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burning-omen · 23 days ago

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Happy (Belated) Halloween!

Jason Todd x Demon!male!reader

(A/n: I'm tired, I've been getting argued at and pulled into fights that have nothing to do with me from the time I woke up- had a bunch of chores and shit to do and the fucking grocery store was packed and people keep bumping into me and all the fucking prices went way up since the last time I was there less than a month ago- I'm thoroughly overstimulated and getting home to edit and rewrite certain parts of this shitty little fic was a probably the best part of my day.)

Warning: crack fic kinda, blood, Demon!reader, murder, mutilation, and gore, summoning gone right technically, reader has TWO dicks, size difference, overstimulation, masochism, probably misspellings idk I'm not reading it again that's your job, dom/sub, ownership marking, sacrifice (rip that guy, ive been calling him marvin in my head), going missing for a lil while (consensually), OOC jason todd but this is literally porn who cares

word count: 1981 (short, i know, shut up/j)

Halloween parties were the worst. If the loud, drunk, half-naked crowd wasn’t enough to convince Jason, walking in on an honest to god seance was.

Being dragged to a party by Dick, only to lose him in the crowd of people within the first few minutes. He just wanted some quiet- and under the guise of looking for how brother he managed to avoid nearly every conversation that came his way- except for some incomprehensible drunk girl who insisted on holding a conversation with his even though she sounded like she was under water every time she opened her mouth.

He eventually managed to escape from her, finding the nearest room to recuperate in, only to be greeted by a room of chanting, drunk party-goers, kneeling around a shakily drawn yet intricate summoning circle. The chant was Latin- super old Latin- and Jason really wanted no part in this. He knew that demons were real, he knew a lot of shit that was supposedly fake was real- he had Batman to thank for that. So, after standing in the room for about 30 seconds, he decided to leave.

Turning on his heel, not saying a word to whatever party cult he just walked in on- deadset on leaving when he heard choking, and gasps from the mini cult as they clamored around the chanter who had suddenly collapsed.

Taking in a deep breath, cursing Bruce and the unwavering need to help he instilled in all of his children, before turning back to the group.

Laying, choking in the middle of the circle was a young man-

‘He’s drunk,’ Jason thought, pushing through the group surrounding him, their concern was nice- but unhelpful ‘probably choked on his tongue.’

Tilting his head back, the choking became louder- tears streamed down his face, his mouth agape as he clawed at his throat- his eyes desperate and afraid.

“It’s okay,” Jason tried, but he wasn’t exactly known for his bedside manner. “Just let me look.”

He peered down the man's throat- his tongue was wear it was supposed to be, but blood still filled the man’s mouth. Clearly whatever was happening here was internal, there's nothing Jason could do for him. Before he could ask anyone to call an ambulance- he saw something move at the very back of his throat. Even through the pooling blood, he could tell something wasn’t right- what the hell did he swallow?

His neck bulged as something made its way up- that was good- maybe. Slowly pushing up- whatever it was- caused the man to cry out in pain. He coughed and sputtered as it moved up and up until it pushed past the muscles of his throat and out of his mouth. A hand, clawed- drenched in blood, moving with so much force that a crack sounded through the room as more and more of the form inside him- whatever it was- came out. Breaking his jaw to finally reach out and grab his face- he cried out as pain and panic filled him- he turned to Jason for help as his friends fled but there wasn’t anything Jason could do but sit there in horror as an arm lifted from his broken and mutilated face- he cheeks tearing in as his mouth opened to unnatural length.

The bloody arm clawed at the floor, sharp talon like nails leaving deep wounds in the wood. Jason backed away- fear as well as guilt taking over. The basic instinct that anyone who had even taken the moniker “Robin” knew took over soon after, he needs to call batman- he couldn’t handle whatever this is, not on his own. He reached for his phone right as the candle lit room suddenly went dark. Jason, usually so strong and sure, didn’t know what to do. His communicator clattered to the floor as he stood.

He swore quietly- backing up until he was pressed against the wall- the sound of flesh tearing filled the room- still hot blood splattered across his face.

A soft growl came from the dark, deep and steady and growing closer by the second. Then,as if they had never been out, the candles were re-lit.

A massive beastly thing stood above him, horned and winged- a long tail trailing behind it. Soaked in the blood of the man that was scattered in chunks around the room. Despite knowing that he should definitely be afraid, a man had been ripped from the inside out right in front of him, something somewhere in his mind was saying, “would”. The thought immediately made him cringe at himself- he could not survive that- not only were you massive, you were also very naked. With not one but two just as massive, heavy cocks resting between your legs. He’d die, simply put, torn in half Terrifier style.

“Scared, human?” You asked, voice just as inhuman as your form.

Suddenly unable to find his words, Jason shook his head.

The action made you purr- something was so wrong with this man, not running or screaming, but instead sitting before you, his eyes wandering over your body, face reddened as his heart pounded in his chest.

He didn’t even attempt to move when you reached for him, his breath caught in his throat, but he remained perfectly still as you stroked his hair, then ran the backside of your claws down his cheek. All the way down to his chest, pressing just the tip of your claw in, watching as his shirt quickly became stained with blood.

“Not scared? How brave of you, human. “ You mused, “I require sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” he barely managed.

Trailing your claw lower and lower until the point of it rested over the growing bulge in his pants.

“A sacrifice of life is usually offered.” You pressed down, “But, another kind of offering will suffice.”

Jason breathed out- he can’t. Mentally, he could- he’s done all kinds of weird shit, fucking a demon wouldn’t even come close to the worse things he done- it doesn’t even reach top ten with the rest of his family’s track record for weird shit. But physically, that would kill him. One alone would shatter his pelvis and probably paralyze him- two would just straight up kill him. And you really didn’t seem like the kind of demon to go half way- you did come all the way from hell after all.

The obvious thing to do was to say no and call a fucking exorcist- but Jason didn’t do that, instead he speaks, so sure and steady as he spoke-

“Can you shrink?”

The entirety of your form became, your horns no longer scraped the ceiling, but you were still massive above Jason. You didn’t make it easy for him- pressing him into the floor with one clawed hand gripping his hair tightly, knees pressed into the hard wood and legs spread wide open, his cock- which you decided needed to remain untouched for the “sacrifice” to be valid.

Labored breathing, gasping and all encompassing sobs filled the room as both of your cock stretched him to the limit every time you thrusted into him- his nearly blunt nails leaving marks in the wooden floor below him.

With his mouth hanging wide open- he begged- muttering a broken “Please-’’ between moans-

You leaned down, pulling him up by his hair- resting inside him before speaking.

“You want more, human?”

Eyes brimmed with tears, feeling far fuller than felt natural- but so good and warm at the exact same time- deep in his stomach all the down to the very tips of his toes, every nerve so very alive.

He nods, shortly and without hesitation.

You grip on his hair loosens, and he sighs in relief as the burning pain in his scalp stops.

Only to flair up in his hips as you dig your claws into them, literally. Piercing through skin and drawing blood that slid over his skin and pooled beneath him on the floor. Jason, ever the masochist, only gets louder. With the party outside still raging on, you're sure the sound blended into the background- and any attendee lucky enough to have heard the high, whiny moans was listening far too hard.

Thrusting became painful, hard slamming- both cocks abusing his prostate with unnatural accuracy. Pulling out until the tips of your cock were just barely inside of him- then pressing back in so hard his entire body was pushed forward.

Jason’s mind was loud and incoherent - incomplete thoughts running through his head, cut short by either pain or pleasure every single time.

His body spammed unwillingly, muscles tightening and releasing, his hole tightened around you in an attempt to suck you in more- even if more would cause so so many problems for the man.

“So greedy,” you hummed in his ear, and you take cock so well.”

He didn’t respond, he couldn’t, overwhelmed and obsessed with the feeling. His orgasm- the first of many snuck up on him, his body overstimulated and oversensitive as hot, white cum shot straight onto the floor.

He gasped for air as though he’d been held under water- his body burned as he clenched around you- pleasure gone- replaced by what could only be described as fire destroying him from the inside out. He cried out in pain, his body writhes and contorts- and yet he never asks you to stop.

You grinned, “so cute, I might just have to keep you, human.”

You weren’t far behind him, cum seeping from both of your tips as you buried yourself deep inside him- it only added to the burning. Filling him so much until his hole, still plugged with your cock, leaks it back out. Down his legs and onto the floor, mixing with his own puddle of cum. You watched him for a long moment, letting him grit his teeth and cry at the pain, before showing your newest pet a bit of mercy and pulling out.

His body slouched onto the floor the moment you leg go. Jason was on the verge of passing out, eyes barely open, covered in blood, sweat, and cum. He has a high pain tolerance and his stamina was through the roof- but fucking hell he was so tired, and everything hurt, from his over used knees, to his damn near broken hole, and the small wounds your claws had made- coupled with an over bearing overstimulation making everything ten times worse- Jason, without question, was never doing this again.

—--- A couple weeks later—---

Dick realized that Jason wasn’t a party person, but for him to just disappear (and possibly kill someone at the party??? What the hell Jay???) for weeks seemed to be a bit of an overreaction.

But when he walked into the manor, happy as can be, after just being gone for three weeks, Dick knew something was very wrong- or very unusual- was happening.

“I had a date.” Was Jason’s only response, as he leaned heavily against the back of a chair, but never actually sat down in it.

“A date?!” Dick is so glad he questioned him in private. “With who?”

Jason shrugged, “met a guy at the party.”

“Jason you just dropped off of the face of the Earth with some guy for nearly a month?!”

Dick didn’t realize how literal that was- Hell has some pretty nice residential areas, it turns out.

“I was having fun.”

Jason, of course, was never going to tell Dick what he has really been doing- or what he will continue to be doing for the foreseeable future- but it was fun watching him freak out at every vague answer he gave.

The mark (brand?? Tattoo??) on his back still felt weird, sensitive from its spot hidden under his clothes, but how else would other demon, humans, and every other sentient being know that he was yours.

(a/n 2: AND I KNOW ITS LATE BUT I STILL FINISHED IT WITHIN A REASONABLE TIME SO EVERYBODY SHUT UP/j)

#good night party people #x male reader #male reader #male!reader #x male!reader #top male reader #top!male!reader #reader insert #jason todd x reader #jason todd x male reader #jason todd x male!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #cinnamon #THIS IS MY FANFIC AND I WILL VENT IN THE A/N IF I WANT TO

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aluciahaz · 9 months ago

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Sub Adam smut pleasepleasepleaspelalslePLEASEPLEASE i NEED that dickhead to be put in his place I am BEGGING (fem reader<3)

my favorite genre is putting adam in his place 🤝 also how do writers make text yellow on mobile all i could find was orange 💀

know your place

— adam x f!reader

—includes : pegging, crying, begging, bondage, edging, bottom!adam, dom!fem reader

he’s pathetic.

adam, the first man, seemed more like an annoying bird than an angel as he kept boasting about his status and yapping about his dumb stories. how could someone so renowned as him be such a brat?

it was clear he needed some training.

and if no one was going to teach him on how to shut up, you’ll do it yourself.

“mfph—! mmmh!”

adam’s incomprehensible whines sounded better than any foolish joke he’d try and tell you.

his mouth was covered, his hands were bound, and his eyes were blinded with the fabric ripped off of his ostentatious clothes.

the tears stemming from his woeful desperation soaked into the makeshift blindfold, but still streamed down his face like a weak river. the way his mouth quivered around the spit-covered cloth was so pathetic that it was almost endearing.

almost.

if only he wasn’t such a dick all the time, maybe you’d have some more empathy.

his body is trembles as he arches his back again, a loud cry leaving his restrained mouth once more as you drive your strap inside of him, constantly hitting the spot that made him feel like he was in heaven. or well, another heaven.

the vibrator on his tip certainly was helping him feel like he was ascending too.

although, unfortunately for him, the cock ring stopped him from truly meeting god. or maybe lucifer, considering how sinful this all was.

his wings would flail beneath him like a caught dove, flapping and batting against the soft bedsheets every time he got close.

which of course, you’d follow it up by slowing down both the vibrator and your hips.

it made him wail every time, slamming the back of his head down onto the pillow as he begged for you to let him come.

but how would you know? you couldn’t hear any words coming from his mouth.

“i didn’t quite catch that, what did you say?”

“mphf—mm!! mh—hm—hmm!”

he couldn’t speak even if he didn’t have the fabric between his lips. his mind was thoroughly melted, swirling with only thoughts of you and the pleasure he was experiencing. there was no way he could possibly be coherent.

the night keeps going like this. adam, the self-proclaimed best playboy around heaven, getting absolutely ruined by a woman. his weary moans and frail keens fell onto deaf ears. his begging, simply incomprehensible as you show him how weak he was under your touch. he doesn’t know how long it’s been, but surely too long!

too bad you don’t think so.

later, you finally pull off the makeshift gag after what you deem is enough time for him to remember that he’s just a feeble man when it comes to you. that you were the one who truly had the power around here.

“PLEASE! please—please please oh, fuck please—!” his voice would fray as it got higher, drool slipping down his bottom lip as he pleaded.

“please what?”

“plea—please…ha, lemme cum—ngh!” he grits his teeth as you thrust particularly roughly, raising the speed of the vibrator as you do so. it drives him insane, your cruelty.

“no.”

you could only describe his sound as a guttural scream, crying for you, his true goddess, to let him cum. it reeks of desperation, his writhing, his now jumbled mess of begging, his now breaking spirit.

he’s yours, yours, yours.

he doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud.

“i’m sorry—i’m sorryi’msorryi’msorry—PLEASE!” he whines, hoping that you’d take mercy on someone like him.

and finally, you do.

you were a kind angel after all, unlike him.

you rip the blindfold off of him, welcomed with his perfectly debauched face before lifting his legs over your shoulders—he really was flexible!—and taking the cock ring off, reveling in his beautifully demolished state.

“what do you say?”

“THANK YOU! thankyouthankyooou—fuckfuck FUCK!” he sucked in a breath before a long drawn out cry tumbles past his cracking lips, and for once, you like what’s coming out of his mouth.

with your word, adam finds his release, falling from his already corrupted grace. his eyes roll back like he’s died once more, his body, once so animated and jumpy, now stiff for a brief second as he rides his high.

you grab his chin, forcing him to look at you with that glazed over look in his eyes. you don’t even know if he can see you, but the action alone made him groan weakly in response.

“know your place.” you say, releasing his chin.

adam, once so full of himself, nods in agreement, sniffling as he tries to stop his crying.

a lesson well done, you think.

sorry if the words get repetitive ive been having headaches the past few days 😭 ill pull out my thinking cap soon

tags— @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

#hazbin hotel #sub hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel dom reader #sub adam #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #dom reader #bottom adam

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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Green Snake, Red Lion (4)

[Slytherin • Aemond x Gryffindor • female]

[warnings: kissing, fluff, sexual tension]

[description: Aemond is a Chaser and captain of the Slytherin team. His biggest rival on the pitch from the Gryffindor team, turned to be his biggest fan, and he hates her with all of his heart. His hatred towards her slowly turns into something else, when she one day stands up for his sister, Helaena. This is slow burn love story.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond thought, as he walked out into the courtyard with her, that he had to pull himself together. He thought that if he just pounced on her and started messing with her dress he'd only scare her. He already treated her badly, and he didn't want her to think that he didn't respect her in that area as well.

They went out in silence, stopping by the cloisters, night around them. Solren looked at him and smiled warmly, worried.

"Are you feeling better? It's awfully stuffy in there." She said as she turned towards the entrance from which the music was still pounding.

Aemond watched as droplets of sweat glistened on her skin like tiny diamonds in the moonlight, shining, some of her strands stuck to her face, her cheeks and lips red and swollen with exertion.

He felt his manhood throbbing in his pants again and cursed mentally, squeezed his eye shut, turned his head away.

He realized after a moment that he hadn't responded to her words, and an awkward silence fell between them. He looked at her and met the warm gaze of her large eyes, looking at him with tenderness that made his heart clench.

He thought that it was unbearable.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked the question faster than he could think, speaking low, his voice quivering slightly as if he were impatient.

She blinked in surprise as if she didn't understand his question, playing with her fingers. She swallowed softly, looking down at her hands. This time she didn't answer for a long moment.

"If you want me to stop, just say so." She finally whispered softly.

He felt his throat tighten at the depressed, sad tone of her voice. He thought that he made her think that he despised her, and only started talking to her because he felt sorry for her after her accident. He didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything.

He froze when he saw her start crying. She didn't make a sound, she just started shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks, her lips pressed together so hard as if she wanted to stop, but she couldn't.

He opened his mouth, staring blankly at the scene, completely unnerved. He didn't understand why she was crying, what he had done to make her suddenly like this. It completely shut him up.

She wanted to turn around and walk back to the hall, embarrassed that she had started making a scene of drama in front of him, but he grabbed her arm, surprised by his own, unexpected gesture.

She stared at him with wide eyes, her breath caught in her chest as she looked at him over her shoulder. He wanted to comfort her but he couldn't. He couldn't utter any meaningful words of consolation or apology.

He thought that if she only wanted to he would show it to her differently. His heart began to pound at the thought.

He leaned over her slightly, watching her reaction. She didn't move away an inch, looking at him with incomprehension on her face, sniffling, tears flowing spontaneously down her face.

He hesitantly raised his large hand and cupped her cheek, soft, warm and wet with her tears. He felt a shiver run through her, her eyes wide in shock and horror.

His thumb began to slowly and unhurriedly stroke her skin, making a powerful shiver run through her. He felt their breathing quicken, her mouth parted in disbelief, her body tremble at his touch. For some reason the thought of him having such an effect on her only made his desire stronger. He stared at her, unable to look away from her face, hypnotized.

He leaned over her, letting go of her arm, taking her other cheek in his free hand, pressing his forehead against hers. They were so close that he could feel her warm, ragged breath, the tips of their noses touching. Her trembling hand rose, her warm fingers brushing over the scarred skin of his cheek.

There was something wonderfully tender, he thought, in that wordless moment, in the sweet scent of flowers in his nose, in her unforced closeness. He decided with some relief that maybe he didn't have to say anything.

That he could just show her how he felt.

He leaned over her, drawing her face closed in his hands to him, their soft lips intertwined in wet, innocent, light kiss. They both looked at each other, pulling back a few millimeters, his thumbs stroking steadily over her skin, feeling her tremble, wanting to soothe her, to assure her that he wouldn't hurt her.

"It's okay." He whispered low, leaning over her again, his lips brushing hers encouragingly, gently, as if he was afraid that any more sudden movement or caress would make her startle and run away.

He felt them both shiver, his heart pounding. His breath caught in his throat, feeling her soft, swollen lips part sweetly, invitingly. Unable to help himself, he sucked them gently and pressed against their fleshy structure with a sticky, loud click, feeling the unbearable pressure in his pants every time her fingers traced his cheek again.

They broke apart suddenly, startled, as they heard footsteps and laughter, both of them breathing fast and loud.

After a while they saw the already slightly drunk Aegon with his chosen one in the corridor, who were obviously looking for a secluded place to perform a private, intimate act. Aegon, seeing them, laughed out loud.

"I think it's busy here, let's move on." He said, grabbing his girlfriend's hand and she only giggled as they passed them.

There was an awkward silence between them as they disappeared, his hands clenched into fists. He swallowed hard, feeling his throat go dry. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to get anything out of his mouth.

Solren also swallowed loudly, apparently as shocked as he was by what had happened between them. He shivered when he heard her warm, slightly trembling voice.

"I should go back to Helaena, I don't want to leave her alone for so long." She said softly, trying to sound light.

Aemond nodded and grunted lowly to indicate that he agreed with her. He only looked at her, as she moved forward back into the hall.

He ran a hand over his face, wondering what the fuck he was doing. All he could hear in his head was the thumping of his own heart.

He returned to the dormitory feeling that he couldn't bear to look at her. For the first time in a long time he had to relieve himself with his hand, because he couldn't take the strain anymore.

He massaged himself intensely, panting into the pillow, thinking of her sweet lips. About how tenderly, timidly she kissed him back, about her hand on his cheek and he was getting closer and closer to his fulfillment.

He imagined himself, fucking her from behind, hearing her helpless moans, his hands tightening on her soft, hot hips. He came hard, moaning low as he felt a wave of wonderful, blissful relief.

He dried himself on a handkerchief, zipped up his pants, and buried himself in his quilt, falling asleep almost instantly.

The next day he woke up terrified. He had no idea what to make of what had happened between them. He didn't know if he should explain it to her or pretend that nothing had happened.

He saw her from a distance in the Great Hall at breakfast eating toast. Their eyes met as soon as he walked in, and she immediately looked down, embarrassed and red, swallowing the piece that she had just taken into her mouth with great difficulty.

He pursed his lips at the sight and turned his face away as he walked to his friends. He sat down on the bench and looked at Aegon, all pale and with bruises under his eyes. It was obvious that he was suffering today for all the joys, including the alcohol ones that he had known the day before.

"I hope that you will be able to participate in training today." Aemond blurted out coolly, helping himself to a bit of salad, feeling that he couldn't swallow anything heavy. Aegon rolled his eyes at his remark, sighing loudly.

"Leave me alone, man. You're always whining." He mumbled as he slowly ate his cereal with milk.

He stopped after a while, deciding that he must go vomit after all, and stood quickly, leaving the room, heading for the bathroom. Aemond sighed, thinking in his head that his brother was just a moron.

He involuntarily looked at Solren, and when he saw that their eyes met again he immediately turned away, as if he had been caught red-handed. His heart started pounding again. He figured that he'd just focus on eating that fucking salad and go to class.

A two-week Christmas break was approaching for which he and his siblings were returning home. He knew that Solren wasn't staying at Hogwarts either.

He knew that she and Helaena had arranged to send each other owls and stay in constant contact. He thought that the break might do him some good. He will have time to think about what he was doing, because he felt as if he had completely lost control of his reality.

As they waited in great groups on the platform for the train that would take them to London, he saw out of the corner of his eye, standing with Aegon and Helaena that Solren was pushing towards them, apparently wanting to say goodbye to their sister.

They threw themselves into each other's arms and hugged each other tightly, assuring themselves that they would keep in touch throughout the period of separation. Aegon sighed heavily as he looked at the scene.

“What lovebirds you are. It's only two weeks!" He said, shaking his head but they didn't seem to be listening.

The Gryffindor finally let go of their sister and looked uncertainly at them, apparently also wanting to say something to them as they left.

"I wish you a Happy Christmas. Rest and see you in two weeks." She spoke lightly and softly, her gaze at the end of the sentence shifting towards him.

Aemond's heart tightened at her words.

He thought that he wanted to kiss her again.

He didn't do or say anything, just nodded. Aegon smiled nonchalantly at her, closing one eye, blinded by the sun.

"We wish you all the best too."

The train finally arrived and everyone got on. Aemond, Helaena, and Aegon sat together, not wanting the company of others. Aemond sat down in his seat and thought, feeling uneasy for some reason.

Aegon was talking loudly about something that annoyed him, probably the big History of Magic paper that their professor had given them over the holidays, but Aemond wasn't listening. He got up suddenly, opening the door of their compartment, saying that he would be right back.

He walked through the train, and out of the corner of his eye saw Solren sitting in an empty compartment, alone, reading a book, her head against the wall.

He wanted to pull her out and talk to her but he thought that this would be even better. He stepped inside and she gave him a startled look, immediately turning red.

She stood up quickly when she saw that he had closed the door behind him and had drawn the curtains over the windows, so that no one could see what was going on inside.

They both looked at each other wordlessly, obviously equally shocked by what had happened between them and the fact that he was standing in front of her again, without knowing why - or that was what he was trying to tell himself.

He swallowed hard, looking at her. He decided that he didn't give a shit about explanations, forced descriptions of his feelings and thoughts that were just one big mess in his head.

He came over to her, grabbing her hair and bited her lips greedily, silencing her startled, high-pitched squeal. He devoured her mouth with his, sucking them hungrily, panting heavily, no longer lying to himself - he'd been thinking about it for days.

From that evening.

Solren, shocked, simply took what he was giving her, breathing loudly with him, brushing his lips tenderly, stroking his cheek, adding a touch of tenderness to this aggressive act that drove him insane.

He thought, delighted by the sensation between one sticky, long kiss and the next, that Cregan Stark wasn't made for her, but he was.

He, her rival, her undeserved authority, her wordless, antisocial acquaintance that she had chosen from the beginning.

He pulled away from her, pressing his forehead against hers, breathing heavily, looking at her with hazy, black eye.

"Write to me every day."

It happened exactly as he said. His family didn't know it, but every evening a little owl would knock on his window with a note. In one of the first messages Solren had written to him that it was her mother's owl, very well trained for the conditions of transmitting secret correspondence, which was the one they exchanged.

Neither of them wanted what was going on between them to be known. Mainly because it would be a sensation, but also because they didn't know what to call it themselves.

Their letters were quite short and painfully ordinary. Gryffindor wrote him about her day, sometimes including some funny, enchanted illustration of hers, which moved like a looped animation. He always read her messages before bed and then wrote back, making it a daily ritual in secret from the whole family.

Usually he wrote back to her in only a few sentences, describing his day rather dryly and briefly, but he decided that in front of her he had no intention of pretending to be someone that he was not.

Keeping in touch with her somehow calmed him down. He thought that if he hadn't talked to her for two weeks he'd have gone crazy, thinking about what had happened between them.

Neither of them wrote about it, nor did they mention it in their letters but they both knew that something was going on between them. A slow, warm feeling flooded his heart at the thought of her wet lips, her soft hands, her breath, her scent.

After Christmas the time to return to Hogwarts was slowly approaching, which was to take place in two days. Aemond was thrilled to see her again, to play against her in a match again, to kiss her again. He knew he'd do it. He had no illusions after touching himself almost every day, thinking of her.

As they ate dinner together as a family, Helaena asked her parents if it would be a problem if Solren came to visit them tomorrow and traveled with them from London to Kings Cross Station.

She said that Solren lived in a city very far from London and would have to drive many hours to the station, getting up early at night. Aemond almost choked on the juice that he was drinking when she said that, looking at her shocked. Their father nodded, seeing no obstacles.

That evening Aemond waited tensely for an owl from her. He felt chills and sweat on the back of his neck at the thought that tomorrow she might come and spend the night at his house.

He felt a tightness in his pants at the thought. For some reason being apart of her made him feel like he was going to pounce on her as soon as he saw her. He didn't recognize himself.

Usually it was women who competed for his attention, to make him want them. Now he had to hold back his animal instincts that were suppressing his common sense.

He shuddered and got up quickly from the bed when he saw that a small, black owl had tapped its beak against the glass of his window. He opened it, took the animal in his hand and took a small note from its beak. He opened it quickly and saw only one sentence on it, which made his heart beat faster.

"See you tomorrow!" _____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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vvxgs · 1 year ago

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𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 ─ CARLOS S.

°˖✧˚ SYNOPSIS — ❝She used to talk about him as if he placed the stars in the sky. Now, she couldn't even look at him. She only saw a stranger who once meant everything to her.❞

°˖✧˚ PAIRING — HUNGERGAMES!au. LIBRARIAN!Y/N && Carlos Sainz.

°˖✧˚ WARNINGS — mentions of death.

°˖✧˚ A/N — please remember that english is not my first language! errors and weird senteces might appear.

Life in New York was monotonous.

Y/N never liked the city's crowds and the exhaust fumes that escaped from cars' exhaust pipes every day, slowly seeping into the atmosphere in incomprehensible quantities.

People, always busy, never paid attention to the problems of the society around them. They could only pull out their latest cell phones to capture a fleeting moment and laugh at the created memories for the next couple of weeks with their limited friends who saw the world the same way. No one was exceptional. Each was just a white spot on the canvas of the same color.

Being different was ridiculed, after all.

The backward society couldn't understand how someone could create something unique and go against common sense. For the inhabitants of New York, following the prescribed path and repeating established patterns was the only acceptable course of action. They believed that this created a peace that didn't exist.

People mistakenly embraced the propaganda, a cursed mantra repeated on the radio. Every individual had to rid themselves of uniqueness and blend into the gray crowd. To lead a wonderful life, one had to heed the government's voice.

Fortunately, it was just propaganda.

Unfortunately, the society believed in it.

Y/N saw it as brainwashing, something that even her closest ones began to interpret differently.

Power became a friend, ready to exploit the gullibility of individual social groups. The process of taming individuals was childishly simple. Offering a few benefits was enough for the mindless crowd to follow the leader.

A leader pursuing their goals ruthlessly.

The family still constituted the closest environment. However, now it was made up of hidden enemies, ready to thrust a sharp knife in the back at the least expected moment.

Love had ceased to have any meaning in this circle.

Nature existed, exists, and will exist. So, no one paid attention to scorched forests, polluted oceans, and battered planets. They had all forgotten how much they needed it.

They had forgotten how much their dark hearts longed for it.

Society preferred to become like a flower, growing, going through a period of bloom, and then dying, leaving nothing behind. Their bodies were to be buried eight feet underground, then forgotten.

In those moments, she regretted ever appearing in this world in human form.

Animals were free, unrestricted, instilling fear.

Humans were the opposite, limited and terrified.

Wet branches, scattered all along the path, cracked under the pressure of her tall boots, which at that moment shielded her feet from the cold and the sharp objects she encountered on her way. She fled into the forest, seeking refuge with Mother Nature.

The only sounds that echoed within a few meters were the murmurs of nearby streams and the rustle of branches. Nothing drowned them out here. No cars, no radio broadcasts.

She didn't know why she ended up here. Alone and lost in her thoughts.

But she felt like she could confide her darkest secrets to the nature surrounding her, and it would still accept her like a prodigal daughter. Mother Nature would never regard her with disgust. She could just be herself around her. Mother Nature would understand and make everything look different.

Surveying surroundings, her eyes met a familiar figure. Dark strands of hair danced freely in the wind, and a quiet melody filled the air around the trees.

"I didn't think I'd meet you on the trail, Carlos."

If the man had the non-existent ability to selectively turn his hearing off, he probably would have chosen to become deaf and mute, immersing himself in his thoughts. A tangled web reminiscent of a harlequinade. He would forget the world, allowing himself to drift into the infinite space of his fantasies.

Unfortunately, evolution hadn't endowed their species with such capabilities. It gave them speech, a tool proud to be the source of misunderstandings.

Y/N's voice reached him as if through a fog, somewhere between the lines of the song flowing from his lips. With sparks dancing in his eyes, he turned toward the source of the sound.

The woman was different from most of the population. She wasn't unbelievably exaggerated and soulless, like everyone else in his opinion.

"I could say the same, Y/N.", he said mockingly perhaps, but knowing deep down that he could never harm such a fragile being.

The woman he was talking to gave him a resigned look that met his forced inquiring expression.

He didn't like what was pretty. He liked what had a soul. She seemed out of place, like a figure pulled from a painting. A work of art he'd like to adorn with his name.

"Is the library closed today, or are you playing the rebel?"

"Playing the rebel would be appropriate if I found any amusement in it.", she said in quiet, calm tone. "My mom took over duties today. I needed to disconnect from the city for a moment."

Carlos knew why.

The concept of freedom was relative.

Written in the Constitution? Indeed.

In the law? Of course.

In the mindset of the rulers? There was only an arena. A place of worship to a god for whom thirty people were sacrificed.

Thirty people out of thousands, millions, or billions in the world.

The chosen ones.

Statistically? Nothing changed. Some greeted the day, others bid farewell to the world. Without tears, without reminiscing. Individuals were erased from the registry without any reaction. People were soap bubbles.

"Are you scared?", he asked.

"I'm not afraid of death, Sainz. I'm afraid of life without it."

One didn't have to be particularly brilliant to realize that each of them felt fear associated with the possibility that they might find themselves in the arena. In an arena where everything would want them dead.

"I'm not sure if this meeting isn't our last.", he said after a moment, sending his companion a sad smile. "I hope I'll see you again, that it's not the end. Hope dies last, but it's also the mother of fools."

"I can't believe I once thought you were different. From the beginning, you were cruel. You laughed at me, and because you were older, I couldn't retort because it hit me several times harder. But now I see that your irony made you unique. Your character is an art I love, so I was convinced that eventually I'd see you in a different light. That at some point, you'd become the object of my desires. Too bad it happened so late. Within the next forty-eight hours, we might be dead."

"Your presence lingers in my memory with simple words, although it seems to me that you don't do it deliberately, Y/N. Your being makes me want to keep you in my mind."

It was thanks to her that he was who he was.

They hated showing weakness or displaying any complex emotions to the external world.

Together, they shed the sea of tears, perhaps for the last time, leaving butterfly kisses on their skin, whispering countless 'I love you's and making promises they couldn't keep.

The next day the sky seemed different than usual. The city around her was the same. Only the society, dripping with hatred, still bestowed upon her the most beautiful smile, because false smiles are the most beautiful.

She bid farewell to her family and the love of her life with calm on her face.

With tranquility, she watched as her mother cried into her father's sleeve, who struggled to hold back tears, smearing the image in front of him.

Perhaps the last image of his daughter. His only child.

A child heading toward certain death. Calmly.

As soon as she disappeared from Carlos' sight, the entire house filled with his quiet sobbing. If it were up to him, he would erase their silent farewell from his memory and pretend it was just a bad dream.

She used to talk about him as if he placed the stars in the sky. Now, she couldn't even look at him. She saw only a stranger, someone who once meant everything to her.

Carlos Sainz was just a dream now, and sometimes, dreams should remain in the realm of sleep.

#formula 1 #formula one #formula racing #ferrari #scuderia ferrari #carlos sainz #carlos #sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x female reader #cs55 #cs #ferrari boys

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coldresolve · 2 years ago

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Moneymakers, pt.xxii // Fallout

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

He floats in a sea of smoke, sometimes dreaming, sometimes not, and he’s never quite sure which is which. Lead solders have replaced his bones, he’s wrapped in a shroud of velvet and silk. Suspended and heavy, soft and senseless.

Distantly, on the outskirts of his awareness, a voice carries through like driftwood bobbing along the surface of the ocean. Every once in a while, it dips under and becomes muddled, loses meaning, only to resurface with a staggering clarity that’s equally as difficult to process. He doesn’t try to understand. Just lets it orbit around him like a harmless insect.

“Renee,” the voice says, followed by a touch on his shoulder. Then it’s gone again.

Breathing is so easy. It’s all smoke to him, all milky white fog, he can feel it spreading out from his lungs to feed his fingers and toes with a slight tingle. He’s pretty sure his mouth is open, there’s no resistance. His body is a prism, parting pale light into colors.

The driftwood voice bops back up to the surface. “—fucking eyes, I don’t have all day.”

It sounds so harsh. Renee twists his body around, turning his face away from the voice. “Nnnnnnngrrrh,” he says into his pillow. The feeling of the duvets fabric on his bare skin is so pleasant.

“Do I really have to douse you with cold water or something?”

At last, Renee is mostly conscious. He lets his eyes peer up from the pillow, not hiding his lazy disdain. “Get th’ fuck outta my room,” he grumbles.

“I’m leaving for a few hours. Conrad is sick. You’re on your best behavior, you hear me?”

Renee grunts, rolling onto his back. One hand rubs the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Almost one,” Davin says.

Renee lets his hand drop, letting out a long breath. “I’m still high,” he mutters groggily.

Davin rolls his eyes and leaves the room. He doesn’t shut the door behind him.

It takes Renee a good ten minutes of staring up into the ceiling before he has gathered up the energy to push himself off the bed. By then, he’s heard the front door go, and the house is filled with a silence that would be awfully nice to sleep in. He sniffs a line to wake himself up a little, staggering out into the hallway with heavy footfalls, a bitter taste on the back of his throat, still shirtless from bed. A quick piss and a smoke, that’s all that’s on his mind. That’s his survival until the snow takes effect.

In the bathroom, he gets stuck staring at himself in the mirror. The tousled white-blond hair with dark brown roots growing in, the hint of circles under his eyes, the tired, hooded lids, the stubble on his chin. There’s marks on his torso from the folds in the fabric of his duvet, snaking up his chest and arms, blending in with his tattoos. He looks at his hands. He thinks about putting a gun in his own mouth and pulling the trigger. Frowns at his reflection. “Thanks for that,” he tells it. Then he walks out.

It’s so stupid. He should be in a celebratory mood, given how well that last stream did. Their little fake-out seems to have skyrocketed their viewer base. Fifteen thousand people is a damn decent crowd. And Renee knows it, on an intellectual level, but still finds himself numb to the numbers, as if they’re incomprehensible. As if they have nothing to do with his work.

Maybe it’s just the drugs.

By the time he is done smoking, another high than that of the pills is starting to take effect. The faint dizziness subsides, replaced by a sharpening of his senses, the feeling of a heavy weight becoming much easier to shoulder. He plops down in an armchair in the living room, leg bouncing with the sudden burst of excess energy. As he sets up a first person shooter, he decides that today will have to be one of those days where he does what he wants, when he wants it, with no thought of ought-tos or who cares, lest the thought of banging his head into a wall until his rotten brain is exposed becomes a little too alluring.

An hour or so of uneventful gameplay later, long after the rush has worn off, Renee gets a nosebleed. He doesn’t notice it at first, doesn’t fully recognize the feeling of warmth trailing over his lips, until the bitter taste of blood fills his mouth, and he looks down at the stain on his shirt. “Ah, shit,” he mutters, cupping his hand under his chin.

He gets up, rushing past the dining table and into the kitchen area, where he rips a few paper towels off the roll and haphazardly presses them to his face.

There’s a cough behind him.

He spins around, fist clenched around the bloody tissue, ready to lash out if need be, until he sees Conrad’s form clutching his hands to his chest, entirely unthreatening.

“Jesus! Don’t fucking sneak up on people,” Renee hisses.

“Sorry,” Conrad says faintly. “I just…” He frowns. “Is that blood?”

Renee eyes the stained paper towels in his fist. “Just a nosebleed,” he says, pressing them back under his nose. “What do you want?”

Conrad steps, a little uncertainly. “Just… some water,” he mutters.

“All yours.” Renee points to the cupboard with glasses, then pulls the towel from his face, coiling up a clean end to stick in the offending nostril, tilting his head back.

Conrad seems under the weather, and Davin did say he was sick. There’s something odd about the way he breathes, a faint wheezing sound in his throat for every shallow inhale. It sounds painful, almost, as if it’s a strain. He has to pause to catch his breath after getting a glass, as if the mere act of reaching up into the cupboard winded him.

The more Renee looks at him, the worse he appears. Dark circles under his eyes, fading bruises and scarring wounds poking out under the sleeves of his t-shirt, the bloody abrasions on his wrists that never seem to get to heal. He’s pale as a ghost, skinny to the point where a better man than Renee might have shown concern over it alone. A dot of red has seeped through the newest bandage on his right hand. He fills his glass, and Renee doesn’t overlook the way he takes a few steps away from him to drink.

It's one thing to think about the aftermath in theory, and a whole other, he realizes, to stand a few feet away from it, staring at your own handiwork, the cursed product of your labor. Reality always hits harder.

“I’m sorry,” Renee says, compulsively. It just stumbles its own way out of his mouth.

Conrad freezes, gaze fixed to the floor. His hand grips the glass hard enough for his fingers to turn white.

Renee clears his throat. “For losing it a bit yesterday, I mean. I shouldn’t have…” He trails off.

Conrad doesn’t look at him for a long time. When he finally does, his expression has hardened. “An apology is the, the last thing I want from you,” he tells him quietly. His voice hitches a little. Then he markedly looks away again.

Renee nods. “Fair enough,” he mutters. “Yeah, that’s…”

His half-chuckle doesn’t ease the tension in the air in the slightest.

Nodding to himself, he decides to carry on as if it doesn’t exist at all, fiddling with the paper towel in his hands, wiping down his nose for the last remnants of blood. He discards it in the wastebin under the sink, then plies a clean piece from the roll, double-checking to make sure the bleeding has stopped.

When Conrad silently goes back to his room, Renee can’t quite place the feeling that’s left in his wake, but he thinks it might be relief. He leans on the sink for a while, closing his eyes, letting his thoughts circle death and gore and mayhem until the nauseous feeling in the back of his throat has subsided.

What’s up with him today? It can’t just be the drugs, can it? Coke crashes can be rough, but maybe this one is just uncharacteristically hard on his mood. Maybe if he crushed up a molly…

He’s taken out of his thoughts by the sound of a coughing fit in the far end of the house, vague behind closed doors. From the sink, he can’t see the door to Conrad’s room open, but he hears it go. Hears sluggish but hurried footfalls, hears another being pushed open, and Conrad’s coughs take on that ephemeral echoing quality that sound gets in bathrooms.

Reluctantly, Renee walks to the hallway, rounding the entrance to the bathroom just in time to see Conrad folded over the toilet bowl, coughing, and retching into it, whole body shaking.

The image is similar enough to that of Conrad bent over the lip of the basin upstairs that for a moment, it’s all Renee can think about. Holding him down as he struggled. The way he twitched.

Once it’s clear that nothing is coming up, Conrad breathlessly sits back on his haunches, one hand pressed to the wall for support. His breathing comes rapid and shallow, making that faint wheezing sound in his throat. He looks up at Renee with utter exhaustion painted on his face, wincing slightly. His cheeks are flushed with color. He doesn’t say anything.

Renee purses his lips. “You’re really not feeling great, are you?”

Conrad wordlessly shakes his head, looking away.

It’s not hard to imply causality.

The moment Conrad stands back up, he gets a distant look in his eyes. Swaying, he takes a step back in an attempt to regain his balance, but then his eyes glaze over, and he tilts his head back, and his knees buckle.

Renee barely manages to lunge forward and catch him by the arm to halt his fall – by the time he gets a proper grip, Conrad is completely limp, half-lying on the bathroom tiles, half-leaned against Renee’s shins, head lolling.

“Shit, Connie,” Renee mutters as he lowers him the rest of the way down, laying him on his back. He takes a few steps away from the unconscious figure. Blinks down at it. Feels a little awkward, as he finds his gaze wandering the room, as if searching for anything that might help in this situation.

What are you supposed to do when someone passes out?

Renee pulls out his phone and punches in Davin’s number. As he waits for an answer, the dial tone loud in his ear, he crouches down next to Conrad. With one free hand, he manages to roll the guy onto his side, not missing how utterly hot and clammy his skin is to the touch.

Rustling on the other end of the line, and then Davin’s voice is stern in his ears. “Kind of in the middle of something, man.”

“Yeah, but, uh,” Renee says, straightening back up. “I think Conrad is sick. Uh, I’m not just talking about the cough, I think it’s worse than that.”

There’s a long pause before Davin responds. “Okay…”

“He passed out,” Renee adds.

“When?”

“Just now. He’s on the floor.” Renee nudges at Conrad with his foot for emphasis. Not that Davin can see it. “His breathing is weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I dunno,” Renee says. “Quick...? It just sounds weird, okay?”

Davin lets out a long breath. “Get him back to bed, I’ll be back in a bit.” And he hangs up.

Renee curses, looking back down at Conrad. Eyes closed, face flushed with fever, his brow is furrowed as if he’s in pain.

Rolling his shoulders, Renee crouches back down to him, easing one arm behind the back of his shoulders, the other under his knees. Conrad stirs a little as Renee picks him up, letting out a small sound of discomfort, head rolling back. Even while unconscious, he keeps his impaled hand vaguely cupped in the other, guarded.

Renee carries him bridal style from the bathroom, pushing the door to the guest bedroom open with his back, wondering at the amount of heat radiating from the other being, even through the layers of both of their clothes.

Once again, as he’s lowering the limp figure onto the bed, Conrad stirs, eyes fluttering, trying to open. He lets out a moan, and his hand reaches up to grasp the fabric of Renee’s shirt.

Renee gently pries his shirt free, laying Conrad’s arm back down on his chest with the other, where it rises and falls with his quick, staccato breathing.

When Conrad’s eyes finally open for real, he blinks around, disoriented. He catches Renee’s gaze, seemingly too tired to really frown. “Wh…?”

“You blacked out for a bit,” Renee tells him. “Uh, no biggie, just, y’know…” He clears his throat. “Try to sleep, yeah?”

Conrad blinks at him for a moment, seemingly lost in the meaning of his words, before he settles back down into the bed, curling around himself. He looks absurdly small like that, small and strangely fragile.

Somewhat awkwardly, Renee pulls the duvet over his wiry frame and steps back.

What’s he supposed to do now? Would it be risky to leave him to sleep on his own? What if the guy vomits in his sleep and chokes on it and fucking dies? Good luck explaining that one to Davin.

After a quick smoke outside, and a quick trip to the fridge, Renee sits down with a cold beer on the guest bedroom’s desk, pulls out his phone, and settles into his bedside vigil.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

#writing #moneymakers #renee #conrad

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agent-yolk-writes · 1 month ago

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FFXIVWrite (Day 19) - Taken

this was an idea that i had brewing for a while, and it meant to be longer...but then a certain vtuber oshi decided to announce she will be ceasing her streaming activities the same day...so you can imagine i was a bit distracted

ill try to make this a proper fic one day

By the grace of Halone, Haurchefant found out where Riida was hiding.

She had disappeared from the holiday ball his father was hosting at the manor. After some gentle questioning of some of the mutual guests she might know, it was only when his younger brother pointed to a door that he went searching. Emmanellain made a passing comment about a vintage he totally borrowed from the wine cellar, but Haurchefant didn’t hear the rest of it.

After searching through all the public and private rooms, he eventually found her inside one of the manor’s libraries. There he could see a curled up Riida on the couch near the fireplace, giggling through the hiccups at whatever she was reading in the dim lighting. As he approached the loveseat, he could make out an empty glass and wine bottle reflecting off the fire light on a nearby end table. At a closer glance, he realized what his brother was talking about. The missing bottle in question has been rumored to have the ability to knock out even the likes of the First Brood, and it costs no more than a small fortune to obtain. Oh dear.

Sensing someone else in the room, Riida nonchalantly rolled her head back to see who it was. “Ah…greetings, good ser!” To no surprise, her speech is as slurred as you’d expect. “Fear not, I’m not intruding. I was simply just…just…” Her glassy eyes squinted in some attempt to focus. “...I was simply just. But then I found this interesting tome, and the time simply ran away!” Fury, even her drunken giggles were adorable.

Haurchefant cocked his head a bit, an amusing grin forming on his face. “Oh? What kind of tome would have you so entranced?”

He circled the couch. The heels that were prepared for her earlier that day were strewn about on the carpet. Riida held up the book in her hand. It was the Ishgardian dictionary held upside down. “It’s a fascinating tale of a knight saving a damsel in a high tower. The ink is…um, a bit hard to read in some places…but the pictures really help lay out the scenes. Here.” She turns the tome over, revealing the incomprehensible writing. She started gurgling something that might sound intelligent, but it was clear that she was too deep in her cups. Her drunken analysis was then interrupted by a yawn. “Ah, hehe, forgive me. This must sound boring.”

“Not at all, my friend. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.” Haurchefant moved even closer, standing right in front of her and blocking out what was left of the fire’s light. “Although it is getting late, and the couch was not built for a comfortable night’s rest. Allow me to escort you to your room.”

Riida giggles again. “Oh, how valiant of you.” She closes the book and tosses it to the other side of the couch. She made sure to stretch her limbs out, most likely numb for who knows how long. Haurchefant stepped aside as she started to get up. After a few false starts, the Miqo’te manages to stand on her two feet…only to quickly stumble. Thankfully Haurchefant was there to catch her before she made her hard impact. Once he fully had her in his arms, he corrected his form to make sure he was carrying her in his arms properly.

“My friend, I hope you permit me to personally escort you to your room this time.” He said.

Riida, in response, simply puts her head against his shoulder. She looks up at him with those unfocused glassy eyes and a small smile. “I would like that, o’ brave knight.”

#my writing #ffxiv writing #ffxivwrite2024 #ffxivwrite #final fantasy xiv #warrior of light #ffxiv #haurchefant x wol #haurchefant greystone

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hapan-in-exile · 1 year ago

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Volume 3 - Post #6: You can find me in the Club

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 3.5K (of 45K total in Volume 3)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

__________________________________________

VI. Gwellis Bagnoro is waiting for you near the front of the club and waves you over. Neon Dreams. Good name for a nightclub in Daiyu City.

It’s a clusterfuck inside. This dark, cavernous warehouse that looks like it might have been some kind of industrial factory in a previous life.

Despite the crush, everyone steps aside to give Mando a path without looking up from their drinks.

Must be nice.

You, on the other hand, have to quickstep to follow in his wake before the press of bodies can drag you away like a riptide into this sea of black silhouettes and glitter.

“Gwellis,” is the extent of the Mandalorian’s greeting. He tosses the cloak over his shoulder so his holster remains within reach before sliding into the booth and making sure he had a clear line of sight toward the entrance.

Once again, there’s only one way in or out of this establishment. Why did no one in this godsforsaken town worry about safe and unobstructed exit routes?

A server soon arrives with a bottle of cloudy liquor and three glasses. He gives the Mandalorian a sly wink before heading back to the bar. Because no one in this galaxy is immune to a six-foot-three hunk of muscle in shining Beskar armor, ladies and gentlemen.

Gwellis uses a vocoder, so you’ll actually be able to keep up with this conversation. If you don’t go deaf from the throbbing bass coming through the club’s sound system. It’s clear why this place is popular with folks engaged in the...clandestine economy. Unlike the cosmopolitan nightclubs of the Inner Rim, there are no elevated lounges or platforms for elite clientele to preen and exhibit. Visibility is terrible, and you can’t hear a fucking thing.

“Mandalorian, I am glad we can do business.”

Gwellis helps himself to the liquor and pours you a drink. A thoughtful gesture considering the Onodone immediately pulls his trunk up from his lap and drops it down the neck of the bottle to suck up the remaining liquid inside. You’re kind of a lightweight, so you decide to sip yours. And, of course, Mando’s glass goes untouched.

Having sucked the bottle dry, Gwellis gets down to business. From beneath his robes, he pulls out a data-pad and scrolls over the screen. “I was surprised to receive this commission. Disguise is not the way of a Mandalorian.”

“It’s not for a job,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “My friend, she needs some new identification. ID, chaincode, and an implant.”

Gwellis studies you and taps something into the data-pad. “A war orphan from Saleucami, I think. Gone missing amidst the rubble from the siege.”

Fuck. Tragic but very plausible. You nod.

“Can you pass for human?”

When you nod again, Mando fixes his view plate on you. It was a subtle turn of his head, and someone who didn’t know him well wouldn’t have caught the shift in his attention. But you do.

“Good. Human will be easier.”

Gwellis regards you for a moment before launching into an incomprehensible stream of noises. The vocoder stays silent, so the high-pitched clicks and whistles are for the Mandalorian’s ears only.

“He says it’ll cost you fifty thousand credits.”

Shit! With Vos’ reward, you can afford it, sure, but that’s a lot of fucking money. And the fact that it’s exactly the same amount you just received from Vos feels like a weird fucking coincidence.

Dammit, you had planned to save at least ten thousand of that for jewelry. Why must all your victories be so fleeting?

“Arrive at my ship on the twenty-seventh hour.”

You finish your drink in one gulp as you watch the Onodone disappear back into the crowd.

“I told you it wasn’t going to be cheap,” Mando says evenly.

“You didn’t kick him under the table, so I’m sure it’s a fair price.”

“We’ll use funds for the job to cover it.”

“No, that’s okay. I know Nito needs money to buy some gear, and we should probably save the rest for Ubaa’s crew and payoffs.” You take a deep sigh. “Plus, it’s a good investment for me now anyway.”

The Mandalorian pauses to take in your expression. Which must be challenging given how little of your face is visible with the hood and visor on.

“Don’t think it’ll withstand a serious background check, but you could probably get a straight job after this.”

After this? Working with Mando, life had been unfolding one day at a time. You hadn’t put much thought into the future. Yet here he was, anticipating the day you’d finally ‘come to your senses’ and choose safe, civilian life. It’s hard to believe that could be a possibility.

“I already have a job,” you say wryly.

Whatever he might think, right now, you’re not ready to imagine a life without him.

“But, thank you. I’m relieved to have this kind of cover. I didn’t know anyone who could do this for me when I went underground. I mean…I knew that I must have ended up in some database…But, kriffing hell, it took months to coordinate our clinic deliveries. And yet the New Republic can just drop whatever they’re doing to run a cross-check?”

“Are you just now realizing how they hold this galaxy together?” He scoffed. “Surveillance and security is what they’ve got to offer.”

“Mando…that’s a shockingly pointed bit of social criticism. I didn’t take you for a revolutionary.”

“I’m not. But I’m also not blind to how this all works.” There’s a subtle switch in mood before he rests an elbow on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

“Um, sure. Yeah. I’d like to resume normal adult conversation.”

He sighs roughly and tosses his head.

“You know you’re not getting the deposit back for that room, Mando.”

You catch him mumbling something about cheap drywall and try not to snicker. While it’s absolutely ridiculous behavior for a grown man to punch holes in the wall…you can understand that Mandalorian warrior culture probably doesn’t impart a lot of wisdom about dealing with complex emotions like guilt and shame.

And hell, this is coming from a woman whose coping response was to cry and masturbate in the shower, so who are you to judge?

You lean in over the table to hear him better, “What did you want to ask me?”

“How are you planning to pass for human?”

You try not to blush when he leans closer, too, and you sit huddled together with your knees touching under the table.

“If I remove the reflective tissue from my eyes…that’s really the only visible difference.”

“Remove? How?”

“Do you want me to go into detail? Most people get the heebie-jeebies thinking about cutting—”

“Alright, fine.” He holds up a hand to stop you. “If it’s that simple, why didn’t…sorry, maybe that’s not something you want to talk about.”

“No, no! I’m never going discourage you from taking an interest in me,” you grin. Then, sigh. It’s a deeply personal topic to get into while trying to shout over a bass system. “I’ve probably been holding onto this delusion that someday I’d get to go back home. But there’s…not really anything to go back to…”

“What about your family? Your brother?”

That’s another topic you’re not prepared to get into at Neon Dreams, so you just shake your head no.

“There’s nobody waiting for me—well, no one who’s waiting to welcome me back.”

“Could you…reverse it?” Mando asks in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Make the tissue regrow?”

“Maybe,” you smile at him sheepishly.

“I’m sorry you have to do this, Thuli, and that it feels like you’re losing a part of yourself,” he places a gloved hand over yours to stop you from twisting your fingers into knots. “But, it’s the right choice. The smart choice.”

Is this what Mando told himself when he swore the Creed? He took so much pride in being Mandalorian…had it been an easy decision for him to leave the life and dreams of that little boy behind. Your heart clenches in your chest, overwhelmed with this realization of your shared loss.

Is that why you don’t want to give up on him? Because you’re hoping that mending his heart will somehow make yours whole again? Wouldn’t that be nice…

“Didn’t think this would be your scene, Mando.” You attempt a coy tone to lighten the mood and change the subject. Not too coy, though. You’re afraid to flirt with him that openly after all your talk about respecting boundaries. “Are we about to embark on a wild night of partying without the kids?”

Even though he hasn’t had anything to drink, Mando does seem more relaxed despite the chaotic surroundings. He extends an arm across the back of the booth and stretches his legs out under the table, crossing them at the ankle. Of course, he’s even sexier in this casual, languid pose.

“We have three hours to kill. I’m getting comfortable.” He nods behind you towards the back of the club, where the pulsing vibrations emanate. “Knock yourself out.”

You look over at the dance floor, where shimmering neon incandescence rains down on the revelers below. It looks fun, actually. Like the kind of place you’d go to on leave with some of your fellow medics. Get drunk, dance, sing badly, find someone to bring home for the night, and forget the brutality and brushes with death for a night.

“Do you like dancing?” You ask on a whim. “Or, do Mandalorians not dance?”

“After game hunting, there is usually a…ceremony.”

“Ah, so liturgical dance!” Your eyes go wide. “Hmmmm, I don’t think the DJ plays Mandalorian chants. Guess I’m on my own.”

“You like this kinda of place?” He asks, sounding almost disdainful. Good. It’s easier to maintain the distance between you when you’re reminded that despite some shared trauma, your personalities are still galaxies apart.

“Yeah,” you grin defiantly. “You don’t have to be some club kid to enjoy the distraction of getting drunk and rubbing up against beautiful strangers. It's a good way to wash the taste of war out of your mouth.”

“I can understand that,” he says earnestly.

And you begin to wonder what, exactly, does a Mandalorian do to decompress?

You’ve known some elite soldiers, and their work always burned holes into them—which needed to be filled. Sometimes, they’d filled those holes in their hearts with you. But that wasn’t the case for Mando. Ditto on drinking, drugs, and dancing, apparently.

“So you don’t go clubbing. What’s something you do do for fun?

“Fun?”

“Yes. There’s a word for it in Mando’a. Nuhur? Good times? So I know Mandalorians are familiar with the concept.” He sighs as though you’ve asked him to perform long division. “You love throwing knives, isn’t that a Mandalorian game?”

He laughs—an actual, audible laugh. “When did you learn Mando’a?”

“We spend literally days at a time in hyperspace.”

“And this is what you do when you aren’t playing cards with Nito?”

“Yes. I read. I learn things.” Lately, you’ve become particularly interested in researching Mandalorian mating customs. “Don’t you want the kid to know your culture?”

“He’s a foundling, and I’m in his debt for saving me from the Mudhorn. My duty, by Creed, is to protect him. But this is no life for a child. Once it’s safe, I’ll find a real home for him.”

“Home is who you make it with, not where.” Whether he admits it or not, Mando loves that kid like a father, and you’re not going to let him just dismiss the depth of that relationship. “You seem pretty real to me.”

“What made you leave?”

“Huh?”

“What made you leave Hapes?”

Dammit, he’s too good at catching you off guard with these probing questions. You reach for an easy answer, but when you begin to respond, he cuts you off with a raised hand. “I know you ran away to join the Rebellion. That’s not the whole story. Not with the home you left behind.”

“Everyone expects life inside a royal palace to be so glamorous, but it is, above all else, exceedingly tedious.”

“Getting attacked by lions is tedious?”

Wow. You hadn’t expected him to acknowledge that conversation at all, given what happened afterward.

“Can I ask you about one of your scars?” You look up at him timidly. “Like how you got that one on your calf?”

It was a jagged white thunderbolt running from his heel to the back of his knee.

“I killed an Altagak. At the time, our Covert was located on Altora. They can consume entire herds—and villages. The locals asked us to rid them of the beast. The scar running along my calf is from its tusk.”

“How old were you?”

“I was fourteen. It was…an important trial for me.”

“I imagine it's hard?” You grimace, “to kill an Altagak? It’s an apex predator.”

“With tusks,” Mando nods. Which surprises you to a huff of laughter. He’s getting better at making jokes.

“You’re lucky it didn’t cripple you.”

“Lucky I wasn’t gored. Not everyone survived.”

You raise your glass and arch an eyebrow, “Thank the gods for skilled healers.”

“Hmmmm,” his exhalation hums through the modulator. “It’s always impressive how effortlessly you manage to avoid answering my questions.”

Mando’s tone starts off playful when suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see his body retract sharply. His elbows come to rest on his knees as though he’s poised to launch himself out of the booth.

You look around to see a tall, stormy blue Twi’lek approaching your table, a gigantic grin spread across his face. The Mandalorian is a formidable warrior, but this guy could give him a run for his money—he’s big and broad, his tattoed arms clearly toned with use.

“Mando,” the Twi’lek places a hand on the Mandalorian’s shoulder. “It is you!”

“Bril,” Mando sighs in exasperation but extends himself to clasp the man’s outstretched forearm in the most congenial gesture you’ve ever witnessed from the bounty hunter. “It’s been a while.”

You can’t be sure if they’re friends, but Bril is at least confident he’s not about to be stabbed because he slides amicably into the booth next to Mando.

“Your new business partner?” He winks at you, and before you can stop yourself, you smile back.

“Something like that,” the Mandalorian mutters.

“You did always have a thing for the bad girls, Mando.”

Behind Bril is his female Twi’lek companion. She is stunningly beautiful.

Literally, you feel your breath catch in your throat when your eyes meet. Her skin is the color of sea coral, and she had adorned her lekku in gold thread, woven with gemstones, beads, and pearls, all braided through her golden headband. She takes a seat on the stool next to Bril, directly across the table from you, and you try your best not to gawk.

Bril waves over a droid with another bottle of liquor. You probably shouldn’t look wasted in the photos for your forged identification, so you’re taking it slow. But whatever this beverage is, it’s pretty strong, and you definitely feel its effects.

“Thought you left all this behind, Mando? Working for the Guild. Keeping your hands clean,” the Twi’lek says conversationally, placing a hand on his companion’s thigh. “But, I still hear things.”

While the Mandalorian doesn’t elaborate, Bril’s good spirit remains undeterred. You get the sense that they might, in fact, be friends. At least this is the first person you’ve met who wasn’t harboring some underlying hostility towards him.

It’s a tantalizing prospect. Maybe you’ll get to learn a little bit more about Mand—

“Like that shit with Ranzar. Handing your ex over to the feds, Mando? That’s cold even for you.”

Wait, what?

That, right there, how you nearly snap your neck from the speed with which you turn to look at Mando, is proof enough that you’ll never be able to play it cool with him.

“I did what I had to,” the Mandalorian says smoothly without looking at you—or he could be staring you full in the face. How the fuck would you even know?

“Don’t you always,” Bril laughs and shakes his head. “Did you buy the fancy armor with Xi’an’s bounty? Didn’t think she’d fetch that much.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

You down your drink in one gulp and pour another in the hopes that you’ll be less visibly tense over this discovery if you’re drunk. For fucksake you are nearly trembling with shock. Breathe. You gotta slow your breathing.

Ugh, you might throw up.

Please, please, dear goddess, have mercy on me and prevent me from dissolving into a panic attack in front of all these people! Okay, you’re tearing up a little bit, but no one can see behind your visor.

Every muscle in your body is rigid. You can sense Bril’s companion watching you with concern.

“I didn’t think Mandalorians coupled,” she purrs in a low voice.

Yeah, neither did you.

What is this bizarre weight settling onto your chest? The crush of rejection. And betrayal.

As though he’s deceived you somehow? Because all this time, you’ve been telling yourself that this barrier between you is because the Mandalorian can’t be intimate—with anyone. That it's forbidden. And now you know that isn’t true. He just doesn’t want to be intimate with you.

You always did like the bad girls, Mando.

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. All your smirks and winks and stupid flirting…and all he wanted was some stone-cold bitch. Like Morrigan.

That figures. Ironic. Just the completely exact opposite personality traits, contrary to the foundational core of your being. You couldn't even be her if you tried.

Gods, you are such an idiot. Throwing yourself at him. You fucking climbed on top of him! Ugh, the shame is so intense you can taste the bile roiling up your throat.

Bril guffaws, and you're shocked to see him actually nudge the bounty hunter with his elbow. “Your armor doesn’t include a codpiece, does it, Mando?”

It’s an objectively funny joke, and you’d love to smile away the devastation that’s probably written all over your face, but you refrain from laughing out of misplaced loyalty.

“I’m here running Spice, of course.” Bril stops howling long enough to resume polite conversation. “You looking for work? I can always stand to elevate my game with a warrior of your caliber, Mando.”

He'd said, "It wasn't just you" out of...pity? Did he feel sorry for you pathetically thirsting after him?

Aaaaaaaaah, that means you've been this creeper, sexually harassing him for the past how many months now?!

While you desperately search your brain to determine the exact moment in time when you started brazenly flirting with the Mandalorian, Bril’s companion moves around the table to crouch down next to you.

“Hey,” she looks up at you through her long, dark lashes. “Do you like MARTINE?”

“W-w-what?!” You stutter, surprised out of your shame spiral by the unexpected question. “Um, yeah. Of course. I lost my virginity listening to their second album.”

Fuck...you are such a stupid idiot. You really convinced yourself that Mando was a virgin.

“They're here–in the VIP lounge.”

“Seriously?! Like…performing?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s their cousin’s birthday party or something.”

You crane your neck to see if you can spot a VIP section.

“Let’s leave the boys to catch up,” she says, slipping her hand into yours.

“Okay,” you whisper, and without a single glance at Mando, you slip off your jacket and let her pull you away from the table.

“This is such a sleazy ploy, but if we cause a stir, I think we can get the bouncer to let us in. Are you up for for it?”

Leading you across the room and past the bar, you're pulled underneath the showering lights of the dance floor. She moves with the artful grace of a trained professional, and from the way she looks in her catsuit, she just might be.

Everybody’s watching her dance, but she only has eyes for you.

It’s suddenly very important that she knows how amazing your hair is, so you release it from your hood and run your fingers through its length to shake it out until it cascades in pearlescent sheets around your hips.

You still can’t hear a fucking thing, but you read her lips, exclaiming how much she loves it. She catches a strand in her outstretched fingers to trace its length. Her hand comes up again to tuck it behind your ear before tilting her head and leaning in slowly. Fixing you with her aquamarine eyes, she places a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Wait. This isn’t just to get Bril gassed up, right?”

“What? Fuck, Bril. He’s not gonna get us past that bouncer.”

As you both continue dancing, intertwined, her hands trace over your waist and around the edges of your ribcage before grabbing the full swell of your breasts and squeezing. You gasp, but she catches it from your mouth with slow, languorous kisses. Her lips are full and soft.

You realize that even if this is some elaborate performance for Bril, you don’t care. A deeply lonely place in your heart needs this kind of tenderness and attention. It feels good to be desired after the sting of...whatever it is you’re feeling about Mando.

You wrap your arms around the small of her back and lean into her kisses. The drumbeat picks up, and your knees and hips begin to bob in time with the music. You jump and swivel, swinging your hips and pumping your arms until you're gasping. It felt so ecstatic to release this toxic energy from your body with each breath and drop of sweat.

Both of you keep moving through this endless cycle of dancing, laughter, and kisses while the crowd around you sways and rocks.

“Do you want to try to sneak in?” She asks with an excited gleam in her eye.

**************************

Continue reading, Volume 3 - Post #7: Counteroffer

Back to Volume 3 - all posts

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando smut #sexy mando #mando x reader #mando x you #sexymando #din darjin smut #the mandalorian smut #din dijarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #mandalorian smut #star wars smut #din djarin

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voskhozhdeniye · 9 months ago

Text

*** Bandcamp exclusive.100% proceeds to UNRWA. Please give what you can ***

There is not much I can say about this moment that hasn’t already been said. This pain, this despair, the anger and the disgust - and the fucking futility of all of those. Amongst the never-ending stream of horrors and injustices inflicted on Palestinians, witnessing our “countries” falling over themselves to defund UNRWA (based on what - based on NOTHING, based on a vapour of lies, based on being handed the easy, backdoor route to participate in this Genocide while not getting their own hands visibly dirty) was nearly incomprehensible in its cynicism. Cruelty beyond the imagination. And yet, comprehending is what we have to keep doing. We have to keep knowing. Keep learning. Keep finding each other in this - keep going. I started playing solo late in life. Never imagined it was something I would do; thought I would be a bandmate/collaborator forever. But during Israel’s invasion of Gaza in 2014, feeling hopeless and angry I found myself alone with my instrument and pedals and for the first time, music just started pouring out of me. I discovered a voice there to howl my deepest feelings into, and have never wanted to stop since. That first music I ever wrote (simply called ‘Gaza’ at the time) sowed the seeds for everything that came after. Directly becoming *Entire Populations* (“Entire Populations / Entire Populations / Oh we don’t see… Shame on us./ Brings shame to us.”) and *Particles* (“Sounds of violence fill the sky / Darkening clouds are passing by…”) And the sentiment, the purpose, is woven through the rest. Instrument as voice continues to be my best way to communicate, making music my best idea of how to commune. So here is my drop in the bucket offering, hoping it will join other drops until eventually we make it rain. This live set is partly made up of reimagined pieces of albums, and the rest improvised. There is a small audience present, so quiet you can feel their breath, and the occasional shuffle or cough. You can hear my pedals click sometimes, and a few distorted moments due to a dirty volume knob; basically a true-to-life experience of being at a show. Thanks for listening, please donate at your capacity. FREE PALESTINE.

#Music #Jessica Moss #I just posted Entire Populations the other day.#Bandcamp

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ridiculously-over-obsessed · 1 year ago

Note

hurt/comfort prompts #2 pls! (i was hoping you'd reblog the list 😄)

Djskldjdf hurt/comfort is my wheelhouse I couldn't resist that list when I saw it 😂 also please consider this my formal apology for what's about to transpire 😬🩵

Hurt/Comfort Prompts

(although I would totally understand if no-one wanted to ask for another prompt ever again after this 😭)

(2) "You can hold my hand, if it makes you feel safer."

Beca ran a hand through the hair as she stepped through the Emergency Room doors, looking around her as she tried to find the person who had frantically called her.

"Becs?"

"Chloe...." Beca breathed, stepping through the crowd of people towards her pale and trembling friend, a frown pulling at her eyebrows, "You're hurt."

"I'm fine." Chloe shook her head, tears in her eyes as she swallowed thickly, one arm in a sling and a dressing taped to her forehead, "It's just a couple of scrapes and bruises, it's nothing."

"Yeah, you're right, they just give slings away for fun." Beca snorted, "What happened?"

"I was driving her to the airport..." Chloe's voice was suddenly very quiet, looking down at the floor as Beca gently encouraged her to sit down again, "Like I always do, it's the same route we always take, I wasn't speeding or running stop signs or-"

"Hey." Beca felt her stomach knot seeing Chloe so visibly distressed, wanting to soothe her, "Chloe, no-one thinks this was your fault."

"He just came out of nowhere." Chloe shook her head bitterly, tears streaming down her cheeks, "He plowed right into us Beca, one minute we were talking, and the next everything was upside down and she wasn't moving or talking or anything..."

"I'm sorry Chloe..." Beca sighed, "That must have been really scary for you."

"It was." Chloe sniffled, "I... I'm really glad you came Becs, I didn't want to sit here alone."

"Of course." Beca shrugged, "Look, Posen and I might not be best of friends, but she's still family. I wanted to be here. The other Bellas are coming too, they're just finishing up their classes."

"She loves you in her own weird way, you know that right?" Chloe looked up from her lap, "She's just... closed off Beca. You get that right?"

"Yeah." Beca nodded, "I do Chlo. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine." Chloe shrugged, "I'm just scared Beca. I don't think I've ever been this scared in my whole life. I'm a really safe driver, I pride myself on it, today's the first time I've ever felt unsafe..."

Beca sighed softly again, her stomach in knots. Chloe had been beside herself, almost incomprehensably hysterical when she had picked up the phone an hour ago, and no wonder. Aubrey had come down to visit the Bellas in Georgia for the weekend as she often did, freshly graduated but finding she still missed spending time with her sisters. Chloe didn't have any classes the morning she was due to fly back home, so she had offered her a ride to the airport, a chance for the two of them to spend a little one-on-one time together before Aubrey went home.

So when Beca got a call from Chloe that they'd been in an accident not twenty minutes after they'd set off, her heart had dropped like a lead weight. She could hear the sound of sirens in the background, Chloe sobbing into the phone, Beca able to make out words like 'unconcious' and 'blood in her ear'. She and Aubrey had their differences last year, but by the time the ICCA Finals had rolled around they had buried the hatchets, closer than Beca had ever thought she'd be to her type-A pain in the ass captain.

Beca had made quick work of alerting the group chat to what had happened, distressed text messages following her own, with promises that they would all join Beca and Chloe as soon as they could. She had spent the whole way there trying to wrap her head around events, trying not to think of the worst case scenarios, not just for Aubrey but for Chloe too. She had spoken to her, had been responsive and alert even if she'd been upset, Chloe was okay. She had to be okay.

"It's going to be okay." Beca mumbled, moving a little closer to Chloe, "This is Aubrey Posen we're talking about, she's a stubborn ass, no way she's letting a little car accident keep her down."

Chloe managed a small giggle, pursing her lips as her uninjured hand tugged at the hem of her t-shirt absentmindedly, "I'm really scared Becs. What if she's not? They took her in for brain surgery..."

"You can hold my hand, if it makes you feel safer." Beca gave her a small smile as Chloe looked up from the floor, "Or less scared or whatever... just don't tell anyone I offered, I have a reputation to maintain."

"Thanks Beca." Chloe reached and took Beca's hand, squeezing it tightly as she closed the gap between them, resting her head on her shoulder to boot, "I'm really glad you came."

"Of course." Beca could feel her cheeks turning red as she felt Chloe's breath on her neck, swallowing hard against the lump of unspoken feelings in her throat.

"Have you called her folks?"

"Yeah, they're getting the next flight out from North Carolina." Chloe nodded, "I didn't tell them much, just that we'd been in an accident and Aubrey was on her way up to surgery. I didn't want to freak them out before they got here."

"That's a good call Chlo." Beca nodded, savouring the smell of Chloe's shampoo as she turned her head a little to rest atop hers.

She would never admit it out loud, but Beca had been stone cold terrified on her way here that something awful had happened to Chloe that she had played down over the phone. The idea that Chloe could be hurt or dying when she wasn't there to try and fix it made Beca feel more lost and scared than she'd ever been in her life. Whether it was just a schoolgirl crush or something more, Beca could no longer deny that the feelings she had for Chloe went beyond "she's my best friend", not after she'd had to pull her car over to throw up at the side of the road because the fear had turned her stomach.

"I'm staying right here until someone comes to tell us what's going on." Beca gave Chloe's hand a squeeze, "You don't have to be scared on your own. That's what family's for Chloe."

"I know." Chloe nodded a little, "Thank you."

Beca didn't say anything, simply holding Chloe's hand in hers and watching the hustle and bustle of the ER waiting around them. It wasn't long before she felt Chloe grow heavier against her shoulder, breathing deep and even as she still held her hand tightly. No wonder she'd fallen asleep, after everything that she had been through today Beca would probably have fallen asleep too. She hoped it was a testament to how safe Chloe felt with her here.

It was three hours of sitting in uncomfortable chairs, of Chloe snoring softly on her shoulder and the Bellas arriving in droves to sit with them, before someone finally came to give them an update.

"Aubrey Posen?"

"That's us." Beca gently stirred Chloe from her nap on her shoulder, "How is she?"

"You're family?" The doctor frowned a little as he looked around at the women staring expectantly at him.

"Yes." Beca's tone grew sharper and irritated as Chloe bit her lip, rubbing at her eye with her uninjured hand, sensing the panic that was already starting to radiate off her.

"We're her family. She'd say as much herself."

"Okay." The doctor nodded, "She's out of surgery now, and on her way to the ICU. We managed to stop the bleeding on her brain, and repair the lacerations to her spleen and liver too. We're still worried about her kidneys, and we won't know about lasting brain injures until she wakes up, but she's out of the woods for now."

"What are her odds on being completely fine?" Beca pushed, feeling Chloe's hand slide back into hers and grip it tightly.

"As of right now, about sixty percent." The doctor was calm as the Bellas seemed to crumple at the news, "I know that seems really low, but it's the best that we can hope for right now."

"Right..." Beca rubbed at her forehead with her free hand, "Can we see her?"

"Not right now." The doctor shook his head, "I'm sorry, but once she's been moved to the ICU we can think about visitors. I'll let you know when that is."

"Thanks." Beca mumbled, running her thumb over Chloe's knuckles as she felt her start to shake against her again, "We'll be right here."

The doctor left the Bellas to sit with the news, Chloe whimpering softly as she clung to Beca's hand.

"She has to be okay Beca..." She whispered, Beca able to feel her tears against her neck, "She has to be okay."

"I know." Beca mumbled, sighing heavily as she looked around at the Bellas, knowing they all shared the same sentiment, "She will."

-----

Aubrey pursed her dry lips, brows furrowing as the world swam sluggishly into view. She felt heavy and slow, like she was wading through treacle as she tried to lift her hand to rub at her sore head.

"Hey... you're awake."

Aubrey managed to turn her head towards the familiar voice, finding a grinning Beca sat next to her, feeling her hand take hers.

"How are you feeling Bree?"

"Ow." Aubrey rasped, Beca's grin growing, "Water?"

"Uh, hang on, let me grab some ice chips, that's what the nurse said you could have." Beca quickly got to her feet, leaving the room for a second and returning a few seconds later with a cup full of ice chips.

She silently helped a few slide past Aubrey's cracked lips, fighting the malestrom of emotions inside at seeing her former acapella captain's eyes open again.

"Better?" She asked as Aubrey sank back into her pillows, looking utterly exhausted.

"Mhm." Aubrey mumbled, eyelids flutterung shut for a moment, "Thanks."

"No problem." Beca settled back in the chair next to her bed again, the same place she'd been sat for almost a week now, "It's good to see you awake Posen, you scared the crap out of us for a minute there."

"What happened?" Aubrey's eyes opened slowly again, Beca scooting her chair a little closer.

"What do you remember?"

"We set off for the airport..." Aubrey huffed out a sigh, "Chloe was telling me about your setlist for the ICCAs and then... nothing."

"You were in a car wreck." Beca took her hand again, "It was pretty bad Bree, like brain surgery bad. You've been in a coma for almost a week."

"Chloe." Aubrey's hooded eyelids flew open as realisation hit her, "Is she okay?"

"Um..." Beca swallowed thickly, eyes flicking down to her feet again, "Not really. We thought she was, that it was a couple of cuts and bruises and a dislocated shoulder but... there was a bleed that they missed, it didn't show up on any of the scans they did."

"What... what happened?"

Beca looked up, stomach in knots as she saw the tears in Aubrey's eyes. She'd never seen Aubrey cry, never seen her look so scared and so lost, and she hated it. She was the strongest person Beca knew, if Aubrey fell apart she didn't know how she'd keep herself together.

"They rushed her in to operate and repair the damage but um... she... she didn't make it off the table."

Beca felt sick again as she relived the moment that the surgeon had somberly stepped out of the operating room, how her legs had gone out from underneath her, how she had let out a scream so painful and tortured it felt like she had ripped herself open. It felt like she had, like losing Chloe had robbed her of part of herself too. She didn't remember much of the immediate aftermath, just snatches of sobbing and numbness, of Stacie cradling her in her arms as she cried herself sick, of the Bellas grief as raw as her own.

Beca hadn't left the hospital since that day, telling herself and the Bellas it was because she had to be there to tell Aubrey what had happened when she woke up, but it wasn't the whole truth. She couldn't go back to the house, couldn't walk past Chloe's bedroom knowing she wasn't in there and she wouldn't ever be again. Aubrey's parents would have told her about Chloe, would have arguably been far better at comforting her than Beca would, but she didn't want that. It had to be Beca that told her.

"No..."

Aubrey's expression crumpled as her hand tightened around Beca's, tears starting to run down her cheeks.

"Beca it's a mistake."

"It's not." Beca felt her own tears burning at the corner of her eyes again, "I wish it was Bree, I'm so sorry."

Aubrey opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to find her words but none came. Instead, she started to sob harder, Beca getting up from her seat and onto Aubrey's hospital bed, careful of the wires and tubes as she embraced her. Beca hated hugging people, hated people being in her personal space, but she knew that if Chloe were here she would never forgive her for not comforting Aubrey like this. Beca wasn't a hugger, but Chloe was, and right now Aubrey needed Chloe and not her.

"I'm sorry." Bexa whispered into her hair, voice thick as her own tears starting to take over, "I wish it was me instead, I'd give anything to switch places with her."

"She- she l-loved you." Aubrey sobbed against Beca's chest, "It's n-not fair, she was supposed to t-tell you, y_you were supposed to- supposed to-"

"She did tell me." Beca's words stuck in her throat as she tried to soothe Aubrey, "It... it was the last conversation we had."

-----

"What's taking them so long?" Chloe grumbled, head resting on Beca's shoulder as they stood in front of the vending machines.

"I don't know." Beca sighed, looking at the contents of the machine in front of her, "You'll be able to see her soon Chloe, they'll be making sure she's okay to have visitors."

Chloe simply sighed, her good hand still holding Beca's. She hadn't relinquished her hold of her hand since Beca had offered it to her for more than a few seconds, Beca surpisingly not saying a word about it. Maybe she needed the comfort as much as Chloe did.

"We were talking about you."

"What?" Beca's attentin was torn from the selection of snacks in front of her, "Why, what did I do this time?"

Chloe giggled as she shook her head, lifting it from Beca's shoulder as she grinned at her.

"Why do you think it was bad?"

"I dunno." Beca shrugged, "It's Aubrey, she's nit picky, I always assume I did something wrong."

"You're so dramatic Beca." Chloe rolled her eyes, "You didn't do anything wrong, not this time anyway."

"Okay..." A smirk started to pull at Beca's lips, "So why were you talking about me then weirdo?"

"Because I love you." Chloe's grin dropped to a smile, squeezing Beca's hand as she lent into her, "Because I've loved you from the moment we met and Aubrey was trying to convince me to tell you rather than keeping it bottled up."

"Oh." Beca had gone bright red, brain short curcuiting as she tried find any words that were better than 'oh'.

"And it's okay if you don't feel the same." Chloe shrugged a little, "Because I still want to be your friend Beca, even if you don't feel the same. But life is way too short to... to not..."

Chloe had started to sway slightly, a frown starting to pull at her expression as the coliur drained from her face.

"Chlo?" Beca frowned, letting go of Chloe's hand so she could Chloe's face in her hands, finding her brilliant blue eyes to be hazy and unfocused.

"I don't feel good..." Chloe mumbled, starting to crumple in Beca's arms.

"Chloe?!" Beca caught her, lowering them both to the ground, "Hey! Someone help!"

Beca's attention turned back to Chloe as she shook her gently, trying to keep her awake as she heard people scrambling around her to find some help.

"You're okay." Beca shook her head, lips pursed, "Chloe wake up, you're going to be fine, c'mon. You don't get to say something like that and then die in my arms, that's dramatic even by your standards."

"I..." Chloe was trying to find her words as her eyes searched Beca's, "I..."

"It's okay." Beca shook her head, brushing her her from her eyes, "Chloe it's okay, I love you too. I love you, please don't die on me."

"Beca..." A small smile tugged at Chloe's lips as she grew heavier in her arms, Beca frantically looking around them for someone that was coming to help, "I k-knew it. I knew Aubrey was right... I... love... you..."

-----

"This one's for you Chlo." Beca mumbled, hand rising up to briefly clasp the necklace she wore.

It was almost six months since Chloe had died. Six long, achingly empy months that Beca had endured while trying to navigate this new normal. Aubrey had needed extensive physical therapy to learn to do basic things again, teaching herself to eat and walk and put her own clothes on from scratch. Beca and the Bellas had been there every frustratingly small step of the way, putting up with Aubrey's mood swings and her short temper no matter how often she snapped at them.

The Beales had arrived in Georgia not long after Aubrey had woken up, and things had progressed quickly from there. Far too quickly for Beca as she watched them pack up Chloe's room, removing every trace of her from the Bella House, wanting all the pieces of theor daughters life to grieve over. That was what she had thought anyway until Chloe's mom had quietly entered her room with a large box in hand, setting it next to Beca on the bed and then holding her as Beca had sobbed into her chest.

Chloe had told them all about Beca, about everyrhing she felt for her best friend, and neither of her parents had any desire to take Chloe away from her. So a box with some of Chloe's jumpers, her CDs, her journals and some other sentimental items were Beca's to keep, as was a part of Chloe herself.

She had been cremated, and Beca was given a necklace that had a portion of Chloe's ashes stored safely within an intricate heart design. Beca hadn't taken it off since she had been given it at the funeral, somwhow having a part of Chloe like this had lifted some of the crushing weight from her chest.

Chloe was still with her, still with their family as they all returned to the rountine of college, and eventually of the ICCAs. Beca hadn't wanted to at first, hadn't wanted to perform without Chloe by her side, couldn't face the prospect of having to fill the hole in their choreography or their vocals that had been left.

But when Aubrey had insisted that Beca continued with their plans for this years competition, had all but bullied Beca out of her bed and into a rehearsal, Beca realised she didn't gave to. Not this year anyway. The gap in formation would remain, the missing layer from their vocals wouldn't be restored, and that was okay. It was their way of honouring Chloe, of grieving a loss too big for words. There was no filling Chloe's spot, and that was okay, because no-one could ever fill that gap for them. They would always be a family member down, and pretending otherwise would do none of them any good.

So now, in front of the judges, their fellow acapella singers, and fans, the Barden Bellas would perform in the ICCA finals for Chloe. They would bring home the trophy for the woman who had always believed in them, even when they didn't believe in themselves.

As they sang and danced, performing their hearts out, Beca felt as though Chloe was watching, that if there was some kind of heaven she was sitting on a cloud somewhere and cheering them on with an enthuasism that far outpaced the packed crowd in the theatre. She looked up in the seconds before her solo, half convinced that she could see the beaming grin of the woman she loved shining back at her before she stepped forward.

This one was for Chloe.

"One by one, only the good die young... they're only flyin' too close to the sun, and life goes on... without you..."

Beca had made it through qualifiers and regionals and the quarter and semi finals without shedding a tear, too numb with loss to register the emotions behind her choice for this set as the fast paced number mellowed and sombered. But in the bright lights of the Lincoln Centre, knowing this was her last time performing this set, performing for Chloe so openly, she felt them welling in her eyes with such a force that she was amazed she could still sing.

"Another tricky situation, I get to drowin' in the blues, and I find myself thinkin', well, what would you do?"

"Ooh..."

As the Bellas harmonised around her, Beca let her head drop for a moment, trying to pull herself together to finish. She had to finish, this was for Chloe, she had to keep going.

"Yes, it was such an operation...

"Ooh."

"Forever paying every due.. "

Beca looked gratefully to Sracie who had picked up her solo, breaking formation to stand with Beca and shore her up. She gently wiped a tear from Beca's cheek, her own falling as freely as Beca nodded that she was okay to continue.

"Hell, you made a sensation! You found a way through..."

Beca poured everything she had into her next lines, head high as she belted the lines not to her audience but up high into the air, up to Chloe who she knew was watching them.

"Touch my tears... with your lips... touch my world... with your fingertips... and we can have forever... and we can love forever... forever is our today!"

Beca didn't care if she permanently damaged her vocal chords as she continued to belt out her lines, suddenly so raw and emotional after months of trying to put all her feelings to one side so she could get out of bed. The whole world fell away, Beca left on stage alone as Chloe stood in front of her, tears in her eyes as she reached for Beca, Beca's hand streched out for the hand she knew she wouldn't be able to grasp, desperate to touch Chloe, to hold her hand, to be with her just one more time.

"Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live forever? Forever... is our today..."

The Bellas had joined Beca again, their choreography tossed aside as they moved into a tight line either side of their openly grieving sister, Stacie and Amy practically holding her up as Beca's shaking body managed to produce the final line of their set.

"Who waits forever anyway?"

The lights went down, plunging the stage in darkness, the audience erupted in applause and cheers, but Beca didn't notice any of it, sobbing hard as her legs finally gave out underneath her. It was Stacie that lifted her from the ground, carrying her backstage as Beca fell apart, every ounce of emotion that she had poured into their set tearing her soul to pieces.

"I w-want Chloe." Beca choked out as Stacie held her tighter still, now sequestered backstage with the Bellas around her, "I w-want her b-back!"

"I know." Stacie whispered into her hair, "I know Becs. She'd be so proud of you, that was incredible."

"I want Chloe." Beca whimpered, "I want Chloe."

There was nothing any of them could say, and they knew it, her family instead choosing to move around until all of them had huddled together in a tight embrace, Beca cocooned in the centre of them, raw and bereft as they came together to comfort the one person who had not once fallen apart on them until now.

"I'm here Becs."

Beca knew Chloe wasn't really there, that she wasn't really stood their with them, but in that moment she didn't care, screwing her eyes tighter shut so that she could cling to this illusion a little longer.

"I love you Beca."

Beca could've sworn she felt fingers gently slotting with her own, felt a head pressed against her temple.

"It' okay Beca. You can hold my hand, if it makes you feel safer."

#is it bad if i'm sobbing at my own fic??? because i am 😭😭😭#pitch perfect #pitch perfect fanfic #bechloe #bechloe fics #bechloe fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #fanfiction #my fic #anon #prompt things

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theink-stainedfolk · 7 months ago

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Whispers of Shadow & Love

Chapter 2

Whirlpool Of Memories

In the stillness of the night, Vesperine found herself engulfed in a haunting nightmare. In the depths of her subconscious, she witnessed a woman shrouded in grief, her tears cascading down her cheeks, they slowly turned like crimson streams.

“Aldarien, Vanythor..” she cried. Vesperine knew that that was not a name. Those were noun phrases, possibly to call someone you love. Cradled within her trembling arms lay a lifeless figure, drenched in blood that matched her tears. That was presumably the body of her lover, that was whom she was calling for.

In the agony, she murmured cryptic words in a tongue familiar yet incomprehensible to Vesperine's ears. “En arthorian aldar”

Suddenly, the sorrow-stricken gaze of the woman pierced through her. Her blood red eyes furiously looked at her. her anguished screams tearing through the fabric of reality. Curses spat forth from her lips, accusations hurled towards Vesperine with venomous intent. “Alar.... alar syrthor!!” She screeched “Alar enar'aldar altharion!! Enar arthorion!! Aldar syrthil en syrthor!! En'aldar enar syrthorian en darion!!"Abruptly, the surroundings erupted into a conflagration of flames, consuming everything in its path. The once weeping woman now bore eyes as black as the abyss, driven by an insatiable hunger for vengeance. With an outstretched hand, she lunged towards Vesperine, intent on delivering retribution.

A cold sweat enveloped Vesperine as she jolted awake, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to her. “What the hell…. Was that?...” she groaned as she massaged her head not so gently. She then pulled herself up from the bed and walked towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. Surprisingly, her father, Aldorian, was sitting on the counter and munching on the leftover pizza.

“Hey hunny, what's got you up?” He gently asked her, putting down his papers. “Nightmare and stuff” she spoke, her voice hoarse. “You were asleep? I thought you were awake, talking to someone.” “What? Why would you think so?” She said sitting next to him with a glass. “Because I heard you talking.” What? When was she talking? She's been asleep since 9. “I went to bed at about 9.” “That's strange. I heard voices of you talking.”

She was not talking. She must have been dreaming but she was never talking. The weeping woman was talking and screaming. Talking in a language that she couldn't even speak. “Did you hear what i was talking about?” “ I did hear it. Bits of it. But it didn't sound like any of the languages you have learned. Are you learning a new language?” “No dad.” she spoke, the sweat still on her forehead and back. “I haven't been learning anything new.”

The next morning, her head was still in the world of that nightmare. The very beautiful yet haunting nightmare. Cleo was right in front of her, talking about her crush on Caden, which Vesperine thinks everyone knows, except Caden himself.

“He is just so freaking good looking like his eyes are the prettiest shade of brown I have ever seen. His black shiny hair makes him look so mature.” she chatted. “Can you agree with me at least?” She must have noticed that Vesperine was not paying attention to her words.

“Uh huh, he sure is nice.” He genuinely was good looking, Vesperine did not lie. But he was not her type.

“What is keeping you in your dreamland? What are you daydreaming about?” Cleo asked, curious about the thoughts keeping her distracted.

Vesperine, very carefully stared at her. Thinking about whether or not she should tell her about the nightmare that was so weird.

“You are dumb. You won't understand my thoughts, they are far superior to that of yours.” Vesperine blurted, earning a very angry glare from Cleo.

“Says the one who almost failed last semester.” Cleo angrily grumbled. “It's fine if you don't wanna tell me. We are not that close anyways.” Her frustration was evident in every word she uttered.

Vesperine chuckled and learned closer to her. “Fine, I'll tell you. Do you believe in prophetic dreams?” Vesperine asked seriously. Cleo blinked once then twice. She thought that Vesperine was joking with her.

“No I don't why?” Cleo answered after several seconds of silence. This earned a sigh from Vesperine. “I don't either, honestly.” Vesperine said. “But I have no other ways to explain it.” Vesperine thought for a few more seconds before speaking again. “I had a very strange dream today.” She said and continued after seeing that Cleo was paying attention. “In my dream,” she continued. “I saw a woman weeping with a man in her arms. I assumed that man was her lover because she kept saying noun phrases that were meant to be used for lovers. Mind you, she was speaking in another language. Her eyes that were spilling tears suddenly started spilling blood. She then suddenly looked straight at me bro, as if she could really see me.” Cleo's eyes widened as she heard it. This was truly a very weird dream. “ That woman then began shouting at me. Saying things like ‘it is your fault’ and ‘you did this.’ And then she lurched at me as if she wanted to kill me.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Cleo interrupted her. “So you actually understood the other language? Did you know that language?” Cleo asked a very good question. Vesperine went back to her thoughts swirling in her head. “Not really,” Vesperine said, unsure of her status with that language. “I learned it briefly through my dad. It was Eldarthian, that language which we encountered during our casual hunt, remember? I cannot speak it but read it and understand a little. But in that dream, I understood everything, even the words I hadn't learned before.” After Vesperine finished speaking, both of them went silent for a moment.

“Don't…” Cleo started “don't you think it is because you just encountered that piece and that your brain conjured it up for fun?” They both went into deep thoughts again. “You know what?” Vesperine looked at Cleo. “I'll think of it as a figment of my imagination. I don't want to overthink.” Vesperine said.

“That's my girl.” Cleo rejoiced for her. “I thought you'd think too much and lose all your brain cells.” She joked.

“You wish.” Vesperine shot back, a playful glint in her eyes. “Are you free the day after tho?” She asked.

"Are you treating me to good food? If so then yes," Cleo said with a grin, her eyes lighting up at the prospect.

Vesperine chuckled. "I'll treat you to something better than food.”

“There is nothing better than food, Vesperine.” Cleo said, curious about what I was going on about.

“The day after tomorrow, Caden asked if we were free for a mini historical Linguistic lesson. What is your status?” Vesperine smirked.

Cleo's smile widened. "I'm always free for him," she replied, nudging Vesperine playfully as they got up for their way to the next lecture room. “Text me the time okay?” She added. “Of course.” Vesperine replied.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writing #my writing #writers #writblr #writers of tumblr

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nyaagolor · 2 years ago

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This was supposed to be the opening to a much longer fic about these three that I got bored of and dropped. I still like it tho :)

“So… what now?”

Flamberge had stopped waving at the open air, letting her hand fall to her side as the last of the warp star’s glittering trail fell to the floor around them. Kirby’s starship had long since disappeared over the horizon, leaving them all standing there, completely alone in the sea of stars, watching cosmic waves lap at their feet. The sky beyond was bright, the arena itself pulsing with movement, and yet the mage sisters remained perfectly still, eyes trained on something that had long since disappeared.

They said nothing, just watching the empty space where the destroyer of all their dreams had been, cheerfully waving goodbye. Kirby had, whether they liked it or not, mopped the floor with them, and though his friend heart had cured them of their earlier corruption, it didn’t truly fix… anything. They were still stuck in the swirling gates of an otherworldly Divine Terminus, Void was still gone– defeated and disintegrated by Kirby– and the jamba heart was useless. Even Hyness was discarded like a wet dishrag at the arena’s edge, slumped over and covered in dirtied fabric so unbefitting of such a refined and respected priest. Everything they had worked their whole lives for had been swept away by the galactic tide, leaving them with nothing but each other and the vastness of space.

From the side of the arena, something moved. A familiar whine rang out through the Terminus, sending a chill up the mages’ spines. It didn’t matter how many dimensions they crossed or how fate treated them– the sound of that voice was someone they would recognize anywhere. Francisca and Flamberge rushed over to Hyness, eyes wide in surprise, while Zan stood still for a moment, frozen in shock. Her lord was there, head cocked in confusion as he stared up at them like they had simply woken him from a nap he fully intended on finishing.

“Holy shit, you’re alive?” Flamberge muttered as Francisca fretted about him, checking his face for wounds. In an instant, Zan was beside them, hands shaking and down on her knees like she was praying. The other two moved aside as she knelt further to the ground, carefully cupping Hyness’ face in her hands and bringing herself down to meet his gaze.

“My liege?” she whispered, gentle hands lifting him up incredulously as though his very existence were the holiest of miracles. Tears pricked at her eyes, and as she repeated his name, her voice grew more and more raw, spilling over with emotion. “I thought… oh good stars…”

“What of the Jamba Heart?” Hyness said with a flick of his ears. “What of our ritual?”

Zan was sobbing openly now. “Hyness, I thought… I thought we had lost you.” As she continued to speak, near incomprehensible in her babbling gratitude, Hyness looked away from her, out at the Terminus and its glittering floor. His expression became increasingly upset.

“Zanda,” he urged, “what of the ritual? Where is the Jamba Heart?”

Taken aback, Zan just stared, tears still streaming down her face. “I…”

“You failed,” Hyness said to no one in particular, his gaze transfixed at the trail left behind by Kirby’s warpstar. Zan’s hands fell to her side. “The ritual failed again.”

Zan sniffled and wiped her eyes, unable to find a good answer. Hyness’ once confused expression soured and he dragged himself up, grabbing onto Zan’s robes as he pulled himself to his feet.

“All hope is not yet lost. The future is still bright.” Hyness’ grip on Zan’s arm tightened as he struggled to keep himself upright. He turned back to them, eyes reflecting all the galaxy. Francisca and Flamberge stood to the side, unable to see the same visions in those distant stars. They spared a glance at each other, watching as Hyness lifted his broken body and proclaimed victory in the ashes of defeat.

If it wasn’t going to end here, when would it end? If the dissolving of Void Termina into a million tons of space dust and raw friendship energy wasn’t enough… what was?

#hyness #zan partizanne #francisca #flamberge #mod vex #writing #star allies

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rosetheex-editor · 1 year ago

Text

[Video transcript begin.]

[The transcript begins with the camera facing the ceiling, footsteps and metal on tile are heard before a microwave beep. The footsteps stop as the person can be heard getting a plate out of the microwave, picking up the phone. The camera faces the person, revealing them to be Rose. She sits down before finally talking.]

Rose: OW! HOT HOT HOT! DAMNIT! ugh of course i have the pain receptors in one leg but not my fucking fingers.

[Rose sets the plate and phone on the table before eating, she can be heard singing "good day" by tally hall in between eating the chicken nuggets on her plate. She stops doing both, a sad look appears on her face.]

R: what the hell am i doing! i'm sitting here like a little kid acting like there isn't shit i could be doing! i could be helping people! not… jesus i'm venting to myself now… i really have lost it.

[Rose slowly stands up, using her crutches instead of the wheelchair. Before pacing back and forth only stopping to hit the couch with a crutch, arguing with herself to the sound of no one.]

R: ruby… what would you say… god! you'd probably hate me for lying to your kid… i'm really sorry…

[Rose almost falls trying not to cry heavy breathing heard in-between the crutches scratching on the tile, Rose finally stands back up wiping a tear from her eye and catching her breath.]

R: i'm gonna help your kid… promise… GOD, i'm fucking talking to myself ag-

[Before Rose can finish rushed knocking can be heard on the door, she jumps up before falling on the ground using the table to catch herself. Before she walks to the door she shouts.]

R: COMING! JUST HOLD ON!

[Rose picks up her phone, rushing on one crutch to the door. Before opening it she takes a moment to breathe, the knocking continues, As she gently opens the door.]

R: who the hell is it?

[Behind the door stands a shorter woman with busted up blue-framed glasses, her dark red hair tied back in a ponytail, but it looks to be coming loose, her light pink flannel, pastel green t-shirt and dark blue jeans coated in mud, sticks and blood, her expression is one of desperation and fear, tears stream down her freckled cheeks from her brilliant emerald green eyes. Her expression gains a slight bit of hope, and she begins speaking incomprehensibly, attempting to get all of her thoughts out at once.]

R: WOAH WOAH, BREATHE, BREATHE!

[The woman stumbles, leaning against the doorframe, taking a few deep breaths before trying to speak again.]

?: I– can you– they’re– they’re after me! Please!

R: WHO? who's after you?

?: The– masks, I don’t– please let me in!

R: come in!

[The woman moves forward, tripping over her own feet on her way in, falling forward. She quickly turns around to face Rose.]

R: oh yeah the door!

[Rose shuts the door before turning back to the woman, pointing at the couch to signal the woman to sit down. She stands up shakily, and makes her way to the couch.]

R: ok! so, what happened to you? what's wrong?

[The woman shudders, looking Rose dead in the eyes, before shakily looking at her hands.]

?: So– I– I was j– just at my job, w– working on a– a– a project and I looked down and saw– saw blood, and before I c– could even pro– process it, I was being chased and… I ran here and knocked on the– the first apartment I could th– think of!

R: i… i see… god, i'm sorry that happened, really. um… water?

?: Y– yes, please.

[Rose walks into the kitchen grabbing a cup of water, moving slowly so as to not drop it or a crutch. Before just getting in a wheelchair, rolling over before handing the women the cup.]

R: do you have a name?

?: I… Yes. I’m– I’m Evelyn. I think.

R: nice to meet you evelyn. my name is rose. um, hold on, do you need first aid?

[Evelyn nods, taking a few sips of the water she was just handed. Rose begins rolling over to find the first aid kit, grabbing it before rolling back.]

R: do you think you'll need stitches?

Ev: I– maybe. I don’t– I don’t know how bad the cuts are. I…

R: shit… ok, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it then… first, let’s get the dirt out of those cuts.

[Rose begins grabbing wipes out of the kit, holding it to Evelyn's face. Evelyn winces as Rose begins removing the dirt.]

R: sorry, it's gonna sting.

Ev: That’s fine, it– it’ll be better for me in the long run.

R: yeah… true.

[Rose continues to clean the wounds, and Evelyn clenches her jaw, fighting through the stinging of the disinfectant. Tears welling up in her eyes.]

R: just breathe. i know it hurts, mate, but… well, yeah.

Ev: I know, I– I know, I… I don’t remember where I was before this, and it’s– I’m getting a bit scared that I never will.

R: listen. you'll remember… don't worry, ok? i promise you'll remember.

Ev: … Thank you, I’m sorry that I just… sprang that on y– you out of nowhere.

R: don't worry about it! i don't mind helping someone when they need it.

[Rose throws the final wipe away before looking at the cuts, nodding before pulling out some bandaids. Looking at Evelyn shaking her head.]

R: good news! no stitches needed.

[Evelyn’s shoulders loosen, and she sighs in relief. Before smiling gratefully at Rose.]

R: yeah, it's just gonna be a lot of bandaids.

Ev: Thank you so much for this, Rose. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.

R: no need! like i said, i'm just glad to help.

Ev: Can you tell me a little about yourself? I’d like to get to know you better.

R: oh, um… sure! i'm 19. i… had a older sister who passed away. she had a kid… before she died. i live here with my dad. anything else?

Ev: I’m so sorry to hear that. About your sister, I mean.

R: yeah… thanks.

[Rose looks at Evelyn before looking down to shut the first-aid kit, rolling to return the first-aid kit before noticing the transcript light. Looking back at Evelyn before rolling over to the phone to shut it off, the camera cuts out but the mic picks up one last thing.]

R: SHUT OFF DAMNIT!

[End transcript.]

#showfall ask blog #encoreverse blog

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merge-conflict · 2 years ago

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💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

🥰

Alright, so unfortunately all I have to share for this one is pieces that are either technically a WIP, or a cut scene, but c'est la vie.

When I'm drafting out an important scene that isn't dialog-heavy I tend to write in stream of consciousness, hitting all the sensory descriptions and metaphors at a high level, which sort of gives me a frame to actually write the rest of it along? I had to search to find a small example because I've started just deleting them after I've written it.. so from cyberhanami I had:

Born To Die [Johnny Silverhand - thats what the name is for, a construct just like the tower. the whipping wind, the smell of burnt plastic, scorched metal and ganic flesh. moving into the belly of the beast. gummy lids. pain too intense to think. half blinded by the blast but it doesn’t matter. from hotblooded to sluggish. triumphant and then just Dead. he wakes up to see the tower. he wakes up to see the tower!]

I took me a while to start doing that, I think because I felt like it wasn't the Proper Way to outline anything, before I realized that was a dumb reason not to use a tool that works lol. Anyway, at some other point I also realized that if I clean this up a little, it has a very particular energy that is perfect for writing a sensory overload moment, or a sort of dissociative scene. Think like those moments in movies where all you hear is a loud ringing sound while a character is trying to deal with either too much at once, or the literal or metaphorical outcome of an explosion. And I really like having found a distinct style to tell those scenes in, which I did first roughly in a now outdated scene (probably 2-ish years old..) for my longfic:

Which direction she picked she couldn’t tell. Johnny’s voice buzzed in her head, subtle as a jackhammer and just as incomprehensible. She passed people on the street, who regarded her with the well-founded hostility all Pacifica had for outsiders, and she had to strangle the absurd desire to shriek with laughter.

Her throat ached. Her body ached.

Her heart, her sorry bruised broken dead heart, sat in her chest and she wanted to pull it out and scrape it clean, bite it, cut it, eat it, anything to make it stop.

The sun was too loud, glinting off concrete like a spotlight. Her skull heaved. She could feel thick blood oozing out of her nose, her ears, her mouth but though she kept wiping at her face she found only sweat. Tears, too, which stung at her eyes. Every part of her vibrated with panicked fury, shivering in the heat of the midday sun. Johnny’s speech gradually had more pauses, more profanity, demanding a response, but it all washed over her like autumn wildfire.

Which was a lot of fun to write, but even though it's kind of pushing at what the Rules of writing are that I vaguely remember from school, it's still pretty regular. So I thought, what happens when I say fuck the rules, and really mess around with style and presentation. Who gets to decide the format and encoding of this piece I'm sharing? Me! :3

And so even though this is an out of order scene that I still have so much to get through before I decide how and in what form to keep it, I'm very attached to the extremely dissociative style of a WIP I've shared in a few iterations:

“Valentina?”

it was a calm voice, a strong voice, wielded in the kind of tone reserved for something feral and dangerous and pathetic. she could not be valentina, and she could not be johnny, and she could not be human, but the awful cacophony in her head would not allow her to be nothing.

Just with the lowercase formatting, it creates a sense of unease, a sense of distance from being fully conscious and fully present. The sentences run into each other, over each other. Not a fully formed thought, but more of an animal stream of consciousness. The following should resonate with anyone who has had to bear the mortifying ordeal of being comforted during a breakdown:

“I need an answer, Valentina. Yes or no. You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to, but I still need your answer.”

“No.”

her voice weak. her voice soft like rust. an impression where once something used to be.

“Thank you. Now how are you feeling?”

her lungs wheezed, a madman’s laughter, but that was hers that was her right and she was weak and tired but her laugh was sharp like a blade and so long as she could hide her face from light it was enough to keep the ground underneath her feet.

“Valentina–“

“No.” Wrong.

this doctor was not stupid. “V?”

agreement could be a sort of silence– if you were petty about it, if you were cornered and angry and helpless like a cat in alley. a fox in a trap. (no. no more. no more–) if you were coiled in and around yourself, where you could not be, but could not afford not to be, that could be yes.

Even like this, you can see that the panicked animal brain is still being managed by V's reflexive and somewhat painful self-awareness. And I'm really happy with dipping into that style when the story is specifically about sense of self, how far self-control can go, and fighting against your own nature.

Aaaaaanyway this got stupidly long and I'm sorry for that, but I just love deliberately playing with writing style and finding and playing to my strengths, even if it's not everyone's cup of tea. :3

#using up one of my long post tickets for this one #ask meme #my instinct that talking about my work is impolite battling with my urge to ramble about writing :3 #can i also say what a delight it is to see everyone talking about the parts of the art they're most passionate about?#i love it #please do it every day i'll never get tired of seeing it #edit: i may have strayed somewhat from the exact instructions for this ask but ehhhhh

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