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seiwas · 1 year ago

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₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love.

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #algorithm pls love me

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weirdsht · 4 months ago

Text

Cliché - LoTCF & Venion Stan! Reader

notes: ngl i took more time dwelling whether i should make this a series. but i never did two series at once because i can't handle the commitment, so i compromised by making it a long oneshot. ALSO TRIGGER WARNING: I put my psych major to work while writing this fic so...

tags: TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE CAREFULLY READ THE TAGS (dw nothing too graphic for every warning) depression, eating disorder, anxiety, self-loathing, torture and abuse, guilt, like lots of guilt, passive to mild suicidal thoughts, not being able to control your body, catatonic depression, anhedonia, blood, cursing, vague novel spoilers, Taylor Stan being the best brother out there, open ending i think, can be seen as hurt/comfort

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist Platitude (pt. 2)

Tak Tak Tak

The sound of the horses of the carriage filled your ears as soon as you woke up.

…Wait horses?

How could there be horses when you were sure you were inside a lecture hall?

“Young master I’m glad you’re awake. We are nearing Viscount Tolz’s territory.”

Viscount Tolz? That sounds familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it as you just woke up.

You observed the unfamiliar place you woke up in. You seem to be inside a carriage, years of reading manhwas, manhuas, mangas and web novels have gotten you familiar as to what they looked like.

Observing the interior a bit more, you notice that the carriage you are in seems luxurious. That and the servant riding a horse outside the carriage window just called you “young master”.

‘Did I transmigrate? I swear I was just nodding off during one of my lectures…’

“You. What date is it? My head feels fuzzy from sleeping in this uncomfortable carriage.”

‘I’ve rotten my brain reading that damn isekai genre. I already know the drill, I should be a villain or something. I guess I should be glad I didn’t end up as an animal, those things have gotten popular these days…’

You silently shivered at the thought of being a bird or a snake.

“I’m sorry about the seat young master. You’re custom cushion should be arriving tomorrow. As for the date, it is currently year 780 of the Felix Calendar.”

Shit

By the calendar mentioned you could already tell what series you transmigrated to. There was only one series you know that uses Felix Calendar.

Lout of the Count’s Family

And it looks like you got sucked into that novel a year before things began.

“As soon as that arrives install it in my carriage. This thing is as hard as a brick.”

Contrary to what you say, the seat is very soft and comfortable. However, if you really did transmigrate as a villain like in all those manhwas you’ve read then you figured you have to act as bratty as possible.

“I understand young master. We are nearing the villa soon, I’m sure young master Neo has prepared your room so you can rest.”

Fuck. You’re fucked.

Out of all the small villains in existence you just had to steal the body of a dragon abuser. You just had to get in the body of Venion Stan.

Venion out of all people. Even Neo Tolz or Adin or Duke Fredo would’ve been better picks.

But no, the gods of this world just had to put you in the body of an atrocious villain that has no use.

Never mind running away in the countryside while enjoying all the inheritance, there’s no way that black dragon is going to leave you alone.

…And for sure the black dragon is already 3 years old, there’s no saving you now. Anger and despair are already planted in that poor baby’s heart.

Everything moved too quickly to your liking. One moment you were in the carriage, then next Neo was greeting you. After you blinked you’re already in the black dragon’s cell.

‘Can I survive a year before Cale comes here to get the dragon?’

The black dragon can’t use mana, let alone dragon fear. But his vicious gaze full of animosity is already enough to make you feel guilt and fear.

He looked so pitiful. The cell might be spacious, but a cage will still be a cage. He was just there, in the middle of the cell. Chained and unable to fight back.

The buffet in the middle doesn’t help the queasiness you feel in your stomach.

“Do-”

‘Don’t bother with it, I won't be visiting the dragon further.’

The words you want to say are stuck in your throat. Some unknown force is stopping you from uttering them out.

You figured it was so that things would still go according to the plot.

‘I know I wasn’t the greatest in my previous life, but was I so bad that I must experience this?’

Tap Tap Tap

Heels of your shoes tapped against the ground as you walked towards the table. You tried to stop your body, but it was useless. No matter how hard you try to stop yourself you just keep moving.

“Start.”

Your voice- no Venion’s voice said and the torturer started whipping the dragon.

Gulp

There’s a bile in your throat threatening to show itself. However, you swallowed it. The scene may look horrendous, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t stop eating the feast in front of you. You didn’t stop laughing at the small dragon’s demise.

More like you couldn’t.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to go back to your world and curl up in your bed. You wanted all of this to be a dream.

‘Is this the doing of the gods? If so then why must they be cruel.’

“Is there anything else you want to do young master?”

“No just go out. All of you. I will follow in a short while”

Following your order, everyone in the dungeon started heading out. After a few seconds, there was no one but you and the dragon in the room.

Bleurgh!

As soon as there was no one else in the room you vomited. Good thing there was a bathroom attached in the dungeon. The bathroom door was wide open as you puked your gut out, showing the black dragon a view of your pale face. Despite that you didn’t care, your only focus was to get rid of the horrible feeling running through your body.

It’s not as if the dragon would care about its torturer.

That night you spent the entire time in your bed tossing and turning. Too tired to sleep but too scared to face the nightmares you have to combat every time you do.

“Go find a magician or something and commission a temperature-regulating device. I want it installed at the cave before we visit the Tolz territory again.”

“As you wish your highness. However, aren’t you spending a bit too much on a mere pet?”

“You dare think I’m buying all these things for that pesky dragon? I’m buying it for my own comfort, you should be aware of how I want to be comfortable all the time.”

“It seems I made a mistake. I shall prepare everything you desire for the next time you visit the villa.”

Six months has already passed since you became Venion Stan. Adjusting wasn’t easy, especially when there are more times when you can’t control your body than when you can.

But still, you persevered.

It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway. You have already taken over this body so you have to live in it. That and there’s also the fact that you want the original plot to go smoothly.

You want the black dragon to experience justice.

So you persist. Even when the atrocities you did make you puke. Even when you want to kill yourself.

You didn’t

It wasn’t right.

You may not be the original Venion Stan, but it wouldn’t be right to take away the revenge the black dragon deserves. That was why you decided to persevere.

Persevere now and suffer at the dragon's hands later before finally dying.

That was your plan.

You didn’t care about other things anymore. Money, territory, power; none of those things mattered to you anymore. Too disgusted with yourself and everything you have been doing to even attempt to enjoy those things.

However

There’s a silver lining in all of this.

After a month of being in your new body, you have found a loophole. You found a way to combat some of the restrictions to your actions. As long as you sound selfish and villainous enough, you can get away with saying and doing most things.

Using this knowledge to your advantage, you slowly made life for the dragon easier. You bought a lot of things such as cushions, a more comfortable collar, and the temperature-regulating device you just ordered. You also used this fact to lessen your hold on both Taylor Stan and the underworld.

“Venion, I heard you withdrew the people watching over your older brother.”

You scowled at Marquis Stan’s words as if the mere mention of Taylor Stan upsets you.

“Father, what can that cripple do? He has no legs, no power, and barely has any money. Putting people to watch over someone like that will only be a waste of resources.”

Luckily, the marquis agreed with your reasoning and let the situation go while praising how smart you are.

‘Hopefully by this Taylor Stan can gather more information now that my people are now hovering over him.’

That night you managed to sleep for approximately 30 minutes. The longest sleep you’ve experienced since coming over to this world.

Bleurgh!!

It was another torture session and once again you were vomiting everything you ate that week after the session.

While you were busy trying to not make a mess on the bathroom floor, you didn’t notice a certain young dragon observing you.

He may be three years old and he may not know much but his still smart because he's a dragon. That was why he noticed the changes in his captor that started around 8 months ago.

The young dragon noticed the hesitation in your eyes whenever you entered the dungeon. How you were puking from self-hatred and not because of how bad the food was like you said. How your laugh is soulless, especially when he’s being tortured.

How you stagger the slightest bit while standing up after those sessions. How your hands shook ever so slightly from guilt. How you tried to make the cell as comfortable as possible for him despite saying you were doing it for your own comfort.

How your eyes look more lifeless each time he sees you.

The young dragon noticed all of it. He may not know what caused the change, but he knows that everything you’re doing is against your volition.

“Fuck I lost my appetite already. I’m going back to my room. Feed those scraps to that dragon.”

You ordered your servants on your way out. Walking as if your entire body wasn’t shaking ten seconds ago.

The black dragon just watches you with observant eyes.

The “scraps” you were talking about were the feast that was barely even touched. It had always been like this for a few months now. You would barely touch your food and give it to the dragon in the guise of treating him like a dog.

For now, the young one accepts the food. He’ll figure out your intentions later.

“Lessen the guards at the dungeon. Remove all the cushions too, I’m going to change them. Do the same thing to the dragon’s collar too. While you’re at it increase the guards stationed at my quarters. Put the guards in the cave to my room.”

It’s the fated day. Time passed and now is already the day the black dragon will be rescued by Cale, Choi Han, and the cat tribe children. You already met them earlier and acted as arrogant as you could.

Hence the preparation. You need to make it look like the dragon was kept in a horrible condition. Of course, he was… but like much more worse conditions.

“Assassins have been increasing their attempts lately. If I see someone assigned to my room not doing your jobs I’m going to feed you to the sharks. Oh, and you.”

You pointed at a random servant passing by.

“Here’s some gold, buy some alcohol from the inn. Don’t tell anyone I was the one who bought it.”

“May I ask what you’re going to do with the alcohol young master?”

Everyone knows that Venion Stan deemed things not noble enough as disgusting. But you felt guilty for pushing that old man around earlier so you made an excuse.

“Depends on my mood. I’m feeling generous so if you all guard my room tonight then I’ll give you the alcohol tomorrow to drink.”

Everyone held in their shock.

“But if you don’t then I’m going to throw each bottle in your heads while drinking real wine.”

With that, you turned around to lie down on your bed.

That night was the same as every other night you spent in this world. Sleepless. However, that night you felt some weight being lifted off your shoulders as you heard the ruckus Choi Han was causing outside.

‘He should be curled up in Cale’s lap while looking at me viciously’

You stealthily peeked at Cale as you walked towards your seat. Just a moment ago he was trying to rile you up by acting obnoxious. It was hard to try and act like you were keeping your composure when you agreed with everything he said.

“What the..!”

‘Shit did I not put enough strength into my acting?’

You barely felt your blonde hair sway as you slapped the table in supposed shock at Taylor Stan’s entrance.

‘Maybe I should’ve forced myself to eat a little bit more before coming here…’

Gritting your teeth, you ignore the black spots dancing in your vision. Today is a vital day, you can’t ruin the script by fainting because you only ate 3 spoonfuls during breakfast.

Luckily, it looks like everything is going according to the plot. Based on everyone’s reaction, you looked like an enraged noble.

Days following that event were even more chaotic. Not only was the terrorist attack in the plaza terrifying but trying to act as if you were trying to hold on to your position when you just wanted to give it to Taylor was even tougher.

As usual, you persevered.

Comforted yourself at the thought that in a few months, you can embrace death’s sweet presence.

“Do I look different without the blood?”

You felt scared and relieved at the sight of the black dragon that now goes by Raon Miru.

Scared because even though you have resigned yourself to your fate, and felt like you deserve it even, you still feel fear for what’s about to come.

Relief because he looks healthy. Chubby even. You were glad that he was living a good life after he got away from you.

Disregarding your feelings, you let the poisonous fog into your body. Resigning yourself to the four days of hell waiting.

Ugh…

Your body feels sluggish when you wake up.

“What the… It hasn’t even begun yet why does that bastard’s eyes already look dead?”

“That’s what I was telling you human! That punk's eyes tell a different story from his actions.”

Soft. Whatever you were lying down on felt soft. It wasn’t like what you’ve read in the novel where Venion was lying down on the hard ground. The magic collar was also soft. It felt similar to the one you bought for Raon a year ago.

You would know because you made sure to pick the softest one yourself.

“His eyes look more dead than when I last saw him at that cave.”

Eyes? Were they talking about yours?

You didn’t know. You didn’t care.

You just want everything to end.

Gasp!

Someone gasped, you think it was one of the kittens.

“T-tears! Why is he crying? I only put paralysis in poison earlier.”

Crying? You were crying?

You sit up. It was hard because of the chains tying your arms but you still did it.

As you look down on your lap, tears are indeed flowing.

‘Why am I crying? Wasn’t I waiting for this day?’

Everything was already planned in your head. You get tortured then you will go crazy. Then you will kill yourself and make everyone believe you did it because you’re crazy.

So why are you crying now?

Why are you in tears as if you don’t deserve what’s happening to you?

Why do you weep as though you haven’t committed several crimes this past year?

How dare you do so.

How dare you act so pitifully when the child you tortured is right in front of you?

Shameless. Till the end, you’re so shameless.

Click!

Thunk!

Beacrox unlocked the magic collar. As he did you saw it falling on the ground.

“Ah, so there really was fur inside…”

Your voice sounded soulless. It sounded so dead that even you were shocked at how you sounded.

But it also felt cathartic.

After two years of trying to act lively. Two years of acting as if you were fighting for something.

You can finally let out your real emotions.

Two years. It took more than two years for you to be granted that privilege.

“Speak. I heard you bought the same thing for Raon.”

“You really named him Raon…”

Beacrox grabbed your collar. He looked furious. If you remember things correctly, he just heard about the dragon’s story a while ago so you understand his feelings.

“He told you to answer. Why did you buy something like that after 3 years?”

“I was getting tired of looking at the hard metal… There was nothing in that cave but stone and metal…”

Your tears are still flowing. It looks like they were crying a whole year’s worth.

Despite that, you were not shaking, nor were your eyes looked sad.

Contrarily, you looked like those creepy dolls with soulless eyes that cried in horror films.

That low-key scared everyone in the room.

“Before, when I was three, I saw you shaking every time you came to the cave. Why was that?”

What’s happening? Why is there a sudden interrogation? You signed up for torture not for a cross-examination.

Still, you answered the dragon.

“I can’t tell.”

“Is it related to how you can’t seem to say what you want at times?”

Just how much did that kid notice in the few times you visited him?

“Yes. When are you going to get started? I need to meet with my hyung after this…”

Meet him and then die.

So please hurry up already.

“Hey punk, you sound like you already know what’s going to happen.”

“It’s obvious. This place looks exactly like that damn cave.”

You were getting tired of talking.

Actually, you were tired. Period.

“But it doesn’t look like how I left the cave when you rescued him.”

“Yes, because that wasn’t how the cave I lived in looked like. It looked like this.”

And the “this” Raon was talking about felt more homey. There were soft lights and a bunch of pillows and cushions. There were even some stuffed toys and blankets.

Was this how you decorated Raon’s cave?

You can’t remember.

Not that you care.

“Can we get started already please?”

“I thought you were a sadist, not a masochist.”

Something snapped inside you at that moment. You didn’t know why it was Choi Han’s comment that riled you up. Maybe it wasn’t the comment but the waiting that set you off.

“Just do it already! Are you dumb?! This fucking plot will not move unless you fucking torture me!”

In that moment you felt a searing pain in your chest.

“Argh!”

Blood flowed out from your mouth.

‘So that’s what happens when I try to push the restrictions.’

Coughing out blood when you’re body was already weak from not eating and sleeping enough was bound to cause you to faint.

And faint you did.

“Young master Cale said you were unconscious for 4 days. The doctor told me you were both malnourished and fatigued. One of your servants confessed that it’s an achievement if you eat 4 spoonfuls every meal. The young master also mentioned how it seems like you were forced to do everything you’ve done… Just what is happening? Hmm? Tell this hyung of yours.”

“Hyung…”

In the end, you didn’t get tortured…

“What’s going to happen now? What’s going to happen to me?”

You diverged from the fate carved out for Venion Stan.

That made you scared.

The restriction placed upon you to prevent you from straying from the plot scared you.

“Everything will be okay. But you need to tell me what’s going on.”

Taylor Stan hugged you, and you felt disgusted with yourself that you dare find warmth and comfort in that hug. Disgusted that you dared cry in front of him when you tried to kill him in the past.

But you couldn’t help it.

You couldn’t help that your hyung was soft and caring even though he was stern and strict.

“I’m scared hyung. I’m a horrible person.”

As you speak you notice Cale in the corner of the room. He was trying to go out to give you two some privacy.

“Please stay.”

‘You deserve to hear the truth too.’

Cale stopped moving at your words.

At that moment you decided to spill everything. Venion Stan’s role was already done. Even if it wasn’t, you already strayed from the path written for him. So you’re pulling all stops now.

“I’m a horrible person that did horrid crimes. I know that, I did them with my own hands after all. But I didn’t want to do them.”

You felt that stinging pain slowly coming back.

“There are times when I can’t control the things I say or do. No matter how hard I try my body won’t listen to me.”

The taste of blood in your mouth is back. You tried to act as calm as possible and nonchalantly spit it out in a napkin as if you were just wiping your mouth.

“I think it’s the god’s doing. It’s fated that I must be a bad guy for everything in the future to work out.”

You wiped your mouth again.

“I couldn’t resist it. But I found a loophole.”

Wipe

“If I make it look like what I was doing is villainous then my movements will not be restricted as much.”

“So when you removed the people watching over my residence..?”

You nodded while wiping your mouth once again.

However, this time Taylor snatched the napkin out of your hands.

“You’re bleeding..!”

“Ah…”

You were wiping so much blood that it already seeped out. Causing for Taylor and Cale to see the blood.

“I should’ve used a darker colour…”

“Stop talking. I’ve already heard everything I need to know.”

“I have nothing else to say to you anyway.”

The two men started walking out of the door when you called out to someone.

“Young master Cale, can you please stay? I must tell you something.”

The marquis and the young master exchanged a glance before one of them left the room.

“What is it?”

At Taylor’s exit, Raon undid his invisibility.

“It’s not fate.”

Cale and Raon looked at you as if you’d lost your head. Honestly, you wish you did. Being beheaded right now is better than living with these horrible feelings.

“It’s plot. You should know what I’m talking about.”

Luckily, Marquiss Stan left the napkin so you could wipe your mouth again.

“I think the universe, not the gods, made a mistake with me. But despite their mistake, they are insistent on going with the plot laid out.”

You discarded the napkin. It’s already drenched with too much of your blood that it can’t be used anymore.

“But don’t worry. This plot is very beneficial to you. You just have to follow whatever you think is right. You can disregard whatever anyone says. Even if that anyone is a god.”

‘Unlike me’

Cale handed you a handkerchief and you wiped your mouth with it.

“Lastly, I’m sorry Raon Miru-nim. My only choice was to either keep torturing you or throw you out. I couldn’t throw you out, because if I did then you wouldn’t meet the young master.”

“It’s okay… I am great and mighty so I figured out long ago that you were being forced.”

“Thank you.”

With that the dragon became invisible again and the two head out of the room.

Cleanup was easy. Of course, it was. Everything was already planned out beforehand.

The previous marquis was arrested and his people were successfully rooted out. You got sentenced to house arrest.

Meaning, you got a slap on the wrist.

It confused you. Why did you get such a light sentence when you did so many horrible things? It didn’t even feel like house arrest because your hyung always kept you by his side and personally took care of you.

“How about you? How are you and your brother doing?”

You heard Cale speaking on the other side of the communication device. But you just kept your head low and stared at your palms, unmoving.

“That…”

Marquis Stan hesitated.

“His been listless since that day. I checked with an expert and they said his in a catatonic state.”

You blur out the rest of their conversation. It wasn’t like there was a need to listen anyway. There’s nothing for you to do now. Your role is done but you can’t die.

You're tired.

So so fucking tired.

Tired of waking up. Tired of moving. Tired of thinking. Tired of breathing.

Tired of living.

So you opted to not move. Tune out the world around you. Maybe if you’re lucky they’ll leave you to rot in that lavish room of yours.

“Your eyes look more lively today. Do you have enough energy to speak?”

You blinked once. Then twice. You don’t know how many days have passed already. All of them look like a giant blur in your mind.

For the first time in a while, you moved your body to look at your surroundings.

As you take in your surroundings you notice that there’s a storm outside. That and Taylor Stan seem to have put you in the wheelchair he used to use.

“Taylor Stan…”

“Call me hyung.”

Did you deserve to? Well, it doesn’t matter since he ordered you to.

“Hyung”

“Yes, my dongsaeng?”

“Why won’t you kill me?”

The wheelchair stopped in its tracks. It was because the one pushing it stopped walking.

“Why would I kill you?”

“Why would you not kill me?”

You had no way of knowing just how scared Taylor was at this moment. Your voice sounded so soulless. As if you were asking about the weather and not about your death. He was already scared that one day he would just wake up to find you dead. Your questions and your way of asking them are not helping his fear.

“I told you, I wouldn’t kill my family.”

“Ah…”

Silence lingered as the two of you went to your room. Inside, the first thing you noticed was the door on the wall.

“That’s a connecting door. It’s connected to my room.”

“Very fitting for a criminal like me that needs to be monitored at all times.”

“That’s not…”

Taylor Stan chose to sigh instead of answering. After he did, he called the servants to help you with your nighttime routine.

“You all can go now, I’ll take it from here.”

Servants filed out of your room as your brother took the brush from a servant's hand.

“You know that this is useless right?”

“Why is that?”

Taylor continued brushing your blonde hair that now reaches past your shoulders.

“It’s not like I’ll sleep. There’s never a night where I slept for more than 30 minutes. I think.”

“Maybe if I stay by your side you’ll sleep better.”

You didn’t respond. You just watched in the mirror how your hyung gently brushed your hair. At some point, you pulled your legs up to your chest and started hugging them.

Taylor Stan didn’t seem to mind your movements. In fact, he seems to encourage them.

“Let’s eat dinner now. Do you want to walk?”

“No.”

The mere thought of moving more than you already did makes you feel nauseated.

Your hyung nodded and started pushing the wheelchair again. As he did the sight of the food prepared on your table caught your eyes. It wasn’t a feast like how you were served in the past.

Instead, there were just two simple identical meals on the table.

It reminded you of how you used to eat your meals back on earth.

“You’re eating too?”

“I haven’t eaten yet. I figure we can eat together since Cage is not here.”

She must be in the super rock’s villa or something.

Eat together was what you did. Well, more like Taylor ate while you take a few bites and play with your food.

“Do you not want to eat anymore?”

“No.”

“It’s fine, just leave it there. You already ate thrice more than you usually would. It’s okay to take it slow.”

That’s true. You ate 10 spoonfuls today when you would usually just take a bite or two. Three at most.

Maybe a gentle company and a simple meal did the trick. But you aren’t sure.

After the meal, you brushed your teeth before lying down on the bed. Taylor was sitting on a couch beside your bed as promised.

That night, for the first time since you arrived in this world, you managed to sleep almost the whole night.

161 notes · View notes

fhrlclln · 2 years ago

Text

con la brisa | k’uk’ulkan/namor

SUMMARY -> out of your own curiosity discovering the unique entrance of the underwater cave had you finding more than you expected while vacationing. the god is intrigued to say.

k’uk’ulkan/namor x fem! reader

masterlist (to be added)

GENRE -> nsfw/smut

WARNINGS -> bpwf spoilers, meet-cute scenario, a lil slowburn, namor is a lil’ bit cold at first & smut as usual (p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex; both!receiving & fingering)

WC -> 7,876

a/n: after watching wakanda forever had me bawling like so much. and so, okay, i know this isn’t my usual writing but i fell in love with the song con la brisa and namor cuz aquapapi. and i thought i’d write a long fic just for him. lIKE THE VISUALS OF THE SCENE IN TALOKAN AND THE SONG!?!?!?!? absolutely amazing and captivating and there’s namor. 😫 but anyways… enjoy my namor smut ig. and happy holidays everyone <3

TRANSLATIONS: YUCATEC MAYA -> máak lu'um - surface dweller/land person, ki'ichpanech - pretty girl, le paalo’ - child , je’el - yes, dejaremos ti' le destino decida - we will let fate decide, in na'atik - i understand, ba'ax úuch - what happened?, jach asab u jump'éel siibal - it is more than a gift, ka ma' in k'áat ka u detenga - and i don’t want it stop, in ts'íiboltikech - i want you, ma'alob - good, ko'ox - let us go, in yakunaj - my love, jats'uts - beautiful, t'aan - speak, táan jach mojado, wáaj tuláakal ti' teen? - it is so wet, all for me? mierda - shit, perfecto - perfect, jach jats'uts yáanal tin - so beautiful under me

likes, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

it’s quiet.

only the sound of the waves and the sound of the cool breeze hitting your ears envelops your senses. your body is floating above the water, sun hitting your face, eyes closed and relaxed as you let yourself float amongst depths of the sea. the water is cool against your skin, the scent of salt hits your nostrils mixing in with the freshness of the air. heaven is all you can describe at such serene calmness the water offers you this day.

as beautiful the secluded beaches are here in yucatan. you knew better to be not trespassing here. and as stupid it was to swim near night falling, the rays of the sun had turned orange among the horizon of the beautiful ocean. you knew it was time to get back to your hotel you currently resided. but here you are, water still glistening your salty skin, shorts concealing your bottom and your top the bikini you wore still damp as ever. the sun was setting, the trees swayed as you headed back to the direction of where you came from. wary of a chill on your spine erupt as if you felt like you were not alone in the secluded beach.

but as always, fate seemed to spin you to get lost in the woods.

shit. you think to yourself, the unfamiliar path dawning over to you as you sighed to yourself, trees all over your view. you knew the area well enough for the past few days and now was the time you would get lost? unbelievable. you bit your lip, trusting your gut to go further, night already taking over the once pristine blue sky. better to walk and let faith guide you to a road than to stay amongst the wild animals and insects inside the forest. you could say you’ve done one of the stupidest tourist shit you vowed not to do.

the cicadas faintly started to get louder as the darkness took over the forest. you grabbed your phone, turning on the flashlight as the leaves scrunched underneath your feet. the bushes seemed to grow larger as you gently passed by them with your arm shoving them away. expecting the familiar highway to come in view.

but you stopped, the path had ended as you were face to face with a cave of some sort. your eyes sparkled in the dark, suddenly intrigued with this new location you found. a hidden gem in these parts. you cautiously stepped closer to it, feeling as if you’ve entered someone’s territory. you lick your lips, shutting the flashlight of your phone as moonlight filled the area perfectly.

“water?” you mumbled to yourself, bending down to see the small cave was filled with water. “of course it is, dumbass.” you rolled your eyes to yourself, letting your hand touch the cool water.

it rippled beneath your fingertips as you glided your hand to feel the temperature, the scent of sea salt again fill your senses, your curiosity getting the best of you. you noticed how the deep the pool of water was, noting it might be an entrance to a underwater cave of some sort, you guessed. but you needed to go back, remembering the hotel waiting for you.

you looked around once more, guessing that this has been around here for a long time. you smiled, proud to say you would dive in here if you got the chance and the gear to do it. you stood up, brushing yourself from the dirt that sticked to your knees. you turned back and headed to the bushes again, to find another path. for a moment, you adjusted the bag you were carrying, your phone in your hand suddenly slipped from your grasp, hitting the ground with a thud. you cursed yourself for your clumsiness, bending down to grab it. the water in the cave suddenly splashing catching your attention warily.

you froze, slowly standing up, clutching your phone tight as you watch a figure came from the dark depths of the cave. the water splashed around as your heart thump loudly. seeing as a manly figure came in your sight despite the darkness. warnings in your mind erupted, remembering what you had heard of recently.

the man from the sea. a ancient god.

you distinctly remembered the words of the locals and the village elders about a man walking along the shores, feet with wings they had said. their ‘god’ walking amongst them. you don’t know much, but you feared this legend and the god as so did the people here. anything was possible nowadays. but you remained silent, studying his figure as he emerged into the moonlight. stepping in to your view, golden jewelry adorned his neck, he wore only green shorts and other accessories from his wrist to his legs. his feet, however, caught your interest seeing wings adorn them. and ears flourished with a jade like square earrings. he brushes his wet hair back, chest rising as he breathes in the air, his dark eyes finally gazed to yours.

oh, fuck.

you clutched your bag tight against your body, a shiver ran down your spine as his gaze pierced through you. you’ve trespassed. your mind shouts, your heart thumping louder.

“i’m sorry for i-intruding.” you speak up, careful for your tone to be calm and respectful. gears in your mind clicking, his face yet did not react whatsoever other than he steps forward, making you step back cautiously. he seems to notice it, sensing your own fear as he minds himself, creating a presence you knew not to anger. as stoic his expression was, his eyes seem to tell otherwise.

dangerous.

“you’re not from here.” he speaks, breaking your daze when you stare at his face. cold yet curious his tone was. knowingly now you think he’s attractive the more you study him. thoughts then circling how he just came from an underwater cave and ankles with wings on them.

“i’m not…” you nodded, gulping. “i got lost and stumbled here. n-no other intention.” you added, sensing him that he expected another answer.

“no?” he questions, stepping forward again, closer to you, making you freeze on the spot. you breathed out shakily, gazing his eyes that hold a predatory look. he towered over you, intimidating you further.

“no…” you softly said, the atmosphere almost changing, not once did you leave his gaze. a fire in the man’s gaze fueling him elsewhere.

the god stared down at this surface dweller, he hummed, trusting your answer, yet still skeptical. you were not like the other surface dwellers that he encountered coming into the entrance of the cave. you looked innocent enough, a foreigner of the area, a tourist you are. he shifts his gaze to your eyes and to your lips that softly spoke those words of reassurance. he notices your hands tremble, the cold of the night he presumed was getting to you or the fear of him. he’ll let you go, he thinks, merciful enough. the disturbance of the water merely caught his attention, he swam to it, ensuring that his nation would not be discovered.

“who are you?” you asked, astonished now for a man who’s ears you noticed are pointed. the fear slowly washing away. namor was intrigued to say, a curious thing you are.

“i have many names.” he spoke quietly, accent sharpening his words, a wonderful one you deemed as you listened to him. “my people call me k’uk’ulkan.” he gauges your face, seeing it full of wonder.

“but my enemies call me namor.” he finishes darkly, a threat. a warning set in stone. many would have run from him by now but you intrigued him further.

“namor.” you tested the name on your lips. the god felt himself shift in his place, seeing as you turn from his gaze, something stirring inside him after you uttered his name so softly.

“and you are?” he now asks, formalities thrown as you met his gaze again.

“y/n.” you uttered your name as the chill of the night shivered you so. he also tests your name in his tongue, accent enveloping each syllable smoothly with a crisp ending.

“roaming around the outskirts of the village is dangerous, máak lu'um. what has brought you here?” he speaks further, a word so unfamiliar to you. not spanish or what, which fuels your desire to learn him now.

“just took a swim by the beach.” you answered with a shrug. “it’s beautiful out the atlantic ocean.” you added as he hums, nodding.

“you’re not from here as well, are you?” you suddenly ask. he doesn’t look like the locals in the area. his outfit is as different from modern clothing, which in his case is very minimal. he cocks his head to the side as you looked back to the underwater cave. he is taken aback at your forwardness but contemplates whether he should tell you but he only offers a simple answer to your curious mind.

“yes.”

“interesting.” you quipped, examining his peculiar jewelry then to his chest, which catches you off guard how well built he is. tan pecks glistening with water, a fluttery feeling in your stomach making you feel a little flustered for checking him out shamelessly.

“you live there, i presume?” you ask, pointing to the cave. he seems to still, eyebrows tensing as you notice how defensive he is. “not that you need to answer…” you offered weakly, a little scared now.

“mhm.” he grunts, stepping pass you, not answering the question, leaving off a cold aura. he needed you away from here as soon as possible, remembering his intentions from the first place when you disturbed the waters of the entrance.

“come, it is getting late. let me escort you out, ki'ichpanech.“ pretty girl. he offers his arm out, muscle bulging out. you seem to be too trusting as you complied with the strange man with wings on his feet. not knowing how dangerous he can be, a man that has lived for more than a century, a god to his people and a king of a nation sealed from the whole world beneath the depths of the sea.

he is the feathered-serpent god.

“thank you.” you took his arm, walking beside him, arm resting with his making your heart thump. he was warm for a man who just swam in a deep underwater cavern. he smelled like the ocean itself, which was not that unpleasant, you stare at him for a time as you two walked along the woods. leaves scrunching both of your feet.

namor, on his behalf, didn’t expect he’d be talking with a surface dweller for this long nor offering to escort you out the forest. he despised all things that came from the surface world, a land that he swore to himself to hate to the bones. yet now, you who peaked his interest made his usual thinking sputter.

innocent, curious, soft, kind…all things he doesn’t expect. the feel of your skin to his fueled his desire further as he tried to suppress it. noting the way his cock twitch when your fingers brushed against his hot skin.

“are you not cold? it’s so cold out here.” you shivered, unintentionally pressing against him for warmth.

“it is…tolerable, ki'ichpanech.” he amusingly says, watching as your other arm hugged your waist for warmth. your bikini covered breasts pushing up by your arm making him swallow a lump as he looks ahead. intriguing.

“what does that mean?” you ask, glaring at him with a pout.

“ki'ichpanech?” the ancient language rolls on his tongue flawlessly.

“yes.” you looked back to him seeing as the familiar sounds of faint chatter filled your ears. the village must be close.

“a compliment, le paalo’.” he simply explains. “one for you to find out for yourself.” he smirks, making you sigh beside him.

only silence fills the void between you two, an unspoken comfort that had the man beside you wonders how calm you are. being escorted by a man who you just met. he wonders how your pretty little mind works

“you said you have many names.” you started. “what do you prefer to be called?”

“it is up to you what you wish to call me.”

“k’uk’ulkan then?” you uttered, wishing you didn’t butcher the pronunciation. “you said your people call you by that.”

“je’el.” he agrees, which you take it as a yes. a silence transpired again, but it doesn’t take long before your own curiosity gets the best of you. asking him questions now out of the blue, all subjects leading how he swam inside of a underwater cave without any gear and the most asked about his ankles with wings.

namor seemed to tolerate your mind, offering vague answers and none about questions where he resided or came from. he offers you to teach the mayan words he answers along the way, resulting you to ask him if he always knew how to speak english fluently. in return, he asks you as well. you gladly tell him about vacationing alone in mexico, saying that you needed some time away from the work you had back home. and that you just wanted a moment of peace to yourself here by the beaches. exploring, learning about the locals and their culture respectfully.

but in all fashion, it had to end.

which broke your heart slightly when the sound of the locals grew louder. lights from their village enveloping your view as you two arrive in a secluded area wherein the familiar dirt road is.

“you are a strange woman with curious questions.” he begins as you step out of the bushes, facing him with a slight frown.

“says the man who has wings on his feet.” you quip back playfully. he smirks at that, eyes alert as he looks back to see the locals. your heart thumps, wishing for him to come with you. but in his eyes you knew it wasn’t possible even if he didn’t necessarily say it out loud. you just knew.

“speak of this to no one, ki’ichpanech.” he utters, you nodded at this. the situation weird enough for you to obey.

“will i see you again?” you ask gently, hope in your tone. namor feels something stir inside him as he licks his lips, stepping forward as he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing it softly. soft delicate skin. he thinks, a fire set alight to the both of you as his piercing gaze never faltered as your chest rose at the sudden electric feeling.

the hand kiss was a gesture of his growing affection towards you which he fears may not stop. you should be cowering away from him, a man who’s hands are stained with blood for hundreds of years. he shouldn’t even be talking with a surface dweller at all and you shouldn’t see him again, but…

“dejaremos ti' le destino decida.” he only offers those unfamiliar words to you with sincerity. you drew your hand back, not asking anything further as he steps back into the forest, eyes still looking into yours. a series of laughter interrupts the two of you as you look away from for a moment seeing the villagers laughing amongst themselves. you look back to the bushes, only to find that he’s gone.

huh.

you only stood quiet, the scent of sea salt lingering, his warmth you realized you missed. the night grew colder as you think to yourself with a cheeky thought in mind.

you’ll meet him again.

•••

and you did.

countless of times now after a couple of days had passed. the next morning of that faithful night lead you to go back to the same spot you met him, toying with the water, disturbing it when he was already behind you at that time. in which namor wouldn’t say he has been keeping an eye on you whenever you visited the beach again. you were thrilled, greeting him with your smile. he seemed a bit reluctant meeting you again, telling you that you should not be talking with him. you countered back, asking why then he appears before you when he could’ve ignored her. he smiles at that, offering you a chuckle for the first time. his smile catching you off-guard.

“you intrigue me so, ki'ichpanech.” he would say as you two walk along the shores, talking, asking more about him. he tells stories you never had heard of, legends and so.

“you like it.” you’d tease with a grin. he doesn’t affirm but he does agree in the inside.

your growing friendship with the god only grew larger when the days passed and each day he reminded you to never speak about this strange relation you had with him. you only had weeks left before going back home. a month vacation in yucatán was slowly nearing it’s end and you feared you may not get to see your mysterious friend ever again. you had to cherish the weeks left in counting.

and the subtle attraction you were feeling was growing larger.

he showed you the vast hidden wonders the beach hid as he took you for a swim. the corals, the tide pools, even in the deepest parts of the sea. it was so fascinating to you to see him swim so freely, like it was just a normal thing for him. you had already known that he is not human from the first time you met him. further, he only describes himself as a mutant, the story of his mother and how the first of his people came to be. the talokanil.

“my mother mourned to return to the land wherein she once lived.” he speaks, the waves crashing, you two sitting beside each other on the soft white sands of the shore. watching the sunset over the horizon, a beautiful sight to always see. intimate it felt.

“she was human you had said?”

“je’el. she made me a promise to bury her in the soil of her homeland.” you watch carefully how his eyes catch a glimpse of longing. “but nothing could prepare me for what i found.”

a chill ran down your spine seeing his expression drop into the most chilling hatred you could ever seen from a man. the slavery, those spanish men, the corruption of colonialism that had fallen amongst the surface world. wars broke out, diseases everywhere, more and more tragedies you guessed he would have witnessed for living for 500 years. you were somewhat touch to know how he’s opened up to this, to you.

“there’s nothing that would change how us humans would still be.” you began, sympathizing with him and knowing his hatred for the surface world. “humans are greedy. power is their desire, their lust. the world up here is fucked up.” you chuckled airily, staring off to the ocean.

“you seem to harbor the same resentment to your own world, ki'ichpanech.” he says as you shrugged at it.

“the world is too corrupted nowadays.” you rolled your eyes. “work is work, you work then you die. money is in my head always back home. so yeah, i do hate it up here.”

“you desire to be elsewhere? is it why you are here with me?” he grins as you scoffed at him even though it was true as the blush evident on your face was enough evidence. he has been shamelessly kinda flirting with you over the past days—

…you like him, a lot. it was no surprise you had catch feelings for the man. you learned he is kind and somewhat warm underneath the defensive and cold exterior he had put up when you two first met. he longed for his nation to be free from the terrors of waiting for anyone who’d try to discover them.

“you were a nice surprise to me.” you smiled gently. “but yes, it’s a nice escape here out from the city. even though i hate it here, it quite beautiful to live in.”

“in na'atik.” he hums, intrigued to say how one surface dweller could speak so ill about their own home. his resentment towards the surface world was still growing in him. humans are greedy like you had said, but you, out of all the surface dwellers that had tried to come near him or his nation, you merely just stood before him that night. astonished at him, wonders in your colored irises that held a compassionate understanding for him. he feels his chest swell and throat constrict. that same mushy and fluttery feeling that arose to heat his cheeks and the tip of his ears. overwhelming yet so addicting to feel.

what were you doing with him?

namor only watches you as you stare off to the ocean. he wants to picture this moment in his mind, a mural he now wants to paint for you. a story for you, your curious questions about him and your smile that was like the most beautiful pearls of talokan. he doesn’t want to admit it, nor shall he want to think about it now. dangerous it can be, he only hopes that this would last quicker for the sake of both of your hearts. and for his purposely knowing all would might end in tragedy if he is to act on this.

but he is wrong.

•••

another set of days had passed and tomorrow, that you dreaded, you’ll be going back home. it seemed like time had passed by faster than you expected. you stand alone again by the beach, this time a mesh white scarf wrapped around your arms as you take in the sea breeze again, savoring the moment. namor had wanted to see you again as usual, you knew he was either walking along the shore or might emerge from the sea, waiting for you.

but now he was walking towards you, expecting your bright greeting yet he only found you staring at the horizon again.

“ki'ichpanech?” he starts, softly calling for you. the waves crashes again as your sundress swayed with wind. you met his gaze, snapping out of your thoughts as you composed yourself before the god.

“k’uk’ulkan.” you face him, a little surprised but you smiled at him still. namor watches your serene smile do not go up your eyes. he knows already, you could tell. he always could tell how you were feeling.

“ba'ax úuch?” he asks, enough for you to understand as he stands in-front of you, softening his gaze as you glanced back to the sea, sighing deeply.

“i’m leaving tomorrow.” you finally said, seeing as his expression still as those words he dreaded as well came from your mouth. it’s too soon, he had plans to—

“tomorrow?”

“in the morning.” you confirmed, your heart breaking seeing his stoic expression falter. “to be honest, i don’t want to go.”

“then don’t.” he says, every patience in his body wearing just for him to spew out anything for you to not leave. all his walls he build up for the first time for you already was gone, he accepted it that he wanted you by his side even if you don’t know fully of his true feelings. he had to at least say something before this could all end.

“i can’t.” you shakily said, an overwhelming feeling overcoming you. you didn’t want to leave this place, you didn’t want to leave him yet. “besides, whether i like it or not, i’ll be forced back home.”

you gripped the chiffon scarf, knuckles baring white as namor didn’t know what else to say. every signal in his mind told him many ways he could make you stay but he knows either way you’d be gone. and that this whole relationship you have with him is going to end even if it just had started.

“come with me.” he finally lets it out as he grabs your hand to his. “i wanted to show you something.”

“you have a gift for me?” you teased as his fingers interlocked with yours. he merely chuckles making your heart thump, alongside the feel of his calloused warm hand fits perfectly to yours. you know there’s this silent crave, a want between you two. you never acted this strange tension with him. you always thought he only tolerates you at how adamant you are seeing him, but now… you’re not sure.

“jach asab u jump'éel siibal.” he says, guiding you back to the forest, the familiar path to the underwater cave. “i want you to see a glimpse of my home.”

“k’uk’ulkan.” you scolded, brows knitting as you followed him, letting him guide you. “you had said that your nation is something to be kept away from the surface world. i am apart of that.”

“it is not necessarily talokan yet, ki'ichpanech.” he counters as you two step to see the familiar structure. he ushers you to stand by him in the pool of water but you stop,.

“i don’t want to risk this.” you argued, seeing as he contemplated at that. he was holding back something he’s been harboring, you sighed as you step back, hand letting go of his as he stands in the water. a feeling of deja vu erupted inside you. he looked absolutely the same the night you met him. just that his defensive posture were now soft and relaxed as he gently smiles at you.

“one last night, ki’ichpanech.” namor held his hand out again. “and we will forget all of this in the morning and continue on with our separate lives.”

“but that’s not all, is it?”

namor tenses, he doesn’t really know if a tinge of fear had finally come to him. you can see pass through him, every knit of his brow or clench on his jaw. and he can see you hesitate— you want this, he can tell. every grip of your mesh scarf, the furrow of your brows, the sadness and eagerness in your eyes. you awaited for an answer as he nods.

“come with me.” he steps closer, water splashing, moonlight dawning over you two. “you had said you hated to go back to your home then stay. stay with me.”

he gently brought your hand to his chest as he stared into your eyes. like a trance he is how serene you are underneath the moonlight. your face softening with realization that he’s asking you to live with him. to stay by him forever. you could feel the thump of his heart underneath his skin, he intimately pressed his forehead against yours, never leaving your sight. you didn’t know what to say but just let him continue.

“this does not happen so often. and i fear it will never stop. ka ma' in k'áat ka u detenga.” he whispers, lips brushing against yours, he is holding himself back not to rapture you here and now. sparks flew when you felt it, his other hand situated on your hip. a raw sensation you had now felt for him.

“what about my own life here?”

“i am not so cruel to not give you a choice, ki’ichpanech. but yes, i cannot risk you going back home for my nation if you were to choose to come with me.” you nodded at his words, understanding him. and now you gambled with the possibilities as namor waited patiently for your answer. your mind gambled with the possibilities, you’d leave everything behind.

“and if i chose to leave now?”

“then we will part ways and forget all of this.” he offers a small smile, concealing the pang in his chest.

“why me?” you quietly asked, the words he offered sinking in your mind.

“is it not obvious?” his nose brushed against the tip of yours, heat in his tone. “in ts'íiboltikech.”

a shuddery breath exhales through your lips. his warmth and his closeness should have been the answers but you could not imagine for a god— someone who’s deemed as a god to be wanting you. namor’s patience was wearing thin, if you chose to leave, he’ll gladly accept that, but he somehow hopes for the other one. your eyes shined, his heart thumped as your lips opened—

“in ts'íiboltikech.” you repeated his words as his irises darken, a grin forming as he gladly pulled you closer to him, the cool water splashing around the two of you. the cicadas quieting down, two hearts beating as one.

“ma'alob.” he whispers darkly, sending a shiver down your spine. those words of confirmation had him surging to capture your lips to his. he waited long enough, every night, every morning he thought of you. you were a plague in his mind, corrupting him to think of the most sinful things and the ones he yearned in his own thoughts.

and your lips were sweet, sweeter than the fruits he ever tasted in his life, and he wonders in the back of his mind if your cunt would taste sweeter. making his cock twitch at the thought.

you let out a tiny gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck, the chiffon scarf dropping to the ground. the built up tension between the two of you finally at it’s peak, sizzling down as he moved his lips slowly on yours. slow and passionate, wanting to savor it. your cheeks bloomed with heat when you felt the outline of his prick press against your stomach, hard and hot. catching you by surprised at how particularly needy he felt. but you were as well, absently rubbing your thighs against each other.

he pulls away, breathless making let out a tiny whine. “ko'ox.” he smirks, guiding you deeper in the water, your sundress getting wet but you didn’t care about that. only focused on the man who gently puts something on your face. you look at him questionably, he was holding up a mask of something.

“the dive is deep.” he explains, as he locks the mask in, ushering you gently with adoration in his eyes as you inhaled deeply, following his command.

“breathe, in yakunaj.”

•••

“amazing.” you uttered, staring up to the ceiling of the cave. glowworms were hanging by the stalactites. it emitted this soft blue hue while the sound of the waters of the cave joined in the beautiful scenery. your heart bloomed, you could almost forget about your own home by now. but a tinge of hesitance caused you to overthink this. was it right to leave everything behind? you questioned yourself, standing by the edge, close to the water.

how quick you are to throw everything away.

you bit your bottom lip, nervous you are, wondering if anyone back at the place you called home would question where you are in the following days— months even. you sighed to yourself, pushing it all away in the very back of your mind. you’d worry about that in a more appropriate time. but now here you are, feeling flushed remembering his lips, all thoughts away but just him.

“jats'uts.” his voice echoed, you jumped a bit in surprise as you turned to face him. the beads on your dress rattled, your cheeks glowed as namor went beside you. his eyes draped along your body, the traditional dress he provided for you after your sundress had been absolutely damped was an exquisite sight before him.

“beautiful.” he translated, dark eyes meeting yours. he steps closer, seeing your small shy smile. “the dress suits you so.” he grins.

“thank you for this.” you gestured to the beautiful dress, letting yourself be drawn in his beady orbs as you neared him, letting his hand slip to yours again.

“has this place always been your sanctuary?” you quietly asked as you two walked towards the hut he showed you a while ago that was filled with his murals. you were amazed to see how he had depicted his and his people lives on the wall by the stroke of his brush. the story of how the first talokanil came to be and so fort.

“yes. a place where i can be in solitude.” he nods and leads you inside, never leaving your side.

“and from here, talokan is just down below?” you looked around the room, stopping to admire the big mural on the wall.

“deep below, ki'ichpanech.” he responds, standing beside you, holding something in his hand. your eyes caught the glimpse of a beautiful ornament.

“this is beautiful.” you blurt out, looking to him for approval to touch it as he merely smiled.

“it was my mother’s.” he explains as you touched the beads gently, admiring how pretty it is.

“you said it was made for her before she turned talokanil?” namor nodded, liking the way you remembered his stories.

“as my first gift, i want you to have this.” he grasps your wrists making your heart burst. “a token for my affection.”

“you’ve given me enough. i feel like i should give you something in return.” you pouted as he ties the bracelet on your wrist, ignoring your furrowed look as he kisses you softly before you could protest more. you hummed between his lips, shutting up quickly as you eagerly reciprocated.

“it is not enough.” he says, squeezing the side of your waist. “you’ve already given something in return, in yakunaj. your presence here in my home is enough.”

“but—“

his lips descended down to kiss your jaw, peppering down to your neck. inhaling your scent as he nips at your neck. pressing you harder against him, bulge brushing again on your stomach as you craned your neck to feel him sigh blissfully before he sucked and nipped, intent to make you feel mushy in his arms.

“k’uk’ulkan.” you whined as he chuckles.

“your body reacts so eagerly.” he whispers. “have you been waiting for me to touch you like this, ki’ichpanech?” you couldn’t respond but nod lightly, the warmth of his overwhelming. your lips are sealed from embarrassment how right he is. the scruff of his beard tickles you so as he bites a bit harder making you grip his shawl. the only item of clothing you noticed he wore after countless times you had seen him in those green shorts.

“t'aan.” he commands, hands descending down to grasp your ass harshly. you squealed as he hoists you up, legs automatically wrapping around his waist. hands on his broad shoulders as he guides both of you to the bed in his hut. your back hitting the bed, him towering over you. you could see the feral look in his eyes as you can’t help but obey him.

“je’el.” you whimpered as he slants his mouth to yours again, eating you up. he can’t help but smile at how his language rolls off your lips, his mayan lessons paying off to you. your soft hands cupped his cheek, fueling the desire. his hand descends down to caress your thigh, rubbing gently before your dress pools to your stomach, lower half exposed to the cold air. namor could feel the heat he yearned as his fingertips gently brushed against your exposed cunt. you bare underneath the dress he provided, his aching cock wishing to come out.

“táan jach mojado, wáaj tuláakal ti' teen?” namor pressed his fingertip gently on your aching nub. you gasped, back arching, eyes slightly widening how the two of you are now doing this—

“please.” you begged as he only applied pressure, no rubbing or whatsoever, he seemed so smug as he had you this desperate. he shifts from his place, shrugging off his royal shawl, dropping it to the floor as he removes anything that might get into his way as he opens your legs, looking up for your consent as your eyes meet his.

“please.” you affirm again as he gingerly kisses the top of your knee.

he doesn’t know what fucking ambrosia fills his scent but the sight of your bare glistening cunt makes his whole body react accordingly. he descends down, kissing your knee before resting comfortably to kiss your inner thigh, the scent of your arousal tingling him.

“perfect.” he groans, can’t help but kiss your aching clit. licking his lips as your hands laced through his dark locks as he laps away like a starved man. you moan out, his tongue working wonders. you could not believe how eager he is to eat your cunt up like it’s his last meal. every flick, lick, kiss and suck, all over again and again making your thighs clamp hard around his head.

you fear you might suffocate him with your own cunt but you remembered the man literally breathes in water. namor could do this all day, he thinks, growling at how fucking tart your nectar is— how fucking dripping it is for him— only him.

namor melts between your thighs, in dazed and drunk. the sound of your muffled moans as the plush heat of your thighs at either sides of his face had him groaning. he sucks harsher, feeling your hips stutter as he puts his arm on top of your stomach to hold you in place. never stopping his feast, the more he licked and lapped, the more you begged with his name. his other hand could not help but slide down to his, gripping his clothed bulge, a shiver ran down his spine at the pressure that he could not take anymore.

“k’uk’ulkan…” you repeated, feeling your stomach coil in the pressure of his sinful mouth and tongue. he hums, pulling back, sitting up as his lips glistened with your arousal, fueling your desire as you whined. he palms himself, still staring down at you as you stared at the prize just under his hand. you carefully sat up, all thoughts seemingly trashed in your fucked-out mind. namor’s chest rose as he breathes in how angelic you are crawling towards him, your face dazed out and mouth glistening with your own saliva, hungry.

“what do you want, my love?” he asks as he grins making you momentarily look up to meet his eyes. you didn’t say anything as you pressed your lips to his bare stomach, making him shudder as his abs flexed the moment your soft lips touched his heated skin, the grip on his clothed cock tightened as you trailed down to meet his happy trail.

vixen. he surpasses the urge to call you that out loud, not when your hand is now shoving his hand away from his cock. he lets you do whatever you want with him, anticipation in his blood as your fingers curled in the hem of his shorts. ready for you to pull it down but you stopped for a moment as you stared up to him again, a plead in your gaze.

“can i?” you ask quietly.

something inside him breaks hearing your soft voice ask for his permission. he lets out a breath, hand coming up to caress your cheek as you nuzzled against his palm, waiting for his answer.

“je’el.” he nods, his words coming out in a slight tremble. he could feel himself succumb to the thought of you doing anything with him— everything in fact. you grin suddenly, breaking the eye contact as you pulled his shorts down completely, him helping you get it off as you tossed it to the ground.

namor groaned as his cock bounced up slightly, the cool air making him bite his lower lip as you gawked at it. you were speechless, taken aback, not expecting that it would be— that girthy in size. you gulped, remembering the countless times you would glance at his bulge whenever you two were either swimming in the sea or walking along the shore, it was something you couldn’t help but feel dirty for imagining what he truly looks like down their.

but now you’ve seen everything.

“you can take it, no?” he suddenly quips making you grumble in determination as you lulled yourself back from staring at his shaft. you wrapped your hand around his base making the said man shut up as he sighs out.

“i can.” you mumbled, totally not intimidated by his fucking length and girth overall. you pumped him slowly, right amount of pressure seeing the tip leak out a bit. wondering how you are making a said ‘god’ now weak on his knees, hearing little huffs come from his mouth but still looking so composed. you admired how reserved he looks as you dart your tongue out to lick the fat head.

“mierda—“ he grumbles, a hand gripping the back of your head as the other fumbled with your breast and whatever skin he can reach as he stays still watching you finally engulf him slowly. your mouth stretched accommodating his size as you hummed, liking the way he taste and maybe a tiny bit saltier— you were not complaining though.

“look at you.” he speaks with adoration, admiring the way you started to suck him off, letting him in deeper inside of your hot cavern inch by inch you can take. the way you are on your knees for him, glancing at him from time to time as you meet his hungry eyes. he resists the urge to fuck your mouth, savoring how determined you are to make him feel the same pleasure as he did on you. you were serious to making him feel good, bobbing your head up and down as your other hand gripped his base, pumping him where your mouth can’t reach. your eyes watered as the tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag a bit as you pulled him out, panting.

the string of saliva appeared as you licked your lips, kissing the tip again as you gently put him in your mouth again. namor hissed feeling the coil in his stomach almost snap. you continued on with your pace, liking the way you could hear his labored breaths and little groans, making you smile a bit as the salty taste of him had you addicted.

this is torture. namor thinks as he lets you suck him off for a bit before abruptly pulling himself out of your mouth, making you whine. he chuckles seeing your expression before he captured your lips again, tasting himself as he pushed you to lay back on the bed. you reciprocated with eagerness as you opened your legs for him to slant himself there, cock grazing your cunt making you let out a low moan in his mouth. namor swallows those pretty sounds of yours before pulling away as he pressed his forehead against yours. a knowing look in his eyes as you waited for him to speak first.

“can i?” he finally asks, grinding himself on your cunt. you whimpered, looking down to see how desperate he is before looking back to his eyes.

“please.” you muttered, cupping his cheeks as shuffles in his place. his hand reaching down to grasp himself, positioning his head to rub against your entrance as you cursed at the wet feeling.

“k’uk’ulkan…” you mewled, anticipating he’d ram himself inside of you this instant but he’s patient as ever as he rubs the fat bulb of his head on your clit, gathering enough slick before finally pushing in slowly. making your back arch at the intrusion as your hands fly down to grasp his broad shoulders.

“is it too much?” he suddenly asks, concerned, watching you carefully. you smiled at his concerns as you kissed the tip of his nose.

“it’s perfect.” you whispered, clenching around him to signal him to get on with it. namor growls as he does what you want, bottoming out in you as deep as he can go. he stills for the moment, you two immersed at the feeling of each other. a sort of fuzzy feeling of something special how connected you two are. gentle caresses and kisses of encouragement exchanged between the two of you as he finally gives an experimental thrust.

“perfecto.” he sighs, kissing you again as you grinned. namor grinds into you slowly at first, feeling the way your walls clench around him as he hits a spot. he leaves kisses on your face, marks on your neck, whispers of undying loving words how you make him feel so good. you merely moan out his name as he starts to pick up a good pace that has you desperate on him.

“jach jats'uts yáanal tin.” he pants, hand caressing you everywhere as he stares at your blissed out face. each hard snap of his hips making your body bounce at the intensity. the lewd wet slapping adding in as heat and sweat enveloped you two. you whimpered at how his cock was hitting that spot making your hips wiggle and back arch. it felt so sticky yet so good at how he’s so passionate about this.

absolutely perfect. your mind screams as you wrap your arms around his torso, grasping his back as he fucks you with vigor. your whines like a sirens song to his ears, he rests his lips on your forehead as he pounds into you. feeling himself on the verge as you clenched around him tightly as ever, a signal to him that you were also cumming. namor kisses every inch of your face before swallowing up your moans you were about to cum. your heart pounded in synch with his as he desperately fucked into you. you gasped loudly, gripping his skin, nails digging, body convulsing with pleasure as his thrusts became sloppier, pounding in through your orgasm.

“ki’ichpanech…” namor practically breaths out your name next, eyes shutting for a moment as he feels him release. one, two, three powerful thrusts sends him home as he almost rips the beddings apart above your head. blood rushes to your ears as the intensity stops. he slumps a bit, laying his weight on your body but not too much, fearing you’d be crushed. both your breaths only to be heard as it fills the silence of the room.

everything slows down the moment when his eyes flutter open to meet yours. the exact same eyes he had first met in the moonlight. your heart soars to see him soften as you kissed him gently, soft and pillowy it felt, something slow after that. your hand instinctively brushes the stray hair from his forehead, sweat beading there. he plants more kisses again on your face as you giggled, only gasping as he removes himself abruptly. there are so many things you wanted to say to him in those moment but all are left unsaid when he laces your hands together. a glint in his eyes, all you adore.

“stay with me, ki’ichpanech.” he says, as if you would leave him. you can’t help but nod quickly as ever like you did when he asked you to go with him here. you knew what you were in for and you were sure for it, knowing your heart won’t stop beating so loudly when he smiles now as you mutter a verbal confirmation out, concealing it. the glimpse of his mother’s bracelet on your wrist a wonderful glimpse of a future.

“i will.”

I FINISHED IT FINALLY AND HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE !! THANK U FOR THE PATIENCE. im back to writing finally. <3

#namor x reader #namor #k’uk’ulkan #k’uk’ulkan x reader #namor x female reader #namor smut #tenoch huerta #bpwf spoilers #namor imagine #black panther: wakanda forever #fnhrlcllnwrites

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cochineal-leviat · 1 year ago

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Sweet Dreams, Stardust

Okay, so I have a lot of feelings about In Stars and Time. But let me say first, wow, this game irreversibly changed my brain network. For anyone who is considering buying this game, please do. I don't think I've had a story touch my heart and mind like this for a long time. And that goes without mentioning the stunning visuals and entertaining battle system. (Be careful, though, because this game handles heavy topics regarding mental health)

If you're still hung up on buying it but are curious, there is a free demo on Steam if you like to try.

Thank you, @insertdisc5, for this gem of a game. I will be turning it around in my head like a microwaveable gourmet meal for months to come.

Technically the illustration has no spoilers (unless you count Siffrin having a good nap as a spoiler). But I will be going into heavy spoiler territory under the keep reading since I need to get my thoughts on this game off my chest.

And a monochrome version because you know me, I can't help myself. Even in black and white art pieces, I will put in some colour.

And a very tiny Loop

Initially, I was going to do a piece with a theatre stage and the cast (Siffrin, Mirabelle, Isabeau, Odile, Bonnie and the head house maiden) taking a bow and finally leaving the spectacle to a life not controlled by a script and Wish Craft. But it was more fitting to put my feelings into creating a peaceful scene. Like, oof, I needed this very badly. I used sepia to make the painting warmer and added some more details like headcanons. The stars/colours might be remnants of Siffrin's transformation. Or maybe they were always there, but he never paid attention to it. Who knows.

I'm going to keep this brief. Otherwise, this post will take way too long.

I adore Siff's character. It's perfect for a game and narrative such as this. I saw a post not long ago on Tumblr going into depth about how their role as the rogue and not the hero works so well, so I won't linger on it for long. But how they would rather listen and fade into the background perfectly aligns with the player's experience of being the silent observer. (And the nodding off that changes into zoning out. It took me way too long to realise that small but essential narrative change) Oh, and the portrait change! It flew over my head until I was staring at the game menu. I was so confident Siffrin had a mischievous grin and not a frown. I always feel slightly surprised when the party asks for Siff's opinion or mentions that they have been too quiet. I felt Siffrin's excitement like my own when he got excited at finding clues to end the nightmare they were in. So I knew it would end up falling on their face because they were too excited. I just had this bad gut feeling the whole time during Act 4.

And oh boy, speaking off acts. I thought it would have been the standard 3. Boy, I was wrong. Whenever I felt I was nearing the end, I was thrown back at the start with more mysteries than answers. It made exploring the game intriguing since there is almost no information about it online (at the time of writing this post). There is the Discord, but I didn't know about it until I finished it.

This game has a lot of secrets, and I had a lot of fun uncovering them. The looping mechanic works so well in discovering little details and further leads. (even though my stubborn arse kept trying to do everything in the least amount of loops as possible. I thought the ending would be different if I exceeded a 100. My final number is 59. I am still not sure if I should be mad about it not being a rounded number like 60 or that I went over the 50 threshold)

However, it is a good thing that only some mysteries were solved. Like, what's up with colours in this world? Everyone sees in black and white, and the idea of shades and colours is only spoken of in scientific studies. They do exist and are not a part of the disaster that happened to Siffrin and their land. But there is definitely something mysterious about it. I adore how the dialogue reflects this, as the characters do not speak of shades or colours. Isabeau expresses surprise to see a streak of red colouring the sky in Act 6. It makes you think about how colour is perceived and how you describe it. (The lore inside this game is immaculate. I eat this shit up)

We never find out the name of the country north of Vanguard or what it was like. We can only infer that the beaches had black sand, with shells that shine like stars, high-reaching mountains, forests and plains. Which is vague and yet intriguing enough to make you wonder. It connected me to Siff and King because I also wanted to know. I was desperate to know. I needed to know. But in the end, we never will know because that is not the story's point. Siffrin even says in the game, that King should let go because he is hurting everyone and everything, including himself, in his desperation to preserve Vanguard. This is all the more ironic when Siff accidentally does the same with his family and the loops. I might gush more about what the country might be like and their technology in another post. This game makes me want to theorise. This is the first time I've wanted to write and post theories. ISAT fucked me up good.

Which, by the way, was genius. Siffrin and King are mirrors of each other. Siff does not have King's disastrous ambition, but their love/obsession will be the downfall of both of them. They have more than being each other's countrymen in common, and I imagine Siff despises that.

I love the fact King's question to Siffrin before the showdown was/could never be answered. Usually, in a game such as this, you must figure out how to solve everything, especially for the big bad. But that was never the goal. King is a delusional monster who will not stop before achieving his dream. He will raze everything to the ground and hurt many people because he must succeed. It is what he desires. Nay, the universe wills it. What a witless excuse that can easily be made into someone's truth. Especially to somebody who is driven mad with grief.

How King's character's done is so excellent. Because, at first, I wasn't scared of him at all. He was just the big bad, and I felt nothing much but the glory of victory when Siffrin outsmarted him by looping and making sure Mirabelle learned the shield spell that would protect the party from freezing in time. But each time you fight him, you get more frustrated until Siff figures that talking to him might be fruitful. It does, but unfortunately, you and Siffrin leave yourself emotionally and mentally vulnerable. King stops being a one-dimensional villain and changes into an actual person. Someone you can sympathise with and possibly mend peace with without fighting. You and Siffrin opened his heart for a kindred spirit and got hurt.

King stopped being a monster and became human. And while monsters are wretched, humans have intent behind their cruelty. I felt so betrayed, so angry, but most of all - terrified. I felt it when Siffrin spiralled when fighting King again after their actions caused such a catastrophic turn of events for Bonnie. Every time after that, the fight with King felt tense and nerve-wracking in a dreadful way. Because even victory could not soothe the dread I felt. (The track 'It's finally over" will forever haunt me. I already feel anxious whenever it cycles to that when I listen to the playlist)

He was not, however, the final villain, even though everything that happened was King's fault. You were always your greatest enemy (or Siffrin in this case, since you are supposed to be Siffrin). I never could have guessed that the whole reason why Siffrin could not escape the loops was because Siff accidentally wished to never let go of their friends. This reminds me of Modaka Magica, where (spoilers for the OG anime) Homura goes back in time so much that the universe ties itself around Modoka, making her a waiting egg whose wish and magic will be massive when she becomes a magical girl. The one thing Homura was trying to prevent.

(Siffrin and Homura are identical in that sense. Shy characters who are loyal to a fault but are rendered into something cold, bitter and cutting by their traumatic experiences. Only Siff has people who care about them and would do anything to save him, too, whereas Homura never lets go, making the world a worse place to live in. Yes, I did go into doomed Yuri. That anime lived in my mind rent-free in my mind for years)

The Head House-maiden not being the villain was also a great touch. I am used to the apparent antagonist turning out not to be the big bad and the trusted, friendly character ending up being the evil one. Twist villains no longer work when everyone expects them to be villains.

That was my biggest theory as I played. The second biggest being that Loop is someone who enjoys Siffrin's suffering. I am so glad that was also not the case. They are apathetic but not cruel. Never intentionally, anyway. They were like the player, urging Siffrin to go deeper into the mystery to solve it. Ultimately, I chose and made cold and cruel decisions simply because I wanted to see what would happen. So yeah, I warmed up to this cosmic star thing as the game went on and even started trusting them. Act 5 really is a punch in the gut. I am so sorry, Loop. Thank you for coming through in the end.

Oh man, this is so long, and I haven't even gone into the main cast. I will leave that for another post. They are such great characters, as are the people of Dormant and the House. (Don't think I don't see the wordplay in this game. Very clever)

Going into this game completely blind was the best experience I could have had. I felt anxious, happy and scared so severely that my neurons were rearranged. I don't know if there are more endings (aside from the obvious action of attacking Odile in the True(?) ending of the game), but I am taking a break from it to make art and write for this game before I dive back into despair-o-land.

Anywho, thank you for coming this far and reading my ramblings. Have a fantastic day or evening further! o(*'▽`*)ブ

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ggomos-maribat · 1 year ago

Text

Secrets, Masks, and Family Gatherings

Cross posted from AO3

It had been nearly a year since she moved to Gotham City, but the skyline seemed new each time she went out for night patrol. Ladybug zipped to another building with Red Hood to gain a higher vantage point. Her wings fluttered slightly with the breeze behind her.

"All clear here." Red Hood pressed on his comms.

"Okay. We'll wait for an update from Robin and Spoiler then we're finished for tonight if there aren't any problems," Batman replied.

"Yeah, it's a miracle we get to finish up early." The vigilante rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. "So LB . . ."

"This small talk again?" Ladybug groaned.

Red Hood put his arms up. "Hey, I'm just curious."

"What is it now?"

"I was just wondering what made you transfer to Gotham." He perched on the ledge right beside her. "You defeated your city's villain, right? You had nothing to do anymore."

He's not wrong. She often thought about it herself. Her past and responsibilities clung to her like unshakeable nightmares. Ladybug knew the moment she gained guardianship that her life had no chance of reverting back to 'normal'.

"I think you know how it feels," she said.

"How what feels?"

Ladybug sighed, slumping. "When we defeated Hawkmoth, I thought we could finally rest easy. But I couldn't. I was restless, and between that and taking care of the aftermath, I realized I was missing the superhero life." She shrugged. "That's why I'm here now---it's inescapable. As the guardian, I decided it was better for the Miraculi to be used for good instead of sitting unused."

"Ah, classic PTSD like all the Bats." Red Hood nodded.

She snorted. "But that doesn't mean I still live a restless life. In fact, I've gotten used to life in Gotham."

"But why Gotham of all places?"

"The Miracle Box told me something. I can't divulge anything more."

"Just like you don't divulge anything about your civvy life."

She rolled her eyes, elbowing him on the side, which caused him to flinch dramatically. Bats and their nosiness. "Hey, we're not that close yet for me to reveal my identity. And it's a fair game. I don't know any of you either."

"I'm surprised B hasn't dug up anything on you. And he has contingency plans for all the JL members."

"I told you, the glamor protects us."

At first, she'd been hesitant to work with the vigilantes and at the same time, Batman had been wary around her especially when she was entering their territory. But she had gotten to know them well over time, despite not knowing who were behind the masks. She could also tell they'd grown to trust her like one of theirs.

"All clear near Crime Alley," Spoiler reported over the line.

"Good. Thank you for your help tonight, Ladybug. Everyone else, back to the cave."

Ladybug stood up abruptly. "Thank you too. I'll join the Signal during the weekend. He mentioned he might need some help."

"Oooh, you seem in a hurry to get back home." Red Hood tilted his head.

"No, I'm not spilling anything about my plans for the night," she huffed. "And I need to go because I'm hungry and my timer's running because you forced me to use my Lucky Charm to win that bet with Red Robin."

"The look on his face was priceless."

Ladybug threw her yoyo. "Good night, Hood."

After double checking that none of the others had followed or tracked her, Ladybug detransformed and walked back to her apartment building. She could practically hear the coffee calling to her; she'd drown in it endlessly whenever patrol nights ran late and she needed commissions to finish afterwards.

In the empty elevator, Tikki hovered up to her shoulder. "It's a good thing patrol ended early, Marinette."

"It's not a good sign, Tikki." She smiled grimly. "I think something big's going to happen. A massive breakout or a big plan by the Rogues."

The kwami hummed. "You can try to get plenty of rest before that happens."

"No promises. I have twelve designs I have to submit to Audrey by next week."

Just as she headed to her apartment door, her phone rang a familiar customized ringtone. Tikki also gasped in excitement upon seeing the caller's name.

Marinette tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder while jamming her keys through the doorknob. "Hey, Adrien. What's up?"

"Hey Nette. Done with patrol?"

"We finished early tonight. The Rogues are suspiciously silent. How are you? How's Plagg?" Marinette stepped into the room and Tikki turned on the lights.

"Currently pigging out on cheese. As always." She could almost see her best friend's eye-roll. "Anyway, I called to tell you that I'll be visiting Gotham on Friday. Wayne Tech is partnering up with our brand and Chloe and Kagami are coming with me."

"That's great news, Adrien! I'll bake something special---or should I take you out to a restaurant? I know some good ones near my place."

Adrien chuckled. "Pick anything you want. I'll tell Chloe to send you our schedule so we can reserve lunch or dinner with you and----no, Plagg! I'm not telling her to buy extra cheese!" He heaved out a breath. "At night we can have a short . . . run. You can introduce me to your new partners."

"They're not my partners. It's just you, kitty cat," Marinette said pointedly. "We're just allies."

"You gush about winning prank wars against them."

"It's fun being around them but that's it!"

He laughed. "It's okay. I'm glad you're enjoying your time over there. Send my regards to Damian."

A knock suddenly sounded on the door.

"Speaking of Damian, I think he's here. Gotta go, and say hi to Plagg and the others for me!"

"Pfft, you keep stroking his ego."

With one last goodbye, Marinette threw her phone on the couch and ran to the door. She hadn't expected her boyfriend to drop by, but she was glad he could make time for her. She knew Damian was as busy as her and she was worried he'd end up not taking care of himself like she always did.

"Dames, I thought you had work at the company for the whole night." She gave him a tight hug and a light kiss as soon as she opened the door.

Damian pecked her cheek, winding his arms around her waist. "They let us go early and I thought I should surprise you."

"Good, because I'm surprised," she beamed. "Are you staying the night?"

"Of course, habibti."

Damian Wayne had been an unexpected addition to her Gotham life. They had met in the park while they were working on their sketches---him, a portrait drawing and her, an inspired dress design. Before she knew it, she was with someone who she believed she could spend the rest of her life with. Damian was her support, her confidant in all aspects except her secret identity (though the thought of finally telling him had crossed her mind too many times).

"Are you hungry? I haven't had dinner yet and I was just thinking of cooking instant ramen . . ."

"We can have dinner together, but . . . there is something I need to talk to you about." Damian rubbed her arms, gazing at her intently.

Marinette's heart quickened as she subconsciously thought about all types of bad news. Did he get hurt? Did I do something? Is he going to break up with me?

"Habibti, love, I can already read your thoughts." He kissed the tip of her nose. "It's not anything terrible."

"What is it?"

Damian took a deep breath. "I think it's time for you to meet my family."

Marinette felt her jaw drop. "Your . . . your family? Are you sure about this?"

For the longest time, Damian had expressed his distaste at the thought of her meeting the Waynes. At first, she'd thought that it was the status difference, but he seemed more worried about his father and brothers doing something crazy.

On the other hand, they had both flown to Paris four months ago for Damian to officially meet her parents and friends. It had gone smoothly, and Damian was convinced that the opposite would happen if she met his family.

"Yes. I've thought about it." He sat down with her as she ran her thumb over the back of his hand. "They're already asking about you and if I stall for any longer, I know they will start prying into your life."

"Oh . . ."

Damian had talked about his brothers before, and Marinette saw them sometimes in news and tabloids. In her impression, they didn't seem too bad.

"But don't worry," he assured her, "I will be with you the whole time. We'll have lunch at the manor tomorrow---"

"Wait, tomorrow?"

"Is it too sudden? I worked with your free schedule and---"

"No, no, I'm definitely free tomorrow." Her eyes widened. "Let's meet them tomorrow. It just caught me off guard. I have to prepare my outfit and buy a gift and----oh no, what would your brothers like? What about your father and Alfred?"

Damian smiled gently. "You don't have to concern yourself with that. You’ll make a wonderful first impression."

"But---"

"I have to warn you about my brothers instead." His lip curled. "They will be a handful."

She laughed a little. "You already warned me a million times."

"Because I can't overstate how troublesome they'll be."

Instead of her reply, Marinette's growling stomach echoed in the room. She blushed as Damian pulled her from her seat, kissing her cheek. "It seems that we have an emergency to take care of first. I'll help you cook."

---

Marinette smoothed down the remnant wrinkles on her skirt. She'd chosen a simple pleated dress to wear to her first family lunch with the Waynes. At the same time, the car pulled up in front of the Wayne Manor. It was just as intimidating as she remembered---she'd only ever been to the manor once, to wait for Damian.

"Nervous?" Damian touched her hand.

"Should I be?"

"Never," he replied firmly. "If anything, I should apologize ahead of time. Also, there is no reason to be nervous. If they aren't busy acting insufferable, they'll be impressed by you."

Though the words were warm, they did little to calm her heart. These were the Waynes, royalty of Gotham. She even found it hard to believe that she was with Damian in the first place.

"Come on." Damian helped her out of the car and guided her to the front steps. He pushed through the large wooden doors and they were both met with a broad-shouldered man rushing down the main hallway.

"Todd," Damian called out. "Where on earth are you going?"

The man---Jason, she assumed---stopped, glanced at them, and gave her a quick once-over. Marinette noticed the motorcycle helmet he held on one hand.

"Demon brat." Jason tilted his head. "I have work to do."

"But lunch---"

"I promised to drop by. I didn't say I'll stay." He gave Marinette a single nod and went off.

"I bet he had another fight with Father," Damian muttered under his breath. Marinette squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't apologize. Let's go," she told him softly.

Damian led her to the dining hall where the others were already sat around the table. Curious stares burned through Marinette, making her duck her head away. Damian himself was unfazed, wearing a half-scowl as he helped her to her seat.

"Master Damian, Miss Marinette, welcome." Just in time, Alfred strolled in with the food. She gave the butler a meek smile.

Then, she took a look at the Waynes one by one. The poised Bruce Wayne was at the head of the table, his presence the most prominent in the room. Across from her was Dick Grayson, who looked like he was studying her. Positioned beside him were Tim and Stephanie, both whispering to each other. Finally, Barbara was at her other side, offering her a small smile of comfort.

"I'm glad to finally meet you, Marinette," Bruce greeted. "Damian talks a lot about you."

Marinette momentarily eyed the array of silverware near her plate which she did not know how to use. "The pleasure is all mine . . . sir."

"Please call me Bruce." He gestured to the food at the center. "Go ahead and help yourself. Alfred cooked a feast for us."

She cleared her throat. "Thank you, Bruce."

"How did you both meet?" Tim questioned.

"In the park, Drake. We were both drawing. I already told you," Damian butted in.

Tim waved him off. "I want to hear it from her, not you."

"I---"

"It's okay, Damian." Marinette nudged him a little. "I was sketching in the park when Titus came to me. Damian was drawing a picture of me while I was absorbed in my designs and accidentally let go of his leash. Titus led me to him and it all started there."

"You design?" Barbara asked.

Warmth crept to her cheeks. "It's my dream to become a fashion designer. I just do a few commission pieces here and there. I'm trying to take small steps to reach my goal."

A quick glimpse at her boyfriend told her that he was radiating all the pride in the world.

"Little D mentioned you came from Paris?" Dick sipped on his drink. "Why did you decide to leave?"

"Oh, please don't get it all wrong. I know Paris earned a bad rep after the Hawkmoth fiasco but that was years ago. I just decided to move here to find more opportunities for myself," Marinette answered smoothly.

"Why Gotham of all places, if I may ask?" Bruce chimed in. "Admittedly, this isn't the friendliest city in the country."

"Father, stop with the interrogation," said Damian.

"It's okay, Dames, I don't mind. Promise." She squeezed his hand under the table.

"Fine. But do not answer anything if you're not comfortable."

Marinette looked at Bruce. "One of my friend's parents who works in fashion suggested Gotham. There's a low competition among the designers here so it might be easier for me to make a name for myself."

"That's not a bad move actually," Tim remarked.

"So back in Paris, did you get to meet any of the heroes?" Dick leaned in.

"Grayson," Damian warned.

"That's---"

A sharp ring blasted out, cutting off her statement. Bruce fished out his phone, a muscle on his face twitched, and he abruptly stood up. "There's an emergency at WE."

"Emergency?" Tim peered at his phone as well.

"Yes, Tim. You're needed. Also Stephanie." The eldest Wayne looked around the table and uttered monotonously. "I apologize for cutting this short. We have an urgent matter at the company---"

"Father."

Bruce shook his head. "This absolutely cannot wait, Damian."

The three filed out of the room in a flash. Marinette, stunned at the sudden interruption, saw Dick also checking the emergency.

"Sorry, Babs and I need to go." He stood up and picked up his coat, going around the table to help Barbara. "It's nice to meet you, Marinette."

"Let's go out for drinks sometime, okay?" Barbara reached over and patted her shoulder before they left.

The disappearance of the Waynes left her fidgeting with her fingers and wondering what the big emergency could be. She peeked at Damian hesitantly. "Do you need to go too?"

His jaw clenched. "I think so."

"You can go." She cupped his cheek, pecking the other.

"I can't tell you---"

"I know. I won't ask, I promise," she assured softly. He didn't have to explain anything to her; she'd gladly wait for him to open up. "Go."

"I'm sorry."

"Damian."

He pressed a firm kiss on her forehead. "Alfred will drive you to your apartment. I'll come to you later, alright?"

"Okay."

She could hear Alfred offering her food to take home and guiding her to the car, but it was all a blur. Marinette knew she had nothing to do with what happened yet she was afraid that it would sour Damian's relationship with his family. Her fists clenched around her skirt as she looked down, feeling Alfred's keen eyes checking on her through the rearview mirror.

"Please do not take it personally, Miss," Alfred said softly.

"Yes. Thank you," she whispered.

Finding nothing better to do than to check her phone, Marinette noticed the numerous alerts plastered all over her screen. Arkham breakout. Fuck. No wonder it was so quiet last night. There were a number of messages from Red Hood (which was directed from her burner phone), asking her if she could help.

Marinette looked out the window. Sure enough, there seemed to be a racket coming from the other streets.

"Umm, excuse me Alfred?" She searched for a safe alley to transform. "Can---can you drop me off at the cafe over there?"

"Are you certain? There are Rogues running around the city at this time."

"I'll stay inside. Don't worry."

Fortunately, the butler did what she asked and she made a beeline to the cafe as soon as she stepped foot out the car. Transform. Connect comms. Head to the upper east side. The same words ran through her head.

Her phone rang suddenly right before she could say her transformation words.

"Adrien! Can't talk right now. Arkham breakout. Big emergency," she said hurriedly into the phone.

"Oops. Need backup?" He asked.

"Maybe not. I don't know." She massaged her temple. "Can I ask you guys to standby? You can take your power-ups just in case."

"That's fine. Stay safe," Adrien said, "How did lunch go by the way?"

"Gah! Not now, kitty!"

"Right, right, right. Emergency in Gotham. I'll hang up now."

Marinette sighed. "It was a disaster, by the way. I'll text the details later."

"Aaaand Chloe's yelling at me to spill right now. You should go."

---

Ladybug swiftly landed beside Nightwing when she arrived and the Bats had just finished capturing Penguin and his men. On the next rooftop over, she could see Robin with Batman---they were loud enough for her to deduce that they were having an argument but she couldn't make out the exact words.

"What's up with them?" Ladybug frowned. She had always known Robin as the cold, closed-off one in the group but it was her first time encountering a complete outburst.

"Personal stuff. Happened earlier," Nightwing replied briefly. "I'm surprised you came. I thought you had an appointment today."

She bit her tongue. "Uhh, it got cancelled."

Batman told Robin something which had him storming off, grappling away to another direction. Their comms buzzed to life.

"Ladybug, team up with Robin. The Riddler's in the next avenue," Batman ordered curtly.

Ladybug turned to Nightwing with wide eyes. The stress was obvious in the sag of his shoulders and tight grip on his escrima sticks.

"He's mad at all of us," he explained. "It's better if it's you who joins him."

Ladybug only nodded, throwing her yoyo to follow Robin. Her curiosity was growing by the minute, but she focused on thinking of ways to calm down her fellow vigilante. If he became too riled up, he could lose focus and get injured.

She followed him close enough for him to hear her. "Robin, you have to slow down."

"No, I have to get back as soon as possible."

"Get back to where?"

She only received silence.

Frustrated Robin equals not a good Robin. Ladybug leapt to match his pace and blocked his way. He glared at her. "Move."

"Look, this is the Riddler we're facing. He's still dangerous and if we're not careful, we'll get caught in his traps."

"I don't care. I just need to get this over with. Stay out of my way."

When he pushed past her, she had half the mind to wrap him in her yoyo and deliver him back to Batman for a time-out. She huffed as she followed him. You're not the only one having a bad day, grumpy boy. Robin anchored his grappling gun to a faraway building and at the second he jumped off, he careened to the side, swept away by an elaborate trap by the Riddler.

Before she knew it, Ladybug was after him. Her teeth gritted and her legs ran a mile as she groaned out loud. "This is exactly what I was just talking about!"

They were trapped in an empty little box with a puzzle lock on its door.

Ladybug released a shaky breath.

The worst argument I've had with one of the Gotham vigilantes was when I interfered with Red Hood's mission and he got overprotective. She stared at Robin, who was relentlessly kicking the metal walls. But that might change today.

"Robin," she called out. "I understand that you're mad at the others but it doesn't mean you can act reckless while you're in that suit."

"No. You don't understand." He raked a hand through his hair. "I told them. I already told them and they still . . .Do you know what they did?"

She opened her mouth to reason with him again but he beat her to it. "I only wanted at least an hour. No interruptions." Robin clicked his tongue. "For them, there is nothing more important than capturing these criminals even if there are other heroes who will help. And Father had to be the first to run out."

Ladybug gaped. She knew the Bats were somewhat of a family but it was Robin's first time referring to Batman as a father. "Are you sure you should be telling me---"

"Yes, so you know how unfair they acted earlier." He twirled his katanas, looking for a simple way out. "I only wanted them to meet my girlfriend. I brought her home. And they all left for this. Father didn't give a sincere apology and my brothers either don't care or are suspicious of her."

Wait . . .

She thought she'd stumble back, but her feet were surprisingly still planted on the ground. Lunch. Earlier. Girlfriend. Shit. Her breath was knocked out of her lungs as she processed Robin's words.

Damian's words.

She wanted to laugh. All this time, she'd been anxious about telling him the truth when he was already living the same life as her. The Waynes, the sudden emergencies, staying out late. Merde, it all makes sense now. It was ridiculous how she didn't recognize her own boyfriend.

"It was a mistake after all. I shouldn't have invited her to come," Robin sighed. "They're wary because she's a civilian---she'll be my weakness if anyone finds out about our connection. They know that, which is why they don't approve."

Her first instinct was to tell him that it wasn't true, but an identity reveal would be too much given their current situation. Ladybug pieced her words with care. "I'm sure they'll listen if you tell them how you feel. Your girlfriend will understand too."

"We don't communicate healthily, in case you haven't figured that out."

Her heart was still drumming against her ribcage. Damn it. Marinette would work better in consoling him. Ladybug's just a colleague. "I know. But a few words can go a long way. Tell them you'll be careful. Ask them to help protect your girlfriend if anything ever goes wrong."

As Robin lowered his gaze, an urge to come up to him and hold his hands washed over her. She counted the seconds of silence that passed. It looked like he was thinking deeply about it.

"I apologize for getting you involved," he said. "And for mindlessly telling you about my personal life."

She laughed nervously. "Ah . . . it's okay to vent out sometimes."

Yeah, and your story definitely did not reveal your whole identity.

Robin turned towards the puzzle lock. "Should we attempt to crack the code in his puzzle?"

It wasn't a simple coded lock---it was a six-wheeled puzzle that was embedded onto the door. "By the looks of it, it will take us hours if we go through that route. I think I have a better idea. Are there any cameras here?"

He surveyed the small enclosure. "I see two by the corners."

"Good. Break them and cover the lens." Ladybug touched her earrings while he did what she said. I have spare cookies in my purse. That should do. "We can't unlock the door by ourselves, but Tikki can phase through and let us out."

"The tiny god-being in your Miraculous."

"Yeah, that's Tikki." She smiled. I'll have to introduce them sometime. "Close your eyes?"

After making sure that the cameras weren't functioning and he couldn't see her, she detransformed, motioned to the puzzle lock and sent Tikki out.

"Before we were trapped, I saw other civilians captured in similar boxes," said Robin. "Riddler should be camped east."

Marinette crossed the gap between them and tapped on the back of his hand. GOOD. RIDDLER FIRST THEN FREE OTHERS.

"Morse?" Robin scrunched his nose. "Are you also cautious about revealing your voice?"

YES.

"Tt. That is too much. Most of us don't even use a modulator." He shifted. "I doubt that I will be able to recognize your voice."

She pursed her lips. We'll see about that.

---

Ladybug was lounging on the top of Wayne Tower as the vigilantes finished up catching the remaining inmates. She used the time to fully wrap her head around her discovery. Damian. Robin. One by one, she also pieced together the identities of the others. It was so stupidly obvious all this time.

She heard a familiar zip of the grappling gun. It wasn't Red Hood who she expected to check on her but it was Robin.

"The Rogues are secured. There are rumors that the Joker orchestrated the entire thing but he wasn't around during the attacks," Robin reported. "The injured civilians are being rushed to the hospitals. No deaths."

Ladybug didn't break her gaze at the horizon. "That's good."

". . . Ladybug?"

"Yeah?"

He sat next to her. "The people in Paris . . . did they get used to these kinds of incidents as well? When Hawkmoth was active?"

"With an akuma attack nearly every week, yes you can say we had no choice but to get used to it."

"Was there a lot of animosity towards Parisians after the truth got out?"

"Only a little." She looked down at her hands. "Mostly we receive pity. The press made it clear how the akumas affected everyone's lives."

"My girlfriend . . . came from Paris too. I always wonder what it was like but I never wanted to pry."

Damian . . . She bit her lip. She had been dodgy about the topic, but she should know better than to withhold her feelings about it. Damn it, this will be so awkward when he finally finds out.

"You're worried about her safety," she said.

Robin nodded. "I wonder if she feels afraid during Rogue attacks. Or just living in Gotham. I never want to find out that she was in a dangerous situation and I wasn't there to . . ."

"You don't have to worry. If she's from Paris, then she's strong. Everyone in my city had been on the edge of death one way or another. Our instincts were sharpened. We can block out our fears and emotions." Ladybug looked up at him. "I'm sure she can handle danger."

"But it's different here. There's no magic to bring things back to normal. It's permanent." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I won't know what to do if something happens to her because of me."

"I think . . . you should ask her first---"

"I should break it off with her."

"What?!"

Ladybug nearly slapped a hand over her mouth. I said that too quickly. Thankfully, Robin didn't seem to notice anything.

"I've been thinking a lot," he continued. "I can't bring myself to tell her about this. About me. The mere fact of her knowing puts a target on her back."

Dear kwamis, please keep me from pushing my boyfriend off this rooftop before gets the chance to find out about me.

"Wait." She began slowly. "Don't you think she deserves to know before you try to make that decision for her?"

"What am I supposed to do?" His eyebrows furrowed. "I . . . I expect her to react badly. I've learned from today that I should keep her from getting involved any further. It's either I drag her into this dangerous life or I keep hurting her with my lies."

"You shouldn't start assuming things without trying first. I'm sure she trusts you and she'll come to understand everything in time. There's always a compromise." Her lips spoke the words before she could think. "You're not doing any good by cutting yourself off all of a sudden."

"If I end it now, she can eventually move on and stay safe. Nevermind how I feel," he argued, "I can let her go and she'll be safe."

"When I told you about how Parisians are strong, that's not what I meant." Tears pricked the back of her eyes as she raised her voice. "She can stay in a relationship with you and keep herself safe because she's strong. Can't you trust her as much as she trusts you?"

"I can't risk it. She's important to me."

"If she is, then talk to her. If you don't give her a chance to decide, you're not any better than your father or brothers."

"How would you even know how she feels?"

Ladybug's face contorted into a sharp glare. "I just know. I know better than anyone, Damian."

Anger morphed into shock as he stared at her. ". . . What did you just call me?"

She made a quick sweep of the area to make sure that they were in a blind spot. Then, she wasted no time standing up on the ledge, shuffling until the balls of her foot touched the edge. Then, "I'm not defenseless, merde. And I really wanted to wait until the end of the day but . . . Tikki, détransformation."

Marinette watched Robin's face go through a storm of emotions. His jaw hung slack and his fists uncurled while he stood up to look at her.

". . . Marinette?" he breathed out.

She gently touched his cheeks with both hands, peeling off his mask to reveal his glistening eyes. "I can't believe you wanted to break up with me."

"Marinette . . ." He pulled them both away from the ledge and held her, mumbling 'I'm sorry' over and over again. His head was buried on her neck, with his hands pressed against her back.

"You. It's you," said Damian. "Of course it's you."

"It's me." She rubbed down his back. "For record, I only found out because---"

"Because I told you what happened."

She chuckled. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, habibti." He pulled away a little to touch her cheek. "I was going to make a stupid decision."

"Are you upset that I kept this from you?"

He shook his head, kissing her head. "I can't and I don't have the right to be. I was keeping my secret from you as well."

"Come on, let's go home first. Then we can talk about . . . everything."

---

Ladybug swung into the night with a weight lifted off her chest. She and Damian had a long talk about their identities and relationship. They'd both agreed not to tell the other heroes until they were ready to. For her, it was better that they kept their secrets between themselves first and slowly ease into revealing the truth to her friends and his family.

She breathed in the breeze. Robin wasn't anywhere to be seen, but a group of vigilantes were. Nightwing. Hood. RR. What are they doing there?

The three immediately fell into a hush when she landed next to them.

"Hey, LB," Red Robin greeted.

She put her hands on her hips. "What are you doing?"

The brothers shared a look before Red Hood spoke. "Robin told you about his girlfriend, right?"

"Yeah . . ." she trailed off, dragging the syllable.

"We think something's up with her," said Nightwing.

"I'm sorry?"

"Sketchy stuff," Red Robin explained, shifting on his feet. "Well, we can't tell you who she is---secret identities and all---but she's from Paris. She's friends with Hawkmoth's kid."

Ladybug scoffed. "Adrien? He's not like Hawkmoth. I know him personally and he had nothing to do with that man's crimes. Trust me."

"Hmm, yeah but she's also close with the mayor's daughter. That one who also sided with Hawkmoth."

"You mean Chloe Bourgeois? She's proven that she's changed." And unbeknownst to the public, she was a hero again, this time under another alias.

"But she's so secretive. There's definitely something going on with her." Nightwing rubbed his chin. Ladybug wanted to bang her head in the nearest wall or groan to the heavens.

"What's wrong with being secretive? Aren't you guys the same?" she narrowed her eyes.

"That's not the main cause of our suspicion," said Red Hood.

"We weren't convinced about her reason for moving to Gotham, so we dug around," Red Robin continued, "She said something about more career opportunities but that's just a cover. We found classified files on superheroes in her apartment, including info on Justice League members. I bet she already knows about Robin's identity."

"You snooped in her apartment?!"

"It was an investigation," Nightwing snorted.

Her eye twitched. A secret had never felt so difficult to conceal. "I can't believe you'd break the privacy of a civilian just because you had baseless assumptions."

Red Robin winced. "Uhh . . . if you put it that way . . ."

She crossed her arms. "No, I know what this is really about. You're being overprotective of Robin; you can't accept that he now has a significant other and you think he's being naive about his choices. You think he's going to get hurt badly." She paused for effect. "Because you don't want him to repeat the same mistakes as you all did."

The look on their masked faces told her that she had hit the target better than any therapist they might have encountered.

Red Hood was first to deny. "We're not protective of the brat. We're trying to eliminate a potential danger."

"His harmless civilian girlfriend?"

"Think about it, LB. Why would she have sensitive files on the heroes?" Red Robin asked. "You can't deny that that's suspicious."

I don't know, maybe because she's a hero herself?!

Ladybug sighed heavily. Damian is really going to kill them when he finds out. "Does Batman know about this?"

"Nope, but we'll tell him when we gather enough evidence," Nightwing answered. "We're just trying to get Oracle to crack into her laptop. The security on it is so heavy, it's insane."

Why is it a curse that I asked Max to protect my laptop? There are files on the Miraculi in there!

She discreetly took her yoyo and put it on the recording function. "Let me get this straight. So you're all investigating and prying into the life of Robin's girlfriend without the knowledge of Batman even at the cost of your identities and everyone's safety?"

"We're not risking anyone's safety---"

"It's more of research but---"

She pursed her lips. "And you broke into her apartment, went through her things and currently you're trying to hack into her personal computer?"

"Regular vigilante work---"

"Good, we're on the same page then." She smiled widely. Sinisterly. "Tikki, détransformation."

Pale. Pale faces were all she could see as the three vigilantes were engulfed in utter shock. Marinette held her smile, clasping her hands together behind her back. I can't wait to see how they try to make it up to me. Mon dieu! I'm going to mess with them.

And as a cherry on top, Robin arrived at the scene, immediately putting her behind him when he saw that she was in civilian form. He directed an accusatory glare at his brothers. "What is going on here?!"

#maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #daminette #established daminette #damian x marinette

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felassan · 5 months ago

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Snippets. 🐺💜

John: "guess who’s going to SDCC!" [source, context]

I think DA:TV Creative Performance Director Ashley Barlow voiced Seranni in Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening!

Carly: "working hard so no dav morsels this week, other than that i somehow became the designated romance person at work - doing my best to make these moments feel good for y'all [salute]" [source]

User: "I was hoping if you could please answer: Are there romances that have non-sexual routes or options in them, or do all require sex?" Carly: "Hmmm kinda spoilery territory so I guess technically everyone’s pan so it comes with that but I guess personal intepretations can come into play as well :-)" [source] User: "Thank you. So none have non-sex options in the romance but perhaps some are fade to black so can be imagined as them just cuddling instead of sleeping together? If it gets too spoiler territory I understand not answering, just trying to see if I’m understanding correctly." Carly: "Yeah you p much nailed it !" [source]

The Lighthouse is in the Crossroads [source] (important distinction vs the Fade: the Crossroads aren't actually the Fade exactly but a separate near-Fade dimension, one of the "places between")

User: "humbly asking if ME5 is going to release within the next 3 years by chance? I’m buying DA for sure (never played it), whatever I need to do to support BioWare! But srsly miss the ME universe (loved all of them including Andromeda)!" Michael: "I can’t answer your question about dates. But I’m super glad to meet you. Thanks for all the support. We’ll make the game for folks like you." [source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #lgbtq #mass effect #mass effect: andromeda #next mass effect

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emblazons · 10 months ago

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so I swore I was not going to start speculating off of set images, but given the one's we've gotten of Dustin so far, I cannot help myself (plus it's fun). Still: none of the theories I've seen so far make as much sense to me as this being tied to Dustin's trauma and him having a Vecna Vision/Flashback, which becomes clearer the more you put the details revealed in the images into the context we've been given by S4 + The Duffers.

First, the images I'm referencing (TW: IMAGE SPOILERS):

Separately, these things (the basketball players, Dustin's hellfire fit being the same at both the grave and school + him wearing Eddie's rings + Mike's hair & attire) all feel a bit disparate...until you remember the things both Dustin is trying to cope with (Eddie's death + feeling like an outsider) and the Duffers have said re: Eddie and his effect on the characters (listen if you can, its only 3 min). Why?

Well, because we know for a fact that 1) Dustin and Mike were the ones who felt most aligned with Eddie given their being bullied—

—even though we spent all of S4 building the bond between Dustin and Eddie in particular, because Mike was in California with Will.

Similarly (and while I know it's not primary canon), we get this context from Lucas in Lucas on the Line, which corroborates Dustin's comment about Lucas "making all his sports friends" and feeling deeply betrayed by that fact—

—and even stuff about Mike's appearance "not changing" (pre-hellfire, in the moments he's still in S3/regressive conformist territory +not embracing himself)....something that Eddie talks about in S4 when he comments on the look Mike had when he met him.

(I've also already commented on that Mike's shirt looks a lot like the one El wears post Rink-O-Mania in S4—which plays a lot into the idea of Mike giving El a shirt that represents conformity to him (just like her being his girlfriend does, given he cannot be himself in front of her at all in S4).

Combining all of these things though—Dustin being the only one who is in the Hellfire shirt (while all the other extras look a very "S1 good suburban kid" I/ first day of school), Mike showing up (also looking like his 'conformist' self in contrast), Basketball players being on the scene (the people Dustin felt stole Lucas from him)...combined with him in the same outfit at the grave of the person he felt defended him from those losses and challenges in high school?

It's giving Dustin's grief / worst thoughts thrown back at him 100%.

Given that Eddie, who he lost in an extremely traumatic fashion is the one who said forced conformity (which Mike is showing up dressed as alongside Lucas's basketball friends) killed the kids—

—and now they are facing off with Vecna (and Henry by extension, whose says shit like THIS) on top of asking people to "join him" in his displeasure with the world when he 'takes their souls?'

On top of the fact that we KNOW for a fact there is time fuckery coming for us...and it's likely enough that it's 'now 'canonically 1986 (or near it), which is reminiscent of this moment (likely remembered and traumatizing for Dustin specifically)?

Yeah. Flashback / lead up into Vecna torture is exactly what it gives to me—the things causing the event / the moments that lead into the torture. Especially knowing the scenes shot first (aka now) are generally more SFX complex because they take the most time.

bonus: @magentamee also brought up some great points on this theory here!

bonus bonus: I wrote something on Dustin and standing apart from relationship conformity as early as S3 here and wrote up the relationship he has with nonconformity today, which I think plays into his feelings of alienation / what Vecna might pull him apart from his friends by showing him.

#analysis marie back with a vengance with only 6 pics smh #BUT I HAD TO MAKE THIS. IT WAS PULLING AT ME ON MY DRIVE TO WORK THE SECOND I SAW THE FINN PICS LMAO #st5 spoilers #st5 speculation #eddie munson #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #stranger things #st s5 #my st commentary

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veilkeeper · 12 days ago

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The Sacrifice of Souls, Part 2

alt title: why im putting corentin in the torment nexus

this is the second instalment of a 2-part essay series. the first part focused on the events of emmrich's quests, as well as my analysis and critique of his quest line overall. this part will focus specifically on the effects these choices have on the romance, as well as my thoughts on how i'm handling the events for my emmrichmancing rook, corentin.

spoilers ahead! beware that both essays are going to assume you have completed The Sacrifice of Souls and at least one of the follow up quests, Heir to the Dead or Will and Testament. if you have not, i suggest returning to this later and playing it out yourself.

so let's start with the most important question of the day:

what happens to the romance after the sacrifice of souls?

good news! no matter what you pick, the romance can continue on unabated. there's just some long-term details and tone changes that need to be considered.

if you choose to save manfred, be prepared for parenthood. previously, the game had poked at the idea of manfred being emmrich's kid, but now that manfred is talking and progressing at a rapid pace, he is in full "magic-flinging skeleton son" territory, and a romanced rook is going on that journey with emmrich. there is also now a near certainty that rook is going to outlive him—regardless of your personal headcanons, the game assumes that rook is younger than emmrich, and now that he's locked into a mortal lifespan that's something that needs to be considered. especially since, as discussed in part one, emmrich's fears of his own mortality haven't really been addressed at all.

but if you're into co-parenting a rambunctious skeleton with an older, gentlemanly necromancer (which, let's be real, is what most people signed up for when they hit those first flirt options anyway), then this path is probably exactly what you were looking for.

that said, let's talk about the lich romance angle. i was worried when i went down this path that the romance would just immediately end, but it actually doesn't! emmrich certainly wonders if it will—before he undergoes his rites, he has a conversation with rook about how they'll navigate a relationship once he's undead. he says that his senses will change, the way he feels (not about rook, but literally the way he feels) will change, and his body will be different. but they agree they can make it work, so hell yeah.

and if you like the whole "immortal lover" trope, there's some stuff here to like. the lich lords, when you arrive to bear witness to the rites, refer to rook as "challenger of the gods, volkarin's beloved", and emmrich waxes poetic about how even after rook passes, the way he feels about them will be immortalized alongside him. there's also a very sweet kiss before he goes into the rite, and rook has the opportunity to tell him they love him, just in case he doesn't come back out. and afterwards, they have a powerful, immortal skeleton boyfriend, so for the monsterfuckers in the audience.... nice.

so what's the catch?

if you're looking for a fairly unambiguously "happy ending", and if you like the idea of your rook parenting for the foreseeable future, saving manfred is your easy option. on this path, rook and emmrich will have many good years together before he dies. there's absolutely still room for angst here because of emmrich's unresolved issues, but there's definitely a more... domestic, low-key quality to this path.

the lich romance has some pretty glaring obstacles, and that's probably a big part of why a lot of people doing the romance might not pick this. first of all, he wasn't joking, he's literally a skeleton. he can put on a glamour for polite company, but he is a skeleton. realistically, intimacy is going to be complicated by that. on top of that, as a lich for the mourn watch, he's going to have certain duties that he can't get away from. myrna herself asks if they're going to be seeing less of emmrich now that he's a lich, and his answer is basically not yet. at some point, some time in the future, he is going to have to go into the necropolis to begin his lich duties and he won't really be coming back out after. so in a very real way, there is an invisible timer on the relationship where it'll basically be dead in the water unless rook makes some serious lifestyle changes* to accommodate that (assuming they're allowed to). so there's some built in angst with the lich romance that may or may not be your preferred flavour, because his job might end their relationship long before rook's mortal lifespan even becomes a consideration.

*theoretically a mourn watcher rook is going to have an easier time with that particular adjustment, but i'm speaking from my perspective as a LoF rook

decisions, decisions

this is the part where i start talking about my rook, but do us both a favour and keep reading, because believe it or not there is still some emmrich analysis in this part, and it might inspire you to do your own dissection for your rook, too.

so my rook is corentin laidir, and from the moment emmrich said the word "lich" he's been quietly freaking out about it. largely because of the whole "you're going to leave me to be a lich in the necropolis" thing.

i had hoped that resolving emmrich's quest line would give me a very clean solution to the lich freak out issue, and it does! ....if i liked the ending where we save manfred. which i don't. controversial opinion, but i don't actually care about manfred enough for corentin to be his second dad, and from a roleplay perspective i don't think corentin would advocate for bringing manfred back.

but on the other hand, the lich!emmrich option is quite literally corentin's nightmare. what corentin wants, at his core, is for emmrich to accept both manfred's death and his own, whenever it may come. he wants emmrich to understand that running from his own fear of death like that is beneath him. is it honouring death to defy it like that, even (supposedly) in the name of service? corentin would argue no, if he could bring himself to argue with emmrich about anything.

selfishly, corentin is also afraid of what eternity means. sure, emmrich says now that he'll always remember corentin and what they have, but what about a thousand years from now? he's afraid of being replaced, and of becoming insignificant to someone who is so, so important to him right now. in this life.

so the question becomes: do i choose an imperfect, happier ending that maintains emmrich's mortality, or do i throw corentin into an emotional blender?

why i'm putting corentin in the torment nexus

one of the problems of being a creatively-minded person while playing decision-based games is that there comes a time when you have to make a choice:

do i work with the options available to me, or do i pull out my scalpel and gut this thing?

and in moments like this, where neither option is quite right, i have no choice but to get surgical. pick what's interesting, and frankenstein that thing into something that works well enough to carry me to the end.

and the fact of the matter is, the lich path is just more interesting to me in this case because it's an angst machine, and because it makes sense for him to get stuck in it. if i dig into corentin's character, in that exact moment when a decision is made, there's no world where he's going to tell emmrich to give up on his life's work just to bring manfred back and stay mortal. but there is a world where he'd recognize that telling emmrich to give up on his life's work for a guy who loves him who he met five minutes ago is a dick move, and then he'd get completely caught off guard when emmrich says he's going to start preparing for his rites now.

so where does this leave corentin?

here's how i'm handling the situation for the time being, unless something comes along that completely revolutionizes how i feel about all this.

every time emmrich has talked about becoming a lich, it's always been a vague future thing with no real timeline attached. in hindsight, it's pretty clear that the only thing delaying the process was himself—emmrich was uncertain if he was willing to risk the danger of the rites. this uncertainty, however, has left corentin with the impression that even if he was 100% sure and raring to go forward, there would be tests and preparation that needed to happen first, and there would be time before the rites could happen.

so when the question of whether or not to save manfred comes up, corentin does what any good boyfriend would and he tells emmrich that he's dedicated his life to potentially becoming a lich, and he needs to be really certain before throwing that away.

corentin is allergic to being a bummer; even when he's really struggling with something, he feels like he can't talk about it if it'll upset someone else. emmrich is desperately afraid of death, and corentin is desperately afraid of being alone, so he's gotten very good at keeping himself... palatable. so when emmrich responds to his encouragement by saying that he'll start preparing for the rites immediately? well, corentin feels locked into the supportive boyfriend schtick. he feels like he has to be unerringly supportive and not question emmrich's decision, even though it is definitely something that effects him, too.

the whole time emmrich's preparing to become a lich, corentin is thumbs up "you got this babe!"-ing his way through it, all while frantically trying to squash down the feeling of impending doom. because he is 100% completely convinced the other shoe is going to drop at any moment and emmrich is going to go to the Lich Corner Store for cigarettes and never come home.

though it should be noted, the skeleton part of "skeleton boyfriend" is really the least of his concerns. it's just everything around that.

and where does this leave emmrich?

he doesn't know it, but it leaves him with a pretty miserable boyfriend. they're going to have to reckon with corentin's issues at some point.

just like they're going to have to deal with emmrich's. becoming a lich is maybe not 100% a good thing, at least not right this second. he says that he "thought he knew its price," and in keeping with that banter i linked in the first part, he seems unprepared for the reality of losing people. it feels a little like he's rushing into it headfirst before the grief can hit him full force and he can get cold feet.

i'm really curious how he's going to feel if something happens to corentin (or almost happens), and it gives him a reality check on his boyfriend's mortality. losing manfred is already unimaginably hard... is he prepared for what it's going to be like when he loses corentin?

because i don't think he's realized that he isn't, yet.

#word count: 1777 #emmrich #emmrichmance #oc: corentin #volkorentin #corentin pt #dav #dragon age #veilguard #datv #dragon age the veilguard #dav spoilers #dragon age spoilers #da meta #my meta #mine #emmrook #emmrich x rook

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astronnova · 8 months ago

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please tell us about deep sea expedition

yes.... finally......... i can SHILL..........

basically, deep sea expedition or WHATEVER it would be called would be the salmon run dlc. wave THREE of splatoon THREE's dlc waves. you feel me?

so i've done just two posts before about this idea, but it would star agent 4 as our player character. reasons why?

agent four and agent 8 both having dlcs in splat3 would be a great way to pay homage to splatoon 2, since both were the protagonists of that game

grizzco and salmon run were introduced to the series with splatoon 2, might as well have the protgaonist of that game be the one to end the salmon run story line since return of the mammalians focuses more on mr. grizz himself instead of the salmonids

the basic idea for gameplay i have for this DLC would be a mix of a more open world approach (think security breach: RUIN) alongside a the PVE horde gameplay from salmon run. agent 4 would have to fight through hordes of salmonids and other deep sea creatures to descend deeper to reach a sort of salmonid capital. think maybe like... sparta? since the salmonids are inspired by that. maybe a giant ass collesuem (i know thats in rome i do not care).

point is, you start near the surface and have to descend to defeat the bosses (ha get it. cus side order has an elevator where you go up? im clever i think sometimes)

actually this sounds a bit like doom. oh well

i'd like to think there's some sort of phenomena of like... underwater air pockets. like underwater caves? where a bunch of civilizations are maybe? would be pretty neat to see all the stuff where salmonids go when they arent doing the salmon run part, among other species that could live in these areas considered the deep sea metro

(the naming coincidences are not lost on me but i have no idea what else to call this hypothetical salmon run DLC)

story? agent 4 has been stranded in hostile, salmonid territory with no backup, a faulty pair of grizzco (tm) dualies, and her wits. 4 meets a goldie salmonid, named chrysos, who takes 4 under their fin (ha) to help them find a way home. 4 and chrysos must explore deeper into the heart of the sea to find enough super golden eggs (name and idea pending) to have enough power to send 4 home.

thats the working synopsis anyway, excluding major spoilers and all

apart of the open world sections of the DLC would have the player controlling 4 and chrysos in a kind of open world diving situation. four is equipped with a prototype pressurized underwater scuba gear that makes it safe for ink-based people to go underwater! its grizzco brand and needs many upgrades (that could be acquired thru out the story).

im thinking for these sections you'd be timed to find an air pocket or new treasure of sorts? and if you run out of time idk 4 runs out of air or something and gets splatted. dw they have a life preserver which chrysos would reactivate to save four, basically restarting the level from the beginning.

chrysos would be a very straightforward character with a dry sense of humor and a natural curiosity for all things from the surface. they're helping 4 out of the goodness of their heart and to satiate that curiosity of what inklings are like, among other reasons.

they pluck one of their scales at the beginning of the story to help power up the faulty grizzco dualies, which would also be a tutorial on how to like.... level up? get upgrades? not sure

this was long! if you have any more questions feel free to ask. i love the salmonids and i love agent 4. mwah

#critical . txt #splatoon 3 #agent 4 #critical plays squid game #salmonid DLC concept #🧻 sharts #✉ mailbox

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ageless-aislynn · 9 months ago

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Title: “15 Minutes” (9/?) Author: @ageless-aislynn Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You're in peril but don't be afraid, help is near. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating: T (PG13) Length: 2,568 (this chapter, 22,261 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Trigger warning: claustrophobia Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N: Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you’ll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we’ll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 10 is in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞 The tags have been updated for hurt/comfort starting with this chapter. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger @mysardencut @laurenstacy610 @sporadicbelievernightmare @ultrablackwidower @bxmxtx @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Trigger warning again: claustrophobia If you need to avoid the actual scene, skip the entire first section but there will be a lot of mentions of it again through the rest of the chapter, just so you're aware. I don't want to cause any distress to anyone so if you'd like a recap of what happens in this chapter, feel free to contact me here and I'm happy to oblige so you can stay in-the-know without reading something that could trigger a bad reaction. Stay safe, my friends! 🤗

You tried to gasp in a breath but there was a weight pinning you down. Smoke burned your lungs and your eyes. Your left arm couldn't move but you were able to bring your right hand up to wipe your face, trying to clear your vision. The only light in the rubble came from a shower of sparks a few feet away, emitting from a panel half-ripped from the wall. There was very little to orientate yourself by.

"Hello?" you tried to call but you couldn't take a deep enough breath to yell. The muffled ring in your ears told you that at least one of your eardrums had ruptured.

Evaluate, you thought in the tone you used when triaging patients, shoving down a wave of panic. You tried to squeeze out from under whatever was pressed across your back. No good, too much weight.

There wasn't a tremendous amount of pain but you worried at the numbness from your waist down, behind whatever was restraining you.

Evaluate.

You tested moving your legs, your feet, your toes. It felt strange but yes, you had movement.

Spinal cord potentially compromised but not severed, you diagnosed as clinically as possible.

Something overhead gave an alarming groan.

Alert help. Report your position.

"Hello? I'm by the crane operator booth. Can anyone hear me?"

You couldn't get the volume you wanted and you automatically tried to inhale deeper. You couldn't and had to fight another wave of panic. The animal part of your brain wanted to claw the twisted metal of the deck, trying to squirm free, but when you twitched, something above you groaned again.

You had no way to know how perilous the collapsed structure was. A wrong move could bring it all down.

A fresh wave of smoke irritated your nose and you coughed weakly. From far away, you heard the muffled sound of a woman saying your rank and last name.

"Here," you choked out. "I'm here."

A blue light shimmered a few feet away, the lower half of a blue-tinted woman, her upper body phased through the rubble. Then she shrank until she fit the space, adjusting like a camera lens. A hologram.

She repeated your rank and last name. "We have your location," she said, your damaged hearing distorting her voice. "Sit tight, a rescue crew is on their way."

You tried to respond but the smoke triggered more coughing, so you nodded.

"I'll stay with you for as long as the holo-emiter holds," she said, gesturing towards the ruined wall panel that continued to spark.

"Thank you," you managed to say. "Casualties?"

She glanced up and away as if receiving new information. "Reports coming in of injuries but no fatalities. Your alert gave enough time for almost everyone to get clear."

"Good." You made yourself slow your breathing down, taking shallow breaths since you couldn't take deeper ones. For a moment, your head swam and it felt like the floor tipped. Your fingers scratched for a hold on the crumpled metal.

The sound of your rank and name cut through the terror. "You're all right," the woman assured you. "You're not falling. Try to stay still. Silver Team will be back on site in a few more minutes. John will be here soon."

It gave you something to focus on other than bring trapped. The way she knew that the mention of John would comfort you, that she didn't call him Master Chief like most people did, even the mannerism of how she'd looked away, like someone was speaking in her ear...

"Your name wouldn't be Ms. Classified, would it?" you asked haltingly and tried to smile.

"That's... not inaccurate," she said and maybe it was your blurry vision but you could've sworn she gave you a fond smile, like she knew you. "I'm not supposed to tell my name."

You tried to say it was all right but couldn't draw enough breath.

"Ah, screw it," she said. "What are they going to do, fire me? My name is Cortana."

You must've blacked out because the next thing you knew, she was kneeling next to you, her small holographic hand resting atop your outstretched arm as she repeated your rank and name.

If you could get a breath, you needed a good, solid breath. Your chest instinctively fought to expand but couldn't beneath the pressure bearing down on your back. Something above you slid and the pressure abruptly worsened. You clawed, you fought, you struggled to breathe. To live.

"John, get here now! The support beam is failing!"

"Not his fault," you tried to say. "Tell him. Not his--"

Metal screamed and everything went dark.

You woke, grasping at nothing. You still couldn't get a deep breath but this time you were on your back and it felt like someone had laced a corset brutally tight around you.

"Easy there. You're all right," said a deep voice.

Your vision swam and then Spartan Vannak-134 appeared out from the dim lighting. You were still clawing at the air, trying to sit up, and he caught your hand a little awkwardly in his much larger ones.

"Where?" you gasped.

"You're back on Reach, in medical."

Once he said it, details emerged like a black and white picture filling in with color: the beeps of the monitors, the distinctive antiseptic smell. Your hearing was still deadened but not as much as before, meaning they had already begun healing therapies on your eardrums.

Anything you might've wanted to say dissolved like sugar on your tongue before the words could be spoken. Your head seemed too full. I'm drugged, you thought and that was the last thing you knew for a while.

Voices drew you from the murky depths and you tried to open your eyes but couldn't.

"Hold her hand," Vannak said in a quiet rumble. "She likes that."

A new hand gently folded around yours and your fingers instinctively gripped hold.

You woke, feeling the phantom press of metal bearing down on you, forcing the air from your lungs. You tried to sit up, your limbs flailed, uncoordinated and leaden. A second hand closed around yours and a feminine voice began to softly sing, a lullaby in a language you didn't recognize.

The room was blurry but you caught a glimpse of red hair -- Spartan Riz-028. You went under once more, dreaming of music that soothed your fears.

Later, there was a new voice to lure you up from the sticky darkness.

"Poor little thing. She looks so small."

"She'll heal. Hold her hand, it helps."

At some point, you jolted awake to find your hand cradled carefully within Kai's.

"Hey," she said, sitting up straighter in the chair next to the bed. "You need anything?"

Your head felt less stuffed with cotton than before but now that cotton seemed to have been transferred to your mouth. "Water?" you croaked.

She jumped up and returned shortly, carrying a cup with a straw in it. You intended to sit up but a searing pain in your ribs immediately convinced you that was a bad idea and you let her help you by holding the straw to your lips.

"Slowly," she advised.

Once you'd taken a couple of sips, you mumbled your thanks then promptly passed out.

You thought you'd closed your eyes for a brief moment but when they fluttered open, it wasn't Kai sitting in the chair, holding your hand.

As soon as John knew you were awake, he was on his feet, carefully brushing the fingertips of his free hand along the curve of your cheek.

You mouthed his name.

"Rest," he said. "I'm here. You're safe."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you truly felt as if you were. Your mind let go.

"And how's our favorite mech, the Hero of the Pit?"

"That's not a very heroic name," you confessed, smiling as Maria and then Jamie entered medical.

You were sitting on the side of the bed in generic gray scrubs, waiting for Dr. Savannah to give you final instructions before your release. It had been two days since the explosion. Your hearing had, thankfully, returned to normal. The rest of you... not so much but you were on the mend.

They both gave you careful hugs.

"You look a lot less like you were squashed by a building," Jamie said sincerely and Maria punched his arm. "Hey, that was a compliment!"

"Don't make me laugh," you begged, holding your left side. They'd fused your broken ribs back together but the tissue damage would take longer to resolve. Still, aches, pains, limited motion and all, you knew you were very lucky.

"I hope they're giving you a nice vacation, at least," Maria went on.

"I should be ready for light duty in a week."

"Technically, I said we'd evaluate you for light duty in a week," Dr. Savannah corrected as she entered. "Afraid your friends will have to catch up with you later."

They said their goodbyes and, as they left, you started to stand. The doctor quickly said, "No, you don't. I don't want you walking on that leg."

"It's not broken," you argued.

"Not anymore," she countered. "Stay put. I got you a ride."

"I don't need to be wheeled back to the barracks." You tried to keep your tone confident but the truth was even that little bit of exertion had left you feeling twinges all along your left leg. Your left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat.

"Well, good thing you're wrong on both counts," she said, winking. "And here he is now."

John came through the door, dressed in his undersuit as if either about to head to the Brokkr stations to have his Mjolnir mounted up or returning from having it removed. You didn't even realize you'd moved to rise again until Dr. Savannah put a practiced hand on your good shoulder to keep you down.

"I'll be sending PT to you twice a day, starting tomorrow," she said. "They'll help you to get your strength and mobility back. Around that, rest. Catch up on your reading, watch some thoroughly trashy movies, and keep your feet up. Not too far up, though. Nothing too strenuous. Make him do all of the work."

That got you to look at her and she waggled her eyebrows.

John cleared his throat slightly, a faint but definite flush creeping up from his collar. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right, see you back in a few days, sooner if anything else develops. You know what to watch for."

It wasn't until she stepped back and John approached that it clicked.

"You're going to carry me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated in a murmur that shivered straight down your spine.

Since your left side had taken the brunt of the damage, he put your right to his chest and cautiously picked you up in a bridal carry. Despite the care, being moved set a thousand things to hurting and your breath hitched as he straightened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, your tone tighter than you would've liked. You thought, I hope nobody sees me being toted around like this, but, as soon as you left medical, you realized that no one was actually looking at you.

I think if Master Chief offered to drop me and pick up any marine, ODST or officer in this hall, they'd be hopping into his arms before I even hit the floor!

At the first turn he made, you realized the rest of it. "This isn't the way to the barracks."

"Nope," he said and you knew him well enough now to see the hint of a smile in his eyes.

You didn't have to wait for further clues, there was only one place, then, that he could be taking you. "How many strings did you have to pull for this?"

"Not as many as you might think," he demurred. "Your actions saved lives."

And they could've blamed you for failing to make sure a bomb hadn't been sent to the Pit in the first place. The curly tailed Warthog had been your responsibility, after all. You'd been curtly informed of all that when they'd debriefed you the first day you'd had your eyes open for more than 15 minutes.

You doubted they'd told that to John, though.

When you reached his room, he maneuvered so to get his thumb on the panel without jostling you too much. The lights came on as he took you through the doorway and then he paused.

"Kai," he rumbled, shaking his head. "She said studies show people heal better with color. I should've known she'd overdo it. Say the word and I'll have her in here clearing this out."

"It's your room," you said, "but personally, I love it."

The duvet on the bed and the pillows on the couch were now a rainbow of jewel tones. A tapestry with a field of sunflowers dominated the wall at the foot of the bed and you could've sworn there was a dusting of diamond glitter shimmering on every wall, sending tiny holographic rainbows through the air in all directions. But the main thing that caught your attention was overhead.

"She put up stars," you said, brightening.

"Ah, that one was actually me," he confessed. "You seemed to really like those in her room so I thought..."

You stretched up in his arms, inhaling a little sharply at the stab of pain in your left side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love them, John. Thank you."

A short time later, you found yourself lying on the bed in the darkened room, looking up at those stars. John had profusely apologized for not being able to stay after getting you settled in. He'd turned down the bed so you wouldn't have to, had put your padd close at hand on the nightstand to the right along with a bottle of water and a couple of emergency ration packs in case you got hungry before someone bought you a meal. He'd even procured you a set of unthinkably soft civvies to change into, exactly your size and in your favorite color.

You couldn't imagine that a Spartan had ever taken care of a sick or wounded person before, other than in a battlefield triage situation, so he'd probably found a checklist from somewhere to guide him. His earnestness to make sure he'd done everything right sent warmth flooding through you.

Before he left, he'd paused to kiss the top of your head.

"You know," you said, lifting your chin, "my lips aren't broken."

He hesitated. "The last time I did that, an entire base fell on you."

"Only the warehouse part," you said dismissively, "and there was absolutely no correlation, I promise."

He tried to smile at that but his eyes still showed concern.

"I promise," you repeated more seriously and he exhaled as if about to make a tremendous leap. His kiss was so soft and gentle, it was barely more than a whisper against your mouth.

Once he had left, you'd considered taking Dr. Savannah's advice and watching a holo, reading something on your padd, or doing any number of things to pass the time but ultimately, you'd wanted to appreciate his handiwork.

After all, it wasn't just anybody who could say a Spartan had literally hung the stars for them.

#halo #halo the series #halo paramount+#master chief x reader #x reader #john-117 x reader #fic: 15 minutes #series: how to date a spartan without even trying #ageless aislynn #aislynn's fics #aislynn's fic

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sundogsandrainbows · 16 days ago

Note

Hi, I'm sorry to write to you out of the blue, but Of Elves and Humans was the first DA longfic that got me hooked back in 2011 when I, as a dumb teen, happened to pick up DAO. Ever since then, the DA universe has been a constant fixation of mine and my admiration for you as a writer as well as someone who isn’t afraid to call out the franchise's flaws has never wavered. Now that Bioware decided to take a massive shit on everything pre-DAV and their oldest fans specifically, I'm really devastated and feel like a fool for having been so invested in DA and its lore for those past 13 years. It’s incredibly encouraging, however, to see you keep on keeping on. "So since they spat in my face like this I ignore this atrocity of a game even exists" is where I hope to be at soon, too. Thank you.

(First of all apologies for the late reply, I put it in my drafts when i was too tired to complete it, and then my adhd brain forgot it existed due to being distracted by new shinies 😂☠)

But aww omg i cannot believe i was the gateway drug into dragon age, or rather the old version of my story on FFN was. I am so very honored <3 And nonnie, I feel you. I am invested in DA as a series since DA:O's release in 2009, like I bought it on a whim for XBox because I liked Mass Effect 1 sm. So that is 15 yrs of my life i spent loving and discussing a thing while still being critical of the thing, but now i feel so very protective of the world, lore and its characters that "New Bioware" has decided to take a massive dump of shit on, and not only the games but the old fans I feel are treated with disdain too and do not matter to them any longer.

Long, subjective rant about current bioware aka the shambling corpse of its former self and talent incoming. Spoilers for Veilguard bc i don't give a fuck to avoid them :D You (general you, not you in particular dearest nonny <3) should use your time better than to play this shit anyhow 😂

It feels like calculated malice of new Bioware to apply the scorched earth tactics to offscreen destroy everything that old fans and fans of the other games in general held dear, and was supposed to suck out the enjoyment of DAO, DA2 and DAI. Like it is obvious they plan to create a sequel on DA's scorched bones, but jfc, you can do so story-wise without spitting everyone loving what old bioware has built in the face after dropkicking them. But to me that is part of the problem, since if i remember correctly and i wish i could find the bit... they praised Veilguard as "The best Dragon Age game ever", with the most interesting companions and best most improved combat system, comparing it to the other three games in a near smug fashion. There is marketing and there is putting the other games down to prop up your most favorite and only child mattering and they were definitely doing the latter. And don't get me started on the whole "Who is Zevran" debacle or we are gonna here all day.

Bottom line is new/current devs and writer do not give a shit about and very possibly have never played any other game than Inquisition, and you cannot tell me otherwise. And since a lot of devs/writer have left since the start of this project that would become this abysmal game, I also have the impression that there is a lot of underlying resentment toward what these former colleagues have created and so they piss on it in order to make it fully theirs now. Like dogs marking their territory, and well that did not work out, imo. At all.

Ever since they announced respecting our past choices by ignoring them (????) it was clear to me that I would not play Veilguard but just watch a playthrough and all spoilers and then move on. And everything i saw before release was shocking... like i was flabbergasted at how baaaad the dialogue was, which as a writer myself is super important to me in my story. There was no subtext, characters just blurt out everything they think and feel, like a lifeless doll you squeeze and words tumbling out and just as natural. It is stilted, awkward and 80% of it exists for info dump or info dumb rather as they keep repeating the same shit they just told you a few seconds ago as if you as the player are braindead. Here is a good example of what i mean.

Jfc, who edited this crap? There is so much superfluous dialogue that adds nothing to a scene but annoyance for the player and says nothing at all. Just pure senseless yapping in the most cringy way. Why was no one there to trim this nonsense as you should as a writer/editor? Hell, they really disregarded every simple and basic writing rule (everything is told never SHOWN for example especially in dialogue) which really made me question their competence in what they were doing and thus the quality of the upcoming game but i still held out hope for it to not be that bad.

Well shit, it was even worse. In all regards. Especially the writing that cringed this writer into a new dimension with its incoherent incompetence. Jfc. they got paid for that? I'm convinced the majority of fandom writer can do much better, even unpaid. Hell my cat just by walking over the keyboard can manage a better draft and script...💀

But I digress. That is a rant for another time. Point is, nonny, despite my defiant words, I struggled too for days after i got to know the full extent of Bioware's spiteful fuckery to even look at anything da related, in my case my Alistair/Mahariel longfic. I was really down for a few days, ngl. Then again, there is nothing better than spite fueling my creativity to prove "i can write better" soooo in the end and with the help of the much better first version of DA4 in the artbook, I was able to exorcise the demons and feverdream-mindfuck of mediocrity sold to me as a turd with gold-glitter that is this game.

I have successfully now rejected its existence, filled the void with the version that should have been from the artbook and vowed to give no fucks what bioware is doing or saying and infinitely more fucks when writing my own version of thedas and the version of DA4 that should be. REWRITES BBY hell yeah. So OEAH:R is just the beginning of a verse-wise rewrite. But if you need a pick me up, nonny, you are very much welcome to take a trip down memory lane to Dragon 9:30 and see how much this iteration of the story differs from my first one back in the days. Because in this house of mine, we grow and learn as writers, unlike bioware where writer ego reigns surpreme (oh boy and does it ever show in VG) aka eating their own turds and tell themselves it is the finest chocolate 💀

There is still a lot of good about DA out there, but we have to accept it does not come from Bioware any longer. Instead it came, comes and will come from the fans and creators of art and texts and words defying their bullshit with their love and respect for the world, its lore and characters. Also very unlike Bioware.

As we should <3

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chirp-a-chirp · 5 days ago

Text

Flickering Light

Fandom: Ikemen Prince • Character Pairing: Leon Dompteur X OC (OC Named Carla) • Other Characters: Gilbert Von Obsidian, Chevalier Michel • Tags: Established Relationship; Angst; Hurt and Comfort; Angst and Feels; Memory Flashbacks (if stories featuring physical fights/abuse trigger you, don’t read); PTSD; references of slavery and refugees; Leon route spoilers • Word Count: ~2950

Synopsis: The Sunshine prince battles darkness in Obsidian with the help of his fiancé Carla. A crumbling tower triggers childhood flashbacks for Leon he’s tried to forget.

Alternate Synopsis: With the amount of trauma associated with Leon’s childhood, coupled with an inability to discuss it out loud due to circumstance and *insert hero archetype tendencies to not easily admit weakness*, I’m convinced Leon would have some significant PTSD. And memories he’s suppressed. This is a story about how he might deal with that with a loved one.

Want to learn more about Carla and Leon? Check out these stores: Seeker and Simmer

Folks Who (Might?) Appreciate This Story: @reborn-elven-spirit @candied-boys @wistfulwanderingone @x-daedalus-x @ikeprinces-stuff @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @aide-falls @animehusbandharem @the-bird-and-the-flute @sh0jun @5mary5 @queengiuliettafirstlady @sonicsquid3000 @ikemenlibrary @eventinelysplayground @lorei-writes @dear-sciaphilia

…

“A rather bold request. I’d expect nothing less from his lioness.”

Leon’s arm wrapped protectively around Carla at Gilbert’s needling. She and Leon, along with Yves and King Chevalier, were in an audience room within the Obsidian Castle, serving in Rholodite’s delegation finalizing a cooperative agreement with the nation of soldiers and steel. Carla stared unblinkingly back at the world-wide disaster. “Not really. Rhodolite is about to enter a peace agreement with Obsidian. That agreement is with the country, not just you.”

“But I am Obsidian.” Gilbert tapped his ebony cane on the floor to emphasize his point. “And so are you, little cub. You’re as much Obsidian as the half-mast mongrel there.” Gilbert did not bother to contain his disdain of Yves, whose cheeks flushed irritably.

“Hey, leave my fiancé’s mother and Yves out of this. Your conversation is with me.” Leon shot a challenging glance at Gilbert. “And by the way, it’s Carla. My fiancé’s name is Carla. Not little cub.”

“Ah, so Rhodolite’s lion marks his territory.” The corner of Gilbert’s mouth quirked in amusement. “No need to roar at me.”

“I can’t really help it. She’s like the sun that I stand beneath.” Leon asserted with pride, the tension in the room lifting temporarily as he looked fondly at Carla. He turned back to Gilbert, his voice warm but with a firm edge. “So, of course I’m gonna have an opinion on how you speak with her.”

“She’d have to stand on a pretty large chair to stand beneath her. Heehee.” Yves bristled at Gilbert’s words. Carla squeezed Leon’s hand reassuringly, refusing to appear ruffled.

“Our agreement allows Rhodolite to visit medical and military facilities. I don’t see how Leon and I touring your southern regions contradicts that agreement.” Carla was taking a risk in asking, but another opportunity to freely explore Obsidian—including areas near the underground network she led for refugees escaping into Rhodolite—would not happen again soon.

“Access goes through me. Paths to freedom are available because I allow them to be. Including those near the border.” A crimson eye narrowed slightly. “Things can always be worse. Networks…vanish.” Gilbert grinned, as if he hadn’t just hinted at knowing Carla’s secret.

Who does Rhodolite belong to—the people that live there, those that wish to live there, or both? That one question from Carla before they had become a couple had expanded Leon’s perspective. And without kingly trappings ensnaring him, Leon felt emboldened to lean into that perspective through unofficial channels. Including the underground network he now helped Carla maintain. The fact that Chevalier, who sat at a nearby table surrounded by paperwork, had not interrupted thus far gave tacit leeway for Leon to continue. “The agreement is between our peoples. As such, Carla and I should get to know your people. Including those outside the Castle. We can’t exactly do that cooped up here.”

“And what is more important? Me or the people?”

“The people.” Carla and Leon spoke in unison.

“A pair as pure as ever. I just might puke.” Gilbert smirked. “A pity you wear black Prince Leon. White suits you and the little cub—ahem, I mean Lady Carla—more. Certainly, more than him.” Gilbert inclined his head towards Chevalier. “I see why you two gravitate towards one another.”

“We are like candles, each lighting the other.” Carla’s voice softened for the first time since talking with Gilbert. Leon’s hand curled towards her waist, pulling her close. “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” Leon whispered.

“Ridiculous.” A deep sigh penetrated the air. “Can we get on with negotiations?” Chevalier lifted his eyes from the stack of papers.

“Your beastly king censures you.” Gilbert sneered, tossing a rolled-up piece of parchment in Leon’s direction. “Here’s the map of our southern lands. And passes granting permission to travel there. I’m sure you’re both eager to get going.”

“Just like that?” Leon lifted an eyebrow, catching the parchment.

“I have more fun things to play with here.” Gilbert gestured to Chevalier and Yves in poorly concealed amusement. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he offered a final comment to Leon. “But remember this: Obsidian is a land known for darkness—even the brightest candles can burn out from what they see.”

…

A week had passed since Carla and Leon’s meeting with Prince Gilbert. They were well-beyond the neat and orderly confines of the capital. Towns and villages were scattered across the increasingly barren landscape, with poorly maintained roads connecting them.

The pair traveled by foot on a dusty trail, a smattering of gnarled trees dotting one side of the trail. The path meandered over mostly open land, littered with dead brush and dry grasses matted down from perpetual wind. Carla opened the map as they trekked along, head buried in the folds of paper. With a sudden THUMP, Carla found herself walking straight into the broad back of Leon.

“Oomph!” Carla rubbed her nose and took a step back. She folded the map, placing it in her travel pack. “You OK?”

Leon stood silently in the middle of the trail, a solemn gravity emanating from him. His expression was faraway and dark.

“Is anyone there?”

A tiny hand reached towards the sky. Blistered fingers grasped at the emptiness around him before curling into his dirty palm. His hand fell to his side, brushing against the immoveable boulder he was tasked to transport to the Lord’s tower. The boy’s back flinched in anticipation of the abuse his handler would reap for not moving the rock in time.

“No,” the boy murmured. “Like that’s gonna happen.” A part of him wanted to scream, but why bother.

The boy’s world tumbled into darkness. He would always be lost. Trapped. Alone. A piercing voice broke his train of thought, causing him to whip his head around.

“Leon?!”

Warm fingers grasped Leon’s hand, squeezing tightly. The faded blur of that childhood memory scattered as Carla’s fingers twined with his, anchoring him to the present. The heavy, bleaker emotions associated with the memory lingered still—clear, distinct, and real.

Carla’s eyes followed Leon as he stared intensely at the horizon. In the distance stood a dilapidated tower, crumbling with age and decay. Several sections of the tower were missing, sooty stones tossed about the ground.

“That tower. I’ve…I’ve been there before.” Leon’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper that faded into the wind.

Carla’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. They were in a part of Obsidian neither had explored previously in their rescue missions. Most Rhodolite royalty had not been in Obsidian for non-war or espionage related activities for years. There was no way in which Leon could have been near this place before, unless…

Unless as a child. A slave. Carla’s eyes widened, comprehension dawning in rapid alarm. Leon’s hand Carla held became clammy, sticky with sweat. His jaw clenched, tightly ticking in a subconscious attempt to swallow the emotions burning inside. She turned her body, placing herself in front of Leon as if she could block the barrage of horrendous thoughts assaulting him.

“Leon? Leon!”

He did not hear her. Leon’s body stiffened, his free hand clinching the hem of his traveling cloak to the point that his knuckles turned white. The little boy in rags reaching towards the sky was a memory Leon’s heart refused to let go. It was an incomplete memory—one that had battered him inside for years even as he tried to shut it out. But with the tower in sight, Leon now recalled more. His eyes were distant, as if watching a scene only visible to him.

“BOY!”

His handler came rushing from the work site, face ruddy, shaking with fury. The workman did not call him by name. A name implied worth and meaning. The boy had none. The boy tried to fix an impassive mask on his features.

“I’m almost done. See? See!” The boy barely suppressed the rising warble in his voice.

Don’t show fear. Don’t show weakness. Don’t feel it. Don’t. Don’t.

The boy pushed with all his might against the boulder, his shoulders and back scraping painfully against hardened jagged edges. The rock, as if mocking him, moved a scant few inches forward before lurching back to its original spot.

“I see.” His handler rasped, eyes gleaming. “I see a need for motivation.” A massive fist came barreling from the sky.

Don’t cry out. That’ll make things worse. So, so much worse.

The boy crouched in a ball, hands covering his face in a feeble attempt to block the blow.

“Leon! Talk to me. Please.”

Carla’s voice was distant, echoing in the far reaches of Leon’s mind. Leon was crouched up against a tree, one of his hands gripping the roots of his hair. Where was he? How did he get here? He shrank into a tighter coil, bracing against an invisible threat. Leon’s golden eyes were dilated, nearly replaced with orbs of black.

“We walked away from the tower. You’re on the outskirts of a nearby forest. You’re safe.” With difficulty, Carla got Leon to a sitting position on the ground, his back leaning against the tree. His shoulders remained hunched, as if trying to make himself a smaller target.

This…this was not her Leon. Present Leon Carla corrected to herself. The charismatic hero with a ready smile carried hidden darkness that dwelled deep in his mind. She had seen similar scenes play out before with others she had rescued from Obsidian. The most innocuous objects—teapots, riding crops, a lady’s red hat—could induce terror, pull people into harrowing pasts. Carla mentally added crumbling towers to clear blue skies, raw hide whips, and the smell of pine bark as triggers for Leon.

Carla lowered herself so that she straddled Leon’s lap, her eyes the same level as his. Carla’s hands framed both sides of his face, stilling his movements so that all Leon saw was her. Leon blinked repeatedly, his shallow breathing eventually slowing, his glazed stare re-centering towards his beloved.

“Carla…”

Her name fell from his lips, half despair, half hope. Not wanting to sink deeper into darkness, Leon reached out and crushed Carla to him. He wanted to drown in her, soak into her being. His hands grasped at her curves, seeking comfort and safety.

Trauma. It was more visible to Carla than usual. Leon’s anguish was painful to witness. Leon claimed he felt nothing when he reflected on his pre-palace childhood. But Carla had never truly believed he was as numb to those experiences as he acted. His eyes had always clouded over, shadows flickering, with each person she and he helped through their underground network. Especially children. The mightier the hero, the greater the fall. Carla’s eyes watered as she sniffled loudly. Leon stopped his movements, his eyes widening at her expression.

“Leon…” She pressed her lips against his shoulder, caressing a scar so faded it was nearly invisible. Her hands grazed the contours of his upper back, fingers tracing muscles previously lanced with marks of a whip. “I’m here sweetheart.”

Emotions beyond language’s ability to express them filled Leon as he clung to her. Carla could feel the thrum of Leon’s pulse against her skin, her lips connected to him in an act as spiritual as it was physical. Her presence was life giving—to the prince he was now and the boy he was then. Carla sighed softly and leaned slightly back. She wrapped her fingers through Leon’s wind-blown locks, attempting to coax him. “Do you want to talk?”

“Of course. It’s you.”

There was sincerity in Leon’s words. “Don’t worry about me. I was just thinking earlier. That’s all.” His voice was casual, nearly dismissive. Dismissive of himself and the need to unburden his mind.

“I’m your fiancé. It’s my job to worry about you. You don’t do it enough yourself.”

The rebuttal that flitted to Leon’s lips vanished under the directness of her gaze. His eyes wavered with emotion. “I’m sorr—”

“If you say I’m sorry for the gift of knowing you—ALL of you—I’m going to have words.” Carla’s vivid blue eyes pierced straight into his soul. A wounded soul that did not know whether it was safe to reveal itself yet. “Your heart cries out even if your eyes don’t.”

Don’t cry out. It’ll be over soon.

The boy uttered not a sound, even as clinched fists and hardened boots collided against his arms and aching ribs. His handler had done this before. He knew it would happen again.

Nothing. He willed himself to feel nothing.

“You hold back. Stop carrying that weight. Let it out.” Leon flinched reflexively as fingers grazed his ribs. But these touches were light, soothing, did not batter and bash. They lingered on him, as if trying to lance away the pain he held onto.

Pain. He learned to live with it. Numbness and resilience intersecting into a blur. A blur that had him drowning on dry land. But now he sought air.

Leon let out a shaky breath. “I…I was here.” Another breath. “I looked at the sky. I couldn’t move a rock.” Another breath. “And then…fists came down.”

Love—an emotion so sweet yet fragile. Something to protect and be protective over. Driven by the force of that emotion, Carla threw her arms around Leon, cradling his head to her as he shook uncontrollably.

He felt everything. Everything he had suppressed most of his life. Words tumbled out of him, nightmarish memories crowding his mind as rapid fire as fists from the sky.

“Please. Please. PLEASE. STOP!”

He screamed—for all the times he had not.

“STOP!” Leon screamed repeatedly into Carla’s shoulder, raw, sharply piercing. The roar of a wounded beast and a terrified boy tangled into one. Leon winced repeatedly, as if struck by repeated blows. Carla curled herself around him, clinging tightly over him, her body shielding him from his handler, the looming tower, everything. He shuddered for what seemed like an eternity, gasping for breath, voice cracking. “STOP…stop…please.”

And then, startling silence.

The boy laid down in the mud. The air was empty, devoid of the faintest warmth. The taste of iron trickled down his cheek from a gash near his temple. His handler was gone, having made his point.

Ache. His body ached. His heart throbbed, whether with pain or resignation he did not know. A loneliness surrounded him that ached even more.

Another slave, trained in rudimentary medics, eventually came by to treat the boy’s wounds. The boy remained face down in the mud, barely moving.

“Some people scream so loud anyone can hear’em. Wail like babies even.” A glob of ointment, thick and gloopy, was roughly rubbed on the boy’s shoulders. “You kid? You scream in silence.”

To know another’s pain, to be allowed to see it and witness its vulnerability was a humbling experience. The air was still, as if recognizing the significance of the moment.

“It’s not OK what happened to you. All of it.”

A painful pressure squeezed the breath from Leon’s lungs and then released at Carla’s words. He had never heard that—an acknowledgement of what he went through, the wrongness of it all. His brothers now knew of his past, but it was never spoken of—a buried truth, an unofficial price for maintaining his status as fourth prince. The silence of it all was too much.

The boy was too tired to scream.

And yet. A faint flicker within his heart refused to die out.

He lifted his head from the mud.

“If I were in trouble, what would you do?” The words were barely audible, mumbled into Carla’s shoulder. Leon slowly raised his head. I don’t need fixing his golden eyes seemed to plead; I need…I need…

“I’d help you.”

Understanding. “Regardless of who I am?” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but the words escaped him.

“I love you. All of you: past and present; pauper and prince; perfect and pained.” Her voice flowed with understanding and affection. “You speak as if the boy you were before should be gone, forever erased. The echo of him remains, buried inside, guiding you. And I am grateful that boy is still there wanting to be seen and heard.”

Carla cupped a hand to Leon’s cheek, gently encouraging him to look at her. “That boy has made you who you are. You are a man who has witnessed darkness but carries light for Rhodolite. You have walked out of fire but come back with water for those that are still in flames, seeking help within our underground network. You show compassion because that boy knows what is like to have had none.”

Her words seeped into his being. Love touched every fractured piece of Leon, mending him back together. “So yes, I’d help you. Because I adore you. And because you’ve looked pain in the eye, and you’ve stared back with love—love for your country, your brothers, your people.”

“And you.” Leon was filled with searing warmth. “Especially you. More than anything.” Amber eyes radiated hope again.

“I would hope so, considering we’re engaged.” Carla smiled slightly.

His heart squeezed at her teasing words. “You move me so much Carla, it’s almost absurd.” He clasped her to his chest, squeezing tight. “Thank you.”

A hand reached for the sky.

Is anyone there?

“You’re not alone.” Carla’s hand was steady as Leon reached for it. Her fingers grasped his, twining together. An unspoken promise to never let go.

“We are candles, each lighting the other.” Carla repeated the words she had spoken to Gilbert. “And I will light your way through the dark.”

#ikemen prince #ikemen prince leon #ikemen prince gilbert #ikemen prince chevalier #otome fanfic #angst and hurt/comfort #angst and feels #fanfic #my ocs #Oh good another story that took me a long time to post because I cried while writing it.

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