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empthy1 · 1 month ago

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like them? ── .✦ patrick zweig x reader

hallo!! this is more a character study than anything. his loser ways intrigue me. not really happy with the ending :[ hope you enjoy anyways ‪♡. 2k words.

You were perfect.

Your glacé demeanor was the thing that drew him to you. Screw what anyone else said, he deserved a minute amount of softness once in a blue moon.

Especially after a particularly humiliating challenger.

So what if he was distracted by you? That doesn't account for his less than stellar performance, surely (he can blame the motel mattress for the crick in his back) but it sure contributed. That toothy grin was lethal, and you didn't even know it.

He was drawn back to your sparkling eyes every time he hit, the sound of the thwack fading into the back of his mind. He knew you wouldn't catch him—you were watching the ball flicker over the net with every hard strike.

It was only inevitable you would catch him.

The ball sails past him, slamming into the rusted, chain-link fence with a loud crash. It tauntingly lodged in one of the openings. As your eyes dart to catch its motion, you instead catch his dark gaze right on yours.

Patrick plucks the ball from its sunken position and pockets it, shoving it into his too-big shorts. He swore they fit a couple months ago.

He shuffles off the court after a half-hearted handshake with his (much) younger opponent, who gives him a movie star grin—like he’d won Wimbledon and not a backwater challenger.

You're waiting for him at the barrier, hands pressing into the metal. It's gotten a bit nippier, recently, in the late November month.

The sight of your trembling shoulders and fixed gaze makes him bold enough to invite you for a bite to eat.

He’s cute, all bumbling motions and wry, nervous smirks. His hip hits the barrier after one particularly eager motion. He thinks he hides his resulting wince well.

(He does not.)

You ended up in a diner. There were two in the town. He’d learned from the woman at the motel. He only heard half of her sentence as he was dead on his feet, but he distinctly remembers being told one was "absolute shit."

When he took a sip of jet black coffee and felt the bitter, smooth burn on his tongue, he knew he chose the right one.

He tries to start conversation. A cough instantly lodges the second he tries to speak, catching on the buildup in his throat.

“-sorry. Yeah, so… why were you here to watch?” You definitely look too cool for this town. Too cool for him, which is a sentence he never thought he’d think. His younger self would be aghast.

You purse your lips familiarly, and suddenly it's not you sitting across from him but her, tawny skin matte in the diner's shitty lighting and messy braid slung over one shoulder. Your words snap him out of his revere.

"Oh, well, I'm just a fan. You've got such a explosive style... I like it."

Well that's something she'd never say.

The unfamiliar kindness to your tone makes him smile crookedly.

He's different that night, around you. Not that you'd know.

His soft laughter rings through the almost-empty diner. You'd both ordered food by now—just waiting it to be delivered from the noisy kitchen. He can't remember exactly what you'd said that made him laugh like that, tinkling in a way he'd never let escape him before, but he finds he can't really remember.

When your food comes, you do this polite little shimmy back, eyes following the plate of pancakes as it's placed down in front of you. Jesus, that's familiar. He misses seeing how his eyes would go big at every meal, eagerly taking in the veritable mountain of food in front of him.

Then, his hot plate of eggs and toast is placed down in front of him and he can't help but dig in. He forgets all about him, if only for a moment, at the melt of warm, cheesy eggs on his tongue. Yep. Definitely the good diner.

One thing he's used to—feeling hungry. For food, for people, for happiness.

It leads to impulses. Bad ones.

He's accepted dates from so many sleazes. Let them push him and treat him wrong for reasons he doesn't want to think about can't understand.

Whatever. Introspection's a bitch.

He prefers to let them feed him on their dime and then have the mediocre sex they expect from him for their kindness. He slips out after they fall asleep and returns to his apartment or motel room (or car, when it's that bad.)

Oddly enough, you don't give him those urges. The results of his mindless swiping don't feel like the little meet-cute he'd fallen into.

The last thing he expects to do is to slip you his number he scrawled on the receipt for the bill you split. Can't imagine why he's kissing your cheek under the awning, protecting you both from the rain before waving you off—giggling, actually laughing at the view of you as you run to your car, hood pulled up over your head.

Not even a thought ran through him about propositioning you.

He returns to his stuffy motel room, peels off his shirt at the muted hum of the shitty AC. Broken again. He'll be gone by morning, anyway.

Slumping back against the mattress, his eyelids press visions of light eyes and curling hair to his mind. They don't feel as oppressive, as terrifying when their intercut with your voice, your smile.

The next time he sees you, it's colder. Far into winter, his breaths puff clouds into the air. The city is windier than the small town you'd met in, the skyscrapers tunneling the frigid air right against his back.

This was a long time coming. You'd think him younger (or busier) with the way he's glued to his phone—awaiting your messages and, later, calls.

He definitely feels younger; less like a man in his early thirties and more like a teenage girl. He hadn't crushed like this since—

That's enough of that.

The long trudge to your apartment was only caused by the less-than-ideal parking your old building had. By the time he made it to your doorstep, ringing the bell with tingling fingers and rubbing his reddening nose, he was thoroughly frozen.

His clothes was less than ideal, too—unused to being in a place that snows during the winter months. He runs from the freezing temperatures, fearing the slowness they bring and the idleness that may trap him. He flees to California and Florida for the winter, creeping around the coast and clinging on to the barest hints of heat that remain there.

Your apartment is his California, now.

The second the door opens, he's hit with a wave of warmth. The warm air seeps over his skin, coming from the rumbling heater and the scattered burning candles and the happily humming oven.

Yeah. He could get used to that. Especially the bright smile on your face at the sight of him, nose red and eyes squinted despondently.

"Pat. Come in. Jeez—you look cold."

Being swept into your apartment felt intimate. His shoulders tensed at the tug of his coat, unwilling to part with it even if you were just trying to be a good hostess—

Yet, as soon as the heavy fabric slipped off his back, he realized how laden it had been with ice and melted snow, keeping the chill pressed to his skin.

The flannel he had on underneath, layered over a long-sleeve, was much warmer. It seemed to absorb from the air and from his own body heat, insulating his trembling arms. His frozen hands rise to rub at his biceps, before slipping up to bathe in the pocket of heat it'd created.

He doesn't even notice being led to the couch, pressed into the cushion by your gentle hands. He settles heavily against one of your throw pillows.

The bustle of you in the kitchen is firmly background noise now, the faint clicking of a mechanical timer buzzing on the counter. Without the cumbersome weight of the cold, the desire for sleep enfolds his mind. His eyelids droop heavy, burdened no more with gelid crystals of ice.

A melting droplet slips down his cheek, followed soon by a salty one. They runoff, fading into the throw pillow that bears his curly head.

He's knocked out before the timer even beeps.

“Hey, hey.” Is softly cooed in his ear, a warm hand shaking his shoulder.

Oh. It’s Art, waking him up for practice—whatever, five more minutes. He attempts to shrug off the touch and flop on his belly, but his resting place feels smaller than his bed was at Mark Rebellato.

No, the fingers are too slim, and this is definitely closer to twin-sized. Tashi, then. Dude, he just got back from tour yesterday. He huffs and grumbles and tries to roll over again. Can’t she let him sleep in—

But he keeps getting shaken, and he blinks open bleary eyes to find no hint of… them. Just you, blinking down at him with a steaming bowl clutched in your other hand.

His sleep-crusted eyes flutter, caught off-guard at the rush of memories and then the brutal battering of your visage on his brain. Right. You're here, with him—or he's here, with you. In your apartment, on your couch. He'd fallen asleep.

"Dinner, Pat. Have you gotten thinner?"

He probably has. He accepts the bowl greedily, digging the offered fork deep into the white rice and chicken, dripping with a sauce he's never had but supremely enjoys.

It's different, home-cooked meals. He'd never had one, a true one, until he'd met him. To have a member of the family cook and pour hours into a dish was something he'd never seen. He usually didn't even glimpse the cooks, and was shooed from the bustling kitchen anytime he so much as tried to peek in.

The presentation wasn't the masterful art he'd grown to know, with perfectly placed leaves and round dollops of puree. But it steamed, wafting scents into his nose. He appreciated every bite.

You'd flipped on the TV while he was devouring the meal. Once he zones back in, he hears it—a droning voice enunciating familiar words.

"This is live coverage of the Australian Open, looks like the Donaldsons are coming in now—"

His head shoots up.

Gaze contacting with the screen, he glimpses cropped blond and a newly-cut bob. His eyes are downcast, following obediently behind her like an acolyte. Occasionally, he sees his gaze dart up, as if she'd acknowledge him and stray from her warpath.

Yeah, he's seen this before. Keep pushing, Sisyphus. She's no Orpheus.

He finds the strength to turn it off. His thin fingers tug the remote from your lap, impacting the little red button harshly. The place of it on your coffee table echoes.

"...can we go to bed?"

He's never been cradled like this before. After you'd fussed, shoved him into a too-big sweatshirt (he doesn't know where you got it) and graciously let him take his jeans off, you tugged him to your chest and buried your nose in his still-damp hair.

His hands are still warm from the bowl when they snake over your skin. Bared thighs slot against yours, pulled close and tangled in the web that is you.

Usually, he'd struggle. Resist the pull and tug of silken, sticky threads—each one only entrapping him further.

This time, he sinks into them. Surrenders, like a venom-laded fly to be wrapped and ensnared. The sounds of your breathing soothe his restless mind.

You're no longer him, with his smile and the youthful glimmer he used to see. Or her, with your funny, but scathing commentary. He doesn't see her in your focused looks, or hear him in your laughs. They meld together, swirled and blended into an amalgamation.

You soothe the roughened edges of the image. There's no cutting feeling in his gut or the curl of a vice around his ribs.

Just the press of your collarbone against his forehead and your breath through his short tresses.

#kiera's fics ₊˚⊹ ࿔#patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #challengers fic #challengers 2024

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theoutcastrogue · 9 months ago

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[From a 2014 article by John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats. He's talking about how a random spam email ended up inspiring a part of his book Wolf in White Van. Later, in 2020, the album Getting Into Knives came out, and I think it inspired its artwork too.]

"It took years for me to be able to just reflexively delete spam, or filter it so that I never see it at all. I blame the spammers for this; the quality of their work took a sharp nosedive at some point. But during whatever period of the internet’s growth you’d call the early 2000s, it seemed like you’d still get some winners: things that had been typed up by a person, sent out to a bunch of email addresses they’d bought or rented for 5 or 10 bucks from the only guy who was ever going to make any money in this particular exchange. Most of them went directly, if manually, into the trash; but once in a while, there’d be one that seemed to earn, at the very least, the minute it’d take me to read it.

The one I’m remembering here was subject-lined SUPPLY OF KNIVES. [...] The subject line opened on an all-caps email that boasted, in ornate, antiquated English appealing to the reader’s more refined sensibilities, about the high quality of the knives on offer at an external website. You shouldn’t click on links in spam email. I live my life on the razor’s edge! I clicked the link.

I want to tell you about these knives: They were beautiful. They were weird. They had elaborate designs in the handles, moons or stars of wolf heads, and special grips, and a variety of points. They were made from metals whose pedigrees were described lovingly, and had been struck — smithed? wrought? — via processes I knew absolutely nothing about, but that sounded fantastic, difficult, arcane. It’s the joy of specialized language: When you’re an outsider to it, it can’t help but sound cool.

Of course this is the whole idea of any operation like this. SUPPLY OF KNIVES could well have been, and probably was, a company in Ohio who’d stumbled across an old warehouse full of knives, and knew enough about sales to describe these things in the most exotic terms they could find. I’m pretty immune to pitches: Who likes to feel like he’s being pitched? But somebody involved with SUPPLY OF KNIVES had had just enough authorial flair — that, or true faith — to caption each knife’s mysterious, blurry accompanying JPEG with a description whose constant recourse to specialized vocabularies seemed to say, “You’re not even reading this unless you already know about this sort of thing. Let us therefore speak like the fellow travelers we are.”

It was like a trade catalog for roadside bandits in need of knives.

I can’t speak for everybody, but I know that when I was a child the life of the roadside bandit seemed like a pretty romantic way to go. I looked at all these knives and read the descriptions and was just generally delighted about the whole thing, so I saved the email in a “memorable spam” folder I used to keep that had maybe two other emails in it. A few years later, Apple came out with this robotic-arm-screen iMac you never see any more, and we were long overdue for a new computer so we got that; and then, after a while, I got myself a laptop, because I was traveling all the time, and eventually both the old iMacs ended up in the basement, and they were both asleep but alive until fairly recently, as far as I knew.

But when I went to check for the email, it was gone. The old blue iMac is dead, bricked, lifeless. Searches on the term “supply of knives” on this laptop and on good old robot-arm-screen find nothing. The backup CD for the blue iMac drive is probably in a drawer around here somewhere, but that’s like saying, “The coin I had in my swim trunks’ pocket is probably somewhere in the ocean.” There is no SUPPLY OF KNIVES. There’s only the memory."

[source]

And this is the wonderful cover art of Getting Into Knives. Back cover and promo material below. Note that "Knives International" and "Knives Wordwide" are not real companies, they appear to be a callback to that elusive spam email.

#not that I'm particularly into TMG #but it's interesting #trs #The Mountain Goats #John Darnielle #Getting Into Knives #Wolf in White Van #only knives left #tools of the trade #bandit #prison ballads #tangentially

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bloomingdarkgarden · 8 months ago

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To Taste Wisteria in Her Lullaby

A contribution to @elriel-month 2024

3,2K | Angst-Pining | Azriel POV | Shameless Garden Metaphors

This one shot is decicated to @tealeaves-and-rosepetals, @wingedblooms and @deathsweetblossoms my verdant darlings. The other day we were discussing our admiration of Elain as a plant lover, and well, I decided that Azriel needs to do the same thing. Low and behold, who does he find also wondering her gardens in the moonlight?

Sleep is a word he no longer remembers.

It was always an elusive hope.

Now it evades him entirely.

A midsummer moon spilled upon the tranquil terrace of the river manor. How two seasons had come to pass in what felt like a handful of days, Azriel did not know. Solstice was long gone. Starfall came and went.

Both had faded like dreams in the ether.

And here he was, half the year gone by.

An evening breeze sifted through the garden’s verge. Warm, decadent, indigo-rich with the scent of night.

Elain was here, in these gardens.

Not physically. But in every blossom, every delicate unfurling- she was here. Her foresight and planning, her craft in the groundwork and choice of species. Her innate ability to nourish and grow beautiful things from a dark, empty void of soil.

From a dark, empty void of a male heart, too.

Nights like tonight were… difficult for him. Listening to pleasant banter around the dinner table for hours, contributing to it himself in a false effort to bury his own misery. He thought the need for her might ebb, after so many months had passed, or at the very least, the mourning. That cold loss of what almost was.

But the need lingered instead.

It lingered, and lingered, and lingered, always.

The eden she had cultivated in the river manor was nothing shy of extraordinary. An illustrious, dream-ridden world of wisteria, lavendula, lily and countless flowers Azriel couldn’t wholly identify. Elain tended these courtyards in honor of Rhys and Feyre, with the grandeur of the high court in mind. The blossoms chosen were a range of whisper-blue, lilac and starlight, every possible shade in between. Yet while undeniably lovely, the royal gardens were a far cry from what she chose to grow at the townhouse.

Elain did not know, but Azriel occasionally ambled through that garden, too, in the dead of night. The townhouse felt closer to her heart than this place, somehow. Closer to who she was intrinsically. A little less refined beneath the surface. Etched with softer, wilder blooms far more tangled and lovely.

He strolled silently through the furthest of the terraces, shrouded beneath high walls of ivy. A clock somewhere far off chimed three in the morning and Azriel made an effort not to acknowledge the implication.

Sleep is a word he no longer remembers, after all.

In the quietest hours of the night, not even his shadows could seem to muster the energy to stay awake anymore. They lulled at his shoulders, slumbering for the most part, tracing silent footfalls.

Which is why, as he rounded a corner lost in thought, the last thing he anticipated was colliding headlong into another person in the dead of night.

But there she was.

“Oh,” Elain murmured with soft surprise, halting her quiet steps.

She was only a half-breath away, just as taken aback as he was. The reflection of a night sky glittering in the sleepless chestnut of her eyes. So close that Azriel could count the stars within them.

They all looked as lost and lonely as those within his own.

She was clad in a soft champagne shift, a semi-transparent shawl wrapped around her slight shoulders. Her hair was-

unbound.

And the whisper of her soft curves could be seen through the moonlight.

Fuck, this was a cruel sort of dream.

His own descent into purgatory always began this way. With her, like this, in his arms. With his lips tracing a tender trail over every inch of her skin. With her being then stolen away from him by some cursed hand of fate he could never again reach.

Loose, natural waves of curl illuminated her silhouette in the dark hush of the garden. The need to run his hands through those curls would be his demise.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she explained by way of greeting.

Azriel swallowed, understanding all too well.

“I know the feeling,” he offered frankly in return.

Silence abounded.

Elain lowered her gaze momentarily, color blooming across her cheek. Azriel tried not to brand the memory of her this way- unbound, moonlit, and half-dressed- into his hindbrain for the next 700 years.

“I was just admiring your work,” he murmured, glancing to the nearby trellis.

A half-honest truth.

“I myself was doing the opposite,” she softly mused, leaning to study a stunning assortment of moonlily. “There’s much that could be improved, anyway. Though the rosaceae and mints have turned out nicely this year despite the late snow.”

Immediately, he knew Elain was exhausted. He could hear it in the drawn timbre of her voice.

He wanted to take her away.

Far away.

Somewhere he could be allowed to trace the skin of her entire body with the soft petals of her perfect primrose blooms. And whisper, all the while, that she didn’t know how to grow something that wasn’t breathtaking.

Azriel said nothing, ignoring the songs of impossible dreams.

His shadows were awake now, observing the source of those songs. Curiously peering at her from their swirling perch.

He could hear wisteria in the lullaby of her. He could hear tiredness, and soil-ridden hands, and an ache so deep it put the sea to shame.

The song of her was as siren-dark as it always had been. Deep, haunting, and killing him slowly.

“I can’t say there is anything I would change,” he offered, “about this sanctuary.”

Elain was always most comfortable this way, speaking of plants, when other words could not be found. Or simply remained unspoken. It was a language they both knew well after countless late evenings at the townhouse. Plants were always a reason, or an excuse, they had to stay awake all night together.

That, it seemed, hadn’t changed.

“Are there any that you admire most tonight?” Elain asked quietly, stepping down a long wisteria corridor. He followed, unable to resist the urge. They slowly strolled, side by side, beneath a rippling sea of violet reverie.

Azriel motioned to a cluster of delicate flowers on the corridor’s trellis with notched, pale petals. “This is one I admire often,” he murmured.

Night Phlox.

He knew as much from the library’s botanical volumes. Rich, detailed diagrams he was fond of combing through now again. He made a point to borrow those books every so often over the course of last winter. Just to know, just to understand the complexity of what exactly Elain was accomplishing that no one in the godsforsaken world seemed to notice.

Gardening was hellish work.

Elain finished her day bent, bleeding, and begrudgingly exhausted more often than not. No one seemed to recognize the toll it had on her. The least he could do was learn why she chose to undertake it all.

What he discovered, in the end, was that she liked the labor. She liked the marks the verdant battles left behind. She wanted to earn the beauty of a bloom, rather than being given it freely.

And Azriel began falling in love with her as a result.

“Phlox,” she offered, eyeing the flower and confirming his suspicion. “It has only just begun its course for summer, but soon you’ll see it everywhere I should think.”

“This, too, is rather taking,” Azriel strolled on, now admiring a pale blue primrose.

Elain nodded in agreement, tucking a curl behind her pointed ear. “Those are some of my favorites,” she admitted softly.

The pair crossed the end of the corridor, entering a secluded grove at the far end of the courtyard, lined with high walls of greenery. Azriel paused before a lush partition of fragrant, ivory flowers rustling in the wind.

“In regards to your question,” he murmured, “this is what captures me most,”

Elain’s gaze settled on the blooms and she swallowed, the moment hesitant.

“Jasmine,” she noted quietly. “Night blooming jasmine. Some call it poisonberry.”

“Lady of the night,” he added gently, looking at her now.

There was nothing in the world that carried a scent so lovely as that which lingered on her skin. This flower was making an honorable effort.

So there was no other choice, really.

He wondered if she knew, truly knew. And had a feeling she did.

Elain’s fingers brushed the soft petals. “What do you admire about it?” she asked carefully.

His throat bobbed.

“It is, of course, far more beautiful than the rest,” he said, brushing scarred knuckles over the jasmine stems. “But moreover it is prone to waking the moment the world stops paying attention. When all the world sleeps, this creature dreams,” he noted. “I find that rather…. alluring.”

“Alluring,” Elain repeated, a soft murmur.

He thought she might shy away, but she did not. He certainly would not. Not with her so near, and so decadent, and so sinfully lovely in the moonlight.

If that made him a self-serving bastard, so be it.

“You know more about plants than you let on, I think,” Elain muttered wryly.

Azriel’s mouth curled upwards. “You know more about most things than you let on.”

She shrugged, a grin now blossoming on her cheek, which might be the end of him. Elain was staring up at him now, openly. More pointedly, at the place just between his ear and his neck.

“You have them too,” she remarked.

Azriel swallowed, tracking her gaze. He realized she was speaking of the curls nipping against his skin, courtesy of the dew-kissed night.

“A gift from my mother,” he murmured back. “When it’s damp, anyway.”

His own eyes lingered on the ends of her long curls, pooled over her breasts, kissing against the small of her waist. Azriel craved every piece of her they could touch and he could not.

“I might also add that the scent of this particular flower is the only which bids me sleep at night,” he murmured, glancing to her beneath hooded eyes.

“Is that so?” she shifted marginally closer.

He nodded in return.

“Perhaps you might take some to bed,” she offered, eyes doe-wide. “I could cut a few stems for you.”

Azriel hesitated, but did not tear his gaze away. “Our High Lord may not approve.”

“Of taking a flower that soothes you to sleep?”

He swallowed.

“Of taking that which does not belong to me.”

Elain’s brow furrowed. She turned away, the rawness of those words having fracturing the fragile thing between them. He was desperate to have it back the moment it was gone.

She again regarded the wall of night-blooming jasmine.

“It’s true, jasmine has flowering patterns that are rather unusual. And if it is planted just days too early or too late in the season, it might wither before ever blooming. The plant is rather… delicate that way.”

“I’m not sure anything could quell the beauty of such a creature.”

Elain exhaled softly, bitterly. “I wish I had your confidence,” she uttered. “A great many enemies oppose the bloom. Disease, insects, unexpected shifts in weather- ” a pause. “I would have thought north of the wall they would be better adapted to the climate, but here, they face the same struggles they did in the human lands.”

Azriel measured the sadness in her eyes and hated himself for being the cause.

“Perhaps there are other foes aside from the usual elements contributing to their suffering,” he countered.

She looked at him keenly. “Such as?”

He swallowed, wondering how direct or indirect to be. And because he was exhausted and half in love with her, his brooding nature won out over reason.

“Invasive species taking root where they do not belong,” he muttered darkly. A terse pause. “Foxglove comes to mind.”

Elain seemed to bite back a laugh despite her own exhaustion.

“Yes invasives can indeed be problematic,” she tried and failed not to grin, “though only if the soil is willing to host them.”

Azriel swallowed, unwilling to muster a response that didn’t sound murderous.

Elain seemed to notice. And carried on gracefully, as she always did.

“I’ve found the soil of the night court rather unforgiving, anyway. When a plant roots here,” she met his eyes, “it is steadfast in its choice, no matter how ill-fated.”

His heart stopped beating for a moment.

Something aching reached for him from within her gaze, and it nearly split him in two. “What truly makes the bloom suffer most of all in the end is a lack of proper nourishment, Azriel,” she said quietly.

They weren’t speaking about jasmine anymore. They weren’t even speaking of jasmine to begin with.

He knew it. She knew it. And both seemed unable to look away.

“Why do you not find sleep?” he asked lowly.

Elain swallowed, lips parting with an answer that seemed stuck in her throat. She looked at him with soft eyes then.

“Why do you not?”

Silence followed. Heavy with sorrow and longing and all the rest.

“Elain,” his gaze shuttered, his voice barely audible.

“Was it-” she took a shaking breath, “-was it truly so wrong? So shameful to you?”

The words tore a true, gaping hole into his already-ruined heart. He stepped towards her instinctively, unable to keep from doing so.

“Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Hope bloomed eternal in her eyes and he needed to touch her again. The need was so arresting he couldn’t seem to move, on the brink of falling into an abyss.

Elain registered that need. And his inability to see it through.

So she took it upon herself to feed the need instead.

The bliss and agony of her touch was his undoing.

A gentle reach of her pale hands up to the base of his neck, resting her arms there as she twined his silk-black curls between her fingers. His hands snaked to her waist and relief coursed through him like nothing else at the warmth of her beneath his hands.

This is where she belonged.

Azriel lowered his head against hers, hazel eyes fluttering closed as that honey-rich, jasmine scent soothed every wrecked piece of him left jagged in her absence.

The silence between them fraught with a thousand lonely starlit nights.

“There it is,” Elain whispered.

Azriel murmured an inarticulate noise in question.

“The quiet,” she said, stroking the skin of his cheek. “How I’ve missed it, with you.”

She was incurably exquisite.

“I can’t,” he began, wondering if he was a fool for saying it aloud. “I can’t seem to share it with anyone else.”

“Nor can I,” she returned, without a moment’s pause.

A handful of words beneath the moonlight and he was already doing everything he swore to the forgotten gods he wouldn’t do again. Inhibition was a ghost on the wind.

Those gods had forsaken him long ago anyway.

He stayed like that for quite some time, with her beneath his hands. Listening to that blissful quiet. She stayed with him, hidden beneath the garden walls. Azriel had no idea how long they spent that way, but it would never be long enough. He opened his eyes again eventually.

And then, in those most endearing moment he had ever witnessed in five centuries of lonely brooding-

Elain yawned.

She haphazardly attempted to rub the sleep gathering in her eyes away before looking up to him softly.

He was ruined.

“I should bid you goodnight,” he murmured politely. His hands were still on her waist and they did not move.

“Should you?” she asked, taking her hand within his own.

This was by far the cruelest thing he had ever deigned to dream.

She pulled away, and every muscle in his body wailed in protest, though her hand was still wrapped in his own. Elain again studied the wall of jasmine with tired eyes.

“You say the scent helps you sleep,” she murmured. “You will not take it with you, so why not stay where it is strongest?”

Azriel knew he ought to contest, make some flimsy excuse, walk away.

“Elain-” he rasped, but the words went nowhere.

“Stay,” she whispered. “Just stay.”

Elain lowered herself to the garden floor, leaning against that wall of jasmine.

Two hours until dawn, and no fight left in him tonight.

Azriel succumbed to the pull of her small hand downwards. He sank to the ground, pressing his back against the wall of jasmine aside her.

Elain wasted no time. In a series of impossibly beautiful events, she curled into his lap- nestling her head against him and murmuring a sigh of relief as if she, too, needed this.

Her shawl was lumped haphazardly around her, so he carefully untangled it, wrapping it neatly before tucking her in close.

She stared up at him, and the stars in her eyes were no longer lost or lonely.

They were bright.

They were beautiful.

They were blooming.

The melody of her was immeasurably lovely, lulling his shadows back to slumber. A few of them began dancing over her skin, murmuring soft lullabies, enveloping them both from sight.

Elain loosened a soft, pleased noise at their sleepful sound.

“Do they always do this for you?” she asked carefully. “Sing you to sleep?”

“Often, yes.”

A quiet pause.

“Alluring,” she quipped.

His mouth quirked upwards and he ran a tender hand down the length of her back. As if this wasn’t a dream. As if she was his, and his alone, tonight.

Elain responded by gently reaching upwards to carefully tuck a single bloom of jasmine into the muss of his curls.

“I’d like to imagine feeling your shadows every night, like this,” she uttered, voice husky with sleep.

Azriel swallowed a low, strangled noise in his throat.

He took a long moment. Maybe two. She nestled closer to him, as if knowing why, finding his hand at her spine and encouraging it to stroke her all the way down once again.

“Do you know how often I’ve dreamt of you, this way?” Azriel’s words were quiet. His other hand now making its way to the base of her neck. He allowed his scent to wrap around her, truly, knowing he’d glamor it away by morning.

He wanted more, he wanted everything, but somehow, this was enough.

“I feel safe in my dreams with you,” is all she said in return. Sleep imminent in her voice. “I feel safer now than I ever have, I think.”

Fuck, that did something to him. Curled something low within him to life. Something male and possessive and needy and long since abandoned.

“You are safer with me than anyone else in this world.”

The words were a vow, carried on a dark wind. A promise that he would level the universe with cold fury to keep her from harm if need be.

His hand slipped to the root of her hair and her lips parted with a sigh as he tenderly rubbed the base of her neck.

“I know it’s impossible. I know the stars are set against it. But maybe we could just pretend,” she murmured softly.

“Pretend?” he echoed, his heart beating slowly now.

Elain looked up to him, eyes dazed with lost dreams.

“That we belong to one another.”

She was asleep in five minutes. Maybe less.

Azriel finally ran scarred fingers through her curls and savored every last moment as if they might be his last. There was nothing but the jasmine-sweet melody of her crooning in his ear. Pale and bright and spilling like moonlight over the darkest nights of his life.

In the last hour before dawn he lowered himself beside her, wrapping her fully into the warmth of his chest. He cradled Elain close, and she cradled him right back, hidden beneath a veil of greenery.

“Azriel,” Elain murmured, as the birds began their luting songs in the nearby trees. He hummed a quiet, deep noise in answer.

“I’m not pretending,” she whispered.

He pulled her close, closer than he knew was possible. And as the soft breath of dawn peeked over a far horizon, he did not let go.

“Neither am I,” Azriel whispered back.

#elriel #elrielmonth2024 #elriel fic #elain archeron #azriel #shameless garden metaphors #tenderness

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the-desilittle-bird · 7 months ago

Note

Hi,

do you still take Gellert Grindelwald requests? If you do, could you please write a fanfic, where the reader is Newt‘s best friend (a bit younger than him) and is also relativly close with Dumbledore. She meets Grindelwald during his escape, with her being one of the aurors. (At the beginning of the 2nd film) At first she despises him, but slowly starts warming up. Newt and Dumbledore often try to save her (she also tried to escape in the beginning), but in the end (after FB 2) she chooses Grindelwald over them. Smut in the end?If you are comfortable with it.

Thank you for considering

AN - Yep! I still love that old and beautiful man and god knows how long I have not been on this platform. I forgot my password and what not so sorry for the dead silence. Hope you like this.

Enjoy your Read and Thank You!

Requests are Open!!!

Be By My Side

Gellert Grindelwald x Fem!Reader

Summary - What happens when Y/N finds herself on a crossroad and needs to decide between her best friend and the ultimate love of her life?

Warnings - You asked for smut, and you will get it (please pardon me if it's bad, its my first or second time) (Breeding Kink and Dirty Talk). Gellert Grindelwald (He requires his own warning).

Tag List - @lady-athanasia, @littlesatanicassholebitch, @eudximoniakr, @hyacinthus007, @shopping, @choccocake, @andlizeth, @lady-juliettes, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @killing-gremlin, @narcy, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad

GIF Credit goes to @grindeldore-is-real

Y/N FOUND HERSELF STARING AT THE BLUE FLAMES WITH WIDE EYES AND A RACING HEART. This was it, she thought to herself as she watched the loyal followers of the blonde man step through the circle of fire and disappear. Perhaps to Nurmengard, she assumed.

The past few weeks raced through her mind, memories turning her mind dizzy as she was overwhelmed by the burden of the choice that weighed her down; turning her body to stone.

Months ago, had she been told that she would need to choose between Newt, her best and probably the only friend who had ever stood by her side, and Gellert Grindelwald, the dark wizard she was supposed to catch. She would have chosen her best friend and had allowed her former professor's words to sink deep into her. But now, she felt her mind and heart conflicting.

Don't choose a man who is capable of destroying you, Dumbledore had said on the day she had graduated from Hogwarts and started her job as an Auror. Probably he knew that she had a liking for questionably type of men, or perhaps he could see future; Y/N doesn't know.

"Y/N/N." Newt's scream fell on deaf ears as the young girl remained locked in her own memories. Remembering the first argument she had with the Master of Elder Wand, having pointed her own wand to his face while he had not even flinched. Perhaps he knew that she would never harm him or kill him. She was not allowed to.

The young Auror could remember the day vividly when she had tried to escape her prison, caught only due to the cold winds and the snow. I do not wish to harm you, I never will, he had said, carefully placing his wand on the snow, disarming himself to comfort her. You are a liar, she had argued only to earn a smile and a deep chuckle.

If I had lied to you, then I can assure you that this moment would have never happened. He was right, she knew in her heart. Gellert Grindelwald was a master of words; had he truly ever wished to trap her, he would have already.

The gentle brush of his lips against her was still fresh in her mind. A deep hum from his throat, a moan from hers. One hand sliding down her sides to hold her against himself while the other pursued its way into her hair.

The electric tinge she had felt was unique, something she had never heard of. The same could have been said for her heart skipping a beat or the butterflies in her stomach, but was it really unheard of? No. Those were all indications to a revelation she wished not to see. But how long could she run away from the truth?

"Y/N," the rumble of Gellert's deep voice made her open her closed eyes, inhaling sharply as she felt every pair of eyes present watching her. But above all, the mismatched eyes of her lover watched her with a tilt of his head.

He took a step, and again, and again. He approached her, never letting go of her eyes as he walked up the stairs. His hand was outstretched, empty; waiting for hers patiently.

"Come join me, beloved," he whispered, making the girl gulp as her eyes trailed off to her best friend who watched her with desperation. 'Don't,' she saw him mouthing, but her mind could no longer register anything, frozen in a single place.

Gellert's lips brushed against the outer shell of her ear, eliciting a deep moan which made him chuckle. His hand cupped the side of her face while he whispered: "Be by my side. Be my Queen."

All the thoughts vanished from her mind, leaving behind only a single man in focus. One who had platinum locks and mismatched eyes which resembled so much like his own personality. The man who stood in front of her, waiting for her to say the word, to give him the consent.

"Yes."

Silk sheets covered her bare body from the preying eyes of her lover, whose fingers drew patterns on her back while she slept peacefully. The soft glow of the first sunlight entered the bedroom, filling it with a golden glow.

Y/N hummed to herself, snuggling deep into the arms of Gellert who smiled down at her; a smile reserved specially for her. His fingers deliberately moved south, running along her spine before they moved to touch her thighs.

His fingers were calloused, rough, against her skin. Creating the perfect sensation that had her moaning prettily into his shoulder. A light flush painted the skin of her neck and cheeks, touching the tips of her ear as she tried to hide herself in the crook of his neck.

"How pure," he whispered with a smirk, his fingers teasing her folds, gathering the moisture that had coated her lips. Another moan left her lips involuntarily as the pad of his thumb came in contact with her clit, rubbing a slow circle that had her withering.

"Yet so desperate," he growled, retrieving his hand as he flipped them. His eyes watched with amusement as the girl underneath him flustered pink at his words.

She leaned up, chasing his lips into a shy kiss that had Gellert groaning as his hips snapped against her. His hand moved eagerly, intertwining with her hair before tugging her back, baring her neck. The sight of purple bruises and bites had him grow harder as he nipped on the skin on her collarbone.

"Gellert," she moaned, hands shooting off to tug at his disheveled hair. "Please," she mewled, moving her hips desperately. With a smirk plastered on his angular face, the wizard taunted, "what do you want, rabbit?"

The cry that left her satisfied him enough as he slowly settled inside her, grunting at the feel of her insides squeezing him. A broken moan left Y/N as a single tear rolled down her cheek, her nails digging into his back as she forced herself to relax around his length.

Moments after, the entire room was filled with loud sound of moans and grunts and the peculiar sound of skin slapping against skin. Filthy words escaped Gellert's mouth as he praised her while pounding deep into her.

"Such an obedient little girl. A perfect slut. So tight, so pure, so innocent. The perfect little wife. Should I make you a mother? Would you like that? Carrying my child. I feel you clinging around me, seems that you like that idea."

The sunshine filled the entire room in a holy glow as Gellert and Y/N cummed on the same time. Breath labored, both of them slumped against each other, foreheads pressed together as they came down from their peaks.

"I love you," she whispered, the words almost lost between the heavy pants. But Gellert heard them anyway, and with a smile and a light heart, he whispered the words back.

"I love you too, beloved."

#gellert grindelwald x reader #gellert grindelwald #johnny depp x reader #gellert grindelwald x fem!reader #gellert grindelwald smut

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thesharktanksdriver · 1 year ago

Text

Determination! (Platonic)

Warning for this chapter: fisher tigers part is much more serious. It’s talks of slavery and while it isnt too graphic it does included a lot of mature themes. If that makes you uncomfortable please skip over it

You find that your dreams are very disjointed

Granted, you normally don’t dream at all

It’s typically just empty blackness as you fall into unconsciousness and then back into the waking world

But when you do have a dream every once in a blue moon

It’s…odd

Even for Dream standards you think their somewhat odd

The voices of those long past that you’d met cheering you on

Flashes of multicoloured sparks

The endless expanse of space as you stare at a star

It’s an old one, a dying one

Your not sure how you know that information yet you do

And you watch it die with sparkling eyes

It implodes on itself

Creating a massive explosion of light and energy that dispersed throughout the galaxy

Bright white light shattering into every colour imaginable into the void of space

The energy going in every corner of the universe

A supernova

Your not sure how you know that word but it comes into your mind

Perhaps it hasn’t even been invented yet because you know for a fact that knowledge on stars was vastly limited

Yet that doesn’t stop you from knowing knowledge you never knew before

You reach out towards the remnants of the dead star in a trance

The cheers of the dead yelling “stay determined!”

You open your mouth to eat the star shards

And then you wake up

How curious

Sun Pirates

In your time adrift at the endless sea you had come across many people of many races

Humans, odd winged people, mermaids, devil fruit users, marines and pirates

So it doesn’t come as a surprise when you come across a group of fishmen sailing the sea

They all look over deck at you with a mixture of expressions

Some worry, others pity and some with conflict

But as they all watch a Fishman with rose red skin, a tattoo of a sun on his chest and black hair tied back with a bandanna

He ushers them aside to look Down at you from what you assume to be his ship

“Hi! Do any of you know what part of the sea I’m in?. I think it’s the north blue? But I’m not sure. You’d think with the amount of time I’ve been afloat I’d be able to tell but-“

“Kid are you alone?!”

“Do you see anyone else on this ship?”

You don’t have much of a choice before your brought upon their ship

To their surprise though your not scared?

In fact you seem rather amused at the predicament your in

One that would usually leave normal people scared shitless

But it’s easy for the entire crew to tell your not a normal kid

Especially as you seem to find interest in what type of marine animals each member is

Even more so when you ask about how the capabilities/features of said marine animal

It’s…odd how knowledgeable you are despite your young age

And when they ask about it you just say “I know from experiences on the sea”

Like the fuck is that supposed to mean when your talking about the dangerous venom of the stonefish

They are worried

Like real worried

Some are still off put by the fact your a human but with how your talking the mixture of shock and concern overpower it

God they never thought they’d be fretting over a human but when you talk in visceral odd detail about how sharks occasionally eat people when desperate or confusing them for other prey

It’s a bit freaky

Doesn’t help that it’s oddly specific which makes it seem much more personal

And how you explain all these facts with a completely wide smile not noticing how their all horrified

Their captain Fisher tiger is especially worried when he questions you about how you ended up alone at sea in the first place

He keeps pressing you on the matter but always gets the same response of “I set out to sea and haven’t looked back” and “I’m not sure if my island exists anymore. It’s not like anyone would remember me, I’ve been gone for such a long time”

That implies so much and at the same time is very vague

This poor man is a few migraines away from bashing his head against a wall

But other than that and the worry he finds you to be an interesting kid

While watching you interact with his crew he notices that you treat them all as regular people

You don’t make snide comments nor do you go off of stereotypes to categorize them

Instead you see them as their own individual people

People who were owed respect no matter their race or appearance

And even when a few aren’t exactly the most friendly towards you your respect

Giving them space as you see their uncomfortable

For a kid your emotionally aware in a way that even most adults can’t compare

You can tell if someone has deep rooted trauma and don’t push the subject

Going out of your way not to bring up bad memories associated with humans if your presence did so

There were seemingly no bad feelings about it either

Just pure understanding in your eyes from possible personal experience

Even when he harbours hate for you it’s brushed off as seemingly nothing personal

When your not conversing your quietly helping around

Somehow knowing how to raise the sails and properly clean the deck

Never telling anyone of your deeds and just doing them to help out

It’s clear by how organic it is for you that your used to doing it

Yet your own …”ship” is something more akin to a poorly put together raft

Everything about you is odd

And for a long while he isn’t sure if that’s good or bad

Fisher is a man haunted by the actions inflicted upon him

A shared trauma among all his people from humans

He does not discriminate when rescuing slaves but he still has his own afflictions towards humans

The actions of them still on his skin and baring his soul

Yet he allows you on his ship despite it

Because he knows your a child

Someone who had not harmed him nor his people

Someone who’s innocent to the horrors of the world

To the harm done by your race

He grapples with his own hated for you because of something you cannot pick

He feels guilty and horrible for it

Yet the look in your eyes says that you understand him somehow

And that makes him feel worse

A child should not understand hatred from others

Let alone understand why he feels hatred towards them

And then also accept it with such empathy

it hurts

he's reminded of the guards who used to sneer at him for being who he was

you feel no sadness due to his gaze

only kindness as you do your best to avoid him

in some sense you understand why he gazes at you that way

you can't blame him, not when you yourself had been victim of the abuse of your own kind

looked down upon as dirt

seen as lesser

what hurts worse though is that you can't solely blame one group like he and some of his men can do

your human and your hurt by other humans

maybe it's worse in some aspects

it's why you give an understanding look in your eyes despite his occasional glare

Jinbe is perhaps the one you spend the most time with on the ship other than Hatchan

There is apprehension at first but what follows after a short period of time is kindness

Your just a kid

One not guilty for the crimes of others

He can’t blame someone’s actions on you

Especially when your nothing but respectful to them all despite their hesitation due to your race

He reminds you of a gentle giant which is fitting with what marine animal he’s acquainted to

Most times spent with him are ones where he listens to your words

Finding interest and intrigue in your stories and facts of the sea

It seems far fetched a child experienced all this but the look in your eyes says it’s true

The small mementos that hang on your form like hand woven bracelets, necklaces of shells and shark teeth, a coat befit for a captain hanging on your shoulders and bandana tied around your forehead to keep your hair tangled with pearls back

Their all signs that somehow your tales are true

As amazing and horrifying as they seem their true

And it leaves him feeling anxious

Your a good kid

Maybe one of the best he’s met so far and seeing the wear and tear on you hits him hard

You put up a smile and bare through whatever someone throws your way

Never once speaking back unless your standing up for someone besides yourself

It’s admirable but he sees how it has worn you down

Once upon a time he can imagine you smiling out of actual joy

And now it’s a mechanism for you to write off your pain

Your selfless to a fault

And on the sea people take advantage of that

But perhaps you already experienced that

And it leaves Jinbe’s stomach swirling with unease

He frets over you like a mother hen when you throw all regard for safety away and when you get something simple like a paper cut cause he knows either way you won’t care to tend to your own wounds

He honestly at the point wonders if this is what being a mother feels like

But he can’t contemplate that long cause Arlong is being a dick once again

Tension with him was high before but now Jinbe has half the mind to knock him square in the jaw if he kicks you again

And now he has half the mind to shake some sense into you when you walk it off

God he needs some sort of therapist cause he does not know how to help you beyond being protective and patching you up

It’s obvious that your hurt beyond repair on the inside

The times he’s found you just simply staring off towards the sea with a dead look in your eyes is a testament to that

A call of longing in long gone innocent eyes that still retain kindness despite it all

In those moments he just sits by your side and holds you

You grasp him like a lifeline

Something anchoring you down to reality as your mind makes you remember

He tells stories of fishmen island to distract you

He noticed though that when he tells of the promise to fishmen island from joyboy something in your eyes light up

Sparkles of light within them that dance but then fizzle away after a moment along with a shiver gliding down his back for some reason

He writes it off though

Just going back to his tales

It’s under yet another moon lit night you end up staring out at sea again

Memories of the past swirling in your mind like a hurricane

You can’t help it

Not after being reminded of one life you particularly didn’t like

You didn’t mean to overhear Fisher and Jinbe but it just happened

The captain of the crew talking about his time as a slave

The horror inflicted upon him at the hands of humans

You just keep staring out at the water

Burying yourself deeper into your subconscious trying to escape

But you can’t

Too distracted by the memories that you don’t even notice the two coming out the captains quarters to find you

Vacantly staring out at sea

Your staring out at the water

A deep empty stare

Darkness swirling in your irises

Occasionally you twitch, a jolt of imaginary pain burning your back once more

You sometimes still feel the pain of the brand that luckily now doesn’t haunt your skin

You hadn’t felt it in a long while until you realized after hearing him talk the tattoo of the sun on him was his brand covered up

It served as some sort of trigger

The memories came flooding back

The pain

The torture

The screams

The death

The rot

The overwhelming plea for death in a hell that became a limbo realm

Your hands trace the symbol on the wood lightly

Every couple of months (or maybe years? Your not sure) these thoughts and memories came up

It’s a normal cycle for you

Yet now they hit harder after seeing his tattoo

Cause it makes you think of them

Of the 3 sisters, the names of you never got as your mind makes the effort to forget what you experienced

Up until now you always had the worry of forgetting

You had been alive for a long time

so much so that your memories are inconsistent and blur together

Yet your time as a slave is something clear in your head that you wish erase

To wipe clean from your mind and bury

Yet you can’t will yourself to forget them

Because of those 3 girls you’d befriended over scraps of dry bread

Of the shared pain that was all understood from the four of you

Crying silently together while huddled in the dark

Cleaning one another’s bruises

The eldest girl of the bunch holding you one night when noticing your shivering form, the other two following in the action of huddling around you

A budding friendship formed from barely any words but silent understanding and conversations though looks

You can’t abandon their memory even if it’s attached to other ones you wished to bleach from your mind

It’s there staring into the darkened water you mutter 2 words that had been erased from your mind out of fear

“Celestial dragons”

The words are spat out like a curse yet your tone is full of emptiness

It’s something only someone affected by them could say in such a tone

Perhaps that’s why Fisher now looks at you with realization

“You…you were one too?”

“Yeah, it…I think it was a couple years back, I’m not sure though. The passage of time is hard for me to notice anymore, it all blurs together. Hell I can barely remember my life before the sea, I know I had parents and then they died but…I can’t remember their faces. Anyways, I was captured and sold, ended up in some dungeon.” For a moment you pause going over your memories as you pinch your chin in thought, the way you speak about it is nonchalant yet holds a lot of untold weight “it’s a blur of pain, I remember it specifically on my back. I try to limit how clear it is cause I don’t specifically like remembering it. There were these 3 girls though, sisters who all ended up in the same cell as me. We found kinship in our situation, I gave them the scraps of food I got since they needed it more than me.”

“Do you know what happened to them?” At hearing this you turn to Jinbe, a solemn expression crossing your face as an answer

“Not sure. I…like to hope that their ok, that they found their way back home” your tone is anything but hopeful, cracking with gloom that’s evident in your eyes “but hoping is all I can do. I wished for death when I was there, hoping they’d just finish me off so I could move on. At some point though I began to hope, those 3 girls needed someone there for them and I hoped I could remain just for them”

“Why’d you escape then?”

“I didn’t have choice.”

“What do you mean? That doesn’t really make sense”

They watch as an odd look forms in your eyes

They sparkle with unknown mystery

Something old and sentimental

Something ancient despite the young face you have

“Can you keep a secret?”

They look at one another for a moment

A silent conversation between the two

Jinbe is the one who nods first, your gaze then shifting to Fisher who takes a moment to look at you

He never noticed it till now but your eyes have something about them that…seems inhuman

For a second he swears he even sees stars sparkle in them

Great big shining stars that light the night sky’s and allow sailors to navigate the treacherous seas they love and call home

Stars that when he looks at reminds him of his freedom

Of not staring at the ceiling of a cage

Stars he wished to grasp at back in the days he wore shackles

Stars that for some reason now seemed to shine brighter, as if mirroring your resolve

He nods, watching a moment of vulnerability shine through eyes that look blank for a child

Eyes that have seen horrors

Eyes that had lost their twinkle of innocence yet still retain childlike charm in viewing the world

Eyes that sparkle of something ancient and old, residing in the depths of your irises like a great deity in the void of the night sky

“Have you heard about a star that never dies?” And so you begin your tale

By the time your done your tale they both sit there in silence

A deafening and choking silence that grips at you like the old collar of rusting steel or ball and chain that used to be attached to your leg

A sign of having your freedom weighed down

Locked away

You had once tried to break that leg but the girls stopped you

The eldest of them crying for you to stop

So you did

You watch them both stay in silence

And then see the tears line their eyes

And then they crumble like a cracked heart

Jinbe falling first as he grips you

Strong and battle-worn hands now soft and gentle

Afraid that you’d fade away

Afraid what would happen if he let go

It’s what you expected from him

But then You look to Fisher and find him in a similar state much to your surprise, if not he might be even worse than how Jinbe is handling what you told

Pure grief in his eyes

Regret

Pain

Solidarity

Familiarity

And most of all empathy

It pours out from him like his tears

Like a waterfall with never ending raging water crashing down onto the rocks

it’s loud and passionate

Covers up the internal screams of the past latching back onto him, into the lingering scars

Stinging Pain sinking back into those same spots like the angry gnashing claws of a beast

He’s hurting

But so are you

Your hurting together through shared experiences and ones he could never wish to experience

Jinbe holds you for a long while

Time melts away as do the phantom pains of those long past days

You hold him back

The soft material of his yukata pulling you in even further

Warmth

Comfort

Understanding

And your unspoken words of ‘thank you’ to his of ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry’

You let time melt away a little more as they find themselves once more

“Why did you tell us this?” Fisher asks this with tears still falling down his face. Jinbe holds you close, webbed hand behind your head as he pulls you closer. You hear the waves lapping at the boat and the beats of his heart, it thumps like a drum. Rhythmically helping your equally torn apart emotions.

“I heard you talking about your experience. I thought it’s fair that I do the same” it’s said in such a simple manner that it makes the two fishmen reel back in shock for the third time in a night. It’s said in such sincerity and innocence, as if that was something normal “an equal exchange,If you will”

The crew watch on in confusion the next morning at the expression of thinking Fisher has on his face

Along with the clear signs of crying that Jinbe and him hold

People push but neither say a word

They say it isn’t their story to tell as their eyes trail back to you sitting with Hatchan

Playing a game innocently

Obliviously

Like a regular kid

Most don’t push after their captains grim expression

The look in his eyes

Some keep their curiosity to a low lit flame yet don’t get anywhere on the account they can’t get you to spill anything and Jinbe doesn’t exactly like them being nosey

So it eventually fizzles out

Things back back to normal

You tell your tales

Show them games they’d never played

You in turn learn more about fishman and mermaid society

But then you leave just as abruptly as you appeared

It’s weird to say but at a diner with them all as shanties are sung you just randomly say that soon you’ll be leaving

And despite how most of them hate to admit it

They didn’t want you to go

Hatchan is comically crying as a few others stubbornly argue against it

That it’s dangerous and you could get yourself killed

They look to Fisher and Jinbe who had been more observant of you as of late (if that’s even more humanly possible for Jinbe)

But their met with a reaction none had thought would happen

They object

They say it’s your choice and they can’t shackle you here

The sea was your home

And so the decision for your leave was cemented

In the days leading up to it you spend time with most the crew

But they all notice that at night you and their captain look out to the sky at night

Silence conversations happening through mere looks

pure understanding

Just pure solemn understanding

None make comments on it if they see it

Don’t mention it and forget it ever happened out of respect for both parties

And when the time comes to leave they all watch (some crying even) while waving goodbye

You promise them you’d meet again

“You’ll all be at sea right? Then that means you’ll definitely see me again someday! Wait and see! Grasp your freedom strong and tight, never take it forgranted”

Fisher watches and waves as you drift off into the distance, he holds a gentle smile

He hopes he’d meet you again

Hopes that perhaps you’d somehow end up on fishman island and talk to his people

As much as he thought Otohime’s talks of humans and fishmen working together in harmony were a naive and impossible dream

Perhaps if there were more humans like you it could work

And maybe

Just maybe

It would help both sides see that in the end neither were that different from one another

In your words on the silent night before you left “we both bleed, we feel and in the end we both have the same fates don’t we?. At heart no matter if your fishman, mermaid, human or anything else we experience the same gifts of life. We are all equal in the fact we are born on this earth and die here, and with that comes the desire for freedom and the pursuit of happiness”

He and his crew still have a lot to grapple with on the road to change

But you helped them start the first steps in overcoming the hate for your kind

A young immortal human child who had seen horrors upon horrors

Inflicted by their own kind that they will never stop loving with all their heart

Because you believe that inherently almost every sentient creature is born with kindness in them. It’s the world that corrupts it

When they are asked to take a former slave girl back to her hometown he does not have any hesitation to do so

He hopes that this is the next step in overcoming his hatred

Mihawk

Mihawk thought he was going to have a nice and relaxing day

His morning had been going great, a nice glass of red wine before he trained, a good breakfast

And then when he went outside of his castle there he finds is a young child looking around confused

….god damn it

So yeah, you died and just randomly appeared on the island that houses the greatest swordsman currently in the world

Not exactly your first choice but it wasn’t the worse

Well wasn’t bad instil the swordsman himself shows up looking as confused as you were

Yeah seems like you have some explaining to do

And dying or running away wouldn’t exactly help with the endeavour either since he seems intent on an answer

So here you are

In a gothic mansion lead by Mihawk into a room as he calmly sits down and asks you to explain

Now

And so you do

Well…you do the best you can to explain your entire situation as he sits there with a blank expression

By the end he just sighs

To be honest he’s not sure if he believes it or not but he takes it as an answer for now

And after that you two form an odd friendship and routine as you spend your time on his island

To his pleasure your polite and not loud

Silently watching him train or go about his day

Along with that conversations with you are actually quite pleasant

Mihawk is a man of very few words

Only shanks is able to get him talking with the help of finely aged booze

Yet talking with you comes naturally as breathing the air around him

It’s intriguing

Especially as it seems your story isn’t a bluff for how personally and detailed your recounts of events are

Colour him impressed

you talk of Roger in a way that only Shanks could do

Describe the gods valley event with details only found in classified marine files

Not only that but your also a good storyteller

Telling such events in glorious ways that he can’t help but listen to the liquid gold that is your voice

The treasure trove of stories that flow out your mind

He must admit that he can’t help but sit on the edge of his seat

Wanting to hear more

In this time he comes to care for you

Your a child eternally

One in a cruel world that preys on the weak

While you may be strong mentally (god knows if you hadn’t then you would’ve gone insane) but physical your not

What doesn’t help is your total and utter lack of self awareness

God knows the amount of times he’d saved your ass from being killed by Humandrills

After awhile they seem to get the memo of leaving you alone but that still doesn’t stop you from almost dying in other ways

Almost walking off a cliff

Almost falling into a river

Almost getting hit by a piece of falling stone

He is now paranoid and trails you like a shadows or has you stick around him incase of yet another near death incident

God is this what being a dad feels like? Cause that’s how Mihawk feels at this point

He has half the mind to buy a child leash or something similar

Cause if you wander off one more time and almost die he’s gonna-

You make his stress levels go through the roof

Doesn’t help you completely brush of dying as no big deal

As if being eaten that one time isn’t traumatic as hell

He wonders if his position of warlord has some sort of health benefits cause he might look into therapy

Not that you think you need it though, you think your completely fine yet he begs to differ

You find it funny how stoic he is yet you can read him like a book

He shows his growing care through actions

Like making breakfast or decorating a spare room of his castle to something more suited to your taste

The unspoken offer of “if you need a place to stay your always welcome here” through these actions

A silent way of also prepping for you leaving

He knows that moment is coming

Especially as your small “boat” drifts ashore

He’s hardly call that a boat but nether the less it floats on water and you call it a boat

In your time preparing to leave he insists on at least teaching you the basics of using a sword

The proper positioning of your grip and stance

How to give a powerful slash

You pick up quickly, years of watching experienced swordsmen coming into play

He’s proud yet worry sows itself into his brow

Your a kind soul

One that has been put through untold hell and back

Even the strongest sword can bend and break if pressure is put on the perfect point

He doesn’t know what your breaking point will be but he’s worried

Cause inevitably it’s bound to happen

He at least has some peace of mind knowing he taught you how to fight

And when he sends you off he promises that when you next meet he’d have Sword fit for you

The castle feels more lonely without your small pitter patter of footsteps

The air is still when it should be filled with your stories of old

The garden takes more effort than he remembers when your not there to pull out the weeds

The Humandrills seem to miss your presence

It’s odd but you’d left such an impact in such a small amount of time

Mihawk wouldn’t have it any other way though

Hiriluk

Recently on the spring island you found yourself on there had been rumours of a thief going by

Normally this wouldn’t had caught your attention

But one day as you walk past an odd eccentric man with Snow White hair in a ridiculous manner with clearly stolen objects you can’t help but be intrigued

Especially as he shifts into an alleyway, leaning against the grimy wall with a hand over his heart

Coughs racking his entire form

Almost crumbling down as the subsequent spoils of his stealing fall as well

It’s then and there you become invested in this odd man

His story

So you decide to help him

For someone’s who’s a thief you’d thinks he’d be less enthusiastic about giving out his name

But your sorrily mistaken (in a good way) as the man introduces himself as Hiriluk

A master thief of the grand line

A plunderer of countless treasures and various tales

You nod along

Listening intently to his words as you help walk him to his hideout

The poor man is still shaken after his illness acting up again

Apparently as of late it’s been worse, so much so that he fears his days are now limited

But despite that he keeps a quite chipper attitude

Somehow finding enjoyment despite his circumstances

He’s…much like yourself in that sense

Finding joy even in the bleak conditions of your reality

It…is nice in some sense

To find someone a lot like yourself in mindset

Makes conversation much more interesting as you both talk of similar viewpoints

Much like you he is plagued with a curse that follows him everywhere he goes

From island to island

No matter the pace he canning escape his disease

A factor of his life that he must now deal with as he enjoys the time he has left

He’d given up on a cure by now

But…despite that you can’t help but research a bit to at least try

He appreciates the effort but solemnly admits that he’s tried everything

Hell, his island is known for their doctors and they couldn’t help him

He’s a lost cause like anyone with white lead disease

It’s a fact he accepts

And sadly you do so as well

Your stand only works for you

It’s entire purpose is for its user and not for anyone else

Not versatile or has any multiple uses

At least not that you knew of anyways

So on that factor you can’t do anything

So as you accept that fact you instead focus on spending time with the man

Listening to him get drunk and talk of someone named Kureha

An “old witch” with a stubborn edge and sharp tongue

But also has a kind heart

Someone who became a doctor for a reason, to help others as best she could even if she caused some chaos in the process

An odd one just like him (and you he adds with a smile) someone who didn’t fit in with the crowd

But maybe that was ok

Being different could very much be a curse for several reasons

Especially in a judgmental society that is maintained by the world government

But that otherness was also a blessing

Weirdness serving as a catalyst for so many wonderful things

For new ideas

For stubborn creativity that wouldn’t be snuffed out but instead burn bright

For brining together the people society looked down upon and giving them a chance to rise up

Your stay on the island is coming to a close but despite that Hiriluk doesn’t panic or seem depressed at the thought

Instead he finds happiness in the time still left

The conversations that have been spoken

The time he has left in this world being used for something truly nice

Not just stealing

Instead now truly engaging with life

The spring island your both on is now at its fullest bloom

The place was somewhat famous for how beautiful it was but neither of you had yet to see it

So the day before you go you asked if he’d like to go see it with you before you left

A last hurrah

One that would be spent watching the cherry blossoms in full bloom and have lunch

He agreed

The next morning is spent with him getting snacks of all kinds

Him packing them in a small basket as you lead him with the directions you got from locals

The two of you go up the hill overlooking the light pink trees in full bloom

His hand gripping yours as he goes still in shook

The sight is breath taking

Even the air from your lungs is seemingly sucked out at the sight of the trees in full bloom

The petals gently cascading down like snow around you

Getting stuck in your hair and pooling in his cupped hands

His eyes tear up and stare down at the pink petals

It’s breathtaking

And for the first time in a long while he feels ok

There was no blockage in his chest

Nor the looming grip of death on his shoulders

He felt cured

Like an average man that he always wanted to

The dream of his that died long ago in a doctors office when they said it was incurable

But now as he stares he feels hope

Something igniting in him in place of his Illness

These small fluttering petals had an impact on him just as you had

It cured him somehow

You showing him this magical sight cured him

And now he wanted to do that for others

He wanted to show the people of his bleak winter island this magnificent sight

To see pink instead of the white fluttering snow

To see trees not covered in snow that dampened their beauty

To feel the air escape their lungs

The lunch goes by quickly as does your leaving but both of you do so with a smile

He sets off with a new goal and you wish him luck

Telling him that you believe he’d somehow come up with a solution cause people like the two if you always did somehow

He smiles

When he returns back to his home island he sets out to be a doctor

To help cure others just as you had done with him

Some of The petals he collected that day kept in a small glass jar he kept as a souvenir and for testing

When Kureha calls him crazy he takes the words in pride

Recalling back on your time spent together

That odd little kid who had a spirit beyond their days

One who would humour his ramblings

Took him to that fateful place of blooming Sakura that would go on to change his life course forever

A parting gift in both an experience and in changing his life for the good

So he works on bringing that miracle to the winter island he lives on

Despite how impossible it seems he tries

And he tries and tries

And he keeps going despite how many times he is pushed down by yet another failure

You motivate him

The gift you gave him that he wants to share with others motivated him

His new student that in a lot of ways reminds him of you motivated him

Chopper sometimes still wonders why Hiriluk had taken him in

It lingers on the small reindeer’s mind

And it’s glaringly obvious what he’s thinking making the old “doctor” laugh

“Us weirdo’s have to stick together. I learned that from a friend of mine” as he says this the small blue nosed reindeer watches as the man pulls a framed photo off the wall. In it is him and a child with a large smile. “Hopefully one day you’ll meet them.”

“You…do you think they would accept me?”

Hiriluk let’s our a large laugh at that, clutching his sides as small tears line his eyes “if they hung around a old crazy coot like me then I’m sure they’d love you”

His young apprentice feels hope at his words

Sometimes silently staring at the picture with faint hope that one day he’d meet the doctor-….no his dad’s old friend

Perhaps in the future

But for now he had to help him find a cure

His sickness is getting worse and chopper doesn’t now if he could live with himself if he didn’t find a cure

His only lead as of now is some mushroom that can apparently cure anything

It’s a long shot but he has to try

He gazes as the photo once more

Hiriluk’s smiling face staring back along with your own

He’ll make sure Hiriluk will get to see you again

He promises it

With that the young reindeer sets off in the snow

Whenever you see the cascading petals of cherry blossoms you wonder how that odd doctor was doing

Brook

It was at reverse mountain that you had found yourself being picked up by a particular crew

The rumbar pirates had originated in the west blue

A musical band of jolly singing pirates with instruments of all kinds

All of which varied from different islands and cultures

Brough together in musical harmony

It’s amazing to you how music seems to come to them wordlessly

They play and magic is produced from their songs

So much so a baby whale follows them in their journey and is now waiting for them to return

A promise they intend to keep as the travel the sea like any good crew

Whilst the captain and crew are welcoming and friendly there’s one person in particular your drawn to

Brook is a fun and free soul

Constantly with a smile or chuckling out his odd but charming laugh

The musician teaches you piano as best he can

His hands guiding yours as the crew eagerly watch with bright smiles

Eventually as they sing and dance he has you play side by side with him

Placing his top hat in your head as they all call you “mini brook”

It’s fun

Especially as the giant of a man picks up his violin and lets you play alone

The two of you stringing together a melody that the others join in on

Dancing and singing with slurred speech and jumbled steps

Those nights feel like a haze in your mind

One with a rosy tinted filter overtop those memories

Of the songs sung

The dancing as the crew took turns showing you their groove

Taking your hands into their own and your feet atop theirs as they showed you to dance

But then the music began to die

Despite your many deaths you’d experienced and saw of pirates

This was one that was common yet still chilling

Illness

Honestly with how many ships you’d been on your surprised you’d never experienced a death like this

And it’s certainly one you’d never thought they’d have to suffer through

It starts off as one person

And then it spreads

Brook and the others keep you away from the sight

Telling you that they were just hungover

You don’t tell them you know hangovers don’t last several days

As others being to fall Brook keeps to at least trying to keep the facade of things are fine in front of you

Even as he has to take the place of their captain

He has a good facade

But you hear his sobs at night

For his fallen Crew and the fact it’s still spreading

And for you

By god is he worried for you

They’d all talked of the possibility of having you take your small shipped tied to their own and leave

But they all agree it’s too big of a risk

Their at the middle of the sea, it would be a death sentence if they let you go on your own

They can’t have that happen

Even if there’s still a chance here that you’ll die

There’s still the possibility that at least someone will spot their ship

That help can come and at least rescue you

So for now they have you stay

The symptoms come slowly

You feel more tired

Burning up

Laboured breath

Their all mortified as you one day pass out on deck

When you wake up your tucked into bed

Nearby someone sobs

You recognize his voice and blurred figure despite your senses being dulled

Small shaky hands reach for his

And he reciprocated the action repeating that he’s sorry

That he’s so sorry

That it’s his fault

That he was supposed to keep you safe

You say it isn’t his fault but it falls on deaf ears

He keeps crying even as he coughs

You keep saying it’s alright even as it feels harder to breath

Eventually even though everyone is dead or on the brink of dying they decide to do one last number

One last piece

Binks booze

You sit beside Brook having to lean against him for support as both his and your hands drift along the ivory keys

The songs plays full force

The few left playing the tune

Some cheerfully sing with smiles and dance withe one another

But they fall first

Dying with smiles despite it all

You sing in their place along with those who are left

The singing goes down by one as yet another falls down

Violin clattering to the floor

You sing louder in his place despite how your lungs burn and throat feels as if needles scrape against it

Another violinist goes down after this

Brook shakes beside you

He keeps up a smile

You do so as well but tears escape your eyes

A quartet

The cello goes down

A trio

His smile wavers and tears trail down his face now

He’s breaking

The final goes down now

It’s just you and Brook left, but you feel yourself getting weaker

The edges of your eyes have black dotes and every time you close them it’s harder to open them once more

A duet

You keep playing for his sake

He looks down at you sobbing silently as he continues to play

Their flag waves silently in the wind

“I’m not sure how longer I can play…do you think you can do a solo?”

Tearfully he nods

Playing as you sing

Continuing even after the lyrics stop flowing from your mouth and you slump down into his side

A solo

He cries

Eventually the piano comes to a close

Despite there being no skeleton of you to put with the rest of the memorial Brook doesn’t question it

The sight of Your body disappearing into golden light was just a trick of the mind all those years ago to help with the grief of him failing you

He knows he went insane a long time ago

He’s spent years alone at sea mulling over their deaths, of yours and the promise to Laboon

His mind is long gone as he wanders the old tattered ship that used to be filled with song

Despite it all he tries to put up a mask of being happy

But he never sings

Never plays music

He can’t deal with another solo

Can’t deal with that last performance

Sometimes he thinks of the songs they made

The one the crew made about you that surprisingly got popular

Based off the odd tales of stars you talked about

An undying one

He wonders if it still plays

You remember they made a song about you

It’s long forgotten to the many new sailors of the sea

But on occasion you hear it from old souls. Those who had traveled the seas for many years and had retained the songs and myths now forgotten to the new

The sound of it always makes you smile, but it is tinged with sadness as you do so

Whenever it is sung or Binks Booze you promised yourself you’d always join in

A promise to them, that kind musical crew all those years ago that suffered a horrible death from a bad stroke of luck

You carry their memory along with Laboon

Whenever you end up at reverse mountain you always sing the songs they once did to ease the whales heart ache

It can only do so much but Laboon at least stops jutting against the mountain momentarily

Wanting to one day reunite with those jolly sailors

You wish you could one day do the same

But for now you carry their memories

Their songs that house the remnants of their souls

Sometimes you swear you see their rotting ship

But you always wave it off as missing them

Of delusions of your mind as you stare out into the darkness of the sea

#platonic #one piece x reader #brook x reader #hiriluk x reader #mihawk x reader #dracule Mihawk x reader #Jinbe x reader #fisher tiger x reader

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youryanderedaddy · 1 year ago

Text

Love, Loss, Fire

Summary: In times of vampire oppression, you decide to fight back. This attracts the attention of a certain human hunter who's had his eyes on you for a while - waiting for an oppurtunity to strike. Commissioned piece. tw: nsfw, female reader, non - con, possessive behavior, vampires, hinted apocalypse, degradation, biting/blood sucking, hinted inprisonment, murder (not reader) Part 2

You stepped carefully through the forest as the moon raised higher and higher, lighting up the sky in warm, fluorescent blue. You swiftly swiped the sweat down your brow, kneeling deep into the mud in a desperate attempt to push the shapeless piece of metal further into the ground. You suppressed a frown as the bare soil slipped through your fingers, thin and barren. It was a painful reminder of what was once earth. Actual, fertile earth that filled the autumn air with the humm of birds and the scent of healing herbs. This soil, on the other hand, couldn’t heal anyone - it was just a means to trap a beast. A predator.

You looked at the naked stars, trying to guess whether midnight had already fallen. You missed watches. You missed the web and guides and tutorials - you missed computers. The series of numbers on the screen that seemed so bizarre to you now; just like an antique of the past. It was a hard pill to swallow, the realization that humankind once created life and technology, and even culture. Laughter. You didn’t remember the last time you laughed or let yourself rest - but could anyone blame you? With the hunter attacks now more frequent than ever, it was a whole miracle that you were still breathing; that your psyche wasn’t completely crumbled and rotten. You knew many lost their mind or sold themselves to the demons. You had heard the stories mothers whisper to their daughters in the dead of the night, the songs the elders don’t dare sing after dark. You shook your head. You had no time to reminisce. The steps were getting closer now.

You quickly hid behind the wild bushes, crouching as close to the ground as your shaking knees would allow you to. Your hand gripped the container tightly, your eyes scanning the sign “Extremely flammable aerosol” with little hesitance and a pitiful amount of hope. You could hear the boots digging into the grass, the sharp heels destroying any resemblance of flora. There was a low, guttural humm to his every movement - teasing you, slowly, but surely approaching with each passing beat of your thumping heart. The whole universe had slowed down, covered by an oppressive layer of silence, except for the sound of your pounding lifeline and the predator aching to end it with one sharp bite. No deers or foxes, or even hedgehogs in sight to distract him or quench his growing thirst for blood. It was just you and him.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” His voice cut the silence in two, smooth and sharp like a knife. So silky and soft you could feel your whole body stiffen, fighting the involuntary ticks of fear taking hold of your frozen limbs. You squeezed your jaw, cupping your cheeks so tightly you couldn’t produce a sound no matter how much your insides seemed to try and scream. You pinched your thigh, hoping to remain conscious - hoping to survive just one more time. After all you had managed to run so many times in the past. It was always frightening, the type of terror that leaves you immobile for hours after, but you had done it. Time and time again, and that meant something. That meant that you still had fire left. That you weren’t going to bend the knee and break.

“A full moon.” The hunter observed with a trail of melancholy, stepping closer to your trap. You held your breath, praying to whoever was listening that this would work. It had to - otherwise everything so far would be meaningless. Every life lost, every family torn apart. Every friend or lover lost to the hunts - to slavery and eternal torment. To shame. “It reminds me of your mother. It was a Bloody moon, do you know that?” You knew he was staring at your direction, a dangerous, barely contained smile threatening to spill all over his cruel lips. He was looking for a reaction - a slight crook of your nose, a twitching of your hand, a tear down your cheek. He couldn’t see you if you were an unmoving force, an object. “When I killed her, the moon was completely red. It was a sight for sore eyes.” He finally smiled in that nasty, crooked way. You could feel it. “Her screams were beautiful.” The vampire clicked his tongue. “But I’m sure yours would be breathtaking.” He took another step towards the trap - he was now on the very edge of the razors.

Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t screa–

“A bear trap.” Bane grinned, sending shivers down your spine. By this point you were shaking like a leaf. “What a smart girl you are.” He paused to fix the collar of his white shirt. Not a single wrinkle on the fabric. Just blood. “Too bad I’m not a bear.” His voice suddenly dropped, taking on a more sinister note. Your heart stopped. “I’m more of a snake, really.” He kicked the metal trap across the ground, and it landed inches away from you. You were getting light - headed. “Although my venom works in… other ways.” His demonic chuckle was enough to make your empty stomach rumble, fear setting in deep into your guts.

Bane jumped over the hole you had dug gracefully, almost theatrically. If you weren’t so scared, you would have been annoyed at his constant need to assert dominance with even the smallest gesture of his perfectly white finger.

“You wound me, darling.” The hunter leaned against a tree, crossing his hands like a disappointed father - like a preacher ready to start a mass, yet the sadistic twinge of amusement didn’t leave his face. “You know I can smell this cheap, ratty metal from miles away. I thought you knew me better.” His eyes gleamed dangerously, orbs both emerald and poisonous green. He was so close to your hiding spot you could feel the ice radiating off his dead body as he oh so slowly raised his hand.

Panic tore into your chest, digging its ugly nails, kicking and fighting to be let out, and you instinctively uncapped the bottle of sylic gas, leaking it into the forest. You took a deep breath and covered your mouth, preparing to turn blue before you could inhale again. You mentally apologized to any surviving crop or flower you were about to kill due to the toxic fumes, but had to remind yourself through tears that sometimes the end justifies the means. And now the end was so near you could taste it, with the Terror of the night unmoving and cold.

But he just grinned.

His nostrils tightened for a split second, taking in the deadly poison. Bane slowed down, looking around, but there was little sense of distress on his sharp, cubic features. Then he quickly, unceremoniously dragged his wrist over his lips, muttering words you couldn’t hear - and instantly a silky black piece of fabric wrapped around his neck up to his cheeks. From afar it looked just like a scarf, but you could make out the thin platin lines. Damn it. He knew. He could anticipate all your moves now after months of playing cat and mouse. He could read you like a book.

You were beginning to sweat and your feet were sinking into the mud. You tried to move from one leg to the other, shifting the balance, and that was your first, and perhaps most fatal mistake - the realization hit you the moment your eyes landed on his. The vampire laughed. A scorching hot, humiliating laugh echoed all the way to the mountain hill behind you, icy and sticky down his throat. You shook your head, refusing to accept the grim reality standing before you, but it was too late now.

“Aah…” The hunter purred contently, bringing his hands together, excited like a child. “Seems like I caught you again, little mouse.” He whispered, his honeyed voice bursting with barely contained thrill and satisfaction. “Come out now - no point in hiding.” He titled his head playfully. “I promise I won’t bite.” He chuckled throatily, baring his fangs as he took that dreaded step that separated you. Now he was towering above you with the only thing keeping you away from his gaze being the absolute darkness and a couple of heavy branches.

It was nothing short of degrading - the way he played with his food, the way he kept you dancing in his palm while poking here and there with his claws. You couldn’t take it anymore - you made a run for it, light like a bird on your feet despite the starving hunger and fatigue.

“Not so fast now, little one.” The predator asserted, his clenched jaw proof of his quickly thinning patience. If only he knew that your own patience had run out months ago, maybe even before the apocalypse started. “You don’t want to upset me, do you?” He smiled in a mockery of gentleness, the thinly veiled threat stopping you in your tracks, completely paralyzed. “Be a darling and come to me. I’m honestly getting a bit bored of our little game.”

You hesitated for a moment. Something was wrong - terribly wrong today. You had managed to outsmart him time and time again, but tonight he just seemed untouchable. Drunk on power. And for all your unwillingly gathered knowledge of vampires and their demonic powers, you couldn’t exactly put your finger on what was different. Yet you could feel it buzzing and thumping under his flesh, the aura of force - the stench of evil.

“Come to me.” Bane hissed, voice devoid of its previous playfulness. He wasn’t playing around anymore. And just like that your feet started moving on their own, despite your mind’s painful protests. There was nothing you could do to fight his voice in your mind, hypnotizing you; making you bend. You broke into a cold sweat, looking at your wrist - you had forgotten your bracelet, the only weapon that could be used against his mind control. You were screwed. The game was over.

“Good girl.” The hunter whispered once you found yourself in his arms, squeezed against his chest like an insect. The unhuman hardness and coldness of his skin should have frightened you, but it was his tone that truly terrified you - just how tender it was as opposed to the clear bloodlust in his pale green orbs.

“You’ve done well so far.” You tried to avert your gaze so you could at least save yourself the humiliation of his sickly - sweet words, but his magic kept you still in place. “You’ve kept me entertained for a while now, little human. I think I’m starting to become attached to you.” He offered you a sleazy little grin while he stroked your hair, imagining the way it would feel to pull on those messy locks. “So attached, in fact, I’ve decided to keep you for myself.” He licked his lips slowly, and you almost choked on your own spit. Did he plan to…?

“You should be honored to have been chosen by me. Most nosy little humans who cross my path end up in a ditch. But you…” He stopped mid-sentence, groaning in pleasure, eyes turning scarlet. His whole face was reddenning as his heartbeat fastened, growing more and more excited the longer he felt you struggle against him. Your raw fear was delectable, and he couldn’t wait to taste it. “You are different. I can’t bring myself to kill you.” His head lowered towards your ear. “I need to have you.” He whispered, and you took a step back, feeling his control crumble as desire overtook his senses.

“I would never belong to a leeching bloodsucker like you!” You uttered through clenched teeth, using the vampire’s distracted state to pour the acid drops you had hid in your pocket all over his knees, causing him to crouch in pain as his flesh burned hot. The magic hold he had on you weakened and finally disappeared completely.

You didn’t waste any time, running towards the hills as soon as your body could move freely. Soon you were greeted with an overwhelming amount of paths, all surrounded with similar looking trees and bushes. It was already long past midnight and the sky had taken on the darkest shades of gray. You didn’t stop moving even when you lost his steps behind you - you kept going until you found a large old oak, and you basically slipped against it, knees weak and mushy. The adrenaline almost knocked you out, but you couldn’t let yourself lose consciousness just yet.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Bane clicked his tongue, materializing before you from thin air. You tried to scream, but it was futile. The whole forest was empty. “Such a bad pet. Running away from your owner.” He leered sadistically, finding sick appeasement in your puzzled expression. How did he find you? How was it even possible to be so fast? “I really ought to punish you so you don’t misbehave in the future.” He chuckled to himself before turning towards you. “But that can wait.” The hunter shoved you against the tree with little regard to your comfort. He took off his mask, throwing it to the ground. “I’ve been eyeing that little neck of yours since the moment I saw you.”

The predator grasped your throat, tilting your head so your neck would be bared for him. You inhaled sharply, preparing for the pain, but it didn’t come just yet. Instead he licked your wet cheeks, moaning at the salty, slightly bitter taste of your tears.

“Please don’t.” You gasped inaudibly, body stiff like a stretched string. All you got in return was a sharp laugh. “Your little weapons can’t save you now, little girl.” Bane teased with glee, placing a small kiss against your throat. You cringed at the ticklish sensation, but deep down you knew this was only the beginning.

The hunter opened his mouth, purposefully prolonging the moment and your anticipation. He slowly sank his fangs into your warm, vulnerable flesh - enjoying the way you squirmed beneath him with no way to free yourself. All you could feel was pain. Red, hot pain traveling from your neck to your arteries, your blood mixing with his venom. Breaking into a sweat as your body tried desperately to reject the venom. Relaxing against your torment as you let the pain consume every inch of your being. And then it began to subside, replaced by an entirely different feeling that you couldn’t name. Suddenly your insides were burning again and your skin was pricked by a thousand tiny explosions. A gentle caress wiped the sweat off your forehead as your eyes rolled back. An aching whine escaped your parted lips. You needed more. You wanted to beg for more—

He pulled away.

You quickly lost your balance, staggering backwards, confused and light - headed due to the blood loss. You prepared to hit the ground, but this small mercy wasn’t granted to you, because in the next moment the vampire was onto you, holding you tightly. As if the tiniest movement would make you stumble and flee into the grim nightly nothingness - as if you were the most precious thing in his world.

You were met with eyes of vivid ruby, the gems staring into your core and tearing you to pieces. You should have been frightened, body paralyzed by suffocating dread - but instead you couldn’t look away, hypnotized by the demon before you, and all the magic colors that surrounded him. His lips looked so soft and gentle, dripping with blood that was unmistakably yours. A part of you that now undeniably belonged to him.

“I can’t get enough of that expression on your face.” Bane mumbled quietly as he pulled you closer to take in your scent. You couldn’t move an inch. “I can’t get enough of your… blood.” He continued, voice shaky with uncontrollable lust and need, unbecoming of a monster in a human form.

His words sobered you up, breaking off the trance you had fallen in. You shoved him off, taking a step away. The vampire stumbled back, his eyes darkening at your disobedience. “Silly girl.” He grinned sinisterly as his expression hardened, and he pointed towards you with his thin white finger. His golden locks fell gently over one raised eyebrow, contrasting the sheer intensity of his sharp features.

“Kneel.” He ordered, and your body followed automatically - without hesitation. The vampire towered over you, gleefully toying with the buttons of your shirt before undoing the first one. “You know, this is something I really admire about you, little one.” He caught your chin in a bruising grip, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re so weak - so helpless. And yet you never. Stop. Fucking. Fighting me.” He exaggerated every word, applying more pressure to your skin, marking it for all to see. “And I love it. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted nothing more than to push you down and make a mess out of you.” He admitted shamelessly, offering a nasty little smile at the end as he crouched down to your level. You were going to be sick.

“Yet you always manage to run away. Every single time. Such a smart little human.” The hunter taunted you yet again, ripping off the torn patched up hoodie barely sticking to your chest. “You really know how to drive a man wild, little minx.” He whispered, lowering his head to latch onto your bare chest with a lewd pop, covering it in hundred wet kisses - making you shudder with discomfort.

“Y-you’re no man.” You uttered with difficulty, voice shaky and uneven. Your fists clenched together despite the violent fright inside you begging you to play nice - to beg for mercy and forgiveness. “You’re just a monster.” You spat out, holding back the hot tears pricking in your eyes. “I hate you.” You added quietly, trying to lose yourself in all the endless frustration and detestment. But even your anger wasn’t enough of a distraction - you were still in the mouth of the lion.

“Mmh, keep going, darling.” The predator growled, pinning your hands down. “Hate me as much as you can.” He kissed your throat, letting his fangs linger against the bristled skin. “Call me a monster again. Don’t hold back, baby, be ruthless.” He gently cupped your breasts through the bra before releasing the hooks all together, leaving you bare and defenseless. “Because when I am gone with you…” He grinned. “You will hate me even more.”

Bane didn’t hesitate to spread your legs roughly, reaching to take off your trousers. Suddenly you felt extremely vulnerable - you were laying there half nude like a feast for his eyes only. The rage was long gone, now replaced by an entirely new feeling. Debasement.

“Aww, gamer much?” Your tormentor stopped to have a good look at your panties, chuckling at the joystick pattern. You could feel your sides burning and you made a desperate attempt to close your legs, but the noble had different ideas - he slipped your underwear to your knees, exposing your untouched core to the cold midnight air. “No need to get shy, darling. I think it’s adorable.” He insisted, your silent pleas falling on deaf ears. “But I guess you got the bad ending this time. I mean…” He bit his lip in a terribly lewd way. “Just look at you. Writhing beneath me like an obedient little slut–”

“I am not a slut!” You cut him off, growing more and more agitated - your nerves stretched beyond repair. You couldn’t stand listening to his crude remarks or looking at his eager lips, ready to devour you. You covered your face. “I’ve n-never… I’ve n-never even…!” You tried to explain, but you couldn’t finish the sentence because the tears just bursted out before you could stop them, white and shiny like little pearls on your cheeks.

The hunter grew eerily quiet. Then he slowly removed your hands from your face, and pinned your wrists back to the ground. The message was clear - no use fighting it.

“You’re a virgin?” The vampire whispered more to himself than to you, while his gaze was still boring invasively into your hips. You averted your eyes, looking away in silence. Dissociating. “Ha! So it’s true.” He laughed mockingly, letting his hands roam all over your quivering thighs. “Oh, darling, we’re going to have so much fun.”

With that you could feel him trace small circles across your skin until eventually his palm met your pubic bone, his long fingers resting against your entrance. You writhed, trying to kick him off, but his other hand wrapped around your leg like a cuff and brought it down with inhuman strength. Bane then rubbed his fingertips along your slit in a torturously gentle manner, making you jump in surprise. He started pressing his thumb against your clit slowly, prolonging the uncomfortable eye contact between the two of you with a self - assured smirk that you wanted to wipe off his handsome face - but the curling of his fingers inside you prevented any thoughts of action.

“You’re already getting wet for me. Such a good girl.” The hunter noted, almost giddy with satisfaction as he kissed your sweaty forehead. You opened your mouth to deny it, but all that came out of it was a broken gasp due to the sudden change in rhythm. The noble had finally penetrated you with two fingers, thrusting in and out with a nasty sloppy sound. “Shh, don’t talk. Just stay quiet and pretty for me, doll.” He purred down your neck, taking in the pure look of shock on your face when the stinging pain turned to pleasure. After that the man assumed a steady pace, only speeding up or down when he wanted to see your hips buck in desperation. You could picture what your expression looked like right now, and it made you blush even more.

“Open your mouth.” The vampire commanded in a low, guttural way, his eyes now scarlet like the blood on his fangs. You hesitated for a moment, shaking your head, and he shoved his fingers in between your lips unceremoniously, grinning. “Don’t defy me, little one. It won’t end well. Don’t forget I hold your life in my claws.” He hummed lightly, which made the threat appear even more cruel. You let your muscles relax, letting his fingers explore your throat. Despite it all, you still weren’t ready to die. “Can’t be fucking you dry now.” The monster sneered, using your spit to lubricate his digits. After a few long, tantalizing moments he let you breathe - and your walls clenched down on nothing, throbbing in painful emptiness.

“W-why are you doing this to me?” You sobbed, ashamed of your body’s reaction to the torment. “You already defeated me, do you also need to humiliate me?” You mumbled pitifully, hoping to appeal to whatever human was left in him - but the answer was none. “Would you prefer me to take you raw, little lamb?” He smiled sadistically, staring at you from above. He seemed like a malevolent God with vengeance for anything ungodly. “Not even I am that cruel, darling.”

Bane kept going for a while, enjoying your quiet moans each time he hit a sensitive spot or brushed against your clit - and all the petty little insults you threw his way only seemed to stir him more. “I think you’re ready to take me.” He remarked, breathless, palming himself through his black slacks. The manipulation of your warm, malleable body had made him rock hard, and he couldn’t wait to feel your insides flutter around him. He lined himself up against your hole as you looked on, helpless and terrified.

“Look at me as I defile you, little mouse.” The predator ordered in a deep voice, slowly sinking his length into your quivering quim. You clenched your teeth tight and looked away, refusing to become a willing participant in your own assault. But then his fist wrapped around your neck, squeezing, and you were forced to look at him. “I said look.” He hissed with venom, tightening his grip. “I want you here and present.” He pushed his cock deeper into you, licking his lips. “I want you to feel every inch stretching you out.” He finally shoved himself around you, groaning at your velvety tightness.

“F-fuck, darling, you feel so good.” Bane thrust into you once, twice - several times. Your sobs were stuck at your swollen throat, making it hard to breathe, much less protest, but if you could, you would have screamed with full lungs. You weren’t sure whether it was the sting of the stretch, the feeling of a foreign body inside you or just your inexperience, but the heaviness and warmth of flesh on flesh made you feel hot all over.

“I am going to m-make you mine.” He moaned lewdly, gripping your hair and just pulling. You were going to lose your mind. “I will mold you into the perfect little pet, mmmh, just an… ngh… just a mindless little toy for my amusement.” The vampire swore, drunk off your pussy and the way it was sucking him in - your body didn’t care how much it hurt. It wanted more. “The bloody humans… t-they don’t need you anymore. You’re much more useful as my little f-fucktoy.” He kept debasing you, all his senses tingling with overwhelming pleasure as your hole milked him dry. “Ha-ha.” A maniacal chuckle amidst it all. “And to think you were their leader with your silly little weapons and spells. What a joke.” He pumped into you with even more ferocity, a twinge of jealousy on his face. “You were always destined to be mine. All mine.”

“N-no, I am not yours–” You suddenly evoked, finding his sadistic obsession suffocating. You were stuck underneath the beast, your back soaking in the rain as he took you apart. Once again the lamb had been sacrificed to the wolf.

“You can deny it as much as you want.” The noble mouthed, kissing your neck with scorching hot, unbearable passion. “But your body knows who it belongs to. Just look at how well you’re taking me. All of me.” He bit you again, this time just teasing - barely breaking the skin as he picked up the pace, now fucking into you like the feral demon he pretended not to be. “I want to see you blissed out again.” He sucked at your jugular, scraping against your neck until he could see the pretty blue bruises forming - and he licked them. “Fuck, I’m close. Cry for me, doll, make me cum with your pathetic little pleas. I want to hear you sing.”

You couldn’t keep quiet, you needed to let it all out - the pain, the fear, the grief. Your progress, your plans for the future, your friends, your family… all lost to the monster and its greed. So you cried - you broke down and wailed, begging for mercy as your misery echoed through the forest. Too bad no one could hear.

“Just like that.” Your enemy purred, pounding into you in short, sharp thrusts. You could feel something warm and thick fill you up, and you shivered from the horrific discomfort of unfamiliarity. The human anatomy was being challenged in front of your eyes, and you were forced to bend and break in whatever twisted way he wanted. “Take it, take it, take it–” He barked over and over, lost in orgasmic pleasure as he spread your legs further apart to gain better access to your soft insides. “Fuck.” He pulled out sharply, letting his seed pour out down your thighs.

“So pretty.” The hunter hushed, pulling you into a smothering hug. It was too hot. Too much - but you were too tired to fight. “You did so well, darling. So good for me.” He cooed in your ear, stroking your wet hair with his big, strong hand that had just taken everything from you. You found some strength within yourself to swat it away, but the monster just laughed softly, kissing your wrist. “So strong too. You must have some energy left if you still have fight in you.” He sneered lightly, looking away for a split moment. “Does this mean you’re ready for round two already?” He taunted, grabbing your hips roughly to rub himself against you.

You freezed completely, still in place. Shivering. You could feel the sniffles tightening your chest once again.

“I’m just joking, my love.” Bane chuckled, loosening his grip on you - but the predatory spark didn’t leave his lovesick gaze. “You’re so jumpy.” He gloated, caressing your shoulders in a soothing manner - although you didn’t find any comfort in his arms. “It’s okay. You will have plenty of time to adjust to me soon.” He promised gently and covered you with his long damp cloak. You looked up, confused.

“It’s time to go home.”

#yandere #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yancore #yandere smut #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

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peace-hunter · 8 days ago

Note

What was alpha trion's reaction to see Orion again?

gonna take a shot in the dark and assume this was about the baby prime orion au

and the truth is. he didn't recognize him.

it honestly would've been stranger if alpha trion had recognized him at first glance, because the last time he saw him optimus was. a toddler at most. he was learning his first words maybe. as far as he's aware his baby brother is still, y'know, a baby.

and even when he's told that it's been fifty cycles, he still wouldn't make the connection with the little blue and red bot in front of him. because while his baby brother was tiny for his age, he was still a Prime. they weren't sure how tall he was going to grow, but they expected him to at least reach Solus or Prima. the little ones in front of him were maybe Micronus' size.

it isn't until he turns to the high guard accompanying them for answers that he would find out who exactly orion is.

and it's honestly hell for everyone involved.

the poor high guard has to tell his Prime how they failed them in every way possible, how they didn't get their SOS transmission, how they failed to stop sentinel from taking control of the planet, how they couldn't even take optimus with them to the surface and instead chose to cripple him to keep him as safe as he could be hidden right under their enemy's nose.

alpha trion has to deal with the fact that not only are his siblings dead, but he missed fifty cycles of the life of the one brother he has left. that his baby brother, the one they would've pulled the moon from the sky for if he so much as waved to it, had to grow up on his own, alone in a world that looked down on him for lacking what he should've had the entire time. that he's a stranger in his brother's eyes and has to tell him exactly who he is and what he lost when he doesn't even know he had it in the first place. that he's about to put the fate of their world on his baby brother's shoulders right after he just met him.

and orion gets told that everything he believed about himself and the world is actually not true. that he's not just a cogless miner destined to do nothing but mine for the rest of his life but actually a Prime who is supposed to now take back their world from sentinel and the quintessons. and even if it's a bit vindicating mostly he's just. shaken to his very core. terrified out of his mind at the responsibility he's being handed. angry at being forced into yet another position he didn't ask for and didn't choose. grieving for something he doesn't remember but has been missing his entire life.

not even the rest of the gang is taking it well, but that's flour from another bag lol

#hey i got an ask #Anonymous #transformers one #tfone #optimus prime #alpha trion #baby prime orion au

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ayyy-imma-ninja · 2 years ago

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"W...W-Why are you doing this...?!" Sun blinked and cocked his head, feigning the look of an innocent child. "Huh? Ohhh!" He rested an elbow in one hand, using the other to draw a circle in the air referencing the man's predicament before walking around his chair. "You mean the whole 'tying you up and torturing you' thing! Well, it's quite obvious, isn't it~?"

Sun stopped directly behind him, bending low to speak directly into the man's ear.

"For Calvin, Mr. Grisham. For Eloise. And for every child in this town who has had to suffer, because of monsters like you."

Mr. Grisham trembled in his restraints, the sweet-sounding voice of Sun now laced with sinister and utter darkness. "Please, I-"

"Did you know-!" Sun halted him, continuing his walk around the chair. He waved an arm in Moon's direction, who fluidly twirled his knife, watching the man's blood still caked on it flick about the room. "My brother and I used to take care of children? You remember the pizzeria in the big city, don't you? Well, just because we are no longer daycare attendants, that doesn't mean our roles have changed. No no no~ Our roles have simply-"

Sun stopped back in front of Mr. Grisham's chair, getting into the man's face once more. His hands, once folded behind his back now gripping the arm rests. The wood creaked and nearly gave way from his grip alone. Sun's colored irises had shrunken down to slits, rattling with a craziness just waiting to bust free. His grin nearly stretched off of the edges of his face plate. A thin, black line formed between his teeth, and grew as his seemingly permanent-closed mouth, opened.

"Evolved," he finished, the word rattling in his robotic throat and chest.

Mr. Grisham whimpered, leaning back as much as he could from the looming animatronic. He squeezed his eyes and turned his head away. "S-Stop that-!"

Two hands grabbed at his head, turning it to face forward again. Two thumbs pulled his eyelids up, forcing him to look.

"What's wrong, Mr. Grisham~? Do I frighten you~?" Sun mockingly cooed. He leaned in closer, his nose pressed against Mr. Grisham's. "Good. Take a good, long, look, Mr. Grisham. I want you feel afraid. But this fear, is NOTHING compared to the fear you have inflicted upon your own children."

Sun's grip tightened. How easily he could pop this man's head like a grape. How badly he wanted to, how eagerly he wanted this maggot dead. But no. He had to suffer first. He had to pay. Sun relished in the man's whimpering as he trembled in his hands. Hot steam puffed from Sun's ajar mouth, ghosting the man's face.

"I wonder..." he thought aloud, his mouth a dangerous number of inches from the shivering man's head, "if I can scalp you with my own teeth~"

"Sun."

The animatronic paused, his eyes flicking to his left, towards Moon. The lunar animatronic stopped twirling his knife and simply stood there, giving his twin a known look between them with a raise brow.

Quickly--too quickly--Sun composed himself and stepped away, arms and hands open in surrender. "Ahaha! Apologies, brother! I got a little carried away there, didn't I?"

A small smile etched across Moon's face as he stepped forward. He couldn't fault Sun for his...eagerness. He placed a gloved hand on his twin's shoulder. "Go sanitize your gloves and face. Remove any traces of oil and skin."

Sun playfully saluted. "On it! I'll leave you to do the honors~" He then skipped away to do as instructed.

Mr. Grisham watched him go, bewildered and outright frightened by the swift changes in personality. Suddenly, something cold and sharp under his chin directed him to look forward, and he met Moon's hooded gaze, his face illuminated by narrow blue and red pupils. His own grin had widened and opened. Mr. Grisham whimpered as the tip of the knife pressed into his chin.

"Now that Sun's had his turn...looks like it's mine again~ Try to stay awake, Mr. Grisham. It's more fun that way~"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:3c

@moonlit-dreamers

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shutupineedtothink · 3 months ago

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Alright, y’all really got me goin on this “we’re still in the trial” idea, so here’s the potential evidence:

Spoilers below the cut in case I turn out to be right lol.

The color grading when they got back on the road was Weird. Almost orange, when the road has been very blue tinted overall this whole time

Maybe the orange-y ness is because there’s still a blood moon but we didn’t pan up to see it?

Or maybe its just visual code for “this is not the real Road”

Jen and Alice both came out of their trials having gained something, confidence for Jen and freedom (from the curse) for Alice. Agatha really walks out with nothing except more trauma. If we go with the theory that the Road is making them deal with their trauma in order to overcome it, then the trial isn’t over. Agatha has more work to do. (We have to face our worst fears.) On the other hand, maybe Agatha just failed her trial. Maybe that means she gets another one later. Idk.

I keep wondering where we would go back to if we were still in the trial, and I think it’s when they first spelled DEATH with the ouija board and Rio laughed. At that point, everything that happened after that was her game to play. She knows Agatha’s past, and she’s trying to get her to face her inner demons, show some fucking vulnerability, and acknowledge that maybe she wasn’t born evil. Rio (and/or The Road) wants her to face her past so that she can show up as her real self, the Agatha she’s known all along 👀 (and to get Agatha to stop freaking running away from her). Rio’s still the only one who sees her (te veo), even Agatha can’t see herself. Rio exists separate from the events of the trial, and yet she’s still on Agatha’s side, being the protector she needs even as everyone else is slowly turning against her. With a little bit of crazy/murderous intent thrown in of course bc that’s how she is.

Also can’t get over the look Rio throws at Agatha as she climbs the ladder to get out of the house. It reads as frustration to me, like really, you’re running away from this again? You’re gonna keep pushing this down and repeating the same old patterns instead of facing your trauma again? Jesus fuck what do I have to do to get through to this woman.

I was originally thinking this was playing out as is due to the fact that we end on Teen/Billy and his powers, with Agatha basically gone. But then it occurred to me that those last few minutes were truly her worst fear manifested, that he began to hate her, turned on her, and became evil himself, partly due to her own taunting. Her worst fear is that SHE will turn the boy she thinks could be her son evil, passing it down because it’s an innate thing inside her, just like her mother said.

Bonus points: IF we’re still back in the trial, Alice isn’t dead, Jen was never quite as vicious as all that (that was Agatha’s own mind berating her), and Teen is still “Teen” and never went on a murder spree to kill the coven. But imo, everyone still remembers this version of events, which makes for some hella interesting character moves all around. Particularly for Alice, Teen, and Agatha. I actually have a whole headcannon for how this plays out, but idk if I should share it or not, because it will be ALL the spoilers if it happens.

Thoughts?

#agatha all along #agatha all along spoilers #agatha harkness #agatha x rio #agatha spoilers #AgathaRio #teen #billy kaplan #aaa ep 5 #theory #fan theory #meta

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years ago

Text

Title: Homebound.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.9k.

TW: Prolonged Imprisonment, Obsessive Behavior, Delusional Behavior, Mentions of Torture, There Is A Kid Involved But Childe Just Sorta Found It In The Woods, and Disturbing Themes.

[Part Two]

He would be coming for you, soon.

The sky was still dark, the stars still as bright as they had been in the dead of night, but the moon was beginning to sink below the horizon, the lampposts that lined the street below your apartment beginning to fade as their oil stocks ran dry. You’d been at your window since sunset, too anxious to do anything more than stare at the scrapes of landscape and, occasionally, glance towards the cradle behind you, where your Lina slept soundly, unaffected by your racing heart or gnawing nerves. It was for the best, as unfair as it felt that you would have to burden her fear as well. You did this so she wouldn’t have to suffer like you had, wouldn’t have to live under the suffocating care of a man with too much power and too little love in his heart.

You were doing this so she would never have to know what it was like to be a part of Childe’s family, and a toddler's cluelessness wasn't going to be the thing that made you give up.

With a shallow sigh, you tore yourself away from the window and brought yourself back into the reality of your cluttered apartment, hastily thrown into disarray after his visit that afternoon. As many of your possessions as you could account for had been ripped from their drawers and thrown from their cabinets, brought out into the open where you could take stock of what few belongings you had. There wasn’t much you needed, really. Any family heirlooms or beloved childhood trinkets had been lost the first time you escaped from Childe, but you filled your pockets with what little you still considered dear to you - a rose-shaped pendant a kind stranger had gifted to you when you first arrived in Mondstadt, a flimsy ring of golden vines and miniature cecilias you had won at a booth during the last Windbloom festival, and lastly, the sphere of metal and glass as-of-yet unbound by any casing. Your Vision, as much as you hated acknowledging the damned thing’s existence.

Your cloak was next, dark enough to melt into the shadows of the forest and long enough to drag against the floor as you tied it around your neck. A swab of shapeless, black fabric accompanied it, but before you made use of that, you found the powered sleeping draught a healer had given your sometime back, when the nightmares were still too vivid to be suppressed by exhaustion alone. Gritting your teeth, you spread a small portion of the lilac dust over the pad of your thumb, and approached the cradle.

It was a small mercy, really, that whatever resemblance Childe had seen in Lina was lost on you. She had reddish hair, but it was too light, closer to blonde than ginger. Her eyes, while blue, were brighter, more curious, more full of life than those of a man who felt nothing but bloodlust and obsession could ever be. She did not have her abductor’s freckles, his pale skin, and you were thankful each time you looked at her that you did not see Childe, that she would never be bound to him by blood or by likeness.

You could remember the day he brought her home, no more than a few months old and bundled in his blood-flecked coat. He’d made it out to be a miracle, as if the archons had descended from Celestia and laid the child that you had selfishly refused to give him at his feet. You’d already decided to run away by then, already started to plan how you’d escape his awful little cabin and his awful frozen nation, but Lina had forced you into immediate action. It was one thing to submit yourself to Childe, to play soft and innocent for another week while you prepared. You couldn't have left Lina in his care for any longer than absolutely necessary and still expected to be able to live with yourself.

That might’ve been why your heart ached as painfully as it did as you reached down, slipping your thumb past her lips and spreading the powder across her gums. She stirred, her expression souring, but you swallowed back your remorse as the sleeping draught took effect, as she relaxed and fell into a sleep too still to be natural. The guilt was nearly overwhelming, but you would have to stomach it. Whatever happened, she couldn’t wake up. Not before you made sure she was somewhere safe.

Steeling yourself, you pulled the cloak’s deep hood over your head, lifted Lina from her cradle, swaddled her body in the black fabric, and slipped out of your apartment and into the night.

Childe was in your apartment.

In your living room, sitting in your favorite (and only) armchair, bouncing Lina softly on his lap. You could hear her cooing as soon as you stepped through the door, see her sitting upright and gripping at the fingers of an offered hand, taste the apology you'd been practicing for taking so long at the afternoon market, but it took you a little longer to notice Childe, to process that he was here, in your house, holding your daughter. Like he had any right to. Like you hadn’t gotten away from him.

“I can already tell - she’s gonna be a fighter.” He was already grinning, already pushing himself to his feet. You couldn’t move, couldn’t run as he came to stand next to you, holding her against his side. “That’s our little Atalanta. Barely a year old and already shaping up to be such a fierce warrior.”

Atalanta. You’d almost managed to forget that Childe had given her a name of his own – a name fit for a hero, at that. Your Lina wouldn’t be a hero. She wouldn’t carry a name that demanded a place in the tales of adventures and on the tongues of storytellers. She would live a quiet, happy life in Mondstadt. the city of freedom. She would be great if she wanted to be, but she wouldn’t be a weapon. She wouldn’t be what he would’ve raised her into.

“She's growing like a weed, too.” And yet, you couldn’t seem to say that. You couldn’t seem to move. A hand fell to the small of your back, his smile taking on a softer drawl as he let his head lull to the side. “We’ll have to redecorate the nursery. I tried to keep up with all the milestones, but it’s been… how long? Nine months?” He paused, chuckled. “You kept me lonely, you know that? I didn’t even have our little Atalanta to keep me company.”

Something very large and very sharp lodged itself in the back of your throat. “Lina.”

Childe’s smile faltered. “What was that, dear?”

“Her name is Lina.” You were smart enough not to try and tear Lina out of his arms, but that did little to stifle the temptation. “You’re not welcome here. Get out and get away from my daughter.”

He let out a breathy laugh, pulling away from you and returning Lina to her cradle, unbothered by your meager threats. “You’re really going to be stubborn about this, huh? I let you go on your little trip, gave you more than enough time to live out your little fantasy in this rotting shack of a country, and you’re still going to be stubborn?” Another laugh, another faltering grin. He started towards you, careful to keep himself between you and Lina, but it was an unnecessary precaution. You were rooted to the ground, unable to move as he embraced you – wholeheartedly, this time, both arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you off the floor and into his chest. You could feel his smoldering breath fanning over the side of your neck, his blunt nails burrowing into your sides as he fought to keep you as close as possible, but you did nothing to resist him. You weren’t going to fight him in front of Lina, no matter how much you wanted to claw at his face, to shove at his chest, to get him away from you. You weren’t going to make her watch that. “Come home. I’m only going to ask once.”

He hadn’t asked at all, but it would’ve been a waste of time to point that out.

“Are… are you going to hurt me, if I refuse?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to hurt you either way. You ran away from me. You stole my daughter.” Spoken softly, with more than a note of anticipation in his voice. “But, if you don’t put up a fight, I’ll try not to break anything that won’t heal.”

His subordinates were swarming the area around your apartment. They couldn’t wander openly, not with the attention their concentrated presence would draw, but you could feel their eyes burning into you from side streets and alleyways as you descended the narrow staircase, prying into you for a moment before moving onto their next target. They were looking for someone who fit Childe’s description – a sweet, doe-eyed thing carrying a child made from sunlight and laughter, not someone dressed for weather much more hostile than anything Mondstadt had to offer, trotting a formless heap of material. What interest your attire would’ve garnered dissolved completely as you joined a large group of passing drunkards, thrown out of their taverns and sent to stumble home at some unholy hour, too belligerent to do anything but welcome you into their numbers. It was a small blessing that you'd spent as much time in the taverns as you had, despite how little you cared for wine. There wasn't a barfly within Mondstadt's walls who would think to question your presence among them.

You followed them north, through the city’s commercial district, keeping your head low and Lina wrapped in your arms until you reached the gate to the eastern port. The drunkards continued on, but you remained.

It was deserted, as you thought it would be. You knew Fatui agents were posted at the city’s gates, waiting to catch you if you tried to flee this nation, too, but the eastern port wasn’t so eye-catching, wasn’t such a vital thing to guard when it came to blocking off the possible escape routes of runaway captives. Even if it hadn’t been so easily forgotten, it would’ve been a waste of men to guard. There was only one bridge over Cider Lake, and no one in their right mind would try to swim across, especially with a child in tow. Unless you could walk on water, the main gates were the only way in or out of the city.

Unfortunately for Childe, you weren’t as helpless as you’d been the first time he stole you away.

You followed the shore for as long as you could, until the city’s walls threatened to bend and reveal your position to the agents posted at the main gates. With no lack of trepidation, stepped onto the sand and reached into your pocket, taking up your Vision and holding it tightly in your clenched fist. The chill bit into your palm, unhindered by any casing, pure Cryo energy pulsing beneath the hazy surface of the glass. You hadn’t been able to look at it for weeks after you arrived in Mondstadt, and even after you’d started to overcome your aversion, it was hard to imagine a world wherein you could carry it proudly, where you could give such an awful thing the care and attention it’d take to learn how to use it properly.

Not that you had time to practice, right now. It was all you could do to give yourself a few seconds to catch your breath as you stepped out and onto the lake, the glassy water instantly freezing underneath your feet. A hairline crack formed across the surface as you shifted your weight onto it, but the ice held, and you let your shoulders slump, relief replacing a fraction of your anxiety. It was slow progress, each step hesitant and unsure, but you persisted, even as frost crept up the heel of your boots, even as a chill more pointed and more penetrating than any you’d felt before seeped under your skin and into the gaps between tissue and bone.

Even as, as much as you loathed to admit, you realized that the cold was not quite as unpleasant as you'd hoped it would be.

“But, if you don’t put up a fight, I’ll try not to break anything that won’t heal.”

You glanced towards the cradle, towards Lina as she struggled to sit up and started to look for her suddenly absent source of entertainment. It wasn’t good to lay her down so quickly, to leave her unattended while she was still awake, but once again, you doubted it’d be of any use to tell Childe that. “What’ll happen to Lina?”

“I’ll take care of Atalanta, obviously.” You could feel his lips against the curve of your throat, the points of his teeth against your skin. “I've had to wait months for this. Do you really think I’d neglect her now?”

You were more worried about how she’d turn out under his full attention.

But, you pretended to consider it, pressing your lips into a thin line and going quiet. After more than a few seconds, you brought your hands up to his chest – not shoving, but nudging gently, softening yourself into something delicate, something he’d be able to understand. There was a throaty, disappointed groan, a minute or so of resistance, but eventually, he lowered you back onto your feet, letting his hand fall to your hips. “I’ll come with you,” you started, slowly, deliberately. It hurt to say, the sentiment searing your throat and catching on your teeth. The fact that you, of course, did not mean a word you said was only a minor salve. “But, Lina deserves one last day in her home, and so do I. Give us until dawn tomorrow, then we’ll both come willingly.”

He bowed his head, falling far enough to let his lips brush against your forehead. He’d always thought of any distance between your body and his as an unnecessary frivolity, a luxury he wasn’t willing to give you. Apparently, your time apart hadn’t lessened his distaste for separation. “You know how pointless it is to run, right? The Fatui have every plank of wood in this city under surveillance, and my subordinates won’t be as forgiving with you as I am.”

“Please, Childe.” You lean into him, melting against his chest. He was a soldier, a warrior, not a diplomat. If you were sweet enough, if you spoke in a way that appealed to his delusions, then he would listen. “Just one more day. Then, you’ll have us for the rest of our lives.”

There was another squeeze to your waist, another lingering kiss to your forehead. “One day.”

There was no need to look at him as he pulled away. You could practically hear his smile.

“Then, you’re all mine.”

You made it to shore unscathed, but your trek through the forest was not so painless.

Each step was labored, made more impossible by the bundle in your arms, the weight of your cloak, the months you’d spend living in domestic peace. Your cloak snagged on every stray branch and boulder, your boots easily caught under roots and stray vines, and the darkness of the night only served to make each obstacle more unavoidable, more difficult to shield Lina from. Even holding your daughter was a challenge, once the adrenaline faded and exhaustion began to set in. Your arms ached where they had not already gone numb, and your chest swelted underneath the heavy fabric, more suited for Snezhnaya's eternal winter than Monstadt's ever-present summer. Resigning yourself to the main road would’ve cut hours off of your journey, but roads were patrolled, and you could not risk meeting another person – knight, adventurer, and agent alike. You didn’t have the time it would’ve taken to explain yourself, let alone pick a fight.

You travelled west, across the valleys of Windrise, through the most wilderness-infested outskirts of Springville. The sky was beginning to lighten by the time your destination came into sight, and with its purpose now obsolete, you shed your cloak and began to descend, taking your time to skirt down sheer rockfaces, to wad through the slow-running streams that webbed across the land. You navigated through the rows of wooden racks and grape vines, not yet in bloom, only letting yourself slow as dirt turned to cobblestone, as the mansion before you turned from a shadowed suggestion to a great, towering structure – secure in the sheer implication of its size.

Finally, finally, you came to a stop before the main entryway. It was all you could do to stand there for a moment, to stare up at the mansion and note all the minute differences between its face and that of Childe’s cabin. When you finished, you raised your hand and, with as much force as you could manage, knocked on the door to Dawn Winery.

A maid answered immediately, confusion turning to abject horror as she noticed the state of your clothing, the leaves and debris caught in your hair, the thousand or so tiny cuts and scrapes pleated over your arms and face. She opened her mouth, but you spoke first, unwilling to spend any longer out in the open than you already had. “I need to speak to Master Ragnvindr.”

She pursed her lips. “The young Master does not—”

“Concerning what topic?”

It was a masculine voice, coming from further down the hall. Somewhat begrudgingly, the maid pulled the door open, allowing you to see into the dim mansion. Diluc stood at the other end of the hall, half-dressed, a length of black ribbon in one hand and his hair gathered in the other. Clearly, you’d interrupted his morning rituals. “I’ve heard,” you started, unwrapping Lina’s bundling and praying that those long nights spent listening to the rumors that swirled in the deepest pits of the darkest taverns would serve you well. “that you do not hold much affection for the Fatui.”

His gaze flickered from you to Lina, to your trembling arms. With little hesitation, he approached you, meeting your eyes as he reached for your daughter. You gave a reluctant nod, and he took her up, holding her to his broad chest. “I've always preferred to keep less blood-stained company.”

“In that case,” You step across the threshold, allowing the door to fall shut behind you.

“How would you like to make a Harbinger very, very angry?”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #childe x reader #tartagalia x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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breelandwalker · 5 months ago

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Sturgeon Supermoon - August 19 2024

Buckle up, witches - we've got supermoons on the horizon and August begins the wild ride!

Sturgeon Supermoon - August 19, 2024

The Sturgeon Moon is the name given to the first full moon in August. The name comes from the plentiful numbers of sturgeon which appear around this time of year.

Sturgeons are living prehistoric relics, examples of which appear in the fossil record as far back as 200 million years ago. Today, they are endangered due to overfishing, pollution, and habitat loss, but giant sturgeons growing up to 12ft (3.65m) long were once a common sight in the Great Lakes and Lake Champlain in North America.

Other North American Indigenous names for this moon include Flying Up Moon (Cree), Corn Moon (Algonquin and Ojibwe), Harvest Moon (Dakota), Dry Moon (Catawba), Mountain Shadows Moon (Tlingit), and Black Cherries Moon (Assiniboine). European names for this moon include Haymaking Moon (Norse), Lightning Moon (English), and Grain Moon (Anglo-Saxon).

It's also interesting to note that in China, the seventh full moon of the lunar year is called the Hungry Ghost Moon, during which spirits of departed ancestors visit their relatives and homes, and trickster spirits may cause mayhem among the living if not properly appeased. Food offerings and incense are put out for ancestor spirits, families visit gravesites to offer prayers and site maintenance, and festival dances and floating lanterns celebrate the honored dead.

What Does It Mean For Witches?

The August full moon is the first of FOUR CONSECUTIVE SUPERMOONS for the 2024 calendar year. So if you've got a lunar magic inclination and the patience for a long-term working, this a great time to start making things happen!

Peak illumination will occur at 2:26pm EST so tonight's moon will be big and bright and full of potential.

August's full moon is technically both a supermoon AND a seasonal blue moon. A blue moon is the second full moon occurring in a calendar month. A seasonal blue moon is the third full moon in a season when four full moons occur. September's full moon falls before the autumn equinox this year.

Both blue moons and supermoons are particularly advantageous times for spellwork, especially that which involves the fulfillment of goals, desires, and wishes, or the culmination of long-term plans. It's also a great time to start new projects and set new goals for the fall and winter.

Supermoons carry your magical workings forward with a little dash of extra strength and vigor, and may provide extra clarity during divination or reflection. It's also the perfect time for spells related to wishmaking and abundance, drawing in the appearance of something long-awaited or extra bit of luck or prosperity you've been needing. And with three more supermoons coming our way in September, October, and November, this is a particularly advantageous time to begin a long-term working that will culminate toward the end of the year.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

In August, we harvest one set of crops and sow another, reaping the rewards of our previous efforts and planting the seeds of future success. Look back on the magical workings you've done so far this year - how are they working out? Have any of your spells produced especially notable results? Go back and add to your notes, making sure to record anything that worked particularly well. (And also anything that DIDN'T work well. Remember that failure is a learning experience too.)

Evaluate your progress and reflect on what you want to carry forward and what you might need to put on hold or just let go for the time being. If you're partial to divination, a reading may help to provide some additional clarity on your current status, as well as some perspective on the possibilities for the near future.

Celebrate the harvest of grain and corn with your favorite recipes or a summer picnic. But don't just limit yourself to corn and wheat! Late summer fruits are also ripe and make a tasty addition to any table.

Set your intentions and your goals for the latter part of the year and start preparing for the autumn and winter. It may seem silly to prepare for the cold when the weather is still blazing hot, but it will be here before you know it. Take time for one more summer beach trip or camping excursion before the hustle and bustle of the fall sets in.

The observation of blue moons and supermoons as magical occasions are a modern addition to witchcraft, but the lack of antiquity doesn't mean there's any shortage of metaphysical potential!

Prepare for a bountiful fall season with lots of opportunities to make things happen. Set yourself up for success by making your wants and needs clear in your spellwork. Attend to practical matters to remove whatever obstacles you can and clear the way for your hard work and magical endeavors to pay off.

Set out a big jug of potable water each month to catch the light of the supermoons between now and November - it will be great for cleansing, protection, wish-making, and drinkable potion bases later! If you've got wildcrafted or garden-grown herbs with a lunar alignment, or which correspond to prosperity, success, and strength, harvest a few this evening and keep them specially labeled for future workings. And remember to put out your moon jars!

All in all, this month's full moon is supercharged with lunar energy and primed for magical workings, so make your spells count!

Happy Sturgeon Moon, witches! 🌕🐟