold out there! It felt kind of refreshing on my skin though with the ointments I’ve been using.

There were some new people, a guy named Elf who seems to be an academic? Lots of academics. I guess his brother makes some mean curry and they kept talking about it which made me want some. Mmm, curry ~

I need to ask my mom to send me some more spices from home. Also, Jasper caught me singing the curry song my brother and I made up when we were kids. I’ve been discovered. I’m going to have to take him out. I should make some curry for everyone one of these days! I bet Tala would really like some home cooking too!

By the way, the Vath are weird. They do this weird chittering/clacking thing and they call us fleshlings. I don’t mind it, but I have scales and horns too! Acknowledge them! I’m not just squishy!

Silliness aside, we were on the lookout for a missing vath and I suddenly got this weird sensation and then there was this knight beside me. I wish I could explain it better since he was made of aether but he was definitely one of those Ishgardian knight types but all faded out and bloody. The only thing that was really striking about him were his eyes. They were a very pretty shade of green.

I quickly realized that unlike the mist figures, only I could see him. No one seems to have found that strange and no one questioned me as to why I was the only one who could. That was...a relief. Strangest part was that I could hear him too. I think he was betrayed by someone.

We eventually found the lost vath, but the knight for some reason didn’t like either that or the vath? All the remaining color fled from his eyes and he attacked the poor thing. We still don’t know why or what caused it. We were able to stop him and heal up the vath and return back, but we had a lot of questions.

Looks like the knight was from the house Calvas (they found out after I tried to draw the crest he wore. I can’t believe Kuupa redrew it my drawing was so bad! Don’t record my monstrosities!) and he was traveling with another knight and someone else. Maybe a mage? I guess we have to do some more digging. I’m just wondering what happened and if he sold his name. The poor man, what drove him to do that?

That’s it for me, I have a party to get to tonight!

#zahra's diary #ic

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inviouswriting · 4 years ago

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Aymeric x Kiya

During the travel to Anyx Trine, they had taken a longer path with Alphinaud. He wanted to take some white lily type flowers to the house that once belonged to Ysayle.

Kiya felt colder than usual as they had braved through a blizzard to get there even on dragon back. She felt a haze in her head and hoped it was nothing.

Thry had landed and soon wandered the outside of the house for dangers. A few monsters easily dealt with by a few flashes of fire from Kiya and Aymeric's sword. Aymeric noticed that Kiya's spells faltered a bit.

When they were inside, the place felt cold as long abandoned from the heretics. Aymeric marveled at the unique sculpture of Shiva and Hraesvelgr faintly touching it in how it now adorns the gate on Falcon's Nest.

"To think that a few girls would change Ishgard for beliefs that were once thought preposterous. I just hope the great wyrm can lend his strength to us." Aymeric murmurs more to himself, he still had alot to come to terms with. Alot to go through.

Alphinaud arranged the flowers he had brought on the altar to pay respects in his way. Kiya leaned against the wall close to the door rubbing her arms and shoulders. Still dancing with her thoughts. Her own memories she felt a little delirious on her feet. She shoved her own feelings aside keeping her ears up for sounds of foes.

Aymeric turns towards Kiya flashing a brief smile and earning one back. They were dancing around their feelings for each other. Aymeric held back because he didnt know how this dragonsong war would end with another dead either him, Estinien or her, someone he has grown to love dearly unadmitted. He rather go with unrequited love than face heartbreak that way.

Kiya kept her feelings to herself due to uncertainty. Once she admitted feelings it meant she had so much to lose in this. They would grave the others hand or stare a bit longer between them.

It is in one of these moments that Aymeric notices her face more pale than usual, with her painted lips it was hard to tell of she was hypothermic but she shivered on her feet.

"Alphinaud, would you fetch some wood for fire? I think we should hold here for a bit till the weather improves. Wont do for us to catch our death in the cold." Aymeric keeps his voice full of amusement and Alphinaud nods going to get the wood.

Aymeric turns to Kiya eyes a bit stern he knew something was off bow that he sees her gaze half there.

"Kiya? You should sit down and rest. It's been a long journey from Ishgard to here." Kiya nods understanding giving him a grin and a pat on her chest to play off how she felt. Perhaps it was a bit too late and the moment she moved the world was fuzzy to her then black.

"Kiya?!" She didnt hit the ground but was caught. Aymeric kneels with her and glances around for something to lay her down on top of. Alphinaud had returned and saw Aymeric holding Kiya looking panicked.

"By the twelve, what happened?" He is quick to set the wood down and get his tome out to use a cure and esuna on her to see if she had been poisoned or hurt somehow.

Aymeric places a hand to her forehead and feels heat but lingers his hand there feeling her press to it for the cool sensation.

"I believe she has a hypothermia. Along with exhaustion." Aymeric lifts her up again finding a makeshift bed to place her in furs.

"What can we do for her then?" Alphinaud asks.

"Let's get that fire lit. More importantly warm her up and let her rest like we've told her to do." Aymeric says as he removes some of his armor for the thick robe he wears to wrap Kiya in it.

Alphinaud sets about his task of lighting the fire half wishing Kiya was awake long enough to throw a flame. He spies Aymeric sitting with Kiya arms winding around her to draw her closer a worried expression gracing his features.

"I shall go see if I can find makings for a soup or stew." Alphinaud informs Aymeric and he nods agreeing.

"I'll stay here then go keep watch over her." Aymeric rubs a hand on Kiya's head feeling heat from her forehead but knew better than to uncover her from a exposure fever.

It was hours with a fire going and food being made. Aymeric leaving the bundled fur to help Alphinaud make something edible.

Kiya felt like she was dreaming but pleasant warmth throughout her. Her sleep was plagued with a nightmare as events came back to her from Azys Lla, Haurchefant, Estinien, Nidhogg, and Ysayle. She felt soothing hands on her head brief fingers on her forehead checking if her fever broke.

Aymeric sighs in relief when it does break. There is a flutter of Kiya's eyes and she is greeted to Aymeric's smile and most of his torso.

"By the fury, thank her that you are awake." His voice is low enough to hear him but quiet as if there were people asleep. Alphinaud had passed out at the foot of the bed strewn over her legs. Aymeric nestled next to Kiya to use his body heat to keep her from the cold settling in her bones.

"What happened.." Kiya half glares feeling stupid that she was caught in such a moment of weakness.

"You got cold again. Worse than the last time you got hypothermia in my arms." Kiya's cheeks pink at the memory. She had woken up to Aymeric after that night too.

Aymeric gets up and presents her a mug of tea and bowl of soup. She accepts both and eats slowly and drinks slower.

Aymeric sits next to her again and still in a hushed voice talks to her.

"Your fever broke a few hours ago, but we will remain here for the night. Conditions outside got bad best to travel during day anyway. Too many monsters and dravanians that are not friendly. Rather not chance itbwith toy out of it." Aymeric puts his concerns into the reality of their situations.

Kiya looks at the bowl in her hands and is reminded of that time she spent with ysayle and Estinien before they spoke to Hraesvelgr.

"I am sorry to stall our progress." This catches Aymeric by surprise.

"Nonsense, it should be mine fault at not realizing it sooner. Should have told us you were not feeling well." Aymeric reaches hisbhands to cup hers around the bowl. How much larger they are to hers. She noticed he isn't wearing his normal attire but an adventuring outfit. She then noticed her draped in his black robe.

"Thank you... I didnt want to burden you or Alphinaud with it." Kiya feels overwhelmed but the squeeze on her wrists reassures her.

"Again nonsense. You cannot help us if you are not feeling well." Aymeric urges her to best more while it was hot still. When she had finished her things. Aymeric takes the bowl and mug away, setting them down and returns to her. He fits into the fur with her and tugs her closer. He felt right with her next to him.

"Try not to worry over it. However rest, we have a long travel tomorrow to get to tailfeather then anyx trine." Kiya nods understanding feeling sheepish as she lays down. Arms wound around her and she feels safe and protected in his arms.

By morning Kiya woke up last. Feeling refreshed. The Lord Commanders clothes not on her anymore and she spies Aymeric fixing the blue cloak on him from a mirror and a few cups of tea steeping.

Kiya smiles knowing how he doesnt go a day without tea, Lucia telling her moons ago. Aymeric feels eyes on him and ice blue sees vivid green watching him.

Alphinaud already had woken up and went about his morning. When he catches up to the two downstairs he beams bright seeing Kiya up and about. He doesnt miss the way Kiya and Aymeric stare at each other. Tataru had said it is plain as day fir the look of love between them.

"Here we were so worried over you. Yet you look ready to tackle five garuda and two leviathans." He teases and Kiya grins wild at the idea.

"Only if Krile accompanies me." Alphinaud makes a face at that. Aymeric had finished his own morning tea.

"You two should drink up before we brave the cold again. Looks like the blizzard stopped. We should get going before ere long." Aymeric says as he heads up and outside to wait for them. Kiya nods and Alphinaud agrees.

When they were alone, Alphinaud looks over to Kiya as they share the moment.

"He worried about you more than I did. He didn't leave your side once." Alphinaud muses aloud, he sees Kiya glance over to him with a dust of pink.

"Really?" Kiya taps her nails on the mug as a fidget.

"Aye, I noticed you stare at him with love. When will you tell him your feelings?" Alphinaud pries.

"Maybe when this war is over.. or at Churning Mists." Kiya looks into the now empty mug she sets it down then goes to greet Aymeric outside. Turning back towards Alphinaud.

"The right time will present itself. But I dont think I am wrong to chase him." Kiya smiles as she speaks.

"No I do not think it wrong either. As long as he makes you happy." Kiya nods, once outside Aymeric ushers her to stand with him in the morning light. He motions for her to look over the cliffside and is greeted to the soft orange and reds that adorn the snow covered land. Kiya's eyes widen at such a sight, how pink, purples and blues dance off ice and yellows gleam on fresh fallen snow.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Aymeric watches her face over the landscape. How bright her expressions are and how she huddles closer to his side for warmth. She is wearing a thicker attire but cold is still cold.

Alphinaud soon joins them and they set off once more towards their objectives. Kiya holding onto Aymeric's hand a little tighter.

#aymeric #aymeric de borel #ser aymeric #kiya shinikami #aymeric x kiya #ffxiv aymeric #invi's ffxiv writing

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fracturedmotivationwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Dex was surprised she'd convinced Luca to go to a karaoke bar. The man had no problem with a night out drinking, but he didn't strike as the type to willingly go sing karaoke. But here he was, laughing alongside her as they watched a bridal party stumble off the stage after a rousing rendition of John Legend's 'All of Me.' Downing the rest of her tequila sunrise, she turned back to Luca with a grin.

"I've lived with you for a few weeks now, and every day you surprise me, Archer."

Luca raised an eyebrow, hiding his smirk behind his glass of bourbon. He motioned to the server passing by for another round.

"I'm full of surprises, Riley. Just you wait till I get up on stage and belt out some Beyoncé," he teased back.

"He does a really great rendition of Single Ladies," V teased, winking at Dex as Luca let out a bark of laughter. The trio shared a grin as they clinked glasses. Their cheer died down as Luca's eyes traveled across the bar to where Derek and Rome were sitting. Dex could see his mood sour as he watched Rome wrap a protective hand around Derek's bicep. She nudged his shoulder gently.

"I know it's hard but you just gotta ignore them," she whispered to him, earning herself a skeptical look from the man. "At least for tonight, you gotta be over her. Let yourself have some fun and forget all about her."

"You know as well as I that it's nearly impossible to do such a thing."

"Maybe it's impossible to do sober," Dex shrugged, pushing his new drink closer to him. "But a little bit of booze may help."

Under normal circumstances, Dex would not be encouraging his alcoholic tendencies. Ever since moving in, she did her best to curb his incessant drinking. But she wanted Luca to have fun tonight. Real fun for once. And if alcohol would help keep his mood up, well then she would drink right alongside him.

"You two are going to be trouble tonight, aren't you?" V sighed, watching warily as the two roommates downed their fresh drinks. Dex got the attention of a server for another round, adding on a round of tequila shots as well.

"Yes, we are," she confirmed with an apologetic smile. "But I promise you don't have to take care of us. I arranged for Samuels to drive us home. He owes me after I covered for him with his capo last week."

She passed V one of the shots the server delivered before leaning closer to the girl.

"You also don't have to drink with us. I know you're not a big drinker. But I wanted to give you the option so you wouldn't feel left out."

"She absolutely does have to drink with us," Luca argued, having overheard Dex's words to V. "At least this shot and the drink already in her hand. You said I needed to have fun tonight, and I can think of nothing more fun than a drunk Violetta.."

V rolled her eyes but decided to humor Luca. Picking up the shot glass, she raised it alongside her friends before following their lead and downing it. Dex laughed lightly as she watched the pain and disgust cross V's features as the tequila burned her throat. She handed the girl a lime to help the sting.

"Alright, Luca," Dex called, turning to the man as he set his glass down with a raised eyebrow. "I think what you need is a song. C'mon, let's go put our names down with the DJ. V, keep our table safe."

Four minutes later, after a rousing rendition of Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody' that Dexter was honestly surprised at, it was Dexter and Luca's turn to hit the stage. Luca kept muttering that he wasn't drunk enough, but Dexter dragged him up with her (a new drink in his hand). She hadn't told him what song she'd given the DJ, but she knew that he would know the lyrics. She'd been playing the song pretty frequently in their apartment and had caught him humming along more than once. Plus, it was perfect for this situation.

Luca gave her a pointed look as the song started, shaking his head. But after Dex sang the first few bars, she could see the grin he was trying to hide. He knew this song was perfect for the night too. For the both of them really. She grabbed hold of his hand, forcing him to spin before he finally lifted his mike and joined her in the chorus.

"But I won't break down at 2 AM and call," he sang back to her. "'Cause I don't miss you at all."

Dex smiled as he turned to face the audience, singing with a little more passion in his voice. She was rather pleased that her plan seemed to be working, even as he locked eyes on Rome as he sang the bridge. Because for the first time since she met him, he seemed a little freer. His shoulders weren't as tense and his body language wasn't as guarded. He was letting himself feel good for the first time in a long time.

"And I'm sleeping fine. I don't mean to boast, but I only dream about you once or twice a night at most." Dex couldn't really tell from here, but she was pretty sure that Luca's words were getting to Rome just a little bit. At least, if the way she dropped Derek's arm was any indication, his words were.

Dexter joined him back in the chorus, her arm wrapped around his shoulder as the two harmonized. A grin was starting to spread on Luca's face and Dexter felt like the two of them were lighter now. Like the baggage they both had been carrying for so long was finally lifted. That and maybe the drinks they'd been downing were finally starting to hit.

"But I won't make that mistake again and fall," they sang. "So I say I don't miss you at all. And someday I won't miss you at all."

They weren't exactly met with a standing ovation, but the applause did last longer than Dexter had been expecting. She and Luca shared a laugh and a hug before coming off stage and hurrying back to V who pulled them in for another hug as soon as they were close enough.

"That was amazing! I didn't know you could sing, Dex," she cooed, her words slurring ever so slightly. Dex smiled lightly. V was not a drinker. She wasn't necessarily drunk, but she was feeling the effects of the liquor.

"I'm full of surprises," Dex teased, winking at Luca as she quoted him from earlier. The boy merely rolled his eyes before motioning to the bar. He'd be back in a few with a new round of drinks.

"Well, count me surprised. You have a great voice," V assured her as the girls sat back down at their table. "And you sang with such emotion! I know that song was meant for Luca and Rome, but I couldn't help but think it was for you too."

Dexter knew V wasn't trying to pry. V would respect her privacy, wouldn't ask questions if Dex didn't want to talk about it. But she was allowing Dexter to open up. To share about her past and her old pack. To share about the events that had so clearly left her broken hearted and lead her here. Dex scooched her chair closer to V.

"We're friends, right? Like I'm not just your brother's mate to you? You and I are friends?"

V nodded, her demeanor quickly growing serious to match Dexter's tone. Even in her intoxicated haze, she knew that this was a big deal for Dexter.

"Before Frankie," Dex started, glancing around to make sure that V was the only one listening. It was a crowded and loud bar, but one could never be too careful.

"I thought I had already met my mate. Her name was Maise. She was... She was wonderful. Beautiful, witty, strong-willed. She was perfect and I loved her completely. And I didn't have a mom to tell me what it was like to meet your mate for the first time, so I was convinced that Maise was mine. We were deliriously happy together. She was my best friend, my closest confidant, and the love of my life. But Maise already had a mate. Devin. Our Alpha."

Dexter felt the words in her throat. A lump that didn't want to move. That didn't want to be spoken aloud. Once they were out there they'd be real. She felt V place a hand on her knee.

"When Devin found out he was angry, to say the least. And when he confronted us, I thought to myself, 'Now's our chance. Maise is going to admit that I'm her real mate, and we're going to be together. We may have to leave the pack, but we'll be together.' Obviously, that's not how things played out."

Dexter watched as a couple took the stage, belting out Elton John and Kiki Dee's 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' slightly off rhythm. She focused her attention on them, tried to match her breathing to their off beat voices.

"I'm still scared he's going to find me one day. Even though Maise chose him, even though she told him that she had lied to me, he's still furious. Still thinks I took something from him. He gave me a head start when I left. It was unspoken, but... I know he let me get away so that he could have the satisfaction of hunting me down."

V squeezed Dex's knee, bringing her attention away from the singing couple to the friend sitting beside her.

"That's why you freaked out when you found out your mate was Frankie, isn't it? At least in part," V guessed gently. "Because you know that as the Alpha's mate-"

"My scent is going to be stronger to outsiders. Easier to find," Dex nodded. "That's not all of it. But it doesn't help."

The two sat together silently for a few moments. V was presumably processing everything Dex just told her. It was a lot to take in considering she hadn't known a thing about Dex's past before. V broke the silence.

"You still love her." It wasn't a question. V knew that Dexter still had room for Maise in her heart. The way Dex spoke of her. The way she sang about not missing her. It was all so clear.

"Another reason I wasn't too keen on finding my mate," Dex mumbled, picking at a cocktail napkin. "And another reason why I'm so terrified for when Devin finds me. He'll bring her with him. To taunt me. To taunt her. To punish us both. I may not be part of his pack anymore, but... He still has power over me."

V wrapped her arms around Dexter, pulling the girl in for a bone crushing hug. Dexter felt the tears poking at her eyes. She let herself bury her head in V's shoulder, finding the girl's embrace comforting.

"He does not have power over you. Not anymore," V whispered into her ear. "You're strong and you have a whole pack surrounding you. We will protect you. I promise."

#mafia mates #a little karaoke never hurt nobody #part one #next part will be v’s deep confessions and a rousing rendition of sk8r boi #plus some flirting

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cherryplasmids · 6 years ago

Text

☆ still my dove ☆

pairing: sandor clegane x reader fandom: game of thrones—season 8 anon request: Sandor x Reader where they’re involved in some sort of battle or they’re attacked by some bastards and the reader is greatly injured, losing an arm or a leg? “What use am I to you now?” notes: mentions of blood and violence and death. — I am in no way an expert on disability. I don’t know the science behind having a leg chopped off or anything. I do not mean to offend anyone.

—check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The heavy bodies of four wights that struggled to desperately end your life, suddenly vanished, leaving your arms to drop at your sides. Besides immediately confusion—how in the actual fuck did they just disappear—soreness filled your body and you could finally breathe; inhale without fearing it would be your last.

After the initial shock, people began yelling out names or screaming in pain or crying when they stumbled upon dead loved ones or maybe all of the above. You wanted to feel emotional agony because you are certain you’ve lost someone in the battle but the exhaustion overwhelmed you, silencing any type of feeling besides content. Even when you heard your name being yelled, you just lied there waiting for someone to find you while thinking of a downing cold ale, kissing Sandor because you know your tall, brute lover survived, and sleeping for three days.

Whoever shouted for you came close and quieted down. Despite all the smoke in the air, temporarily disrupting your vision, Necalli’s distinct appearance captures your attention. He leans over, placing his hands on his knees and begins panting. His face is covered in a thick coat of blood and ash with streaks of sweat on his cheeks. Armor no longer rested on his chest or shoulders, instead, the thin olive tunic dangled loosely off his collarbones. Thankfully, you couldn’t find any major wounds, just little scratches decorating his tanned flesh.

“Y/N,” Obvious relief spilled out of him. He drops down to his knees and removes his Unsullied combat helmet which immediately makes you sad.

“I’m sorry about your friends.” You pointed at the helmet. “They nor the Dothraki should have died first. That’s just disrespectful.”

“Perhaps we were taken for granted.” He shrugs even though sorrow fills his eyes. “But we do what she asks of us with no question. If her intent was for us to die, I think we did a good job.”

It’s a poor attempt of a joke but you crack a smile anyway. “Is Grey Worm—”

“Alive, searching for Missandei. I looked for you as soon as the battle was over.”

You lift a hand up to touch his cheek. “Thank you, raqiros.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good...I think? Just lightheaded.” You stop for a moment, pausing in order to take a deep breath. “Tired, really damn tired.”

Necalli doesn’t speak and looks you over, assessing your condition. He moves your head side to side, wiping away blood from your warm cheeks. You’re delirious to his ministrations because the exhaustion hits you. Hard. Like a sudden rainstorm or the Sept of Baelor blowing up.

Sleep; it’s alluring and the best idea you’ve had in ages. You just need uninterrupted sleep..forever. You, Sandor and the comfy beds filled with cozy furs that Winterfell had in abundance. Necalli is keeping you from fulfilling that desire. He needs to stop worrying—you’re completely and utterly fine, just exhausted. Nothing more and nothing less.

But then he starts shouting causing your ears to start ringing. You close your eyes and push your hands to close anymore sound from going into your ears. He’s screaming bloody murder for what? He needs to leave now because he’s being extremely rude now.

Despite his incessant screaming, sleep calls out to you—sending soft murmurs of delicate yearning. Your eyes close even further, darkening the outside light from penetrating your eyelids. It feels warm.

It doesn’t last long because you begin involuntarily shaking—violently as if you’ve basked in ice cold water. Eyes snapping shut, you see Necalli shaking you, his face filled with the utmost concern and worry.

“Necalli?” Then you feel a jolt in your lower region, shocking you into an upright position. There are so many people crowding you, all shouting incoherent nonsense. Sansa is there, tears spilling, and head shaking. Everything is suffocating, too hectic for you to focus until you notice her eyes shooting back and forth from your own gaze to your legs.

So, you look.

Blood gushes from your left leg, dark red, almost black, but that isn’t the worst part about it.

It was gone.

Your left fucking leg from the knee down wasn’t there—just empty space where the shin should be. Your mouth opens up, but nothing comes out—or maybe it did but you couldn’t tell because of the high volume ringing in your ears.

The pain hits you now, shooting through your body like fire. Somehow, at the same time, it felt like ice and electricity replaced your veins, throbbing at rapid a pace that seemed to quicken your heart rate. It makes you reel, sending you back to your previous lying position, head thudding against the wet dirt which is the worst thing you could have possibly done. An explosion of blinding whiteness blows up in your head and the last thing you could remember is watching Sandor race towards you before your consciousness simply vanishes into darkness.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Beric’s death struck sorrow in Sandor. After all, the two men have spent many hours together, trying to survive all the obstacles life has thrown at them. They prevailed together, came to the North together, fought alongside each other, and buried comrades together. Although Sandor’s never been one for sentiment, there’s a bit of nostalgia coursing through him as his eyes wander out to the vastness of the North. Beric, an oddball, surrounded himself with other oddballs like Thoros, made Sandor feel welcomed. Not a hound—a brother who’s destiny is to survive. He’s not heartbroken, far from it, but he is sad.

Originally, he just drank a cups of ale in Beric’s honor. However, once he couldn’t find you among the dead or the living, he became inconsolable.

Three days after the battle, he still cannot find you. No one is telling him anything on account of you and Sandor not necessarily being in a relationship. If he specifically asked for you, people would be suspicious and Sandor was not the type to have his personal business under scrutiny by any means. Instead of sacrificing his pride and ask for aid, he helplessly searched for you throughout Winterfell. Every nook and cranny searched and stripped to find you. Three days worth of panic and innocent bystanders being shoved or yelled at and silent tears at night when he’s alone.

It registers after the fourth day that you might not be here. The sudden realization of your clingy self not being there to annoy him, jump on his back, or to play with his fingers when you’re nervous, suddenly slaps him so hard in the face, he physically caught whiplash.

Sandor’s thoughts increasingly became a jumbled mess as he kept drinking with his sight becoming a tad bit hazy. Tipsy is not the word to describe him at the moment. He’s intoxicated and smells like he took a bath in alcohol—not at all how he usually is. Nothing about him is normal anymore, well, as normal as he tried to be. Everything is different; the morning light disrupted by ash polluting the air, the frostiness of the North seems warmer, fewer people roaming around, even the ale tastes different. It’s dreary, dark, and depressing. And the only way he can combat that heartbreak is to drink until he’s dead.

He’s got nothing to live for anymore. He’s done his duty of protecting the Stark girls and without you around, he doesn’t see a future because he planned it with you. The brown cottage with cobble steps and yellow flowers planted beside it that you wanted to live in with him was a far fetched dream that is impossible to realize without you. All the little plans of being farmers and florists and chefs and any other random idea you had would never come true. He did not have the heart to continue, to move on without you because you were everything. How can he move on when you took his heart with you to wherever the fuck you ended up at.

That’s when he knew he could never be happy. The stars would never align for him to set him up with a good life. The one chance he did, the village had been slaughtered and the second time an opportunity came, you were taken from him.

Life’s a cruel joke and Sandor’s been the butt end of the joke since childhood.

So, he takes another gulp of ale, only to find the cup empty. He reaches over to the beer barrel to pour more but nothing comes out of the tap. Just one push of the barrel sends it over. Nothing sloshes inside of it. It’s empty.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Something slams heavily against the wall, but Sandor’s eyes are crusted shut. He can’t tell what the noise is and doesn’t want to. The massive pounding in his head makes him feel heavy as if his brain weighs a ton. It’s a heat stroke combined with a migraine, the frigidness of Winterfell doing nothing to cool him down.

Then he’s shaking. A second party is forcefully kicking him but he’s immune, numb. Kicking and stomping, loud slams, gibberish—nothing can shake him out of the thick haze and rut he’s succumbed to.

“Fuck off,” Vomit is on his tongue and it makes him gag.

Whoever is disturbing him speak again, more gibberish followed by another kick to his side. After that, they stop. Instead, freezing water with chunks of ice crashes down on his face, sending his body to jolt forward into a sitting position.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“It’s about time you woke up.”

Sandor whips his head up despite the throb in his brain to find Arya standing over him, arms crossed over her chest with her eyebrows raised—unamused and certainly unimpressed. Light illuminates her tense silhouette which means it’s still daylight. He’s been sleeping for a few hours instead of a few days like he thought.

“Fuck you,”

She taps her foot and moves to sit on an ale barrel. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Sandor pushes himself to sit against the nearest wall, grunting the entire time. He can’t think straight without pushing his limits, can’t talk without feeling like he licked a shag carpet. Breathing heavily and eyes closed, he takes his time to calm down or else he’ll attack the younger girl. She might beat him, though. After all, he is intoxicated beyond belief.

“All this time you’ve been drinking your arse off for the fun of it and—”

Sandor shakes his head, brain sloshing around in his skull. “Dead,”

“What?”

“She’s dead.”

“Who—” Arya stops herself, sighing deeply before rubbing her forehead. “Y/N?”

“There’s not..nothing left.”

The young Stark girl gets down on her knees, leaning forward to meet his gaze. “You idiot!” Sandor’s eyes flare up in anger. She’s pissed too. “While you’ve been here feeling sorry for yourself, mourning over her for no reason, she’ been screaming day and night about missing you.”

His eyes perk up, his body physically straightening as her words finally have some clarity. “She’s alive?”

Arya rolls her eyes and stands up. “Yes, been asking for you.”

Scrambling to get up, Sandor stumbles and trips over his own feet several times before standing properly, but his feet don’t have stability. Suddenly, he tilts backward, falls back and hits his head on a wooden barrel. It smashes and ale seeps out.

Arya remains unimpressed at the sight, offering no help to the groaning and probably concussed Hound. “Shower and sober up or she’ll have your head for smelling like an alehouse.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time Sandor sobers up, takes a shower, and actually attempts to groom a bit, it’s the next night. He didn’t think it would take him that long, obviously underestimating how fucked up he was. The hours leading up to the very moment he entered the makeshift hospital wing in the castle was filled with extreme anxiousness. It’s been five, almost six days, since the battle—fours days he deemed you dead. All the nasty thoughts of his lonely future remained in his head. Surely you wouldn’t want to be with him after he left you to deal with your injuries alone.

He assumed they were horrific since Arya refused to speak about them and even got a little teary-eyed mentioning it. Did you look like him now? Scarred flesh and ugliness tainting your features? No, no matter what happened to your face, he would still love you. It couldn’t be that. When Arya’s eyes got misty and somewhat pitiful, it reminded him of how she used to look when he brought up a specific topic on one of their adventures years ago. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t remember the subject.

When he reaches the wing, there are three Unsullied men guarding your door. They glare at him as he approaches. He expects them to part but they remain still, speaks held up high with their hands tightening their grips. He’s feeling particularly nasty at the moment and opens his mouth to swear but is cut short by your room door opening and swinging shut.

Necalli, your best friend, looks tired with bags under his eyes and terrible posture. His head is low even when one of the Unsullied guards speak to him. It’s in Valyrian, a language Sandor never heard of until the Targaryen girl invaded Westeros. You know it, though. You gave him cute nicknames and compliment him using that language. He never knows what you’re saying, but the little smile on your lips makes it okay.

“Sandor,” Necalli’s accented voice calls out to him, removing him from his memories. The tanned man looked a little pale but he smiled up at him anyway. He didn’t think the Unsullied were allowed to smile. “It’s really great to see you.”

He grunts and nods.

“Y/N has been in and out of sleep. She is awake now but might fall asleep on you. Just don’t do anything that causes her heart to quicken.” The sly bastard winks at him talk Valyrian to the guards before all four Unsullied members leave the wing.

As soon as he sees their bodies turning at the end of the hall, he pushes the door open. Firewood and lavender waft throughout the room, reminding him of his smell and your body scent mixing together. His boots noisily alert you of a new presence and before you can call out, Sandor is standing a few feet away from your bed.

Your breath hitches and hands tighten around the snow-white sheets.

“What—” You audibly gulp. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m not. Off you go.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t want you here.” Your voice is tight, eyes filled with terror.

Visibly caught off guard, Sandor takes a step back at your words. Not even a week ago were you declaring your love for him, begging for him to fuck you, preparing all these future plans with him. Now you’re telling him to leave as if that hadn’t happened? Had he done something wrong? Why do you look terrified?

“What the fuck do ya mean?” He snaps at her, anger taking ahold of him.

You match his ferocity. “Are you deaf now? I said get the fuck out!”

Sandor stares at you for a long time, causing you to shift. He always does that to you when he knows there’s an underlying issue. And you’ve just outed yourself out by swearing at him, something you rarely ever do.

“The Stark girl told me you were hurt.” Again, he stares, searching for something. “I don’t see anything.”

His lingering eyes sends anxiety through your body and you feel panic welling up in your throat. Again, you tighten your hands around the sheet, bringing it up toward your body.

“Please, Sandor, just go.”

Your whispered words do nothing to ease the giant man and he moves toward you. Your eyes shut when he gets near you, attempting to hold back the tears threatening to cascade downward. Each shuffle, creak, and any other movements cause you to tense up because Sandor will inevitably find out what’s wrong. Of course, it terrified you.

He kneels down beside you and gently tugs the sheet out of your hands. You whisper in disagreement and for a moment, he stops. Eyes intense, you could feel his stare at you and eventually, you relent, completely releasing the sheet.

Agonizingly slow, Sandor peels the cloth off of you, bare flesh gaining goosebumps. He stops when he reaches your knees. Realization stuns him, causing him to release the sheet.

Tears slip out underneath your closed eyelids. Before you know it, you’re sobbing and shaking.

Sandor feels his heartbreak at the sight of you completely and utterly devastated. He understands now. Why you didn’t send someone to get him, why he wasn’t by your side. You’d rather have him think you’re dead than in this condition.

“Oh, Sandor,” He leans forward, tugging you into his chest and you awkwardly grab onto him, twisting your body enough to be practically on him.

“I love you.”

Somehow you cry harder, chest heaving. You shake your head at his words and look up, eyes shining with tears with absolute sorrow leaking.

“What use am I to you now?”

“Listen to me, dove.” Voice gruff and stern, he pulls you further to him. “Nothing has changed. You’ll still be annoying and clingy and will still jump on my back. We will get that cottage with yellow flowers and cobblestone steps.” You cry even more. “Everything is the same. Legs or no legs, you’ll still be my dove.”

He pulls you into him again, smelling your lavender scented hair and lets you soak his shirt in tears. You try to talk but he hushes you, knowing that you’ll need sleep soon. So, he climbs onto the bed. Like routine, you curl up to his side and grip onto his shoulders. It’s silent after that, just you two together with bodies pressed against each other and breathes mingling—thinking about life together away from all the deaths and injuries and wars. Sandor kisses your head and you know you’re safe and absolutely loved at that moment.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 3,034 published: may 16, 2019 edited: n/a

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astraltickles · 5 years ago

Text

Adventures in alleviating boredom

Summary: A desperate attempt at keeping Draco’s mind occupied leads to a plethora of giggling and happy discoveries

a lil drarry drabble

its 3 am and i deliriously wrote this in a drarry infused haze if its ass im s orry

The bed sheets of Harry’s four poster had long since between reduced to a crumpled up ball at the bottom of the mattress. Harry and Draco laid in comfortable silence side by side; circles were drawn softly on skin, messy hair stuck out in all directions and the heat radiating from their bodies rose and intertwined into the already mellow air. Harry’s blissful thoughts alternated between fondness for his boyfriend laying beside him, and the unusual absence of guilt for laying in silence, with no goal or direction or meaning; just lying next to the one he loves for no other reason than because its what he wants to do. There’s no upcoming event or ongoing turmoil to keep his stomach lurching and brain whizzing, no imminent danger that he ought to be ready for - just a long pale arm drooped across his torso and Draco Malfoy staring fondly up at him.

“I’m bored”

Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “When are you not bored?” His remark was rewarded with a sarcastic pout from Draco. The blonde haired boy shifted lazily into the position of the big spoon and wrapped his arms all the way around his boyfriends torso in a firm, loving bear hug. His hands rested casually around harry’s sides as he buried his head into the nape of his boyfriends neck.

“myou’re borinmmg” His voice was adorably muffled by Harry's warm skin.

“What was that?” Harry teased. “I can’t understand you”

Harry could feel Draco’s lips twist into a smirk. Friendly banter was not uncommon between the two boys, especially considering Draco seemed to be physically incapable of not teasing Harry for something or rather whenever he got the chance. Harry never took offense to the relentless teasing, he actually quite enjoyed it, this was something that Draco was all too aware off. Harry however, did like to turn the tables every so often, just to see the bewildered expression and slight blush creep to Draco’s cheeks when Harry took a playful stab at him.

Draco rose his head slightly. “I said” his tone transforming distinctly from the sleepy, loving boy he was a few seconds prior to a now cheeky, equally as loving yet slightly concerning flavor of mischief - “You’re boring”

With this, Draco put his conveniently placed fingers to action and dug into Harry’s ribs, massaging them menacingly; with intent.

Harry’s heart hurdled in his chest at the unexpected sensation and let out an instinctual cry of surprise before burying his face into his pillow and dissolving into a muffled belly laugh. He wriggled around in Draco’s strong grasp and cried out between his giggles. “Whahahat are you doihihing”

“Isn’t it obvious, potter? I’m alleviating my boredom” Draco’s rubbing evolved into squeezing, which elicited a somewhat convulsion like spasm to erupt from his boyfriend with every bend of a finger. soon, it became difficult for Draco to contain him within his arms.

“Drahaco, noho!” Harry cackled out, “stohohp”

“You’ve got to be kidding me with this” Draco exclaimed, not even attempting to mask the pure glee from his tone. “There’s no way that you’re this ticklish”

Draco swiftly changed position so he was straddling Harry’s hips and began to rapidly poke the chosen one’s belly. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back as he fell into a pool of uncontrollable giggles, clumsily wacking at the area he estimated Draco’s hands to be.

“I cahahn’t beleihihve you’re tihihckling me right nohow”

Where Draco had found it within himself to decide to tickle him out of all things was beyond Harry - he hadn’t foreseen Draco to be the tickling type. Although he couldn't say he was disappointed.

“You’ve always said you wanted to see more of my playful side, babe” Draco looked down at Harry; the creases beside his eyes wonderfully present as laughter poured from his widely smiling lips. He felt his hips beneath him, wiggling in response to the strategic prodding he was administering upon his toned middle and thanked whatever otherworldly presence he dared to believe in, that he was given such a perfect, ticklish boy like Harry.

Draco reluctantly seized his attack when he noticed a gloss growing in Harry’s eyes. Without forgetting to showcase his award winning shit-eating grin, he left his post at Harry’s hips and layed down directly atop the smaller boy, his head settling on his chest.

Draco allowed himself to relax, listening to the sound of Harry’s heartbeat, his head being lifted every so often by Harry’s attempt to controlling his panting and leftover giggles.

“You know, Draco” Harry began, once he’d regained his composure. “I really hope that that smirk wasnt supposed to imply that you aren’t exceptionally sensitive yourself”

Draco felt Harry’s fingertips ghost over his lower back, and he tensed more noticeably than he’d have liked to admit.

Harry felt the presence of Draco’s cheek on his chest grow hot, and smirked.

“hey, Draco?”

“yes?” a small voice responded

“I’m bored”

In the seconds following, Harry was to learn that Draco Malfoy was one blonde, handsome, chortling, ticklish hypocrite.

#harry potter #drarry #ticklish!harry #ler!draco #drabble #ticklefic #my fic #draco malfoy #hp #fanfic

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lokikingofasgardslover713 · 6 years ago

Text

Malefic & Help: 2

Masterlist

Malefic & Help Masterlist

Loki Laufeyson x Female Plus Size Reader x Valkyrie/Brunhilde

Warnings: Rape, Non-con, dub-con, Dark fic.

Frail One

Warnings: Pain

Summary: Does it get better or worse for the reader? You know me, it gets worse. But she gets some tender moments and find out how much Loki and Brunnhilde care for her.

A/N: I am going to pick up after the escape from Sakaar and after Thanos has boarded the vessel, you know the sad part. This is after the snap, but I honestly haven’t made up mind whether or not everyone has been brought back to life so to say.

Words: +3,200

How was this an easier existence? It hurt now, the ship torn to shreds, body aching under the foot of one of the attacking aliens. That’s what it was wasn’t it? She had put up a good fight, was able to save numerous others at the expense of her body as a sharp blade was held to her chest. She knew it could easily penetrate the armor she wore, Y/E/C orbs flickering with defiance as the pointy eared alien glared at her from his hood. The damned thing noting the rune necklace to reach down to tare it free before beginning to drive the blade into her chest, uttering it was an honor to die at his hands.

Or that was until a dagger hit him in the shoulder, giving her the opportunity to kick out from under the alien. Scrambling to her feet, hand reached out to Brunnhilde who had come back for her, but a harsh stab to her lower spine had her legs buckling. Y/N’s shaking hand reaching back to grab the blade, ripping it free and slamming it back into the aliens shoulder to make him loose focus.

It was enough time for the Valkyrie to drag her to the ship that waited. Body going into shock as it appeared she had lost all control of her legs, ones that hung lifeless and losing consciousness the instant she was laid to the floor of the Sakaraaian vessel.

Delirium would be the best to describe what this was, her body was healing all be it slow, laid onto a bed to be fretted over every time she opened her eyes. The room in dim light feeling as if she was dying when she woke enough to comprehend what had happened, screaming out to the room to have Brunnhilde at her side. The bronze warrior kneeling on the mattress, trying to calm her, to reassure it was fine. Brunnhilde leaning to lay her head to Y/N’s clammy one, hand carding through sweat drenched locks as she talked her down from the flood of pain that was her body trying to heal itself.

Honestly, Y/N was surprised she cared this much for her, to be this gentle. This wasn’t the Valkyries nature, though she still remembered little of her time on Asgard, Y/N knew that this wasn’t it. The true Brunnhilde was gruff, military like, but here the Valkyrie was calming her from a delirium of pain.

Y/N attempting to move her legs only to cry out again. This time there was a commotion to her right, form shivering with pain as she looked to the noise, obvious it was a surprise for the Valkyrie as well. Brunnhilde on her feet and blocking the view in favor of protecting Y/N.

“Where the Hel have you been,” Brunhilde snarled out at someone the feverish woman couldn’t see as another pain ripped through her. Sweat drenched body seizing for an instant, the bed sinking on her right as it did on her left. A loud scream tearing from her chest as the one on her right rolled her carefully to assess the wound before being laid back. Pain hazed mind focusing enough to look up into tear filled emerald orbs.

“Loki,” her voice shook, jittering hand stretching out to touch over his cheek, reassuring he was really there. The god not hesitating to lean down to carefully kiss trembling lips, feeling her breath shuttering.

“You will be OK love. It's just healing slowly. I can’t do anything for you,” he spoke calmly, his hand now on her cheek, cherishing the soft flesh as he laid his forehead to hers.

Y/N feeling a hand slip into the one on her left. It was Brunnhilde’s, how could she mistake the hand that had been slipping into hers every chance it got, especially late in the evenings or what felt like it was late. The Valkyrie kept the curtains pulled wherever they were, Y/N had yet to understand what realm or planet they had landed on, body to shattered to comprehend nothing more than agony.

A slight shuffle of her own lifeless feet had her crying out again, she yearned so badly to move them because they ached but couldn’t. It felt like a losing battle as the god that hovered over her cooed to her to be still. A warm body pressing to her left telling her the Valkyrie had taken a seat to watch over her for the night, like she had been doing the past 2 weeks.

Feeling Loki’s head move from hers, delirious eyes opening to look up, noting the god nod to Brunnhilde, throbbing head preventing her from hearing much. Though by the way Brunnhilde shuffled around gingerly told her the warrior was laying next to her to rest, that meant Loki was taking the first watch over her.

“I'm right here dove. I want leave your side,” he echoed, settling gingerly next to her. Delicately Loki laid a hand on her injured side, the pain easing to a tolerable level. Y/E/C orbs looking up into emerald ones to realize he was taking some of the pain on himself to spare her suffering.

Tentatively the god settled next to her, pulling the cover over her scantily clad body. Y/N having only slept in cotton panties and halter top bra to keep some decency, especially when she had to be limped to the bathroom. These trips always ended in her passing out from the pain alone. The pain easing enough from her to shift aching legs to feel comfortable, the bronze warrior wrapped around her left arm, breath fanning over her bicep as it was evident she was exhausted.

“Loki,” Y/N whispered, almost so quietly he didn’t hear, the god still sitting up and looking her shattered body over.

“Yes lover,” he echoed, looking over the Valkyrie that slept protectively next to them, hand wrapped in Y/N’s. Looks like he had competition, but it seemed Y/N favored them both, meeting her gaze to acknowledge her.

“I remembered,” she breathed out in a sigh, Loki cocking his head at what this could mean. The god had worked to help her remember their entire time on Sakaar, it seemed it was only fitting this type of trauma would bring a memory back. “We were to be wed,” her voice shook.

“Aye lover. We were,” Loki smiled, feeling her body grow weak, eyes fluttering shut, he knew she was tired, it was taking her body all it had to heal the shattered spine. “Rest, we will talk more about this when you're not in pain,” Loki reassured as her eyes fluttered shut in exhaustion, feeling her relax, hoping he had helped as he began to drift himself, despite the pain.

This time, as she woke the pain was a dull ache. A careful shuffle of her legs confirming it, but still there was a stabbing pain that shot up to the healed wound from the tips of her toes. Thankfully this just caused her a mild grunt of discomfort, in shock no one was rushing around her to make sure she was OK. Chancing a look around, and thankfully this caused no pain. For once able to take in the entirety of the room.

Her eyes fell to the open curtains first, she could finally see out of the hole she had been kept in. The view from where she was on the bed told her they had to be in a city, and from what she could tell it had to be Midgard. Though, the only way she would know is if she was told so. Not having visited the realm in centuries, but it did look and sound like what she had been told of the place by Loki.

Hmm, Loki. Yeah, come to think of it she was pissed at the bastard for the Tesseract.

Eyes sweeping the room as she remained on her back, propped up by the pillows. There was a small fireplace at the foot of the bed. The room was massive, and this looked to only be the bedroom. There were several plush armchairs near the window that it finally registered as taking up the entirety of one wall. No wonder Brunnhilde kept it closed, it would had made the pain worse just from being blinded by the light.

Loki. Her mind returned again to the truth, the actual truth they had been told of Thanos and why he was coming for them. A lump rising in her throat that her Loki had fallen in with such a creature. No, it wasn’t his fault. He had been trying to survive, just like she had on Sakaar. Just surviving had its price and it was always one that demanded a life or more.

Shaking her head of the thoughts, she decided to think of now. Well, the past few weeks of recovery and the visitors. From what she gathered when she was awake enough to focus, it had been almost 2 months. They had been others who had visited her to help she guessed, the last visitor she remembered was a young girl, chocolate brown skin, a truly beautiful individual with a kind heart.

The young girl had suggested a procedure, but all she recalled was being lifted into Loki’s arms and that was it. The next time she awoke she was back in the bed, and that was 2 weeks ago, but whatever had happened while she was out it had made her recovery even faster. Since that time, her only visitor had been Thor who thankfully for once wasn’t bellowing at the top of his lungs but actually being quiet.

Today? Well today she thought maybe she would try to sit up on her own since she was alone. It wasn’t like her screams wouldn’t bring someone anyway. Gingerly she used her arms as much as she could to get herself propped up further in the bed on the pillows and against the head board. With a small whimper and thankfully slight tingling in her legs she made it.

Norns this bed was huge. Glancing over the mattress and beginning to contemplate whether or not to get up. She itched badly to walk and a glance down to her covered body looked as if she had been dressed. Possibly by Loki, who didn’t like for anyone to see her uncovered, but it seemed Brunnhilde didn’t care as she loved to lay on her bare stomach.

Gathering the blanket, she pushed it away, doing little to use her legs at the moment, she wanted to assure she wasn’t over doing it. Letting out a loud huff, she decided now was as good of time as any. Mainly using her arms once again to shuffle to the edge, a dull stabbing ache but nothing she wasn’t able to handle. A sigh of relief leaving her chest the instant her feet dangled over the edge of the bed.

“Should I alert Loki or Brunnhilde that you are awake? You made need to wait for them before you get out of bed,” a robotic, female voice came out of nowhere. Y/N glancing around for the source of the voice and found none.

“Who are you,” her voice rasped, it hurt to finally use it for more than just shrieking in agony.

“I am F.R.I.D.A.Y. I am an assistant around the tower, an AI. I am here if you need anything so just ask,” the voice spoke. OK now it made since why there was no body for the voice.

“Where is everyone,” Y/N spoke to the air, sliding to put her feet flat on the floor and feeling the fluffy rug under her feet and giggling slightly.

“They are in another part of the tower in a meeting, but I can let someone know you are awake,” the AI continued as she braced on the bed, she wanted to walk so badly.

“No, it's fine. Let me just try to get up. If I can’t you can call for someone,” she wasn’t sure who she wanted to find her, really she wanted both Loki and Brunnhilde. She had grown used to their petting.

With a loud huff Y/N gathered her courage to push to her feet. A wobble at having been on her back for so long and a sudden dizziness had her holding her arms out to stop the spinning. The pain shooting to the base of her skull and the tips of her fingers but once more, it was manageable. A pull at the base of her spine had her reaching back to feel a small curved edge device on the small of her back.

Gingerly she remained standing, the pain easing considerably as she lifted the shirt to dance her fingers over it. The current that flowed through it made her seidr tingle, but it wasn’t malevolent. Yes, her seidr, the very thing she had still refused to use.

It wasn’t clear why, but she just couldn’t summon, to heal or to help her walk. Loki had taken to directing it and using it to help her. Slowly the god had been coaxing Y/N to use it but all she would use it for was to summon a glass of water.

It had spent centuries locked away. Centuries she was without it. Centuries that had been wiped from her mind on how to actually use it but hadn’t the heart to tell Loki she had no control over it like he had showed her in visions. A slight tingle had her coming out to realize she was standing.

With an excited chuckle she took a step forward, no pain. She was wobbly but easily corrected for it as she tipped toed around the room like a giddy little girl. All the excitement had her realizing…

“I have to pee,” Y/N blurted, steadying herself on the foot of the bed. There was pain but still it was nothing like before. The ache finally easing off when the device on her back tingled for an instant, helping to ease the ache so she could straiten.

“The door in the back corner,” the AI chimed in as this time she gingerly walked to the told door. The pain nonexistent at the moment as she stepped into the bathroom, mouth agape at the size of the shower.

Hurrying to pee, she couldn’t wait to get into the shower. Clothes discarded quickly as she got in, a slight ache but it was very manageable. Turning on the shower to have it rain over her like it would in nature.

Hmm, here she goes again, as giddy as before and dancing in the water like a soaked fool. Looking around to fined shampoos and soaps, quick to use them as the smells were anything but the sterile things she was used to clearing with.

After she was thoroughly washed and shriveled, Y/N exited, dried and put the clothes back on to explore the rest of the room.

The outer room was large outside of the bedroom. More nice furniture, another glass wall, and a kitchen that she went to immediately nose around. Looking over all the contents of the cabinets and the refrigerator to all of the sudden feel as if she hadn’t eaten in a while. Well, she possibly hadn’t eaten a true full meal since before her injury. The pain had kept her appetite down or made what she ate come back up.

Carefully looking around the refrigerator, she pulled a container to her with food in it. It was a grain with what looked like some sort of meat and vegetables. With a shrug she decided to check it out, get her a glass of water and a fork from the drawer she had went through.

Forgetting about the device on her lower back, she leaned against the counter to eat whatever it was in the tray but whimpered, pushing away from the counter. The pressure made pain shoot over her body, but it immediately stopped when she moved.

OK, none of that, she thought as she stood in the middle of the kitchen to eat the meal. It was cold, but it was no big deal. Truthfully she wasn’t served hot meals except for when Loki and Brunnhilde found her, it was still foreign to have one. This was just fine.

Finishing up the container, she dropped it in the sink to move to the cabinet where she spotted chips. Downing the water, she grabbed the bag of chips and began to inspect the room closer as she munched on the Doritos. That was what the bag called them, and they were getting orange powder all over her fingers.

Shrugging her shoulders at the newest development, Y/N continued with her bag of chips into the hall. Pausing in the doorway of the room to look up and down the corridor before ducking back in to put the empty bag on the counter top and licking the cheese off her fingers. Taking a step back out into the hallway, she was curious and heard the sound of someone talking to her left.

Taking steps down the corridor towards the conversation knowing she should be cautious, but centuries on Sakaar had taught her to go towards the conversation, not away. Her purpose was to be fearless and entertain. She may remember being a warrior, but that wasn’t who she was any longer. That was why she was in the state she was, she was no fighter and it rendered her all but useless.

The source of the talking was coming from a tv, which she ignored in favor of walking around the room to look out another glass wall. This one actually looked down on a well-manicured lawn, more like a park so to say. The thought of wanting to feel the grass under her feet, wanting to walk in the open, a thing she had been denied for so long.

It made her long for it and had her stumbling in the grass thanks to the unfamiliarity with her seidr. It was also a surprise for the people sitting on the benches who gawked at her.

“Good evening,” her voice rasped out in the cold. The look out of the window had betrayed her to the temperature. The ones on the bench in thick coats, her breath misting around her. Though the cold wouldn’t hurt her, with a smile she nodded to the on lookers and began to frolic around the open lawn like a child.

That was until she started to feel tired and the device seemed to tingle more so than before, feeling an ache to her legs. Maybe she had done to much, looking up to the floor she came from. So how did she get back?

Shutting her eyes, thinking of the room she came from to open her eyes to the same outdoor space. The others had left, talking to the air, F.R.I.D.A.Y, and to her surprise she did answer. The sound coming from a lamp post.

“How do I get back in,” she asked the AI.

“I will open the door you need to enter,” the AI spoke happily, a door at the bottom of the building opening for her to walk to, all be it stiffly.

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#loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #loki #loki (marvel)#lemons #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #fanfic #loki x plus size reader #loki x reader #loki x you

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legobiwan · 7 years ago

Note

someone getting into an Argument with yoda and calling him a moldy scrotum. in the background somebody chokes on their tea

Alright you guys, stay with me here, I swear it gets more humorous at the end. I had to WORK for this one, anon! (and I’m not 100% sure it works, but this is the best I could do :D

———–

“But sir, we haven’t fully stabilized the atmospheric pressure - “

The droid registered a clamorous metallic sound, followed by an overload of its surface sensors. Its processors worked in overdrive, compiling the trillions of causes and effects in its logic system - “false”, “if, then”, “true”. Apparently, T-42 had been shoved into a wall with no small degree of force, judging from the its rattled components. T-42’s optical receptors scanned the humanoid face that was a mere rod’s length from its dual input pathways - or in other words, its eyes.

The droid quickly found the correct category for the visual data, uploading the appropriate emotional response protocols in repsonse.

T-42 registered Yan Dooku’s face as Level 5 angry.

“You will cease this pointless tittering, and you will open the Force-damned door this instant!”

The voice analysis came in at Level 7, which shouldn’t have been possible. An anomaly, its logic systems responded. Obviously, its data banks needed updating.

The door to the ship immediately flew open, as T-42’s calculations had informed him of the odds of an unpleasant dismemberment if he failed to obey the Jedi’s orders.

They were high. Quite high.

The scan T-42 registered before powering down was the sweeping figure of one Jedi Master, Yan Dooku: age 30, dark brown hair, 1.93 meters height.

Status: Vital signs elevated; no immediate threat.

In the man’s arms was the unconscious body of one Qui-gon Jinn, Jedi Padawan, age 20, brown hair, 1.93 meters height.

Status: Vital signs depressed; failure imminent.

——-

Yan Dooku was getting too old for this type of thing. He had rushed into the healer’s ward, Qui-gon’s limp body in his arms. That in itself had been a feat, as the boy’s gangly limbs were everywhere, but somehow the older Jedi Master had been able to deposit his wayward Padawan on a bed before an errant arm took his nose off.

He sat back in his chair and sighed, crossing one leg over the other. Poison, the healers had said. Kytrogorgia, the cerulean slime mold favored by some bounty hunters on the Outer Rim. Dooku rubbed his forehead. Death’s long hand had come far too close - the way Qui-gon’s pulse had become faint, his breaths shallow and irregular, the ghastly pallor that had formed on his aquiline features.

He’s fine now, the Serenno native reminded himself. He hadn’t been so sure a few days ago. It had taken all his will to suppress the instinct to hold vigil at his student’s bedside all day, to take Qui-gon’s hand in his, to not let go until he was certain his Padawan was alive.

He hadn’t though, and even though Qui-gon had been unconscious at the time, Dooku still couldn’t shake the thought that somewhere under his fevered haze, his Padawan knew that his Master had held back. Dooku had maintained his stoic, distant demeanor, even the older Jedi had thought his own heart would leap from his chest at any moment.

The moment had passed, however, and now Qui-gon was fine, having gone from nearly comatose to…

…something else entirely.

The healers had warned Dooku that the antidote could trigger this reaction in one out of every thousand patients. They had also said that it was highly unlikely that Qui-gon would suffer these side effects, given that he was human, and a Jedi.

But since when had Qui-gon ever been like everyone else?

Across the room, his young charge was sprawled on his bed, his eyes glassy, starting up at some invisible point of interest on the ceiling. Qui-gon’s long fingers twitched, and a smile began to spread over his face. Dooku coughed, steeling himself for what was to come next.

It started with moaning. The first time it happened, Dooku had thought his student to be in pain, but the bizarre, twitching grin on Qui-gon’s face indicated otherwise. Soon after would come the gibberish, true nonsense speak that eventually would form into words, into entire conversations. Sometimes Dooku thought Qui-gon was lucid - he would respond to questions, or at least seem like he was. Other times, the boy would be somewhere else completely, reciting studies on plants or animals. Yesterday, Dooku had learned more about the Freyan creeper moss of Artaax Prime than he had thought possible.

“The delusions will fade, Master Dooku,” the healer had said. “But for the next few days you will have to anticipate somewhat…erratic behavior. I suggest you don’t be offended by anything he says.”

Qui-gon turned to his Master, his eyes wide. “And then, we can talk about rearing Oskan blood eaters in the quarters - ” The younger Jedi froze mid-sentence, cackling like a madman. “Master Dooku will love it!” he exclaimed, before falling back into bed.

Delusional indeed, thought Dooku. In moments such as these he harbored doubts that his Padawan was still ill at all; that the Jedi Master was on the end of a very elaborate joke.

Give him the benefit of the doubt, Yan. After all, were you not sitting in this very place a few days ago, fretting he wouldn’t recover at all?

Still, Dooku would have be vigilant against his student’s tendency to adopt strays after his recovery. Just in case.

But before the Jedi Master could put any more thought into the breeding habits of Oskan blood eaters (and the likelihood of it occurring in their quarters), the door to Qui-gon’s room opened, revealing a small, green figure holding a tray.

“Tea, my former Padawan?”

Dooku gave his former Master a small, polite smile.

“I shall take you up on that offer, Master Yoda.”

If nothing else, Dooku mused, Yoda’s presence would reveal if his student was truly in the throes of delirium, or at the very least curtail his tongue.

The diminutive Jedi Master grunted and tottered towards Dooku, floating a cup of tea into Dooku’s hands with the Force. Dooku raised his eyebrows at the unnecessary gesture, but decided that this wasn’t the place or time to start that argument again.

A voice sang from the other side of the room. “That’s inappropriate use of the Force, Master Yoda!”

Dooku nearly dropped his cup.

“Not yet recovered, your student is?” Yoda asked, his voice betraying no surprise, no annoyance whatsoever.

Dooku stared into his own drink, hoping that somehow it might swallow him whole. “No,” he replied, not lifting his eyes from the brown liquid. “At least, that’s what the healers believe,” Dooku added after a beat.

“Hmm!” Yoda responded, casting his gaze over to the young man on the bed. He lifted his gimmer stick, pointing it in Qui-gon’s direction. “Not appropriate it is, to talk back to your Masters, hmm?”

Qui-gon turned on his side, his face still flushed with fever. “Not appropriate it is,” he retorted in a gross imitation of the small Jedi Master, his face scrunched as if the young man had consumed a freighter’s worth of lemons.

Dooku took a large swallow of tea, burning his throat in the process.

Yoda remained silent, putting his both clawed hands on his gimmer stick. He sighed and shook his head.

“Rest, you need, young Qui-gon.”

Qui-gon scowled and dropped back into the bed, his pillow billowing at the sides with the movement.

Satisfied that the conversation was over, Yoda turned his back to the young man.

“…moldy old scrotum.”

Tea sprayed out of Dooku’s mouth, droplets landing on the far wall, the curtains, the floor and - the Jedi Master's eyes went as wide as his saucer - the head of his former Master.

Force take me and my impertinent student!

“I sincerely apologize, Master. For both of us,” he stammered. “He has - not been himself. The poison has had a most deleterious effect on his common sense.” Dooku growled the last words while taking a cloth from his pocket, offering it to Yoda. Delirious or not, Qui-gon would be an old, wizened man before he was finished fulfilling the punishments Dooku was already imagining for his wayward student.

The troll took the cloth without word, patting the top of his head. The old troll stopped to consider the piece of fabric before the corner of his mouth perked upwards.

“Most creative your Padawan is with insults, Master Dooku. Almost as creative as another young student I can remember.”

Dooku pulled at his collar.

Yoda hummed in amusement. “Oh yes. Most creative. Mmmmm.”

“Master Yoda, I - “

“Know, I did not, what a maggot-pie was. Nor how it could be both yeasty and mewling.” Yoda chuckled. “Very educational. Learn much about the ancient Serenno language, did I, that day.”

Dooku grit his teeth. “Yes, I’m sure you did,” he muttered, suddenly very anxious to leave the room. “I’m afraid I must be going, Master Yoda. I trust you will look after my very sick and addled student?”

The gimmer stick rocked back and forth in time with the old Jedi Master. “Oh yes, Master Dooku. Anxious am I, to learn more.”

Dooku opened his mouth but thought better of it. “Very well. Yes. Wonderful. Goodbye, then, Master Yoda,” Dooku muttered as he sprinted out the door.

Yoda hopped into a nearby chair and sighed. His people did not have the talent for insults that other species did. At least not insults in a language anyone else would be able to understand. The troll pulled a small notebook from an invisible pocket in his robes, slowly writing the words “moldy old scrotum” in angular script. Yoda laughed to himself, placing the object to the side. He now knew exactly what to call Master Windu if a disagreement arose during the next Council meeting.

#Anonymous #this one is WEIRD you guys #crack #hello there #ask legobiwan #yoda #count dooku #qui gon jinn #hahahaha #oh boy

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